“And what sort of employ would that be?” Aida asked. It came out more defensive than she intended, but she didn’t like the idea that these people might know of her money situation. No one, save Erin, Yumi, and Graham, knew of her financial concerns.
Fran leaned forward slightly, her voice warm and inviting.“We need someone to craft a narrative around specific periods and items in Italian history.”
“What do you mean? For what purpose?” Aida pressed, her curiosity piqued yet mixed with a growing unease.
“Because Lady Ozie requests it,” Disa said. She did not expound upon her statement, letting the name hang in the air, as if that explained everything.
Fran shot Disa a withering look before turning back to Aida with her dazzling smile. “I’ll elaborate on the position, then we can address any questions you may have.”
Nodding, Aida began seriously contemplating grabbing Yumi and making a quick exit. Even if this was just for research, something felt off about all of it.
“This position is based in Rome. Your travel, relocation, and accommodations have already been secured for you.”
Aida opened up her mouth to protest. She hadn’t agreed to this job. But Fran didn’t pause. “You’ll work from a palazzo in the center of Rome, which will serve as your home base. Everything is taken care of: meals, laundry, housekeeping, and so on.” Fran waved an elegant hand as if brushing away any concerns Aida might have. “You’ll have transportation at your disposal for professional and personal use. Exceptional guides will assist you at every location where you work.”
Aida couldn’t believe her ears. All expenses paid living in Rome? This was surely too good to be true. Yes, definitely too good to be true. For a fleeting moment, she thought Yumi must be playing an elaborate joke on her, but she discarded the idea; her friend would never be so cruel as to tease her about her financial situation.
Fran continued. “We believe you would find the work as a scholar for MODA very fulfilling. You’ll be expected to thoroughly catalog certain locations, events, and objects throughout the Italian peninsula. This research will be submitted partially through the MODA database and partially in person, every three to four months.”
“MODA?” Aida echoed, trying to grasp the full scope.
“Lady Ozie’s organization,” Disa interjected sharply, her tone carrying a chill that seemed at odds with Fran’s warm presentation.
Aida hesitated, caught by Disa’s attitude. She gave a nod toward Disa’s outfit. “Modameans fashion... Is there a connection?”
“No,” Disa clipped out, her brisk dismissal adding an icy layer to the conversation.
Aida was unsettled—not just by the presumptuousness of the arrangements but also by Disa’s response. It was clear that working together could be less than harmonious.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” Aida finally said. “If this is just a research job, why do you need to know everything about my personal life, my family and friends? That seems... excessive for a historian role.”
Fran’s smile remained serene, almost maternal. “It’s a fair question, Aida. Our projects often require a deep understanding of our team members, not just their professional skills but also their personal motivations and values. This helps us create a cohesive and trusting environment. We want to ensure that those we bring on board are not only experts in their field but also a good fit for the unique demands of our work. And I assure you, any personal information we gather is handled with the utmost discretion.”
Something about Fran’s response still felt off, too rehearsed. “And this job... it’s all aboveboard, right? I wouldn’t be doing anything illegal?” Aida asked.
Disa laughed, a rich peal of noise that rang through the vaulted room. “Only if you want to.”
“Don’t mind her,” Fran said, waving a dismissive hand in her colleague’s direction. “Nothing illegal, I assure you. It’s just that our work sometimes involves accessing private collections or restricted locations, and we must be discreet. Hence the thorough vetting process.”
Aida exhaled, still grappling with the nebulous outline of the job. “Could you describe what a typical day or week might look like?”
Fran shook her head. “There’s notypicalin this line of work, but I can give you a sense of the projects.” She began to outline one such project that Felix had mentioned Aida’s predecessor had focused on: documenting the private apartment of Isabelle Colonna in Rome’s illustrious Palazzo Colonna. The historian’s assignment had been exhaustive, involving the cataloging of the art, objects, furnishings, and alterations made over the years. There was also a great deal of modern information relating to the room, such as an estimate of how many visitors had seen the room over the years it had been open to the public, what restorations had been made, and the number of tours that had been given. A videographer and photographer accompanied the historian on occasion. There were also several interviews with individuals who viewed the rooms, asking them about their impressions of the beautiful space. “Projects can last from a few weeks to a few months, but once you complete the three-month trial period and become a full employee, you’ll give quarterly reports in Lady Ozie’s offices in London.”
During Fran’s extended exposition, Disa had grown visibly bored. She got up to look out the window at the cold bay beyond, returning to her seat just as Fran concluded her explanation.
Aida pondered the idiosyncratic nature of it all. “Is there a common thread among these projects? Some guiding principle?”
Disa chuckled and began to say something, but Fran cut her off. “Not really. Lady Ozie is just particularly curious about some of the more obscure, unusual, and beautiful places, items, and events in Italy. Her objective is to compile a comprehensive historical database on these, albeit an unconventional one.”
“What happened to the previous historian?” If the job was as great as they said it was, Aida couldn’t understand why someone would voluntarily leave such a role.
Fran shook her head and pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, Mr. Khumalo died of a heart attack. He had worked for MODA for the last four years, and we were sad to lose him.”
Disa tsked. “Smoking will do that to you.” She lifted two fingers to her lips and mimicked the movement of a cigarette.
“Now, Disa, be kind to the dead.”
Her colleague rolled her eyes. “I’m going to check on Miss Tanaka.” She stood and headed toward the doors on the opposite side of the vast suite.
