by Sharon Jones
Jesus! Was there anyone who Dad didn’t know?
She shook her head. ‘I can’t get over how much you look like him.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment,’ Poppy said, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her hoodie.
The woman laughed. ‘Oh believe me, it is. Your dad was quite the stunner when he was younger. What are you two doing out here? Shouldn’t you be with him?’
‘We were talking about fracking,’ Michael said.
Poppy nearly choked. Damn him!
‘Oh, gosh, yes. Terrible what they’re doing. You know, I’m about to have some students for drinks. Why don’t you come along? Michael, it will give you a chance to meet some current students and ask all those questions you no doubt forgot to ask on the official part of your visit. And I can give Poppy all the gossip on her dad from our college days.’
‘You were students together?’
‘We were. Do come. Unless Jim’s expecting you?’
Bugger! The last thing she wanted was to spend an evening with a load of teacher types. But if Michael really had stuffed up his interview as badly as he thought he had this might be a good opportunity for them to see him as he really was. Plus, she wouldn’t mind putting off the conversation about last night for a bit longer.
Michael was already shaking his head when she jumped in and said:
‘That would be great. Dad’s stuck in meetings.’
‘Of course, he would be. It’s just terrible what happened. Danny was a very gifted young man. His death is a great loss.’
This place was worse than back home – everyone seemed to know everyone else.
‘This way,’ Professor Madigan said, setting off in the direction of the entrance to her college.
The professor led them through the main gate into King’s College. Poppy had seen so many pictures of the place, but none of them had prepared her for how huge it was. Across the snow-covered lawn that had to be the size of a football pitch, spotlights lit up the line of turrets along the chapel roof that speared the night sky like bony fingers. She was about to comment on it when she glanced up at Michael.
His cheeks had paled and he looked at the grand old buildings like they had broken their promise to him. Poppy’s chest tightened. As much as she hated the thought of him coming here and being so far away, she hated the thought of him not getting in even more. There had to be something they could do.
The professor led them through a smaller courtyard and into one of the buildings. Poppy had assumed this little gathering of students would take place in her office, but the room they were ushered into appeared to be some kind of function room. A few leather armchairs were scattered around the edges of an oriental rug and beside the white marble fireplace. Along one wall was a long table bearing various sizes and styles of glasses as well as at least twenty bottles of wine. At the centre of the table was a large bowl on a stand, underneath which a tea light burned. She guessed that was where the smell of cinnamon and orange was coming from.
‘Oh good, they delivered the mulled wine. Would you like some? It might warm you up,’ Professor Madigan said.
‘Oh, uhh, I’m not sure I should,’ Poppy said, glancing at Michael, who almost cracked a smile at her feigned abstinence. Almost.
The professor stripped off her coat to reveal a neat black suit that was tucked around a curvy figure. ‘I’m sure Jim won’t mind you having one glass.’ When she took off her hat, long brown curls fell around her shoulders. She smiled, running fingers through her hair. ‘That’s better. So, mulled wine?’
As Professor Madigan set about ladling out the hot red wine, Poppy spotted a large print attached to a display board. It was a copy of a painting of a nativity scene. The Mary figure, who weirdly was dressed like a Jane Austen character, displayed her baby to grovelling wise men. Behind her was an old man who Poppy guessed was supposed to be Joseph. Two fat-armed cherubs hovered over the scene, held aloft by ridiculously tiny wings.
Unwrapping the scarf from around her neck, Poppy moved slowly towards the painting.
‘That’s a print of the Rublev that hangs behind the altar in the chapel,’ Professor Madigan said.
‘It’s a bit less intimidating than the one in Trinity,’ Poppy murmured.
‘Ah, yes. You’re talking about the Archangel Michael defeating Satan.’
She wondered how much the professor knew about angels. ‘Satan was an angel too, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, according to some mythology. A fallen angel.’
‘So why is it Michael in the painting? Why not one of the other archangels?’
‘It’s meant to be a scene from the Book of Revelation,’ Professor Madigan said, handing a glass of mulled wine to the not-so-angelic Michael, and one to Poppy. ‘Michael is God’s first lieutenant – the leader of the forces of good in the battle against evil. He’s the one who is said to defeat Satan in the final battle. But Michael isn’t always depicted as a warrior; he’s also seen as being a mediator between God and his people. If you’re interested in angels, you should ask your dad – he’s the real expert.’
‘He is?’ She’d never known Dad be interested in angels.
‘His PhD is on “Angels in Milton and Dante”.’
They’d talked a little about what he was studying, but somehow she’d missed that. ‘Oh, right, yeah. I knew he was studying Milton and Dante.’
The door swung open and in walked a red-haired girl followed by two waiters carrying silver trays of food. It was the girl Dad had argued with this morning.
‘Please put the platters at that end of the table,’ said the girl, directing the waiters.
‘Lucy, you’re here,’ Professor Madigan said, rushing over and hugging her. ‘I didn’t know whether to expect you or not. How is everything?’
‘Horrible,’ Lucy replied with a shrug of her shoulder. ‘Ria won’t be coming.’
‘Of course not. I wouldn’t expect it. Come and meet some guests. This is Michael Quinn who’s here on interview and Poppy Sinclair—’
‘—Jim’s daughter. I’d heard you were visiting. Hi. Nice to meet you,’ she said, in a thick French accent. ‘I’m Lucy Chantal. I’m a third year student at Trinity. It’s so nice you could come. Is Jim also coming?’
‘No, he’d already sent his apologies,’ Professor Madigan said. ‘In the circumstances we should have cancelled, but it was too short notice to get the word out.’
Dad was supposed to be here? ‘Is tonight to celebrate something?’ Poppy asked.
Professor Madigan and Lucy exchanged glances.
‘No, it’s just a get-together. For…Christmas,’ Lucy said, making it sound like a convenient excuse.
The door swung open again and in walked three men, two of whom were wearing suit jackets and ties.
Lucy went over to welcome them and Professor Madigan excused herself to go and talk to the serving staff.
‘That’s the girl who was with the guy from last night,’ Poppy whispered to Michael.
He screwed his face up. ‘What?’
‘The students Dad was arguing with. She’s one of them. Isn’t that weird?’
Michael deliberately looked away from her. ‘What’s weird is you accepting an invitation to one of these kinds of things, especially when you must have known I didn’t want to come back here. Are you really that desperate to not talk about what happened last night?’
‘No. That’s not why I…’
His voice hardened. ‘Then why?’
‘I…’ Shit! She couldn’t tell him the real reason; then he’d be pissed off at her for interfering.
Thankfully Professor Madigan returned, saving her from having to come up with something to tell him. ‘Poppy, Michael, may I introduce to you Yaser Al-Qahtani.’
‘Yaser?’ Michael asked. His eyebrows drew together, like the name meant something to him.
‘Hi there.’ The guy standing next to the professor smiled broadly and held out his hand to Michael. He was tall, dark and dressed
in clothes that seemed peculiarly tweed-like for a guy who sounded like he’d grown up in the States. ‘Do we know each other? Are you both students here?’ Yaser asked.
‘No, we’re just visiting,’ Michael said. ‘You have the same name as a football player.’
The guy laughed. ‘That’s right. Captain of the Saudi team for a while. Myself, I’m more of a Man United fan. But don’t tell my father.’
While Michael and Yaser talked football, Poppy turned to the professor. ‘You knew my dad when he was a student, Professor Madigan?’
‘Fiona, please.’ She smiled. ‘Yes, we were good friends. There was a group of us that palled around. Jim kind of held us all together. He was the glue that stopped us from killing each other. Although he could be a little sod at times. He once threw me in the river.’
‘Really?’
‘I was panicking about a final and I think he got sick of me going on about it so he picked me up and dropped me in the Cam.’ Fiona laughed. ‘I was so furious that I chased him the full length of the Backs, all the way back to college. I totally forgot about the final, which was of course the point – as he argued at length.’
Poppy smiled. ‘He doesn’t talk about his student days much.’
Fiona’s smile faded. ‘You must miss him. I know he misses you.’
Poppy nodded. But this wasn’t a line of conversation she wanted to pursue. Seeing Michael was deep in conversation with Yaser, she stepped away from them. Fiona followed with a puzzled expression.
‘Umm…can I ask a question?’ Poppy said, lowering her voice to just above a whisper.
‘Of course.’
‘It’s just, Michael thinks he did really badly in his interview. Is there any way he could do it again? He spent all of this morning looking after me. Y’see, I was with Dad when he found the guy, and believe me, the throwing-up part wasn’t pretty and definitely not the best way to prepare for an interview. But this is Michael’s dream. And he’s so smart. Honestly, he’s like the smartest guy I know. I’m sure he’d impress you if you just gave him another chance.’
Fiona smiled sadly. ‘I’m afraid we can’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair on the other candidates.’
Poppy’s heart sank. ‘I guess. I’m sorry for asking.’ She directed her attention to her glass; an oily sheen was developing over the surface of the mulled wine. When she heard an exasperated sigh, her gaze darted up in time to see Fiona shaking her head.
‘So like your father,’ she laughed.
‘Sorry?’
She smiled. ‘Look, I don’t think Michael did nearly as badly as he thinks he did. In fact, I think he’ll fit in very nicely around here.’
‘You mean you’re giving him a place?’
‘I couldn’t possibly tell you that.’
‘No, of course not.’ Relief swept through her. ‘But he did OK?’
Fiona squeezed her arm and walked away.
While he discussed England’s chances at the World Cup, Michael watched Poppy talking with Professor Madigan. Not that he didn’t trust her…but he didn’t trust her. She was definitely up to something. She had that damned determined look in her eye. He just hoped she wasn’t bending Fiona’s ear about giving him a place – that would be humiliating.
More people had joined the party. The room hummed with conversation, and someone had put on music: a choir singing Christmas carols. The door opened again and in walked Conal. He stalked towards the drinks table and poured himself a glass of red wine before looking over the crowd. When his gaze settled on Michael and Yaser, Conal froze.
Michael had been pretty sure that the guy he’d overheard Ria and Conal arguing about had been called Yaser. Now he was definite. So this was the party…the one with the weird name he still couldn’t remember.
After taking a hefty gulp of wine, Conal made a beeline for them.
‘Conal, how are you?’ Yaser asked, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand like they were buddies. Conal even managed to smile.
‘It’s good to see you, Yaser. Michael, isn’t it?’ Conal asked, turning to him.
‘Yeah.’
Conal’s gaze was unwavering, and Michael couldn’t help feeling he was being given a warning. His spine stiffened and he gripped his glass tighter.
‘So, Yaser,’ Conal said. ‘You still up for Monday night?’
‘Definitely. Looking forward to it.’
‘What’s happening Monday?’ Michael asked, drawing another icy glance from Conal.
‘We’re going to this club in London. A guys’ club.’ Yaser wiggled his eyebrows. ‘You should come if you’re still around.’
At that moment Poppy appeared at his side. Yaser looked her over like she might be the kind of girl he was hoping to find in the ‘guys’ club’.
Michael’s jaw tightened. He took hold of her arm, just above the elbow. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I just need to…’
He tugged her away from them, through the now busy room, and dumped his glass on the table. Before Poppy could protest, he snatched hers out of her hand and left that there too. Michael led her out of the door into the corridor. He kept walking, barely keeping his temper in check, until they turned the corner. There, Poppy stopped and yanked her arm away from him.
She brushed her hair out of her eyes and squared her feet. ‘Now don’t get all shouty.’
Ha. This was going to be good – not. ‘What were you saying to Professor Madigan?’ he asked, doing his best to follow her request.
She folded her arms and looked down at the floor. Her hair fell over her eyes again. ‘I asked if you could have a do-over.’
The bottom fell out of his stomach. Even though he’d been expecting something like this, he still couldn’t believe she’d actually done it. ‘Poppy!’ He slouched against the wall. ‘Shit! What did you say to her?’
‘I just told her what a bad morning you’d had. I thought they might interview you again. But apparently they don’t do that kind of thing. It would be unfair to the other candidates.’
Michael snorted and shook his head. ‘Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is? Having my girlfriend argue on my behalf. Don’t you think it’s bad enough that I made a complete arse of myself?’
‘I know. It was a stupid thing to do. But I can’t stand seeing you…’
‘You’re not flaming Bob the Builder, Poppy. There are some things you can’t fix. You had no right to interfere.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Poppy closed the distance between them. Her hands began to slide around him. He caught hold of her wrists to stop her. Her eyes, the bronze of autumn leaves, flashed up at him full of hurt. She hadn’t meant to embarrass him – he knew that – but he couldn’t shift the anger simmering in his chest.
‘Fiona said you didn’t do as badly as you think you did,’ she said, softly.
Michael snorted a laugh. Even now she couldn’t let it go. ‘I don’t want to hear it, Poppy.’
She pulled away and folded her arms. Even though he was mad as hell with her, his first instinct was to draw her back to him. He resisted.
‘What the fuck are they doing here?’ A male voice shouted, somewhere down the corridor. He thought it was Conal, but couldn’t be sure.
Poppy’s gaze flashed up to him. He pressed a finger to his lips, pushed away from the wall and popped his head around the corner.
Yup, it was Conal. He paced back and forth in front of the French girl – Lucy, was it? – who looked about as pissed off with Conal as Michael was with Poppy. Must have been something in that damned mulled wine.
‘Never mind them,’ Lucy seethed. ‘Why is Yaser here? After what’s happened to Danny…you still invited him?’
Michael flattened his back to the wall again. Poppy’s arms were folded and she was listening hard.
‘I didn’t invite him,’ Conal said.
‘Someone did.’
‘I don’t know, Lucy!’ Conal shouted. ‘Right now, we have bigger problems to deal with.’
‘What?’
‘The book’s gone.’
‘The book?’
‘Yes, the book. I’ve been through Danny’s room and it’s gone.’
‘Maybe Danny had it with him.’
‘No. I checked with Messenger. The police never found it.’
‘You don’t think… Could Ria be right? They’ve wanted information on the society for years.’
‘No.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because I already gave them a copy. OK? That’s how I know.’
‘What? You made an oath!’
‘Some things are more important than oaths.’
A door slammed and there was silence. After a few seconds, Michael sneaked a glance around the corner. Conal was still there, standing side-on to Michael, in the middle of the corridor, shoulders slumped, staring at the floor. He took a phone out of his jacket pocket, pressed a button and held it to his ear.
‘Yaser will be there,’ was all he said before ending the call and shoving the phone back in his pocket.
CHAPTER TEN
‘You’re sure?’ Poppy asked. Her damned hoodie was no match for the icy wind that sliced through the fabric like it was netting, chilling her to the bone. She shuddered and dug her hands deeper into her pockets. Fog had invaded the winding streets of Cambridge, swirling beneath the phosphorescent yellow glow of the streetlamps and turning every dark alleyway into a confusing tunnel of ghostly shadows.
Michael’s arm slid around her shoulder. For a second she thought he’d forgiven her, but his arm felt stiff and awkward, and his body jostled against hers like they were walking out of sync.
‘Yaser was the guy that Conal and Ria were arguing about. They said he’d been blackballed,’ Michael said, quietly, as if he was afraid someone would overhear them.
‘Blackballed? Do I even want to know what that means?’
‘It’s what happens in clubs where all the members have to agree to someone new joining. Happens at my mum’s golf club. It only takes one of the committee to blackball you and you’re refused membership.’
‘That’s harsh.’