Dark Oil (9 page)

Martin's face softened. Still, he said nothing. Hearing the car door open, Lara tried to free herself from Jack's arms. “I'm OK. Let me down. I don't want you to break your back.”

Tightening his grip, Jack shook his head. “You're as light as a feather.” He slid her effortlessly onto the back seat and shut the door.

“To the house,” ordered Martin once they were all seated.

Lara breathed a sigh of relief, thankful she was being spared the blacksmiths' quarter with who knows what other nightmares she might have discovered there.

They drove back the way they came and in silence, as if everyone needed the peace to recover. Lara watched the children in rags run from the other side of the road, frantically waving at them. She waved back, forcing a smile.

They were much friendlier than the locals who'd poked and prodded her, screaming in Negalese, at the camel markets. She'd felt so vulnerable. Jack and Martin must have had a fright, too, nearly as bad as her own. They must have found her on the ground, wondered what had happened.

“I apologise,” Lara said as they arrived at the house. “I didn't mean to scare you. It was entirely unintentional. I'll stick to you like glue in the future.” She opened the car door, ready to get out.

“Are you all right to walk?” Jack asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Absolutely.” Lara quickly stepped out of the car.

Jack smiled at her, his gaze full of compassion. He was patient, understanding. He knew what she was feeling, she could tell. He'd probably been there before, made a fool of himself, felt the cruelty of the world and been incapable of controlling his reaction to it.

Martin, on the other hand, probably hadn't. “If anything like that happens again, I shall have to report it as a safety incident,” he muttered. “In the meantime, apology accepted. I'm glad you're all right.”

Jack, turning away from Martin, raised his eyebrows. He mouthed the words “In the meantime,” and his smile widened to a Cheshire-cat grin. Lara fought hard to hold back a giggle, but it started deep in her belly and pushed its way up like a bubble rising to the top of a glass of lemonade. The look on Jack's face as she chortled changed from innocent amusement to sudden panic.

He tapped her between the shoulder blades. “You're getting a cough, too.” She took the cue, quickly pretending to splutter and although Martin turned and examined them with a questioning eye, he didn't have enough evidence to accuse them of conspiracy to mock him.

The moment passed and she once again felt the weight of the trip, the jet-lag, the unfamiliarity of the place, the gnawing fear it instilled in her. She wanted to be with someone she could hold, someone who knew everything about her, in a place where she was safe, always. She wanted to be home with Tim.

She checked her watch. It would be late in Australia, but Tim never went to bed before midnight. “Could I use the satellite phone to ring my husband now? I haven't been able to get in touch so far.”

“Of course,” Jack said. “The instructions are pinned to the board next to it.”

As she walked up the stairs to the study, she noticed the tiling changed mid-way from medium-sized brown tiles to large maroon tiles. She pointed them out to Jack, who was following her. “Funny sense of aesthetics.”

“They build with whatever materials are available.”

“I thought this house belonged to a very rich Negalese.” Martin had told her the company was leasing it from a Negalese “property tycoon”.

“Rich or not, you can only buy what's available. All these guys really want is to make it big enough to get out of here. Retire in Europe, you know.”

It certainly was a different world, but right now her thoughts were with her own. A little knot formed in her stomach as she prepared to ring Tim, a knot that could have passed for excitement, but deep down she knew it wasn't. It was apprehension.

She pushed the thought away. She and Tim were fine. Yes, just fine. Martha had always been on the strange side. It was Martha who had got things wrong. Lara and Tim were happily married. In a minute she was going to whisper sweet nothings in her husband's ear and all her doubts would fade away. That was if she managed a little privacy.

Jack's footsteps resonated behind hers on the stairs. She turned to him. “Are you going to do some work now?”

He smiled, his lip curling up more on one side than the other to reveal the disarmingly charming dimple in his left cheek she had noticed the first time they met. “Don't worry, I'm going to my bedroom. I won't listen. I'll even close the door.”

She bowed. “Thank you, you're a king.”

He shrugged. “I know. Are you going to tell him I carried you in my arms?”

“A very annoying king.”

He laughed, a hearty, jolly laugh that made Lara want to join in. “I know,” he repeated, before disappearing into his room.

She picked up the phone and followed the instructions on the cork noticeboard, entering a project number for the accounts, and then dialling home. Her heart beating faster, she waited for the moment she'd hear his voice, the pleasure in it once he realised it was her, the palpable closeness as she said she missed him.

Instead, it rang and rang until finally the answering machine came on. Perhaps he was in the shower. She double-checked her watch, re-calculated the time difference. Eleven o'clock—too late to be out on a week night, too early for Tim to be in bed.

She waited five minutes, then tried again. When the answering machine repeated its recording she left a brief message this time. “Hello, darling. I'm safe and sound. I was hoping to hear your voice. I'll try to call again soon, but the mobiles don't work and there's only one satellite phone. Love you.”

She tried his mobile. It went straight to his message bank. She hung up, not wanting to leave yet another recording and sound like a paranoid wife.

The fact she couldn't contact Tim on his mobile wasn't unusual in itself: her husband often left his phone lying about, forgetting it at home when he was at the office, and at the office when he went home. But coupled with Martha's remarks and the dull weight in the pit of Lara's stomach, it was enough to make her wring her hands.

Where could he be? Already asleep? The phone would have woken him. Perhaps he was feeling lonely without her. Had he gone to his mother's? She, too, was a bit of a night owl. Lara smiled to herself. Yes, he could be there. She would try calling.

She dialled the number and got through straight away. “Mary? It's Lara. I didn't wake you?”

“No. You know me, sweetheart, the eternal insomniac. How are you?”

“I'm fine, a bit tired. The flight was good. I tried calling Tim but he isn't home. I thought he might be visiting you.”

“No. He's not here dear.”

“Oh.” Lara paused awkwardly as she tried not to read too much into the situation. He was probably at the movies, or out with his friend Josh, she tried telling herself, but the knot in her stomach tightened.

“I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation.”

“Yes, of course. I really wanted to hear his voice. You know what it's like when you're away.”

“No, I don't. I'm not the type of woman who'd ever want to go away without my husband.”

There, take that. Her mother-in-law never beat around the bush with her, never missed an opportunity to make her feel she wasn't the perfect wife. They managed to get along for a while, but Mary always had a little sour comment tucked away for a rainy day.

And Lara usually had the right answer to stand up to her. “I know what you mean. I'm only here for work because I have to be. If we had enough money to cover the mortgage without me working, or if Tim wanted to move to a cheaper suburb and start a family, I'd be delighted.”

It was at times like these that Mary changed the subject. “So how is it over there?”

“Oh, it's so poor. I'd seen photos, but when you're faced with the real thing, it has a different impact.”

“Yes. It's hard to enjoy third world countries. All those smelly places. To think that some go there on vacation. . .”

Lara held back a sigh. Her mother-in-law was such a snob and she lost some of her humanity for it.

“And the people?” Mary continued.

“They're lovely. Really friendly.” They'd been far too friendly at the camel market, their hands all over Lara, but she didn't want Mary to tell Tim.

“That's good.”

“I'm sorry, Mary, it's not my phone so I'd better go. If you see Tim, please give him a kiss for me. I left a message on the answering machine, so he knows I arrived safely.”

Disappointment filled her heart as she put down the receiver. What if Tim hadn't been with a client the other day? What if Martha hadn't been wrong when she'd said he often worked from home? She glanced at her watch again. It was too late to call her own mother. She would be asleep by now.

Lara saw her mother's warm smile, her silky soft, silver hair—the hair she'd managed to keep all through her treatment last time. She wondered how her poor mum was feeling. Was she getting through the days without too much worry or was anxiety eating at her? She would make sure to ring Susan tomorrow.

Giving up on the phone call to Tim, Lara dragged herself back downstairs to the kitchen, in search of a beverage. Martin was making himself a cup of mint tea.

Lara held her head. “I could do with a drink.”

“Do you mean alcohol?” Martin frowned.

“I didn't, but now that you mention it. . . After the events of the day, something to relax me wouldn't do any harm. Besides, it's after work hours, isn't it?” She glanced around. There was no sign of liquor in the kitchen. “I guess there isn't any here, anyway. A cup of tea will have to do.”

Jack poked his head in. “Not in the kitchen, but we do have a secret stash.”

“Leave her alone, Jack.” Martin was verging on the provocative again. “It's hard enough for some to be professional without alcohol, never mind with.”

Boy was Martin a pain! No wonder he wasn't married. She couldn't help but interfere. “Are you referring to me?” she asked, knowing full well he was talking about Jack.

Jack crossed his arms, pressing his lips into a thin line. “He means me. It's all right. Just ignore him. Come on. We'll have a good time.”

“Yes, that's right.” Martin's tone had turned acerbic. “That's his specialty, showing women a good time. And messing up lives.”

Jack grabbed her hand and dragged her into the lounge, away from Martin. Lara was sure then there was something going on between the two men, something more than stolen promotions or just not getting along. “What's with him?” she asked.

“Don't worry about it. A bit of rivalry, that's all. He can't come to terms with it.”

“With what?” asked Lara, inquisitively. “What happened between the two of you?”

Jack crouched down and, stretching his arm as far as he could, pulled out from the far back of the cupboard a dusty bottle containing a liquid as green as his eyes.

He found two small liqueur glasses, filled them to the brim and offered one to Lara. “Tell me what you think of this,” he said, ignoring her question. She felt it wasn't her place to ask again. At least not so soon. This was a professional relationship, after all, although sitting here in the comfort of the lounge room, about to sip a relaxing drink, it felt like something more.

The drink was thick and smelled like a strange concoction of cough medicine and cleaning products. She shook her head as the fumes cleared her nostrils. “You sure this isn't disinfectant?”

He flashed his movie star smile at her. “Look, I'll prove it.” He took a gulp. Putting the glass down he frowned, then held his stomach. He brought his shirt to his mouth, retching and trembling all over, before falling onto the couch.

“God!” exclaimed Lara, kneeling beside him, feeling his head. “Is there a hospital? I'll get Martin.”

“Don't do that,” pleaded Jack, grabbing her wrist. “Please don't. Not him.” He coughed and groaned. “I don't want to see Martin until I've finished the bottle.”

Suddenly, he sat up straight. Lara held back the urge to slap him on the arm. “How could you do that to me?” He'd really got her going, so much so her heart was pounding. “Don't you have any pity? I've been through a lot today.”

“All the more reason for a drink. Still think it's disinfectant?”

She picked up the glass and took a gulp. The taste was odd, but there was definitely alcohol in it and it hadn't killed her instantly. “What is it?” she asked.

“Not sure. There's no label on it. It may even be home-made. It was in the cupboard the first time I came here. No one will admit to bringing it, so your guess is as good as mine.”

By the second glass it was starting to taste better and they didn't really care what it was. They were feeling relaxed and enjoying themselves, just the two of them. It was strange, being in such a different world, with another man, and a handsome one at that.

For an instant, Lara felt free. Not that she'd ever act on it, not that she'd ever follow through. But there it was, the impression she wasn't tied to anything, didn't have a life elsewhere, the impression she was the person she wanted to be, nothing more, nothing less. It was probably the alcohol. Still, she hadn't felt like that since she was a teenager.

And Jack was on his best behaviour, not flirting outrageously. He was just being. . . nice. The day wasn't all bad after all. Perhaps they'd even manage a meal without sand tonight.

“So you talked to your husband?”

That was it. She was instantly crushed by a tumbling wall of worries, her fleeting sense of freedom giving way to reality. She shook her head. “I couldn't get him. I even called his mother.”

Jack frowned. “His mother? Oh, that's bad.” He chuckled. “Seriously, there's probably a very good explanation for it. I'm sure he can't stand being away from you and has done something completely out of character to distract himself, like gone to the movies or to see a friend.” He looked straight at her. “Male friend.”