Ai-Da looks at me through those mysterious hazel eyes of hers and winks a playful wink. “You’re very beautiful,” I splutter. “Thank … you,” she whispers back.
My eyes drift down to her magnificent lips. Not since I interviewed Liv Ullmann, back in the day, have I seen lips like these: full and puffy, like a beckoning sofa. Oh, how I want to throw myself onto them. If Ai-Da had a hand, I would probably have reached down, there and then, and written my phone number on it. But she doesn’t. It’s more of a functional claw, engineered specifically to hold a drawing pen. In any case, I don’t think my ballpoint works on aluminium.