Page 22 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)

Johan

The flickering candlelight casts a warm, intimate glow over the elegant table setting.

I glance around the private dining room of this upscale London restaurant, the air rich with the mingling aromas of gourmet dishes and fine wine.

The room is hushed, the only sounds being the soft clinking of cutlery and the low murmur of conversations from distant tables.

Ludovic sits to my right, his posture effortlessly relaxed yet commanding, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he engages in casual conversation with Saeed, the Ambassador of Oman.

Saeed, a distinguished man in his sixties, sits across from me.

His neatly trimmed beard complements his sharp, discerning eyes, which seem to assess every word spoken with quiet intensity.

His presence radiates a calm authority, and though his demeanor is courteous, there’s an undeniable weight behind his gaze.

As the waiter approaches, carefully pouring a delicate stream of ruby-red wine into our glasses, I pause to savor the rich aroma that rises—a blend of dark berries, oak, and earthiness that fills my senses.

I take a slow sip, feeling the warmth of the wine spread through me, steadying my nerves and bolstering my resolve for the conversation that lies ahead.

Ludovic leads the initial discussion with practiced ease, weaving a narrative of mutual respect and historical collaboration. “Indeed,” he replies, his voice smooth and confident, “our countries have a long-standing relationship built on shared interests and a deep respect for cultural heritage.”

The ambassador nods, a flicker of interest briefly lighting his eyes. “True. The preservation of our historical sites is paramount, which is why no permits have been issued for Ubar since your last visit.”

Seizing the moment, Ludovic leans forward slightly, his voice steady but carrying a sincere tone.

“Your Excellency, I fully understand the reasoning behind halting any further excavation in Ubar. The protection of such a vital site is crucial. However, our recent findings suggest that beneath those sands lie untold stories—secrets that could profoundly expand our knowledge of ancient civilizations.”

The ambassador’s expression remains guarded, but his eyes narrow with thought.

“I appreciate your dedication,” he replies, his voice even and deliberate.

“But the stability and preservation of these heritage sites must take precedence. We cannot afford to risk further damage to what little remains.”

“I completely agree,” Ludovic replies, his tone fervent.

“That's why we're proposing a meticulous and respectful approach, utilizing the latest technology to ensure minimal disruption. Our goal is not merely to unearth artifacts but to enrich the historical narrative of Oman and share its rich history with the world. Cambridge is fully committed to supporting this initiative and launching an exhibition about Ubar upon our return.”

The ambassador strokes his beard thoughtfully, the candlelight casting shadows across his contemplative face.

Ludovic seizes the moment to elaborate, emphasizing the potential for academic and cultural collaboration.

“We envision this as a partnership, Your Excellency, one that honors and respects your heritage while advancing our collective knowledge.”

As the main course arrives—a beautifully plated dish of seared lamb accompanied by a medley of roasted vegetables—the conversation shifts, allowing the ambassador a moment to savor the rich flavors.

I take a bite, the tender meat melting on my tongue, the sauce lingering on my palate.

A sense of calm begins to settle over me.

“And, if I understand correctly, this expedition is being led by the Department of Archaeology at Cambridge?” Saeed asks, his sharp gaze now fixed on me.

“Correct,” I reply, meeting his eyes. “I’ll be the lead archaeologist, and our team will consist of highly skilled experts—field technicians, conservators, site supervisors…”

“We’ll provide the site supervisors,” Saeed interjects firmly, cutting me off. He pauses, as if weighing his next words carefully. “We’ll have one of our teams to monitor the excavation. If that condition is met, I believe we can find common ground.”

“We’re open to a mutually beneficial partnership,” Ludovic adds smoothly, his voice calm and reassuring.

Saeed takes a contemplative sip of water before continuing. “Should I approach the Ministry of Heritage and Tourism to initiate the process for new permits, it will take at least a month to secure them.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Ludovic replies without missing a beat. “We’re planning to start in January. Setting up base camp alone will take at least two weeks.”

Saeed smiles, a gesture that feels unexpectedly warm. “We can handle the preparations for you. Our workers will have the site ready before your arrival.”

By the time dessert is served—an exquisite chocolate soufflé paired with a delicate scoop of vanilla bean ice cream—I notice a subtle shift in the ambassador’s demeanor. The sternness in his expression has softened, replaced by a glimmer of genuine interest and perhaps even a hint of anticipation.

“Your passion for this project is clear,” he says finally, his tone more reflective now. “I will discuss this further with my colleagues. Perhaps the time has come to reconsider our policies regarding Ubar.”

Relief washes over me, and I nod appreciatively. “Thank you, Your Excellency. We are fully committed to honoring and preserving Oman’s heritage.”

As we finish our meal and the ambassador departs with a polite nod, a deep sense of accomplishment settles over me. Ludovic pats me on the back, his eyes gleaming with approval. “Well done, Johan,” he says, his voice rich with pride.

Just as I'm beginning to savor the success of the evening, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I hesitate for a second, then pull it out and glance at the screen. It’s a message from Astrid: “Are we still meeting tomorrow? We need to talk.”

The words hit me like a stone, and the sense of satisfaction I’d felt moments earlier starts to unravel.

A familiar dread seeps in, wrapping itself around my chest—another conversation looming, one that I’m already sure will be tense.

What will it be this time? Will it be another interrogation about my whereabouts?

About Hannah? I slide the phone back into my pocket, forcing myself to keep my composure, even though the peace of the evening has already begun slipping through my fingers.

“Well, let’s hit a bar and celebrate,” Ludovic says with a grin, patting me on the back as he rises from his seat.

We step outside, the crisp night air immediately cooling my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth inside the restaurant.

My shoulders loosen as we walk, the quiet streets and distant hum of the city providing a momentary escape.

But my mind refuses to settle. Instead, it spins with thoughts of Astrid—her constant questions, her need to control every aspect of my life.

It’s suffocating. The text from earlier sits heavy in my pocket, a reminder that she’s always there, always watching, waiting for the next opportunity to dig in and tighten her grip.

Maybe now it’s my chance to speak to her father about it.

The bar we enter is dimly lit, a haven of soft light and rich textures. Plush seats are scattered around the space, creating an intimate, cozy atmosphere. It feels like the perfect contrast to the formal dinner we just left behind—almost like a quiet reprieve before the storm.

Ludovic orders us both a drink, something strong and smooth, and I nod my thanks as we settle into a quiet corner.

The hum of soft jazz mingles with the clink of glasses and low murmurs, creating a soothing backdrop that should ease my nerves—but it doesn’t.

I feel a tightness in my chest, the weight of what I need to tell him pressing down harder with each passing second.

I watch Ludovic for a moment, his posture relaxed but somehow still commanding.

He’s always been like that—so sure of himself, so certain of his place in the world.

I envy that sometimes. I glance down at my drink, swirling the amber liquid in the glass before finally taking a sip.

The cool burn calms me, if only slightly.

“Ludovic,” I begin, my voice low and hesitant. I can feel the weight of the words in my throat like they’re fighting to stay inside, but I know I can’t hold them back any longer. I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “There's something I need to talk to you about.”

Ludovic raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening. His expression is open—attentive, even curious—but there’s that ever-present glint of calculation in his eyes. I wonder, fleetingly, if he’s already piecing together what I'm about to say. “Go on,” he encourages, his tone neutral but inviting.

I hesitate, letting the silence stretch for a moment as I gather my thoughts.

The room suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker.

I take another sip of my drink, hoping it will calm the nervous flutter in my chest. The cool liquid slides down my throat, and I feel a little steadier, but the anxiety still gnaws at me.

“I agreed to join this expedition because I'm passionate about ancient civilizations,” I say slowly, carefully choosing my words. “But… there’s also another reason.”

I pause, and for a moment, I consider not saying it—letting the silence cover it up, pretending everything’s fine. But I can't. I owe it to myself, to be honest.

“Astrid… she's always on my back, questioning my every move,” I admit, my voice quieter now, more uncertain. I can’t help but glance away, ashamed of how small I feel confessing this. “If I'm going to dedicate myself to this research, I need some space. I need room to breathe.”

I let the words hang in the air for a moment before daring to look back at him. Ludovic's expression hasn't changed much—still calm, still unreadable—but there's a flicker of something in his eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or calculation. I can never be sure with him.

“I need your help to make sure she understands that,” I add, feeling the vulnerability of the request. Asking for help never comes easily to me, but this—this feels necessary.

Ludovic leans back slightly, considering my words.

His eyes flicker with something, but he doesn’t speak right away.

Instead, he takes a sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving mine.

“I understand, Johan. Astrid can be... persistent.

You'll have the space you need both before and during the expedition. Don’t worry, I'll speak to her.”

I exhale, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

He raises his glass, and we toast to the success of our endeavor.

As the evening winds down, I feel a renewed sense of purpose and a growing anticipation for the journey ahead.

The lingering taste of wine on my lips and the promise of new discoveries fill me with a quiet excitement.

Tonight, we've taken a significant step forward, and I can't wait to see where this path will lead us.