Rope of Sand

by C F Dunn

  Gerhard’s expression reflected her disgust as she rounded on Madge. “What do you think you are doing to the poor girl? Hasn’t she been through enough without you stirring up trouble?” She turned her back on the woman and looked with a degree of concern at me. I gazed back, numb. “Emma, now listen to me: Staahl is mad. What he did was a reflection of his insanity and has no bearing on you or your own behaviour. Ignore the gossip – there’s always gossip, but it is nothing, do you understand?”

  I found my voice although my lips moved of their own accord. “Yes, it’s all right, Siggie, thank you. I’m sort of used to rumours in my job. I know when to take no notice.” I forced a smile. “I’m getting a drink. Would you like one?”

  Surprised by my apparent composure, Siggie shook her head, and I didn’t wait to see whether Madge wanted anything, as she didn’t exist at that moment as far as I was concerned.

  I found a table tucked away at the back of the room where the light was dim and I could escape the frenzied attack of the music. I grabbed a glass of fruit punch, willing my hands to stay still as I slopped the liquid clumsily. I drained it, and refilled it from a full jug, drinking thirstily and feeling the afterburn of spices in my throat.

  The full implication of what the woman had said dawned on me through the matted jungle of misshapen thoughts. If it was thought that I had invited Staahl to meet me that night in the atrium – as Maggie had said and as Madge implied others believed – then an argument could be framed in which he became the victim and I the lure. If, in the minds of the public, I led him on, then no matter what the outcome of that meeting, I would be deemed partially to blame for what had happened to me. And worse – much, much worse – if Staahl were considered fit to stand trial, I would be forced to face him in court, and if I had to, so would Matthew, and who knows what poison would seep out of deep wounds then. I leaned both hands on the table in front of me, taking first one breath then another until the welling sickness abated.

  “Hi-ya!” Elena hailed me. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

  I took another gulp of the punch – sweet and cool – and drank deeply, finishing the glass. I poured another. “Yup.”

  “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t know you and Sam are still not talking. He was being very grumpy but he did apologize. He said he did not have a good holiday and he was very sorry he said those things.”

  “Uh huh.”

  She cocked her head on one side. “Are you OK?”

  I caught a glimpse of Staahl’s replacement through the gyrating bodies of some dancers. She eyed Matthew from a distance and even from where I stood, the way she looked at him with an exploratory, hungry expression made me seethe.

  “I wish everyone would stop asking me that,” I muttered brusquely, and Elena’s face dropped. “Sorry, of course I’m OK, thanks for asking. I’m just grouchy; it must be PMT. Can I get you a drink? Where’s Matias?”

  “Over there with Matthew. Do you want to join them?”

  To my disgust, the woman steadily made her way towards them through a throng of admiring glances, her hips swaying provocatively in the clinging, silky fabric. I was in no mood for playing nice. “I think we’d better,” I growled.

  Mere feet away from him when I blocked her path, she came to a halt in front of me, eye to eye. She looked me up and down. “Excuse me,” she said, initial surprise replaced by a superior pout at her progress being impeded.

  “Emma…!” Elena whispered.

  I took another sip of my drink, regarding the woman with a pleasant smile I didn’t feel. “Yes? Can I help you?”

  She tried to step around me but I countered her move. “I want to get past.”

  I made no attempt to budge. “Do you?”

  Elena tapped me on the shoulder. “Emma – come on.”

  I eyed my near-empty glass with disappointment, but a refill would have to wait.

  The woman all but stamped her elegant foot. “I want to get past; you’re in my way.” Her voice had an unpleasant sneer woven through it and she had tight little pucker marks around her mouth like a cat’s backside. She wasn’t used to being thwarted.

  She tried to get around me again, looking over my shoulder to see if she could catch Matthew’s eye, but couldn’t get far with the crush of people either side of us.

  I felt disinclined to move. “Am I? I’m so sorry.”

  Elena tugged at my arm. “Emma, what are you doing?”

  “I’m standing here having a drink. Have you had one of these?” I held up the glass for her to see. “It’s really very good.”

  “Get out of my way!” The Staahl-woman snapped, her mouth twisting into an ugly snarl. Just as I thought, her beauty was merely physical. Beneath the surface she was a pit of scorpions.

  “Be my guest,” I invited, standing suddenly to one side. She strode past, scorn replacing annoyance as she flicked her hair over her shoulder.

  I waited until she neared arm’s reach of Matthew, her face once again a picture of serenity. “Your knickers are showing,” I said, just loud enough for her to hear. She whipped her hand to her pert and perfectly formed behind, craning automatically to see.

  I walked past her, Elena’s eyes agog. “What were you doing?” she piped. “That was so bad of you. What would Matthew say if he knew?”

  “Knew what?” he asked, skewing on one foot to greet us.

  “Emma’s been playing games with that new woman over there.” Elena pointed to the retreating figure of Mrs Staahl as she scurried self-consciously towards the door.

  He gave her a cursory look. “Why?” he asked me.

  “Hello,” I said, eyes wide with innocence.

  “Ah, I see,” he said, taking my glass from me and sniffing it. “And what has the poor woman ever done to you?”

  “It wasn’t what she was planning to do to me that bothered me,” I replied sniffily, trying to retrieve my glass.

  “Emma, did you want alcohol tonight?” he asked, holding it just out of reach.

  I wavered. “It’s fruit punch.”

  “With a hefty slug of brandy. Do you want to finish this or would you like me to get you something else?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Oops,” I giggled.

  “I’ll get her a coffee,” Elena offered.

  “No!” we both said, simultaneously. “Thank you, but no. It’ll wear off soon enough,” Matthew added. Matias indicated in Sam’s direction with his glass.

  “Talking of which, Sam’s looking the worse for wear. Looks like he encountered a slight problem recently. I nearly added to it myself this evening; he was being bloody obnoxious. I wonder what sort of problem that might have been?”

  Matthew rubbed a finger down the length of his nose. “Oh?”

  “He looks awful.” Elena craned over her shoulder to where Sam barely listened to an enthusiastically gesticulating young woman.

  “He said it was a tree,” Matias continued. “A skiing accident.”

  Matthew looked blank. “Really?”

  I giggled again.

  “But I couldn’t see any impressions of bark, looked more like he’d run into a fist to me.”

  “But it wasn’t his…” I began, my head too fuddled to see the warning flash from Matthew, “… fist.” I finished. Matthew groaned. “But it wasn’t,” I insisted, shaking my head, making it more woozy than it already felt.

  Elena looked from me to Matthew. “What do you mean, it wasn’t a tree? What was it? How do you know? Did he tell you?”

  Matias rested his arm around her shoulder, fixing Matthew with a caustic grin. “I think you’ll find Sam got into a fight over some girl, isn’t that right, Matthew? Had to go to the med centre, did he? He always was a bit of a fool where women were concerned, doesn’t know where to draw the line.” He cast a knowing look in my direction and I felt again the sting of Sam’s open hand across my face and the taste of blood in my mouth. I put my hand to my cheek and looked away, conscious I mustn’t say anything more.

  Matthew
responded evenly. “I think that just about covers it, but of course, Sam doesn’t want it to be made common knowledge – too embarrassing, or perhaps he’s protecting the girl’s honour.”

  I met his eyes briefly, keeping quiet.

  Elena’s brow wrinkled. “Who is this girl? Sam has not said anything to me. I thought that it was only Emma he liked.”

  Matias squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “You don’t have to know every little thing that goes on in people’s lives, kitten, even if you would like to. And remember, Sam wants to keep this quiet, so…”

  “OK, OK, I say nothing, but Emma,” her eyes probed as she turned her attention directly to me, “do you know who this girl is?”

  I returned her look with a baleful stare, the initial flush of warmth and bravado from the alcohol subsiding, leaving a hollow, sloshing sensation in my stomach.

  “Actually, I feel quite… unwell,” I stated.

  Elena flapped a reproving hand at me. “You should not have alcohol, you know it makes you sick.”

  “I think I’d better go now,” I agreed.

  Matias took a theatrical step away from me. “Over to you, Matthew. This is your department, I think. Elena, come on, I could do with another drink and there’s food over there that needs eating.”

  “I’ll go with Emma…” Elena started to say, but Matias was already guiding her in the opposite direction.

  “Let Matthew take care of her,” he said, a broad beam on his face as he looked back at us over his shoulder. “He’s the doctor.”

  “Neatly done, well extricated.” Matthew joined me minutes later in the quad, taking off his jacket and putting it around my shoulders.

  My tummy rocked queasily. “It wasn’t entirely a lie.”

  He put his arm around me and we started to walk back across the moonlit snow towards my apartment. “I know, but it’ll pass, especially if you are able to eat something.” We walked on for a few paces. “Emma, I’ll go and see Ellen tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

  Earlier feet had compacted the snow and it lay in wedges of ice that imploded as we walked over it. I felt better for being outside in the cold.

  “Yes, of course, you must. Will you tell her you know she’s dying?”

  “I don’t know; I might.” Our footsteps echoed in the empty air and I came to a halt. He stopped with me.

  “What is it?”

  My breath steamed, creating a ghostly vapour around my mouth before vanishing.

  “I realize it’s none of my business, but I really think you should tell her that you know and that you won’t intervene – it would be kinder. She’s frightened of being brought back again; she’s had enough.”

  “Is that what she told you?”

  “Yes.”

  The moon lit Matthew’s face as he raised his head to look at it, barely mortal in its eternal light. He breathed out in a sigh and looked down at me, his face falling into shadow. “In all the years I’ve known her, I’ve never heard her once say she’s afraid. I’ll tell her.”

  We walked on, conscious of the night’s silence and our part in rupturing it. In less than a quarter of an hour, the college would resound to the breaking of the New Year, but until then, the stillness remained ours. Matthew held the door to the empty hall for me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I ducked under his arm and waited until he joined me. “Talk about what?”

  “What Madge referred to.”

  “Oh, that. Did Siggie tell you?” We climbed the stairs to the first floor, Matthew slowing down to my pace. “I hadn’t given it much thought.”

  “You were worried, Emma. Even from where I stood I felt it.” We finally reached my door. “Well, do you?”

  I took my key out and slid it into the lock. He put his hand over mine, his face gently questioning.

  “No. I don’t.” He held my eyes for seconds longer, then nodded once. “Are you staying tonight?” I asked him, as I switched on the light and turned to face him. He hesitated by the door, looking lost for a moment.

  “If you want me to.”

  I held out my hand to him. “Do I ever not?”

  Stepping over the threshold, he smiled suddenly. “Do you need to ask?”

  CHAPTER

  15

  Interlude

  It wasn’t that the cold was any less intense by mid-February, but the days were definitely longer. By the time classes ended and the stream of students flowed in a noisy gaggle from the lecture halls, they walked to their rooms in the last light of the day.

  In between snowstorms, I dodged snowballs and kept a weather eye out for the occasional student whose idea of fun was to career into a tutor, knocking them into the snow piled on either side of the path, and blame it on the treachery of the ice.

  Professor Eckhart fell victim to the prank on several occasions, his confused expression the cause of much hilarity from the watching youths as he tested the slipperiness of the path with a pronounced degree of caution. I didn’t find it very funny: he represented easy prey to a world that didn’t understand him and made no attempt to do so.

  Crossing the quad on my way to my tutor room, I witnessed a sudden dash and a flurry of limbs as the professor propelled through the air, landing with a dull thud in a pile of snow near to me. A boy was already up and grinning just a few feet from us, making a victory sign to a huddle of students nearby.

  I frowned at them as I went over to the beleaguered man. With the long strap of his case wound awkwardly around him, he struggled to disentangle himself from a deep drift. I took the case and he rolled untidily to his feet, pushing his dated glasses back up his nose where they had fallen askew.

  “I think that this young man kn… knocked me over on purpose.” He blinked rapidly in the direction of the student, whose straggly beard looked too old for his face. I had seen him before, when his face was clean and fresh and he wasn’t trying so hard to impress his peers. He didn’t even have the decency to hide his amusement, laughing openly at the owl-like academic.

  “I’m sure it was just an accident, professor,” I said, aiming a cutting look at the lad. “He wouldn’t want to risk looking like a prat in front of his friends. Besides, his faculty head might get to hear about it.”

  The student stopped laughing, but gave me an appraising look as if he wanted to say something. I stared in challenge and he changed his mind, slouching off in the direction of the group, and the students’ canteen.

  Eckhart appeared to have forgotten the incident already as he continued to brush loose snow off his coat over my feet. “A… actually, I was just on my way to see you,” he puffed. “I have so… some excellent news.” I smiled politely and he stepped up conspiratorially. “The Dean has asked me to tell you that he would like you to present the keynote lecture for the conference. What do you say to that, hey?”

  I reflected that what I wanted to say and what I should say were worlds apart, and one of them couldn’t be repeated. “Wonderful,” I said without conviction.

  “I said you would be pleased,” the professor enthused. I considered whether I could get away with reworking my inaugural lecture. “Of course, everyone was very impressed with your inaugural lecture so we are looking forward to your latest research – something new.”

  Blow. My latest research was nowhere near a stage where it could be presented. I had been concentrating so much on my students’ work that my own had been put on hold. Besides, despite it being the reason I came to the States in the first place, abandoning my research on the journal to protect Matthew made that line of enquiry taboo. Eckhart smiled and nodded and blinked at the great honour bestowed on me, so I had to smile back and look a little pleased, if only for his sake.

  “I’ll do my best,” I said.

  “Marvellous, marvellous,” he beamed. “I’ll te… tell the Dean,” and he turned and shambled in the direction of the cloister and the Dean’s study without saying goodbye. Watching his retreating back, I counted the months in which I had to prepare
for the conference and concluded that, without distraction, I might be able to scrape something together with some help.

  Distractions. Since New Year there had been plenty of those.

  Matthew and I had spent as much time as we could together over the past weeks between work, his family, and Ellen. She was deteriorating but still fighting, and I went to see her in late January with the snow still deep on the ground. Frailer than when we last met, she had lost the haunted look of desperation and she thanked me, when we were alone, for the peace of mind Matthew had given her. Just once, when she forgot that Eli was still in the room, did she refer to Matthew as her husband, and Eli looked up, his face sad. He joked more gently with her now, and his movements had become quieter as he watched her slide towards death. When I mentioned it to him on the way home, Matthew said that some days were better than others as Ellen’s heart muscles struggled to supply all the oxygen needed to her brain. If he knew the hour of her death, he kept it to himself and I did not ask.

  We were in limbo, neither one thing nor the other, betwixt and between. It felt a familiar state of being, but not a welcome one.

  At college, we still kept the depth of our relationship to ourselves. Rumours briefly circulated that Matthew had been dating the beautiful new professor of English. It must have been a fragment of deceit of Madge’s doing, fanned by a lack of denial on Matthew’s part, and by wishful thinking on the woman’s, but the gossip died a natural death, starved of the fuel of evidence.

  I saw very little of Sam. Elena said he had been going out with the girl we saw talking to him at the New Year party and I hoped fervently that it might be true for his sake as much as ours. I had never been very good at dealing with conflict, especially the festering kind, and Sam showed no willingness to heal or be healed, and this girl – if true – was the first indication that he had moved a step away from me. I didn’t want him on my conscience, not after Guy.