THE UNIFORMED SECURITY man stationed by the entrance, hauled open the glass door just as Farida reached it. Smiling her thanks, she strolled into the air-conditioned interior of the eatery and surveyed the place with her eyes.
She spotted her father at a table in the corner, nursing a bottle of Fanta. The table in front of him hosted three men in poor-fitting suits, chomping down their food as if they were on the clock. They probably were. To his left, a haggard-looking man perused a Punch newspaper, a can of Maltina before him. Behind her father, sat a woman lunching on sausage rolls and jam doughnuts.
Her gaze centered on her father and, unplanned, a gasp escaped from her mouth.
Farida strode over to him and then stopped at the table, gazing down. “You look different.”
Francis passed
