The Museum Interview

The Museum Interview

Poppy Carter climbed the stone staircase and entered through the swing glass doors of the recently opened museum on the outskirts of London, with a definite bounce in her step. She was hardly able to contain her joy, at landing a plush new job in this state of the art Museum of Modern Digital Photography.

It was almost a month ago now since the interview. She had almost given up hope of the post being hers, as it was twenty two days later when she received the call informing her that her name was included in the shortlist of candidates.

She was told over the phone that the volume of applicants had been phenomenal and the museum director (who was also the sole owner) required one further piece of information prior to making his decision. Her heart felt as if it was about to burst out of her chest, with both a sense of delight and infuriation.

Poppy Carter was smart, articulate, well-travelled and used to being in control. She did not take too kindly to being put in this grovelling for a job post situation.

If that flouncy, flamboyant curator Graeme had given more attention to her than to himself during her first interview, this second telephone would be undoubtedly unnecessary, she thought to herself. However, she consciously decided to hold her tongue and replied calmly and concisely with her perfectly formed vowels and syllables contained within her RP London accent.

There was something captivatingly hypnotic about the gentleman’s voice which was speaking softly into her ear, causing her to patiently comply with his request.

She was enjoying audibly drinking in the velvety tones coming from the voice at the other end of the phone, who was almost demanding her to spell out why she should be given this job over one of the other candidates.

“Offering this post to me, is a decision you will certainly not regret …” she was going to say more, but decided not to, as she knew full well her credentials were visibly available on her curriculum vitae, and her uncanny sixth sense instinctively told her on this occasion less was definitely more.

His voice sounded softer now, as if smiling. “In that case, I look forward to seeing you Monday morning at 9.30am”.

Poppy hung up the telephone and felt a warm glow wash over her as she pondered the caller’s voice; and although he didn’t mention his name she simply knew it was Marcus Moore, the reclusive sole owner of The Museum of Modern Digital Photography. A museum, which mainly exhibits the owner’s photographic art, and comprises of some haunting and strange shots.

Upon entering the reception area of the museum, Poppy was welcomed by the sound of ambient jazz music, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. “Oh no, I hope they don’t expect me to be the coffee making girl” she said to herself moments before noticing the receptionist entering, sipping from a huge mug.

“Poppy Carter?”

“That’s me” Poppy replied.

“I’m Betty, the receptionist here”, said the 5’2” brunette, with a sprinkling of warmth seasoning her geordie accent. “Graemeleft a message to notify you that he is delayed. He said you should familiarise yourself with the photographic art in the main gallery and he will be in as soon as he can”.

As Poppy walked through the gallery, she couldn’t help but pause and linger over one of the images. An image, over an image, with a life like 3D reflection. This startled her, causing her to look over her shoulder before returning to glace for a second time at the the image. There it was again. A reflection, of some other worldly being standing behind her.

She felt a chill run up her spine, and hurried past wondering curiously about Marcus Moore. There was something undeniably creepy about those images. Yet, at the same time they seemed to carry a message in their undertones visible only to the trained eye of some sort of initiate.

Interrupted from her thoughts by the voice of Graeme the curator “Poppy, Good morning”, he panted sounding as though he had missed his bus and power walked into the office! Although, he did look snazzy in white jeans and a black tank top over his crisp white shirt, decorated with a black bow tie.

Graeme briefly explained to Poppy that for various reasons he has been called out of the museum for today, and a buyer from the states is expected for a viewing of The Floral Collection of photographs around 10.30am. He instructed that Poppy is to facilitate the buyer but not to pester or distract.Betty will ensure a champagne brunch is served, when the buyer gives the discreet nod of the seal of the sale.

Poppy glanced at her watch when she heard Betty welcoming the distinguished looking gentleman at the entrance of the museum, precisely 10.30am. The gentleman asked Betty to point him in the direction of The Floral Collection.

“Surely not”, Poppy said to herself, she would recognise that voice anywhere. It was the same voice that had grilled her over the phone for her second interview.

The gentleman walked in an anti-clockwise direction to The Floral Collection. He paused to admire photograph thirteen.Turning to face Poppy, he locked his dark eyes on to her’s.

He nodded, to confirm the seal of the sale, “I’ll take this one” he whispered, pointing to a photograph of a single red flower -entitled “The Poppy”.