Dark Oil by Nora James Page A

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.
    â€œYou 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?”
    â€œI 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