Alex Mitchell - The 13th Tablet

‘Liar. He wrote to me at the time. You dumped him when you decided to go off to Iraq.’

‘Alright. I did. So what?’

‘You were a great couple, you could have stayed together. You’re twenty-nine, you know! Time’s ticking. Didn’t you think you should have waited for him? I know he’d have waited for you.’

‘No. That was part of the problem. Charlie and I would never have stayed together. Do you remember Susan and her Italian boyfriend? Remember the hours she spent on the phone talking to him instead of being with him? Remember how she was never free but alone all the same? It was painful to watch. Long distance relationships? No thanks.’

Both girls went silent.

‘You seemed to get along.’

‘There was no passion, Liat. Not on my side anyway. I loved him, don’t get me wrong. But in the end, it was like having a good friend and living in the hope it would turn into something greater.’

Mina didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the talk about former lovers, but Jack’s image had entered her head and would not leave. ‘I hardly know him,’ she said softly.

‘What? Who are you talking about?’ Liat asked, her gossip antennae quivering.

‘No-one,’ replied Mina.

‘Yeah. Like I’m gonna let that one slip. C’mon, talk to Auntie Liat.’

‘OK. There is someone.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Jack.’

‘American?’

‘Yes.’

‘Kind, supportive, does the dishes after dinner… or a bad boy?’

‘You’re being silly’, laughed Mina.

‘Fine. Where did you meet?’

‘In Mosul.’

‘Journalist, diplomat or military?’

‘Are those the only American men available there?’

‘Oh, let me guess; you found yourself the only American archaeologist mad enough to work in a war zone.’

Mina smiled, ‘I don’t want to talk about him.’

‘Liar.’

‘Not as much of a liar as he is.’

‘Bad boy then,’ concluded Liat.

‘I guess so.’

‘Any regrets?’

‘Yes. We never even kissed.’

Liat was about to laugh, but saw the genuine sadness on Mina’s face. She gave her a long hug instead.

Another bottle of wine later, in the early hours of the morning a very drunk Mina stumbled into the Sheraton Tel Aviv Hotel amp; Towers.

December 8th, 2004

Mina woke up at 08.00, still exhausted. She had overslept and was suffering from a monumental hangover after her drinking session with Liat. She felt more disorganised than she had ever been and desperately wondered how she would cope at the interview under these conditions. The only course of action was a long, hot shower and by the time she had finished drying her thick black hair, putting on her make-up and choosing an appropriate ‘interview skirt’ among the clothes Liat had bought her the previous afternoon, it was 10.15.

As she sat in the restaurant to have breakfast, the waiters kept glancing at her while she poured herself some tea. She jotted down a few notes in preparation for the interview as a means of refreshing her memory. She had always made a point of never reading her notes at presentations or during teaching sessions as it helped her moderate her talk based on her audience’s reactions. She checked the interview venue in the document emailed to her by Nigel’s secretary. It read ‘11.a.m. Foundation Grant committee — The New York Hall Meeting Room.’ She asked a waiter how to get there and found that it was on the eighteenth floor.

As she arrived at the entrance of the meeting room, a young blonde woman introduced herself as one of the Foundation’s secretaries. She thanked Mina for coming, and told her not to be intimidated by the grand appearance of her surroundings. It was the only appropriate room available for interviews. She then explained that only two members of the committee would conduct the interview and that they were already inside. Mina entered the room and felt increasingly apprehensive as she approached the two men, both dressed in dark suits, pink shirts and silvery-grey ties. They were sitting at the very end of the room, at a table covered with a variety of papers and files. Mina noticed that the secretary had followed her into room and taken a seat by the door.

Mina thought the men looked slightly odd, more like businessmen than academic interviewers. Maybe it was the fact they worked for a corporate foundation. They suddenly noticed Mina and rose to greet her.

‘Miss Osman. Thank you for attending this interview. My name is John Gridlam and this,’ pointing at his shorter, fatter colleague ‘is Bill Rowley.’

‘Thank you for inviting me, I’m honoured to be here. It was quite unexpected and I only received the invitation by email a few days ago.’

They seemed surprised and concerned. ‘Do you feel up to it? Would you like more time to prepare?’

‘Not at all,’ lied Mina.

‘Let’s begin then,’ said the taller of the two men.

They ran through her former application for the internal grant at Columbia, and asked her what she intended to do and how she would carry out her research. She answered as fully as she could. They asked her about her future projects, and seemed happy with her answers. She then spoke about all the extra funding she might need. They nodded appreciatively. She was surprised at how easy-going the whole thing was. ‘I wish I’d known earlier about this foundation,’ she thought to herself. But still she felt a little uneasy; she had anticipated most of their questions but everything seemed a bit vague, and long-winded, as if they were playing for time.

Suddenly, the secretary’s mobile phone rang. As she replied, she walked towards them.

‘Mr Wheatley is in the building,’ she said.

The men stood up immediately, straightened their jackets and tightened their ties. Mina wondered what this was all about and turned to the secretary questioningly.

‘Mr Wheatley is the founder of our academic organisation, the Foundation for Excellence. He’s in Tel Aviv on business,’ the woman explained, ‘and he likes to pop in from time to time during interviews to meet candidates.’

Mina was startled. The secretary saw her face and added, ‘Don’t worry. I think,’ turning to the two men, who nodded at her, ‘that everything has gone very well. Mr Wheatley is a very kind and cultured man, who takes an interest in all aspects of his business.’

She then walked back across the room and took her place by the door. Mina felt her hands begin to shake as she stood up beside the two men.

Oberon Wheatley arrived a few minutes later. As soon as he entered the room, his electrifying energy seemed to cast a spell on all those present. He was taller than both men, who had rushed up the room to meet him, followed more discreetly by Mina. He was wearing a tailored winter suit, evidently from Saville Row, and smiled as he greeted Mina, showing off his gleaming white teeth and strong jaw.

‘What a pleasure to meet one of Columbia’s most promising students.’

‘Thank you sir,’ said Mina.

‘I have read your resum., and was mightily impressed. Do you know that with your languages and intelligence, you could easily get a very well-paid job in the business world?’

Mina smiled.

Turning to the men and the young woman, he asked, ‘How did it go?’

The men were about to answer, but the secretary was faster.

‘We are happy to say that Miss Osman has made a very satisfactory impression on the committee, and confirmed our original thoughts on the matter. We just need your signature to approve the grant and release the funds immediately.’

She showed him the papers.

‘Excellent,’ said Wheatley, signing the papers. ‘Right. That’s sorted,’ he concluded as he glanced at Mina. ‘Are you free for lunch?’ he asked, straightening up.