“Good evening, ma. I’m Sule, and Sir Kofi sent me to meet you. He would like to speak to you.”
“Where is he?”
“I’ll call him now,” he said. “Please, can we go somewhere quiet?”
I took them to the gym. There was a lone runner going uphill on the treadmill. He did not look up when we entered. I filled a paper cup with water. Sule dialed my father.
“Anna, I would like you to meet with you again.” Kofi’s voice was deeper on the phone.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“I would like you to stay.”
“Even if I wanted to, my visa expires tomorrow.”
“I can take care of that.”
“What about Adrian?”
“The invitation is for you,” Kofi said. “I am not good at speaking over the phone. If you choose to stay, my aide will make the necessary arrangements. If not, thank you for traveling to see me. Let me talk to Sule.”
Sule left the gym. The man on the treadmill had reached the end of his run. When he got off the machine, his first steps were unsure. His feet faltered on steady ground. I sat down on a pink exercise ball. I had been standing for almost an hour. A flush of heat rose through me. I was perspiring under my clothes.
“What did he say?” Adrian asked.
“He wants me to stay.”
“I wouldn’t advise it. Not after your last meeting.”
“It was a shock to spring on an old man,” I said. “We could have arranged things better.”
“Are you considering this?”
“Yes.”
I hadn’t come this far to meet Kofi only once.
“You will be putting yourself completely in his power. Kofi is no longer president, but so much in this country still rises and falls on his whims.”
“I can leave anytime I want. I have a British passport.”
“You don’t understand this place, Anna. You think things operate by the rules you’re used to, but they don’t.”
“I want to try and understand things for myself,” I said. “Terrible as our first meeting was, Kofi is my father. It may be my only chance to know him. He’s old and I live so far away. Wouldn’t you stay?”
He hesitated. “Yes, but I’ve always been too curious for my own good.”
I walked Adrian to the hotel entrance. He had been my guide these past weeks, both knowledgeable and pedantic, enthusiastic and grating. It was time for us to part.
“You won’t reconsider?” he said.
“No. You’re not going to change my mind. Have a safe flight. I’ll see you in Edinburgh.”
Sule was waiting by the front desk.
“I’ve extended your stay by two weeks,” he said.
“That’s too long.”
“Those were Sir Kofi’s instructions.”
“Well, you can tell him I’m only staying four more nights and that’s what I’ll pay for now.”
“It’s been taken care of already,” he said. “I’ll help with your bags.”
“What for?”
“Your room is not available after tomorrow. I had you moved.”
“No, thank you. I like my room,” I said.
“Please, ma,” Christina interrupted, “You will like this one better.”
It was a suite on the eighth floor, partitioned by double doors into bedroom and living areas. There was a Jacuzzi on the balcony, freshly cut flowers in a vase, and an ocean view.
“Please, you are a guest of Sir Kofi. Anything you want in the hotel is on his tab.”
“Does he own it?” I asked.
“I do not know what Sir owns or doesn’t own.” It was like talking to a wall painted in neutral colors, cream or dull white. “I will need your passport for the visa extension.”
“Sorry, I can’t give you that,” I said.
Downstairs, he had seemed a man in his thirties. Now I noticed the grey at his temples.
“How long have you worked for my father?”
“I do not count the years, but it is a long time,” he said. “I will come tomorrow morning after breakfast. Good night, ma.”
He bowed and left me with the minibar. I ate some peanuts and opened a bottle of wine. I sent Rose an e-mail about the change in plans, something about giving my father a second chance, then turned on the 60-inch TV and watched an episode of a Bamanaian talk show. The host had a gap in her teeth and a way of leaning forward when she asked a question. The topic was domestic violence. One after the other the guests trooped on: victim, perpetrator, psychologist, and at the end, all three on the couch, all issues resolved.