Dark Oil (11 page)

Jack, too, got in the back. “I've stopped counting. Something like forty hours, I think. I can really feel it, too.” Weary, he rested his head against the window.

They drove up the bumpy dirt track in silence. After a few minutes Jack's breathing slowed and thickened until Lara heard him snore softly. She could see the outline of his aquiline nose, his full lips slightly parted. “He's sleeping like a baby.”

Martin shrugged. “He's probably pretending so he can listen to what we say.”

“Jack, did you know those meatballs you were eating were camel's testicles?” asked Lara. He continued to snore. “No reaction. He's asleep.”

Martin chuckled. “Sounded like you were having a good time at your table. I heard you laugh more than once.”

“They were nice people. One of the men was very good at telling jokes.”

“Lucky you. I think everyone was asleep at my table. We talked about mobile phones for a while. Tell me, how did
he
get to sit at the Minister's table, do you think? He probably
didn't even manage to get anything interesting out of him. If I'd been at that table, I'd have a lot to say right now. I wouldn't be lying in the back with my mouth open.”

Martin's bitterness towards Jack was taking over once again and Lara couldn't help but say something. “It's been an awfully long day for all of us.”

Martin grunted. “Anyway, I did catch the Minister for a few minutes.”

“And?” asked Lara.

Martin glanced at the driver. “I'll tell you later. My brain's just too tired right now.”

She nodded, understanding perfectly well it wasn't exhaustion but confidentiality that was keeping Martin from talking. She snuggled back into the luxuriously soft car seat. The four wheel drive took a left turn and Jack, fast asleep, slid over to her side. She tried to push him back but he was heavy and intent, it seemed, on resting his head on her shoulder.

She could smell his musky scent as his soft hair brushed against her cheek. She glanced at him, at his perfect skin, his full lips, and she knew. She knew then that if she had been elsewhere with him, if she hadn't been in a professional relationship with him—and more than anything else, if she hadn't been married—she would have kissed him. He was childish at times, in the way even the best men sometimes are, a larrikin, but he was lovable, very lovable.

She gasped, quickly pushing him away, shocked by her own thoughts. He stirred, opening an eye.

“You were crushing me,” she explained.

“Sorry.” Jack turned the other way and immediately went back to sleep. Martin had been quiet for a long time, as well, and she guessed he had also dozed off.

She, too, felt exhausted, so she turned her back to Jack and rested her head against the window that was now cold, the night temperature having dropped dramatically. Outside she saw nothing, nothing but darkness and the soft forms of sandy dunes. She thought about the events of the day, the tension between Jack and Martin, the Minister's wife's words. She thought about the fact she still hadn't been able to get hold of Tim. Tim. . .Where was he?

Suddenly, a hand slipped around her waist. Its fingers gently moved across her chest and quickly, before she could pull away, the thumb slid inside her blouse between her breasts, rubbing up and down in a sensual caress. She froze for an instant, in total shock, unable to utter the word she was screaming in her head.

“Stop!” she finally managed. “What are you doing? What will they think?”

“Shh, it's just between you and me,” Jack said. “Relax. He's asleep.”

“Relax? Are you crazy? I'm married, stop right now!”

The hand wandered up and down her neck, up and down her chest, around and around her breast. She wanted it to stop, not because the caress was abhorrent, but because she liked it. She liked it and she wasn't supposed to. . .She wept, impotent against her own desire, her own flesh responding to Jack against her will.

“Stop it, I said! I'm married. And we're in Negala. They'll kill us. It's Negala. Please! Don't you know? It's Negala!” She felt the hand move to her arm and, perhaps in anger, perhaps to put some sense into her, it shook her.

“Lara, wake up! You're having a nightmare. Lara!” Jack gently tapped her on the forearm and Martin, leaning over from the front seat, clapped his hands, in an effort to wake her.

She sat up straight, startled, rubbing her forehead. She had been dreaming and shouting in the car. What had she said? Her stomach turned inside out. Had they figured out what the dream was about? She didn't dare ask.

“You've got quite a voice, you know that?” Jack smiled at her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “Fine, thanks. Was I screaming?”

“Oh, yeah. Talking, screaming, grinding your teeth.”

She glanced at Martin, then Jack, wondering whether to ask or let it go. Maybe it was better not to know.

Jack took his hand off her arm. “You kept saying it's Negala, please, it's Negala, over and over. You mumbled a lot before that, but we couldn't understand a word. Shame really, we might have been able to blackmail you with something.”

Martin shook his head, never one to enjoy Jack's jokes. “We all need a good night's sleep. And we're about to get it.” The car pulled up in front of the company house.

Were they telling the truth? She hoped so. If they weren't, they were kind enough to pretend they couldn't fathom what she had been saying and leave her dignity intact. They might have had their faults, but deep down they were good people, both of them. She was thankful for that.

“Find anything out?” Martin asked, once out of the car and the driver's earshot.

“It was an interesting conversation.” Jack paused.

“And?” Martin crossed his arms, looking annoyed.

Jack strode into the house, taking his time to answer. Martin's nostrils flared. Jack seemed to recognise that as his colleague's limit, suddenly blurting out the whole story. “They don't know anything about the breach of section twelve of the PSC. There was no mention of any breach whatsoever. What Hammy did say was–”

Martin frowned. “Hammy?”

“Minister Hamed, none other than the Minister for Energy.”

“I know who you mean by Hammy. I just don't think it sounds professional.”

Jack sighed. “The Minister didn't mention a breach, nor did his right hand. And there were plenty of opportunities. I kept saying we were confused because we had not breached any clause of the contract. Not once did they contradict me.”

Martin nodded. “Same here. I only managed to speak to the Minister for a few minutes, but I gathered he wasn't invoking any kind of breach by us.”

“That's right,” Jack continued. “What the Minister did say, was that there were lots of other potential partners who could give them a lot more than we were offering. He even asked whether we could do anything about that.”

Lara raised her eyebrows. “But we've got a contract. The terms are in it. Are they talking bribes?”

Jack nodded. “Possibly.”

“It's out of the question,” Lara said. “Not only could we get into trouble here, but we could be prosecuted in Australia.”

Jack smiled. “Don't worry, we would never go down that path. Doesn't stop them asking, though. This is Africa.”

They stood in the entrance in silence, scratching their heads, rubbing their chins, before Jack spoke again. “Anyway, the main thing that came out of it was that we are only going to get one chance to fix this mess quickly and it's tomorrow. After that the Minister is going overseas for two weeks.”

“So we have a meeting tomorrow?” asked Lara, hoping they wouldn't be stuck waiting for the Minister for another two weeks. The thought of being away from Tim that long, of sitting in hot rooms with useless air-conditioning, eating sandy meals, sharing day after day with Jack and Martin in constant tension, with nowhere better than the camel markets to go, was too much for her to bear.

Jack shrugged. “He said he'd let us know in the morning if he could fit us in.”

Martin made a disbelieving sound. “If he can't it won't go down well with Alan. Let's hope there is a meeting and I find out before I have to call the boss.”

As they headed up the stairs to their rooms, their worry was palpable. Lara looked at the frowns on Jack and Martin's faces, and felt her own inability to loosen her shoulders. She had thought conditions were as harsh as they could get, that there would be no downward spiral here. She had been wrong. There was obviously the potential for life to become harder still. Much harder.

She had to remind herself, once again, why she was doing this. She was away from Tim, in a country of oppressive heat and disease, and at risk in a way she had not anticipated—not only the risk of disease but the risk of becoming involved in an explosive situation with demands for bribes, and a Minister's wife asking for advice on women's rights in a country where they liked to think women were born to be oppressed. The only reason Lara was there was because she hadn't been given a real choice.

There were no two ways about it. She was told she had to go. She had a huge mortgage to pay. She couldn't afford to lose her job, couldn't seem to convince Tim to give it all up and settle for a small cottage and a bouncing baby. He felt young, felt they had plenty of time and he wanted to climb the corporate ladder.

She sighed, deeply, painfully, the way you do when you are trying to make the most of what you have but you really don't have what you want.

“There's a message,” Martin gestured towards the phone as he passed the study on the way to his bedroom.

Lara saw the flashing light on the answering machine and the most unexpected shiver of excitement ran down her spine. “That'll be Tim!” She rushed over to the phone, wanting to hear the words she'd been craving, before turning to Jack, beaming.

“It'll be Tim, for sure.”

She wasn't sure why, but she thought she saw the shadow of disappointment on Jack's face. Or was it longing for what she had? She took a breath and pressed the button.

“It's about time I had an update on the situation. Ring me as soon as you get this.” It was Alan Smiles, drier than ever, reminding them he was the CEO and they were keeping him waiting.

Lara bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling. She had been so sure the message on the answering machine would be from Tim. It had taken her two seconds to go from a woman whose face was glowing with love and anticipation to one who had to fight tooth and nail to hang onto the cliff above the abyss of despair.

“I'd better call him.” Martin took the receiver out of her hand. “I'll probably be on the phone for a while. It's never quick with Alan. He always wants every detail. You go and get some sleep. I'll give you both an update in the morning.”

Lara nodded, thankful she didn't have to sit through the conversation, although she suspected Martin wasn't doing it out of the goodness of his heart. He probably wanted to shine—and more importantly to make sure no one else did—– but right now she couldn't be bothered with his games.

She climbed the stairs to her bedroom without a word. A deep sadness took over her, turning her whole body to lead, making it impossible for her to smile, to talk or do anything else. She had to lie down.

Jack patted her on the shoulder. “It's hard to get hold of people with the time difference, you know. He's working, you're working. We don't even have reliable mobiles. I'm sure you'll manage to speak to him tomorrow.” Jack was trying to make her feel better. As she gazed into his perfect eyes she got the impression he genuinely cared.

“Thanks. See you tomorrow.” She closed the door to her bedroom and collapsed on the lumpy bed. As the tears she had been holding back rolled down her cheeks, she stared at the ceiling and the shadows her bedside lamp cast on its uneven plaster. It had looked smooth in the daylight but the night had brought the truth, revealing all of its imperfections.

Nothing was as it seemed. She closed her eyes.

*****

Lara stirred in her sleep. She could hear workmen in the distance, hammering away. Suddenly the noise sounded closer, much louder. Startled, she sat up like a Jack-in-the-box whose lid had been lifted. Her bedside lamp was on and she was still dressed, but daylight poured in through the sizeable gaps surrounding the poorly fitted curtains. And the noise wasn't workmen—it was someone knocking at her door.

“Coming.” She rubbed her eyes with one hand as she opened the door.

It was Jack. “Sorry for banging like that. I couldn't seem to wake you.” He looked her up and down. “You're already dressed?”

“I fell asleep like this. I guess I was exhausted.”

“Well, it's breakfast in half an hour. Martin's briefing us on Alan's call and then we're meeting with the Minister at ten.”

“They agreed to a meeting? I didn't even hear the phone ring.” She looked down self-consciously, suddenly embarrassed Jack should see her at her worst. She tried to smooth her hair, ran her index finger under her eyes hoping to rub off the smudged mascara she had failed to remove the night before.

“The phone didn't ring. Hammy sent someone over to tell us. Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Eggs and tomatoes OK?”

“Great.”

“Only thing is, I'm cooking. I'll try not to burn it.” Whistling, he galloped down the stairs, his long legs jumping two or three steps at a time with ease.

She called out after him. “I'm sure it will be fine. My turn to cook tomorrow, then.” Closing her bedroom door, she took a deep breath. Today would be a good day. They'd secured a meeting with the Minister.

With a bit of luck they'd find a solution to Global Oil's problems, they'd book a flight home and she'd speak to Tim. She'd definitely speak to Tim. That would make all the difference. She'd call him straight after Martin's briefing.