“Surely you have experts in ancient scrolls back home. What brings you all the way here?”
“We came over for a series of meetings, at the Metropolitan in New York and at Harvard. Annabelle, my assistant”—Ya’ara flashed a pleasant smile—“suggested that we also pay a visit to the library at your university, believing that it would be worthwhile trying to meet with staff members from the Institute for Archaeology and the Ancient World. Our universities in Israel have limited funds, and the leading universities in the United States have actually been the ones investing in recent years in the acquisition of manuscripts, scrolls, archives, anything related to the ancient and contemporary culture of Israel, and the land of Israel. We were hoping to interest Professor Hart in an item that may turn out to be one of the most significant findings of recent decades.”
“I’m sure he’d be happy to meet with you… but he had to go away unexpectedly. I’m sorry,” Frances Hart said. Ya’ara caught sight of the shadow of worry in their hostess’s eyes. And the slight trembling of her hands. And her furtive glance at the wine bottles on the floor.
“Annabelle, can you please give Mrs. Hart one of my business cards?”
Ya’ara reached out to hand her the card, and after some hesitation Frances Hart placed it in the corner of the table. Whether she was going to make use of it or simply throw it away after her guests departed was impossible to tell, but Ya’ara’s money was on option one.
“May I use the bathroom, please?” Ya’ara asked.
“Certainly. Just around that corner, second door on the left.”
Ya’ara set off in the direction Frances had indicated, then passed by the bathroom to get a quick look further into the residence. Her memory took note of the layout of the house, of the various items on display, of the pictures and bookcases that popped into view from unexpected angles. She then returned to the bathroom, and after stepping back into the living room she said, apologetically, “Sorry, I got a little lost. But everything’s fine. I found my way eventually.”
Frances smiled at her. “Truthfully,” she said, “I’m happy you’re the ones who came. Julian left in the early hours of the morning so unexpectedly that it got me thinking strange thoughts. He looked so stressed and pale. He travels quite frequently, but this was something really out of the blue, and he wasn’t quite able to explain to me what had happened and why the urgency. Something about a colleague in Heidelberg who had taken ill suddenly. That’s what he said. But the e-mail he received, I didn’t really read it, but I caught a glimpse, over his shoulder, that’s just me sometimes”—she smiled, coyly, like a shamefaced teenager—“I saw he received an e-mail to confirm a flight to Zurich. Why fly to Heidelberg via Zurich? Wouldn’t one fly via Frankfurt? I asked him, but he just muttered something about airfares and the research budget.” Ya’ara knew now for certain that Frances had been drinking, and quite a lot, too, since her husband’s hasty departure in the early hours of the morning. A person with her wits about her wouldn’t be chatting so freely, certainly not with strangers who had almost forced their way into her home. “Anyway,” Frances continued, “when you rang at the door, I thought maybe two Mafia thugs had shown up, Sopranos-like, you know.” She smiled again, trying to capture Ya’ara’s gaze. Ya’ara reciprocated, her gray-blue eyes warm and deep. “I can just imagine what went through your mind,” she said.
“Yes,” Frances said, “that alarming ring at the door, echoing really loud through the silence all around. And who do I see? Not two killers from New Jersey but a harmless professor, forgive me”—she threw a somewhat embarrassed glance at Aharon, who was watching the scene with wide-eyed innocence—“and an attractive young woman, tastefully dressed. And suddenly it dawned on me that I was simply imagining things, that I’ve just been telling myself stories ever since Julian got the phone call.”
“I’m sure everything’s fine,” Ya’ara said. “People involved in the world of antiquities and manuscripts are always going to get strange phone calls and have to go away sometimes, even out of the blue. It’s a little like being a secret agent…”
The sound of an approaching car came from outside, followed by footsteps, heavy breathing, and a ring on the doorbell. “That’s your taxi,” Frances said. “I’m really sorry that Julian isn’t home, but I hope within a few hours to know what’s happening with him and when he’ll be back. I’ll tell him you were here. I’ll give him your phone number, sir.” She looked at Aharon.
“I’m planning on being in Providence for a few days,” Ya’ara said. “I’ll be staying at the Heralds Inn. If you hear anything, you’re welcome to let me know.” She moved toward Frances and hugged her gently. “Everything’s okay, you’ve nothing to worry about. These things happen sometimes, those demons of the night following us into the day.” She held Frances’s hands. “And thank you for the hospitality. We showed up uninvited, and you were so welcoming. I hope our scroll finds a place for itself at Julian’s institute. It deserves to be studied by a scholar of stature. You’ll see, Frances, everything will fall into place just fine.”
“Well, that didn’t go very well at all,” Aharon said to Ya’ara, who was sitting to his left in the backseat of the taxi. “I had trouble convincing myself even. An antiquities dealer, come on.”
“Look, something’s happened. She’s upset. She doesn’t know where he is, and she’s imagining all kinds of things. She must have picked up on his sense of danger or urgency. Otherwise she wouldn’t have behaved like she did. After all, it’s not the first time he’s gone away.”
“And what’s this Heralds Inn business? Do you feel like a bit of a holiday?”
“I get the sense that I should stay for a while. I’d like to meet with her again in a day or two. You need the patience of a hunter. You once told us that.”
“Yes, spying is waiting. Le Carré penned that, I believe.”
“My father likes to read him. He always spoke of him as a master spy, and it took me a while to learn that Le Carré had worked for the British secret service for just a few years and in a junior role. How does that make him an authority when it comes to matters of espionage?”
“Literary fiction can sometimes paint a truer picture of our gray reality. Look at us, an old man and a young woman in a filthy taxi in a city buried in this dreary winter. It’s better to be a writer, isn’t it?”
“It’s better to live life, that’s what I say. Anyway, I’m staying for a few days. I’ll keep you posted. Are you going back today already?”
“There’s someone I have to see in Boston. And I’ll meet with Bill again in New York; he’ll be there for a couple of days for some conference. We’ll have a drink or two together, and then tomorrow, at around midnight, home, on the El Al night flight.”
“Yes, you two really didn’t drink enough, obviously. You’re full of surprises, Aharon. A woman in Boston?”
“All men have to guard their secrets,” Aharon replied with a thoughtful look on his face. He didn’t tell her the woman was someone who had worked for him in the United States many years back, and who now lived in an institution about a thirty-minute drive from the city, her memory fading, getting thinner by the day, a chill fixed in her bones, with no one else in the world but him. The office footed the bill without fail, through a branch of an Irish bank, but he was the only one who visited her once every few months, a debt of respect on the part of a veteran combatant.