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Martin. Lara watched as Martin stood up too. She saw the men argue, arms waving, red flooding their cheeks.
    A flight attendant moved towards them, a sense of urgency in her step. Gently, but persuasively, she encouraged Jack down the aisle, pointing to his place. Jack returned to his seat, slumped in it and ordered a cognac, winking again at Lara. Within seconds the drink was served and, without hesitation, Jack emptied the glass.
    â€œI hope you didn’t get into trouble because of me,” Lara said sheepishly after a while.
    â€œNo, it’s not your fault. I just can’t take that guy. Listen, there’s an empty seat next to me. Why don’t you sit here for a while and I’ll brief you?”
    â€œNow?” She thought he might have needed a few moments to himself. Martin seemed to have had quite an effect on him.
    â€œWhy wait? Slip in here. I’ll get my computer and fire it up.” He jumped up, stepping aside to let her into the seat next to his, then effortlessly slid his computer out of the overhead compartment and sat back down.
    â€œYou know it’s the poorest country in the world, don’t you?”
    Lara didn’t. All she knew was that it wasn’t rich, but she nodded.
    â€œWhat that means is the water isn’t safe to drink or brush your teeth. There are amoebas—sorry, amoebae—that will land you in hospital at the very least. Some water-borne diseases can’t be cured. I don’t wash my face with tap water, in case some gets into my mouth or nose. A splash of bottled water does the trick. In the shower, I hold a towel on my face if I’m washing my hair.”
    â€œI’m glad you’re telling me all this. I’d never have thought of it otherwise.” She was starting to wonder if she would have stepped on that plane at all had she known. It was one thing to go away on business, quite another to do it at the risk of your health.
    â€œSo of course you can’t have salads. They’ll usually have been washed in tap water. And soft drink, be careful there isn’t any ice in it, or a bit of water from ice if cans have been kept in a bucket. Same with plates and cutlery. Make sure they’re absolutely dry before you use them.”
    â€œWhat about fruit?” She usually ate lots of it. What would she snack on if she couldn’t have it?
    â€œPeel it yourself. With clean, dry hands.”
    She nodded. That made perfect sense. “And restaurants? Are they safe?”
    He shrugged. “Some are, some aren’t. Stick with staff members; they’ll know where to go. In fact, I don’t think you should go out on your own at all. You’d be the perfect target.”
    Now he really had her worried. “Target? As in violence?” Images of thugs snatching her bag, hitting her on the head, or worse, tearing at her clothes, abusing her body, crossed her mind.
    â€œAs in terrorists. I would have thought you’d be a most negotiable hostage, what with such a beautiful innocent face.”
    As he gazed into her eyes, she felt the already too familiar burning sensation in her cheeks. She turned away to hide she was blushing.
    He chuckled. “Something I said again?”
    Oh, he was a pain! He knew she was a married woman, knew he’d embarrass her. She shook her head and looked him in the eye, ready to ignore him if he tried to flirt with her again, ready to prove to him his good looks meant nothing to her. “So I’d make a good hostage? You’re not kidding, are you?”
    This time, though, he was warm but kept a business-like distance and there was humility about him, when he wasn’t joking around, that made it impossible to hold a grudge. He shrugged. “I’m afraid not. The press would lap it up. The kidnappers would get more leverage out of it than, say, if they captured good old Martin. Hey, that’s an idea. I could pay them to take him away.”
    He was making