Strangers by Carla Banks Page B

come to my office? Say…around two?’
    After the call, Damien sat for a moment, his eyes unfocused as he thought. Nazarian hadn’t even tried to feign ignorance. He’d recognized the name Patel as soon as Damien had spoken. Which was bad. The edginess that Damien had been feeling for the past few weeks intensified. There was something going on, and this something was associated with the long-dead Haroun Patel.
    And now Amy had got herself involved.

12
    Roisin had arranged to meet her students in a series of small seminars. She knew that Saudi teachers tended to prefer formal lectures in which discussion was kept to a minimum, but she couldn’t teach unless her students felt able to talk to her and use the English they were trying to learn.
    As she followed Yasmin into the classroom, she was aware of a faint whisper around the waiting group of young women. The teaching assistant greeted them in Arabic, then switched to English. ‘This is Roisin Gardner who is your teacher for this semester.’
    ‘Good morning,’ Roisin greeted them, and received a collective murmur of
Good mornings
in return. The room was light and airy with tiled walls and floor. There were no desks or chairs. The students, a group of eight, sat cross-legged, or knelt with their legs tucked neatly underneath them on a crimson rug that covered most of the floor. Their hands rested in their laps.
    She was struck first of all by their similarity–they all wore the hijab, and they were mostly dressed in sombre or neutral colours–browns, greys and blacks predominated. They were sitting with their heads bowed, studying their clasped hands. Roisin thought about the glittering brilliance of the souk and the opulence of the university where these women walked in their drab attire and wondered why they chose to drain the colour out of their lives–if it was a choice. She followed Yasmin’s example and sat cross-legged on the carpet, relieved that years of yoga made her limber enough to do this without too much effort. The students were looking at her expectantly and she felt the slight adrenaline surge that always prefaced her first encounter with a new group.
    They weren’t beginners. They were studying for an advanced qualification in English, which made her task easier. She thought about the number of times she had found herself in front of groups like this when they had no common language in which to communicate.
    She gathered her thoughts, then started speaking. ‘Today, I’d like to introduce myself, and get to know you.’ She could see one or two of the students glance quickly at her and then down again. ‘My name’s Roisin,’ she said. ‘I arrived in Riyadh two weeks ago. Before that, I worked in London. I’ve taught English in Europe and in South America, in Mexico. Now I’d like each of you to tell me about yourself.’ She smiledat the girl sitting closest to her. ‘Would you like to start?’
    The girl glanced sideways at her companions, then said, ‘My name is Mujada.’ She giggled and glanced quickly at Roisin, who nodded her encouragement. ‘I am student,’ Mujada said. ‘I study to be…teacher.’ She ducked her head and Roisin smiled reassurance at her and moved on to the next student.
    This girl was less shy. Instead of looking away with nervous giggles, she smiled when she met Roisin’s gaze. She was a pretty girl with a round face and big eyes. Despite the uniform appearance, Roisin could already see the differences between them. The quiet girl, Mujada, was thinner, with black, wavy hair that escaped from her scarf. This girl’s hijab was neatly draped, covering her head and framing her face. ‘Hello, Roisin,’ she said. ‘My name is Fozia. I study design and I want to start my own business.’
    The third student had been watching Roisin as these exchanges went round the group. ‘I am Najia,’ she said. Her scarf was lighter and pushed back from her hair, which was heavy and dark. Her full mouth curved into a