Dark Oil (10 page)

She nodded her thanks. Still, she couldn't help feeling that something might be wrong with Tim, with her marriage. In her mind she went over what had happened one more time. A week ago his secretary had said he was working from home,
like he often does
. Tim never worked from home. Then again, he had always maintained his secretary was useless. Of course, that was it. She was useless. End of story.

“Hey, I know what will cheer you up. Another one of these.” Jack held up the unusual emerald beverage that matched the shade of his eyes.

Before she could shake her head, Martin barged in, waving about his arms. He was more agitated than Lara had ever seen him. “Sober up, people. We've just had word we're expected at the Minister's house for dinner tonight.”

Jack, who'd been sprawled out over the couch, sat up. “At the Minister's? The man who was too sick to come to the meeting this morning?”

Martin crossed his arms. “Yes, which other Minister? Not the Minister for Ageing.” Lara chuckled and Martin looked pleased with himself, for once. He'd finally scored against Jack.

“What time's dinner?” asked Jack.

“Seven, at his country home. It's quite a drive from here, apparently. We'll have to leave in half an hour, so you might want to get ready.”

“His country home?” Lara rose to her feet. “That will be interesting. Will we be doing business, or is it strictly social?”

Martin shrugged. “We'll see when we get there. Frankly, Lara, I don't know what to expect any more.”

Lara was hot in her long-sleeved blouse buttoned right up to the neck and her full-length pants. It was an invitation to dinner at a Minister's home, but Negala was no place for a strappy little black dress. At least some of the guests were likely to be Muslims, so she had to put modesty before style, or even comfort, and cover up completely.

It had taken over half an hour to get there, and most of the drive had been through desert. The Minister's country house, a small square concrete building devoid of all embellishments that looked more like a small bunker than a home, was in the middle of nowhere. Lara imagined it was without any phone coverage, landline or mobile, a sure-fire way to get away from it all.

There were about fifteen cars parked at the end of the dirt track that led to the house. Lara wondered how the people would all fit inside. She soon understood they wouldn't have to. At the far end of the property, sprawled out over hundreds of square metres, were low pitched cream canvas tents.

As they approached, she saw the interiors were lavishly decorated. Rich fabrics lined the walls, Persian carpets softened the floor, and brass lanterns hung from the ceiling casting a soft glow over what looked like Ali Baba's cave.

“We're sitting on the floor again,” sighed Martin. He turned to Lara. “Whatever you do, accept everything they give you. If you don't like something, you have to eat a little of it. It's an insult to refuse. And don't ask for cutlery.”

Lara couldn't help puffing up her cheeks before exhaling with force. It wasn't going to be easy. She hated lamb, was allergic to dairy and was fussy about hygiene at home, let alone in a place where she could get unimaginable diseases. And she was going to have to eat with her hands!

At the entrance to the tent, a long piece of plywood carried enough shoes to open a shop. “We take our shoes off, too?” Lara asked. As Jack nodded, she quickly slipped hers off, placing them at the end of the pile in the hope it would help her find them when they left.

She rolled up her pants just enough not to tread on them and walked in next to Jack and Martin, her head high. But her heart thumped in her chest when she noticed all eyes were on her. The trio stood out in the tent full of Negalese and she was different in so many ways: she was white, she was a foreigner and she was a woman—an educated one at that.

To add to the unease, everyone who looked at her must have known exactly who she was, while she knew no one. At least Martin and Jack, who had met some of the officials before, would be with her all evening. That was a relief.

A Negalese man of Arab descent with greying hair and a twinkle in his eye greeted them. “Mr Martin, how are you?” They shook hands briefly.

“Mr Minister, thank you for inviting us tonight.”

The Minister offered his hand to Jack. “Mr Jack. It is good to have you back.”

Jack smiled. “Thank you, Mr Minister. It's an honour to be here. This is Lara Beckham, our legal counsel.”

Lara bent her elbow, about to hold out her hand, when she sensed the Minister wasn't going to take it. She quickly brushed her fringe to one side and nodded to acknowledge his presence. “It's an honour to meet you, Minister.”

The Minister called out to one of his attendants, who came running. “Ahmed will show you to your tables.” And as quickly as that they were dismissed.

“Tables, plural” thought Lara, hoping it had simply been a slip of the tongue, an inaccurate statement. Before long, she realised the Minister had made no mistake. Jack, Martin and Lara were shown to separate tables, at different ends of the tent.

Jack winked at her as they parted. “Have fun.”

She was seated at the back of the tent, in a corner. She smiled to herself when she saw it was one of the only tables to have cushioned benches around it. “I will bring you some tea.” The servant who had been standing nearby left her to take a seat at the empty setting.

He returned in an instant, carrying an ornate, copper teapot and small, carved glasses. He poured Lara the beverage with decorum, lifting the teapot away from the glass, as high as his arm would go, then bringing it closer, before lengthening the distance between the two again. The aroma of fresh mint filled the air. “Mrs Minister come soon,” said Ahmed in his unmistakable Negalese accent.

“Thank you,” answered Lara in Negalese, “I shall wait for her.” The young boy grinned and bowed, before leaving, obviously pleased she spoke his language.

Lara looked over at Martin. He was at a table with five other men, all of whom wore gloomy expressions. Jack was towards the middle of the tent, four or five tables away from hers, and right next to the Minister. It wouldn't bring peace between Jack and Martin, she guessed, that he was seated beside the Minister while Martin was at a table of probably lower ranking officials.

A heavy, middle-aged woman in a dark veil that covered her from head to toe waddled over to Lara. Lara stood up, certain this was the Minister's wife, for no other females appeared to have been invited. The woman was pretty, in an exotic way, with dark kohl-rimmed eyes and a flawless complexion. Like the Minister, she appeared to be of Arab descent.

Holding out her hand, Lara smiled at her, pleased she wasn't going to be sitting alone any longer, and relieved the company would include at least one other woman. The Minister's wife took her outstretched hand, reached for the other one, affectionately pulled her closer and put her arms around her. The soft, cuddly bear embrace surprised Lara. Where else in the world would a Minister's wife hug you?

“Mrs Lara, I am happy to see you. Welcome to Negala.” The Minister's wife sat, gesturing to the bench. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs Minister.” Lara felt strange, being embraced by someone she'd only just met, and even more so addressing her as Mrs Minister. She wouldn't have wanted that for herself, to be defined by her husband's title, but it was the custom here. She wondered for an instant whether the Negalese women ever resented it.

As soon as the Minister's wife was seated, four men hurried over, taking their place at the table. They had obviously been waiting for their cue. What had been holding them back? Did they have to wait for the hostess to sit first, or were they not allowed to sit with a woman on her own?

The Minister's wife introduced them one by one. They bowed to Lara as if she was a princess and she instantly forgot their long, foreign-sounding names. They seemed pleasant, all grinning ear-to-ear and immediately at ease with her. They'd no doubt been hand-picked for their easy nature and it wasn't long before the laughter from her table filled the tent.

On several occasions she caught Jack stretching his neck to look her way, attracted by the merriment. Or at least, that's how she justified it. She could have easily let herself be drawn to his magnetic gaze. There was something about it that was hard to resist.

It wasn't just the beauty of those emerald eyes, or his chiselled jaw. It was something more: a delightful complicity, the simple pleasure his presence brought. But she forced herself to direct her attention to her hostess and the men at her table.

A colourful feast of couscous, salads and various meats was served. Lara politely shook her head when the tomatoes and cucumber were offered to her, pointing to her already full plate.

She thought of what Jack had said—there were amoebae in the water, you must not eat raw fruit and vegetables.

“You try some, Mrs Lara.” The Minister's wife held out a platter of salads. “Please, you must,” she insisted, tilting the serving dish until the contents slid towards Lara's plate, and Lara felt she had no option but to take it.

She picked up the salad, forcing a smile. Her hand trembled as the dressing ran down her fingers. It was as if she were purposely poisoning herself—except she wasn't a jilted lover who wanted to die. She thought about politely refusing and explaining just how ill she could get.

Would it offend her fellow diners that much if she did? A health risk such as this was worth the embarrassment, she thought. As discreetly as possible, she put the salad back onto her plate.

Martin had been very clear. She must not refuse anything. Perhaps the risk was not that great, after all. She picked up the salad again, agonising so much over what to do she started to feel dizzy. The Minister's wife smiled at her, patting her hand. “We have washed in special bottled water for you.”

Lara gasped with relief and the men around her burst into laughter. When a slice of the lamb she hated so much was put in her plate, she took it whole-heartedly, swallowing it with ease. Eating something you didn't like was a breeze when you'd just thought you were going to get seriously ill, perhaps even permanently so, from your meal.

The conversation flowed and the evening passed quickly but Lara was disappointed she found out so little about life in Negala. They all told her how much they loved their country and their government, how they wouldn't swap it for the world, how their society was fair and their lives rich.

Their answers were all so similar, Lara was sure they had been rehearsed. It wasn't until it was nearly time to leave, and the men had all said their goodbyes and left the table, that the Minister's wife looked her in the eye, putting her hand on Lara's forearm. “Do you like being a woman lawyer, Mrs Lara?”

“I do.” Lara had always understood that in many countries women would never get the opportunity to earn a living in a good job, to stand on their own two feet with pride. Here in Negala the limitations of life as a woman were ever so obvious.

Lara was saddened by the unfairness of the world and touched by the Minister's wife's question. She didn't want to hurt her with an insensitive reply, but she felt she owed her an honest answer. “I like the work but most of all I like to know that I can take care of myself if I have to.” It was the truth. She did like that, even if right now she'd give it all up for motherhood.

“Do you find the men treat you with respect when you work?” The Minister's wife seemed perplexed and genuinely interested in what must have been a way of life so foreign to her.

“Overall they do, I think, though there are still differences between men and women in our country, too. Men get promoted more, paid more and rarely have to juggle housework and children with paid work.”

“We are fighting for women's rights here. We want to vote. And other things, too. Do you know our constitution?”

“A little,” Lara said, reluctantly. She could see this might be a slippery path to go down, and although she thought women ought to stand up for their rights, she couldn't become politically engaged. She was in the country in her capacity as lawyer to Global Oil. And she could only guess how dangerous it would be for any woman, in any event, to advise on women's rights here.

The Minister's wife jumped to her feet, suddenly fidgeting with the edge of her veil. Lara turned to see Martin and Jack walking in their direction. “Please, do not mention our talk to anyone,” she whispered mysteriously.

“Of course, I'll treat it as confidential.” Lara rose to her feet, too, smiling at her hostess, hoping to reassure her. “It's been a wonderful evening. Thank you so much.”

Jack overheard her. “It has been so enjoyable, Mrs Minister,” he said as he strode over, “Thank you for your kind hospitality.”

“You have a very good lawyer, Mr Jack,” replied the Minister's wife, “Very tactful. I hope to see you again before you go back home. In the grace of God.”

“So do we, God willing,” replied Martin, who'd walked over.

Lara, Martin and Jack made their way across the tent to the pile of shoes. They rummaged through it to find their own and slipped them on, before making their way to the car.

Out in the open Lara crossed her arms to keep herself warm. The temperature had dropped considerably, despite the stillness. She looked at the moonless sky and was amazed to see how many stars there were, arranged in a pattern so unfamiliar for someone who came from the southern hemisphere.

There was beauty here, in the soft shape of the dunes and the infinite sky, in the children's smiles and the donkey's almond-shaped eyes. It was the kind of beauty that came from emptiness—a sad and haunting beauty.

At the car they found their driver was waiting, as always. He quickly opened the doors for them. Lara climbed in. “It was a good evening but I'm ready to go to bed.” She collapsed on the back seat. “How long is it since we've slept?”