by C F Dunn
Back in my apartment, the bathroom mirror slowly cleared of condensation and I wiped the residual drops from its surface. The face that looked back at me was not ecstatic, it was true, but nor was it unhappy, despite my fears from the night before. I saw hope in my eyes, and the light of love, something that I hadn’t seen for a very long time. I would have to keep it hidden for a while longer, caged like an animal waiting for freedom, longing for release.
CHAPTER
14
Party Beast
It seemed like an age ago that I had stood in the exact same spot and watched the light fall in squares across the quad. Now snow lay either side of the path we followed to the door of the reception room, and this was no longer a new experience in a foreign land, and Matthew would be there, waiting for me. I hung back, nonetheless, nerves fluttering in anticipation.
“You OK, Emma?” Matias asked kindly, no doubt remembering what had happened last time I attended a college function. I rejected the image as soon as it emerged from those parts of my memory where I dared not look. Instead I searched the windows for a familiar form, but too many people crowded the room to see clearly. “He’ll be there,” Matias reassured. “He said he would.”
A disorientating blast of sound hit us as we entered the room. Shrill voices of the women rose above the deep tenor of the men. Heady scents of perfume and alcohol mixed with the odour of dry-cleaned clothing and the occasional taint of sweat – smells now unique and identifiable, whereas, before the incident with the coffee, I would hardly have noticed. I recognized a few faces and smiled in response to their greetings, but didn’t stop until we reached open space, where the assault on my senses proved less savage.
I sensed him before I saw him. Matthew was with a small group from his department at the end of the room where he had been when we first met, and he watched me intently. As soon as I saw him, he looked away casually, but the connection between us remained unbroken, like the thread of a spider – silk-thin, but stronger than steel. My pulse flustered briefly and settled to a steady beat in time with the music bouncing off the walls.
Matias waved to him, kissed Elena briefly, and went to join the huddle, deep in conversation before she had time to protest his absence.
We had managed to skip past the Dean and the bursar, who were hovering near the table by the door, doing what seemed to be a surreptitious roll-call of staff as they entered the room. The Dean saw us and his hooded eyes brightened, and I noted with an element of despair that beneath her silk shawl, Elena wore a wrap-over dress in a deep red jersey fabric that left little to the imagination.
“Ladies,” Shotter oozed, “and a very pleasant New Year to you both.” Since his gaze didn’t leave Elena’s bosom, almost level with his eyes, I couldn’t be sure whom he addressed. Neither could she, and her skin flushed under his stare. Beads of perspiration broke out along the envelopes of skin that seemed to have increased since I last saw him, and the Dean patted a large, yellow silk handkerchief along them.
“My, my, but it is warm in here,” he puffed. He wrenched his gaze from Elena and focused on me. “My dear Professor D’Eresby, you are looking very well, I must say – quite blooming. I do hope you are fully recovered from your… eh… ordeal.” He didn’t wait for an answer but turned away, scanning the room. “I rather expected to see Dr Lynes with you this evening.” He brought his ice-pick eyes back to investigate my face.
“Dr Lynes?” I said casually. “Why?”
Elena twitched next to me.
Shotter dabbed at his bald, spotted head with his hankie, resembling a bloated toad. “My mistake, I thought that perhaps you are in a better position to know where he might be.” He smiled, but a patient in a catatonic state could have made a more convincing job of it, and his cold interest prickled my skin.
“I’m so sorry not to be able to help,” I lied, “but have you heard Professor Smalova’s news?” Elena smiled gleefully in anticipation. “She and Professor Lidström are engaged. Is that not a wonderful way to start the New Year?”
Elena beamed happily, showing him her ring. The Dean hid his disappointment well, congratulated her and, with a furtive farewell to her ample form, bid us all a happy New Year again, and departed for more rewarding pastures.
“Is this dress too much?” she whispered when he left, sticking her chest out even further and looking down at her curves. Dear Elena, she seemed to be in a state of perpetual confusion over her frontage.
“It’s fine. You’re making the most of what you have rather effectively, but you are perfectly decent, it’s Shotter who isn’t. Good thing Matias wasn’t here – he’d have popped a rivet. Did you mind me telling the Dean about your engagement?”
She held her hand above her head and twinkled her ring in the clear fairy lights along the wall. “No, I don’t mind who knows; I want everyone to know.” She pirouetted, nearly bumping into an elderly, diminutive professor behind her.
“Everyone will, at the rate you’re going,” I laughed, picking up a glass of wine and handing it to her.
One of our rather earnest colleagues from the history faculty came up to us then and wanted to talk about the forthcoming international conference in June, which the college would host this year. I hadn’t given it much thought, but in terms of preparation, it was only a brief moment away. I had that strange sinking feeling, the sort you get when it’s time for bed and you suddenly realize that you have a six thousand word essay to be given in the next morning.
“And I expect you will be pre… presenting a paper?” he stammered. I hadn’t seen much of the portly professor since I had first met him at my reception back in September. Colin Eckhart was well known in our circles for his thorough preparation and meticulous research, his pedantic delivery, and even poorer social skills. Elena and I exchanged glances in the safe knowledge he wouldn’t be looking at either of us.
“I haven’t been asked,” I replied, hopeful that I wouldn’t be.
He shuffled an inch closer than comfortable, his cumbersome movement hampered by his brown velvet jacket, the buttons and cuffs worn bare from repeated use since he’d bought it in the eighties. He looked just over my shoulder at a blank spot on the wall.
“You will be,” he stated, darting me a quick look. “They need someone who specializes in your field and there isn’t anyone else.”
“Thanks,” I said sardonically.
“Not at all,” he said, totally missing the point. “I think the Dean wants to showcase you. We’ve never had someone from C… Cambridge before.”
“So it’s nothing to do with my academic brilliance or scintillating wit, then?”
He pushed his big-framed spectacles back up his nose. “No, no, not at all.”
Behind him Elena pulled faces at me, trying to make me laugh.
“What about Elena?” I said. “She would simply love to present a paper.” Elena’s face fell.
He leaned forward, forcing me to step back. “Oh no, Professor D’Eresby, Professor Smalova has nothing to offer – n… nothing at all.” He spied another colleague and, without further ado, launched in his direction.
Elena grabbed my arm and pulled me out of earshot.
“You should have seen your face – you were so funny,” I gurgled.
Elena hopped up and down like a rabbit on a pogo stick. “That man is so rude. Nasty, rude man,” she fumed.
I put out a cautionary hand. “Stop, Elena, you’re drawing attention to yourself.” I indicated her bouncing cleavage and she stopped abruptly, smoothing herself back into place.
“Rude man,” she muttered again.
“He doesn’t mean to be, he just meant that your field’s the wrong period for the conference. Post-Revolutionary Russia is hardly European Medieval and Early Modern history, is it? I don’t think he realized that what he said sounded a bit… off. What he said to me was just as bad, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” she huffed. “Somebody should tell him he sounds rude.”
Eckhart
had targeted someone else, and the young man was backed against the wall with a look of perplexed agitation, which Eckhart failed to notice as he ploughed on regardless.
“I don’t think he knows the effect he has on other people,” I said, regarding him with interest.
“You think?” Elena rolled her eyes as the young academic bolted the first chance he had.
“It must make life pretty tough for him, being out of step with the world all the time,” I continued, half to myself.
“Who are you two watching?” Matias rejoined us, glass in hand, and followed our line of sight. “Elena, am I not enough for you, that you are already looking for another man?” he said, clasping dramatically at his chest before chucking Elena under her chin so she smiled coyly at him. “And as for you,” he said, giving me a stern look, “wait until Matthew hears about this.” He broke into a wide grin as he caught the eye of someone behind me.
“What am I supposed to be hearing about?” The merest touch on the small of my back had me pushing against Matthew’s hand to feel the pressure more intensely, but he removed it and stepped around to face us as if he hadn’t seen me for months.
“Elena, Matias has just told me; I’m so pleased for you both.” Alive with genuine delight, he bent forward to kiss Elena warmly on both cheeks, sending her flushing scarlet. When he looked at me, however, his cool smile was merely polite and at odds with the wave of pleasure I felt emanate from him. “Emma, hello.” He bent forward to kiss my cheek, his mouth close to my ear. “We’re being watched,” he murmured, before drawing away again. “It’s good to see you looking so well. I’ll catch up with you later, perhaps.”
“That would be… good,” I said lamely. “You’d better!” I threatened as he moved away, and I swear he heard me, although I had said nothing.
“Matthew is looking very… fit,” Elena squeaked, recovering.
Matias lifted an eyebrow at me. “He is, isn’t he? I think life must be suiting him at the moment. Can’t think why that might be, hey, Emma?”
“I couldn’t possibly say,” I replied, watching Matthew out of the corner of my eye as he stopped to talk to Sung.
Matias coughed. “You’re drooling.” I nudged him in the ribs, forgetting he would feel it more than Matthew. “Ow,” he said, rubbing them. “Elena, Emma’s hurt me.”
“You probably deserve it,” she said, without looking at him. She grabbed my arm. “Look, there’s Sam. Hey, Sam!” She called out.
“Elena, no – wait!” I hissed, but too late. He turned at the sound of his name, wavered, as thrilled to see me as I him, but Elena dragged me, unwilling, in his direction.
“Sam!” she exclaimed, stretching up and kissing him. He flinched and drew away. “Ooo, you look awful – what has happened to your face?”
I examined a seasonal display of dried foliage on one of the side tables, and waited for his response.
He grunted. “Skiing accident off-piste before Christmas. Ran into a tree, broke my jaw.”
I couldn’t help the tiny smile as I thought of Matthew’s hand being described as a tree. Still, it was a lot better than the truth. Trust Sam to have a macho reason for having a smashed face. I took a quick peek. He didn’t seem too bad, all things considered, but his eyes were heavy and dull and it didn’t appear that he’d had a holiday at all.
Elena murmured sympathetically, then wiggled her ring finger in front of him. “Matias and I are engaged to be married; what do you think of that?”
Sam looked despondently at her and then at Matias. “Yeah, sure, that’s great.”
Elena’s smile faded.
Matias cleared his throat. “Anything interesting lined up for the semester, Sam?”
Sam shrugged. “Not thought about it much. You?” He cast a swift look in my direction and then over at Matthew, who now had his back to us.
Elena frowned at him. “You are very miserable, Sam – you have not even said hello to Emma. It’s good she is back, no?”
He threw back the remains of whatever he was drinking and wiped his hand across his mouth. “Yeah, just peachy.”
She tried again. “And look what Emma gave me for Christmas, isn’t it beautiful?” She twirled in the silk wrap, the rich tones complementing her skin perfectly.
Sam’s lip lifted in derision. “Nice.” With one efficient slice of a word, he cut her smile. Her face fell. Matias said something unintelligible in Finnish, and put a protective arm around her.
“Selfish pig,” I snarled at Sam. “It’s not you, Elena, he’s having a go at me. If he has any sense of decency he’ll apologize, but don’t hold your breath.”
Elena gaped at me, then at Sam, but I didn’t wait to hear his response.
The room stifled, hot and heady, the too-loud music vibrating my senses like a taut wire. I felt fed up and desperately thirsty. I ran my eyes around the crowd and Madge caught my eye; she beckoned to me. I pretended not to have seen her but she motioned again and I inwardly sighed as I went over.
She peered at me, her sallow skin stretching in taught nicotine lines into a leer.
“Ah, the Iron Maiden. You’re back from the dead, I see. All alone? Not married yet?”
“And good evening to you, Madge,” I sidestepped, ignoring her reference to me as an instrument of torture. “I trust you had a pleasant holiday?”
She waved a hand dismissively.
“All right, all right, I get the message. Where’s Sam, anyway? I’ve not seen much of him recently and he could always be relied on for entertainment.”
“Neither have I,” I replied truthfully. “He was over there with Elena and Matias.” I made to move on, but her claw-like hand grasped the sleeve of my evening jacket.
“Don’t go, my dear.” Her leathery face sharpened as she poked her head around me. “Well, well, I see the elusive doctor has graced us with his presence once again. What brings him here, I wonder?”
I swung around, but I should have known better than to think she had made some random social comment. I saw Matthew and became rigid. He was talking to one of the most striking women I had ever seen, her darker-than-chestnut hair rolling in glossy waves down her back. From the way her wide, dark eyes devoured him, she thought she had met her equal in looks. He said something and she laughed, perfect lips parting as she took in his face.
Madge skewered me with her black irises, looking more like a shrew than ever. “Now, do you think that the Ice Man has found a little fancy at last? Someone to warm his heart and his bed? Or do you think he’s gay?”
I knew exactly what she was up to but, despite my best efforts, my irritation must have shown, because her mouth twitched in expectation.
“I hope Dr Lynes doesn’t know you call him that, Madge – it’s offensive.”
“Gay? Do you think so? Perhaps you could find out when you next speak to him; you are friends, after all. Oh, you mean Ice Man, don’t you? Do you know why I call him that?”
I ground my teeth because as much as I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of asking, I did want to know. She saved me the bother.
“Because in all the years he’s been here, countless women have broken themselves trying to get his attention, or into his bed, and he’s never even noticed – until now.” She missed my sudden intake of breath. “He’s like an iceberg: so much more going on beneath the surface than on top.” Madge stroked my arm. “That’s Staahl’s replacement he’s talking to. Isn’t she the most exquisite creature you have ever seen? He’s obviously taken with her, but then, who wouldn’t be?”
She scanned my face for a reaction, but I had been watching the pair of them laughing and talking, drawing the attention of those around them as they lit up the room with their combined beauty, and I waited for the familiar trickle of jealousy, waited for it to turn into scalding envy followed by cold fear at the thought of losing him. And I felt nothing – not a speck, because he felt nothing for her. It was all an act on his part, like the affectation assumed by the face of an accomplished playe
r. I concentrated on him, willing myself to divine something other than the wall of indifference he hid from her, but I perceived nothing.
It was all Madge could do to stop herself salivating. “Well? Beautiful, isn’t she?”
I turned my back on them. “Isn’t she just. You say she’s Staahl’s replacement?”
Madge seemed confused by my lack of interest in Matthew’s love life, so she changed tack. “What happened to you – it was terrible.” There was a question there somewhere.
I pulled my sleeve to free it of her hand, but she clung on. “Yes, it was.”
“Why did Staahl do it?”
I yanked my arm more roughly than I meant to and she drew her hand back in surprise. “I don’t know; he’s mad or bad. Does there have to be a reason?”
Her voice rasped out through smoker’s phlegm. “Gerhard, you’re a head doctor, help us out here.”
The professor twisted at the mention of her name. I hadn’t recognized her from the back. She smiled when she saw me, a genuine good-to-see-you-again smile.
Madge grunted. “I was just saying to Emma, what is it that makes a man like Staahl do what he did to her?”
Siggie’s face straightened. “This is not the best topic of conversation, Madge. It doesn’t take a degree in psychiatry to see the man’s insane. Ignore her, Emma.”
“I was trying to,” I said.
Madge shrugged. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”
“Heard what?” Siggie said sharply, frowning at the smaller woman.
“Staahl’s not insane,” Madge purred.
My head pounded as the room narrowed to the point just in front of me, and my voice came out pinched and thin.
“What do you mean? Of course he is; why else would he attack me?”
She licked her lips. “You tell me. So, you haven’t heard the rumours then?”
“Obviously not,” I said coldly.
“It’s all probably lies,” she shook her head in a show of regret, “but they are saying that perhaps he went to the atrium because he was invited.” She rocked back on her heels and waited while I froze, blood thickening in iced veins, my feet stuck fast to the polished floor. It wasn’t that I hadn’t heard this before – the detectives had suggested as much, and Maggie had made it quite clear that she believed it possible – but I hadn’t realized that the accusation had become common knowledge on campus, and from there it was only a short step away before rumour became fact.