Dark Oil by Nora James

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.
    â€œMr 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.
    â€œTables, 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.
    â€œThank 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?
    â€œMrs Lara, I am happy to see you. Welcome to Negala.” The Minister’s wife sat, gesturing to the bench. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
    â€œThank 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