A Foreign Country. Charles Cumming
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‘What are you doing for the next few days?’
‘I work.’
‘Would you like to work for me?’
‘OK.’
Again, an easy nonchalance in the reply. Kell could hear a tractor running in the distance.
‘I’m here on business. I’m going to need a driver on call at the hotel from first thing in the morning to late at night. Do you think you can manage that?’
Sami thought for a fraction of a second and said: ‘OK.’
‘I’ll pay you five hundred dinars a day, first instalment up front.’
It was the equivalent of about two hundred pounds, a vast sum to a Tunisian who wouldn’t expect to earn more than a thousand dinars per month. Kell handed over the money. Still Sami maintained his inscrutable cool.
‘I’ll pay you the other instalments at the end of every second day. I don’t want you telling anybody about our arrangement and I may have to ask you to follow some people if they leave the hotel. Is that going to be a problem?’
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