Strangers by Carla Banks Page A

returned the greeting politely, wonderingwhat he had interrupted as he took the seat that Majid urged him to. Over the years, Damien had become accustomed to the Arab style of sitting, usually cross-legged on floor cushions. It had felt awkward and uncomfortable at first, but now it felt natural.
    He accepted a cup of coffee, light and spiced with cardamom, that the houseboy offered him, and made his enquiries about the family and their well-being. The houseboy stood vigilant, waiting to refill the cups. The conversation was desultory and wandered around the unusual nature of the recent heat and the pious hope that God would soon relieve the drought.
    Damien realized quickly that there was something wrong, even though Majid’s pleasure at seeing him had been sincere. But Nazarian’s sudden silence on his entry, the oblique references to the inclemency of the weather, which was much the same as usual, the calling down of God’s blessing that they might soon have rain, which was, in fact, unlikely, carried meaning beyond the mere facts that were being expressed. People who wanted to understand Arabic had to have an ear for metaphor, but Damien couldn’t pick up the underlying message. He decided he wouldn’t prolong the visit, but leave as soon as politeness permitted.
    Nazarian said abruptly, ‘We will discuss this later.’ He stood up and held out his hand to Damien. ‘O’Neill,’ he said. ‘Good to see you. Thereare things I need to talk to you about.’ He spoke in English, though all the previous exchanges had been in Arabic.
    ‘Call my office,’ Damien said. He had no interest in a meeting with Nazarian if he could avoid it.
    Nazarian gave him a long look, then made his farewells to the brothers. Damien waited until he had gone before he said, ‘Your father-in-law is looking well.’ He was curious about the conversation his arrival had clearly interrupted.
    Majid’s face darkened. ‘He is concerned about his daughter.’
    Damien never asked about the women in the family in the presence of the traditional Faisal, and with Majid, he always waited until the other man introduced the topic.
    ‘Your wife is well?’
    Majid looked frustrated. ‘She wants a holiday, before the baby is born. She wants to go to Europe, but I have decided that we will stay in the Kingdom for now.’
    So Nazarian probably represented the big guns to bring Yasmin into line. Majid wouldn’t want to discuss his own inability to persuade his wife to do what he wanted, so Damien changed the subject. ‘I met the new man today. Joe Massey. He’s come to work at the hospital.’ Majid was always interested in the ex-pats that came into the country.
    Majid frowned. ‘Joe Massey? A doctor? I have met him before.’
    ‘He’s a pathologist. He was here a few months ago. What’s he like?’
    ‘I did not know him at all.’ Majid’s voice was dismissive. ‘He was employed at the hospital when there was a drugs theft. Now, my friend, what do you think about the election?’
    The topic of Joe Massey was firmly cut off for one that Majid’s brothers could contribute to. Damien made a mental note to ask Majid about Massey at a better time, and settled back to listen to a discussion he’d heard many times since the elections–the first ever to be held in the Kingdom–were announced. The powerful religious lobby was exercising its influence on the polls and there was tension between traditionalists and reformers. Dissent had surged through the Kingdom, casting its ripples and eddies in odd and disturbing places.
    Damien murmured something anodyne and left the brothers to debate the issue while his own thoughts drifted to Amy. If he had picked up the phone, he could be with her now.
    Her mouth had tasted of honey in the shaded room, and his tongue could still recapture the faint salt taste from her upper lip where the sweat had beaded. Her hair had been soft and springy under his fingers. She had had a fragrance like the sea. ‘You