Dark Oil (7 page)

A sound of disbelief escaped her throat. “You told me I didn't need it!” She tapped her fingers on the table again, staring at Martin.

Suddenly Martin threw his arms up in the air. “It's bloody useless anyway. I can't even get on line to check my emails. The connection's down, surprise, surprise!” He pushed his computer away and tapped his fingers on the table, in rhythm with Lara.

She couldn't hold back a giggle, and Martin, too, at once more relaxed, chuckled. Jack, who was still standing, his back to the cream wall, his arms crossed, watched their smiles, listened to their lightness. “Ah, finally,” he said, “the moment of truce.”

“Anyone fancy a drink?” Martin stood up, raising his eyebrows while he waited for orders.

Lara frowned. “A drink? What if they arrive?” It was something you wouldn't do before a meeting in Australia. It seemed inappropriate.

Martin shrugged. “That's fine. It's the first thing we do when we have a meeting anyway, order drinks. No alcohol, though.”

“It's the way business is done here,” Jack explained. “It has to seem as though it's social at first, it's the polite thing to do. So we take tea, or a soda, ask if everyone's family is fine, then we start.”

“In that case, coffee. Strong, please.”

“Jack?”

“Please.”

Martin marched out, a man on a mission. Jack sat facing Lara.

“You handle him well.” It was more than a statement, more than compliment, even. It was a caress, Jack's strong, suave voice connecting with her deep inside. She tried to focus on the content, pushing away the underlying pleasure.

“Do you think?” It seemed to her she was having trouble with Martin, lots of trouble.

“Definitely. You managed to make him laugh. He usually reduces people to tears in the first couple of days. Even guys. Many have quit.”

“It's good to know.” The feedback brought her relief. She'd had her suspicions that it wasn't just her, that Martin was a handful for everyone. She'd even heard it through the grapevine, but it was reassuring to get confirmation from someone in the know.

“There seems to be a bit of tension between the two of you at times.” That was probably the understatement of the year.

Jack looked away. “You can say that again.”

“Say what?” asked Martin, wandering back in.

“That it's a pain having to wait like this,” blurted out Lara, scared Martin would realise they'd been talking about him.

“Tell me about it.” Martin flopped back into his chair.

A tall, thin African man holding onto a tray of coffee with both hands strolled in, flashing his teeth. “Sorry I cannot knock. My hands are full.”

“It's all right.” Jack checked his watch. “Are there any messages for us?”

“Sorry, I don't know. I go and look for you.” The man finished serving the drinks, wiped his hands on his pants and left, nodding at the trio.

Another ten minutes went by before he reappeared briefly, just long enough to say there were no messages.

“How long do we stay?” asked Lara after a while. “It's been close to an hour.”

“I might give Ismael a call to see if he's heard anything.” As Jack stood up to go to reception, a man in a suit wearing noticeable white shoes knocked at the door.

“Global Oil, yes?”

Martin nodded. “That's us.”

“You are waiting for the Minister for Energy, Minister Hamed?”

“We are.”

“I am his new secretary, Kalim Soubouda.” A small man in a large suit walked in and stood next to Kalim. “And you know Mr Mohamed Aziz, yes?”

“Mr Martin, Mr Jack. How are you?” asked Mohamed, the Minister's right hand. Martin and Jack took turns shaking hands with him, and introduced Lara.

Mohamed smiled briefly, then took on what he probably thought an appropriate expression of dismay to deliver the news. “The Minister is not well today. We have to cancel the meeting.”

“We're terribly sorry,” Jack said. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

“No, but he cannot be here. He must rest.”

“Has he sent word of when we can reschedule?”

“I am afraid we must see how his health goes. God willing, it will be soon.”

Mohamed left and Martin packed up his computer. Yawning, Jack stretched his long arms and stood up to leave.

Lara couldn't help feeling annoyed. “So what now?”

“Lunch. Maybe we should use the afternoon for a bit of sight-seeing too, the fish markets, maybe even the blacksmiths' area. Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing the camel market. I haven't been there yet.”

Lara perked up. It sounded like fun, an adventure. “As long as I don't have to ride one,” she laughed.

The heat hit them again, the minute they left the hotel to go back to the car. Lara gasped, putting her hand—still cool from the air-conditioned meeting room—to her cheeks.

Jack glanced at her. “You look hot. Really hot.”

He was obviously enjoying the double-entendre. Oh, he was annoying with his teasing! She pursed her lips, but he grinned at her, a smile that lit up his face, creasing his nose in the most endearing way, and she had to smile back.

“Forty six degrees today,” he added, suddenly feigning innocence as Martin glanced at him, and it made Lara want to laugh even more.

Their driver, who'd been sitting in the shade of a nearby tree, got up, and with as much of a sense of urgency a person could muster in the sweltering weather, dragged himself over to open the doors for them.

“Italian food OK?” asked Martin, hardly waiting for agreement before directing the driver to the Piazza Roma restaurant.

The driver started the car, and slowly drove down the main street, before turning left onto a smaller road lined with restaurants. Lara noticed a shiny black Mercedes parked in front of one of them, and a group of men in suits climbing out of it.

Jack leaned over Lara, to peer through the window on her side and came so close to her that she held her breath, for fear of touching him. Her heart thumped in her chest despite her best efforts to ignore the radiating warmth of his skin, the fresh scent of his hair. “Look!” he exclaimed, turning to Lara and gazing into her eyes, so much so she felt she was drowning and had to look down. “That's the Minister for Energy. He seems perky, too.”

“So it is,” Martin said, staring out with a frown, “so it is.”

“What's the Minister's game?” Lara jumped out of the car and headed to the Italian restaurant.

Jack shrugged. “The only thing I know for sure is something's going on.”

“Shame we can't just ask him.” Even to a newcomer like Lara, it was obvious that would break protocol.

Jack nodded. “Real shame. But it's all about saving face here. If we back him into a corner we're unlikely to get any cooperation from him in the future.”

They would have to wait until the Minister came to them, no matter how long it took. What else could they do? Lara sighed. She wished she didn't have to play along. She was used to a world where meetings started on time and negotiations were, except in very rare cases, carried out in good faith.

Martin held the door to the restaurant open for Lara and she stepped in, relieved to be once again out of the sweltering heat. As her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, she took in the plastic tablecloths, the vinyl chairs and the general gloominess of the premises.

Jack smiled. “One of the better places to eat out.” Their eyes met and she felt his gaze linger a little too long on her lips. She looked away, but couldn't avoid the fluttering in her stomach. Jack was handsome. Too handsome.

The only other people in the restaurant, two men in blue shirts sitting in a corner, waved at them. “Our engineers,” Martin said by way of explanation.

A man in a bright dwana was sprawled out over two chairs in a corner of the restaurant. He jumped up when he saw his new patrons and escorted them to a table. He pulled out the chairs for them and, as they sat, handed them a menu, beaming.

Lara, ravenous, studied it immediately. She longed for something refreshing, a salad and cold meat, but anything uncooked was out of the question. It was more likely to harbour bacteria and the dreaded amoebae from the water used to wash the food.

The menu listed ten different kinds of pizza, from Supreme to Pepperoni. It seemed safe enough. Nothing would survive the wood-fired oven treatment. She picked the Marinara thinking the seafood would be fresh. The coast wasn't that far away, and there were no polluting industries here.

Martin turned up his nose. “I wouldn't have that if I were you.”

“Why not? She asked, exasperated. Lara was starting to wonder if everything was a health risk, in Negala. No salads, no fruit, no drinking water from the tap, no washing your face in case the water got into your mouth or up your nose, and now they were telling her she was restricted to only a few pizze on the menu.

She felt like shouting “enough”, wanted to throw her serviette across the table and run out the door, but she was a professional. She took a deep breath and smiled, and although anyone who knew her well would have been able to tell it hadn't come naturally, she hoped Martin and Jack hadn't noticed.

“None of our people have ever been sick with the Capricciosa or the Napolitana, but the others. . .” Martin shrugged. “I wouldn't go there.” His tone was nearly apologetic. It sounded strange for him. He had certainly softened since she'd impressed him with her strategy document. And perhaps he could relate to how she was feeling right now. After all, he must have experienced it too.

It wasn't about the menu being limited. It was the insidious sense of danger that was omnipresent. You could never relax for long without being reminded that infinite forms of disaster were lurking behind every corner.

“I'm sorry,” Lara said, “I probably came across a little snappy. I didn't mean to. It must be the lack of sleep.”

Martin shook his head. “It's fine. You're not half as snappy as I've been.”

Jack's lips curled up. He opened his mouth, probably intending to make a snide remark, something like he thought he'd never see the day, but Lara glanced at him and he simply drew a breath.

If it hadn't been for the slight twitching of Martin's left eyelid, Lara would have thought he hadn't noticed. He looked away, trying his hardest to control himself. She wondered, as she gazed at his serious face, his tight jaw, what had gone on between these two men to create such animosity. They'd been up against each other on more than one occasion for promotions, but somehow that didn't seem enough.

The waiter strolled over, a quick smile briefly lighting up his otherwise dull face. He took their order. “Can I tempt you?” asked Jack.

“Sorry?” Lara felt the flush in her cheeks. What was happening to her? She wasn't easy to impress, and certainly hadn't been troubled by a man since. . .since she'd married Tim. A decade ago. But there was something about Jack, the way his deep voice moved her, the way his gaze connected with her. It was as if they knew everything about each other. She wished she didn't feel that way with Jack, wished it were more like that with Tim.

He picked up a bottle of wine and tilted it, ready to serve.

Lara covered her glass with her hand. “No, I'd definitely nod off.” Her stomach rumbled. “Sorry, I'm starving. I think it's the time difference. I couldn't eat much for breakfast.”

The meals were served quickly and Lara took a hearty bite out of what looked like a perfectly baked authentic Italian pizza. The flavours were delicious, with the right balance of rosemary and thyme, the dough neither too heavy, nor too light. If it hadn't been for the grittiness, it would have been a delight.

“I think there's sand in mine.” Lara rubbed her forehead. “I don't know if I can bear to wait for another one.”

Martin shrugged. “No point sending it back to the kitchen. There's sand in everything here, all the time. And I don't mean just this restaurant.”

Lara sighed. “I should have known.” She took another bite, and quickly followed it with a gulp of bottled water, trying to wash down the undesirable grains as quickly as possible. She looked through the window. The harshness of the landscape reflected life here. “Is the whole of Negala like this? So barren?”

Jack shook his head. “You should see the west. It's lush and the wildlife's amazing. I'll take you there one day.” His green eyes, full of enthusiasm, sought hers again. She turned away, before he could make her heart beat faster.

Jack traced the outline of the tablecloth's floral pattern with his index finger. “Used to be like that here. Now this side of Negala is on the receiving end of the desert. It's advancing. The experts reckon it will have gobbled up most of the country by the end of the century. The wind constantly blows in the sand.”

It was hard to imagine climate change to that extent, a creeping desert that threatened an entire nation. “I suppose that makes it even more important for them to find oil,” Lara said, realising it was probably the population's only chance for a better life.

They finished their lunch in relative silence, still heavily sedated by jet-lag. It wasn't until after the coffee, a thick aromatic brew that would wake the dead, that they perked up a little.

“So what are we doing now?” asked Lara, hoping the men would surrender to their need to sleep and take her back to the house. She was toying with the idea of calling Tim, too, although it would probably be late back in Australia, with the time difference, by the time she could call him. She tried not to worry, but she hadn't heard his voice since she'd boarded the plane.

And she still had that niggling feeling that a piece of the puzzle didn't fit. She remembered the panic she'd felt when Tim's secretary had told her Tim was home, but she'd found the house empty. She'd been a fool to doubt him, even for an instant, of course she had. She kept reminding herself of that. Still, she felt uneasy. She couldn't explain it, it wasn't a rational angst because she trusted Tim. Yes, she trusted him, she'd been married to him for a decade, yet those two little words crept into her consciousness again—what if?