Raising a finely arched eyebrow as a man comes in behind her and whispers in her ear; the woman in question takes a careful look at the man before her.  One of the M16's lapdogs.  She wondered when one of them would arrive. She thought she would have a bit more time than this however.  Very disappointing.<br/><br/>Taking in the sight of him as he comes round to the front of her lounge chair, she doesn't make a move to rise, merely raises a single hand to lower her sunglasses slightly; just enough to get a look at him without the glass darkness in her way.  He was Pretty.  She enjoyed pretty.<br/><br/>A clipped British voice trimmed to perfection learned from years spent in English boarding schools spoke back at him, the kind of voice made from the obnoxiously rich, and the obnoxiously bored.  "I don't believe either of us here are naive,<em>Mr. Percey</em>." Dahlia murmurs lowly; taking the glass he had offered to her; raising it slightly in thanks. "Custons not trying to play nice with the government.  And he's certainly not here to, 'affect indigenous work forces between the Tropics' as you so carefully put it." she says, a slow smile inching its way across her face.<br/><br/>"I must admit,<em>Mr. Percey</em>.  I am a bit inconvenienced at the moment.  And while I am extremely grateful that the M16 has decided to provide me an escort for my return to England, I am afraid I have no intention of returning just yet." she says, taking another careful sip of the dry martini.<br/><br/>"Besides, was I not blacklisted?" she questions with a curious smile, stretching out on the lounge chair; feeling the sun beat down on her in the loveliest of ways.