Page 3 of The Secret
After my class ends, students start to funnel out, the chatter of voices replacing the laughter at the final few photographs of me covered in mud. In my peripheral vision, John Arnold, the head of African Studies, slides in the door and my heart sinks. I hope he’s not here because of Stéphane or, heaven forbid, a complaint. He stands to one side while I speak to a couple of students, who are charming and eager, but it’s all I can do to tamp down my nerves.
“John. How are things?”
“Good, Liss. I’m glad I’ve tracked you down. How are the lectures going?”
“Fine, I think. You haven’t had a complaint, have you?”Shut up, Liss.
He laughs. “Never for your classes, you’ll be pleased to hear. Students love all your real-world experience.”
The tenseness at the back of my neck eases. “I’m sorry about all the …” I gesture toward the door. I have to say something about the situation with Stéphane. John won’t be handling it, but no doubt they’ve made him aware.
He waves a hand, cutting me off. “I’m not worried about it, Liss. As far as I’m concerned, it’s none of my business, or the university’s, but they have their process to go through.” He makes a face.
“I didn’t know he was married!” His sympathetic expression forces the words out before I can stop them. I’ve only ever had one personal conversation with John before. My face flushes hot.
He grimaces. “From what I’ve heard this isn’t the first time this has happened with Stéphane.”
My eyes are like saucers as shock rolls through me.Seriously? And the university knows that?And …thatexplains HR pressing on the gas pedal. This is not about me at all, it’s about Stéphane. “The two-faced asshole,” I mutter.I need to stop talking.
John coughs. “Exactly,” he says, shifting from one foot to the other. “Actually, I wanted to chat with you because an opportunity has come up that I thought you might be interested in. Some funding has come to the university to do research and development with refugees on the border between the Democratic Republic of the Congo and Rwanda, in particular, in Kiwanja.”
I stare at him.
Oh my God.Kiwanja.
He tilts his head at me.
How many years is it since I heard that name? A thrill shoots down my spine, and it really shouldn’t.He’s not there now, Liss. You know this.
“… I knew you’d been to the DRC before, of course, a while ago …”
I swallow, like the timeline isn’t etched on my brain. “Three years.”
John frowns at me. “You’ve been volunteering for three years? That’s very commendable.”
Commendable? More like foolish.I promised myself I’d never go back there. I put it all behind me.
“We need someone who can travel all over,” John says, oblivious to my discomfort. “The funder wants to assess the damage done to local communities now the rebels have withdrawn. It’s not the safest place in the world, and I would totally understand if that was a problem.” He swallows. “But since you’d been there before, I made the mistake of telling them about you, and now they’re desperate to have you. They’ve included quite a decent budget, actually.”
My ears prick up. “They’ve offered the university money?”
“Salaries.”
“They’dpayme? It’s not voluntary?”
John laughs, no doubt at the thrill in my voice, as he shakes his head. “Not at all. The plan is to send several researchers out to examine the infrastructure, security, and land mines, among other things. They want you to look at population, social issues, health, and schools. Talk to the local people. You’re good at all that. It’d be up to you to define the brief. They have no idea how bad the situation is on the ground, and they want to understand where longer-term investment should go, the numbers of people that are still displaced, and encourage them back to their homes. The constant movement of people across the border has created chaos, but I think you’d love all that. You’d need to visit a few of the refugee camps and go back and forth over the border, too. There’s a healthy budget for getting the resources needed and employing local people.”
It’s like a bright shiny present with a big bow has been dropped into my lap. Andresearch.Dan was a researcher once, traveling around and talking to local communities. But if he had got a job like that, I would’ve been able to find some trace of him, and I found none. It was like his life stopped three years ago. A strange sickening feeling washes through me.What happened to him?I can’t reconcile the deadening silence with how he was when he came to Manhattan.Ugh, Liss. Put a sock in it.John is smiling at me. I might get paid to be out in Africa, escape an East Coast winter, anddecentpay too. I only just stop myself from clapping my hands.Practicalities, practicalities.
“But the semester has just started. I’d be leaving you high and dry.”
John’s smile just widens. “You’ve put a lot of hard work into making things happen out there, and it seemed like such an exciting opportunity for you, I couldn’t resist letting you know, despite the fact I’m self-sabotaging by being down a lecturer.”
Honestly, he’s a really nice guy.
“What’s the salary?” I wince at him in apology. This might be a deal breaker. I’m carrying debt from my last stint abroad, which I’ve never done before, so it’s proving to be more of a struggle back here in New York than I’d anticipated.I’m not giving my father more ammunition concerning my career.Career, hah! But I guess this might be the opportunity to change that.
John names a sum that’s almost double what I’m getting paid by the university, and my jaw drops. He laughs at my expression.
