Mortal Fire

by C F Dunn

  Matias chortled as he helped Elena with her gown, managing to steal a quick kiss on her nape as payment in kind for his efforts as he straightened the edge of her robe.

  “I usually manage to lose mine by the time we sit down and Shotter’s generally too far gone by then to notice much. You do as well, don’t you, kitten?” he said to Elena, who looked just about ready to curl up in his lap, almost purring; Matias would be in for a lively night if the languid glances she gave him through half-closed eyes were anything to go by. She nodded in agreement although I didn’t think she was listening. I cheered up somewhat and looked to see if I recognized anybody.

  “Having a drink tonight, Emma?” Matias asked.

  “Just mineral water, thanks,” I answered, not taking my eyes from the door.

  “Smile, Shotter alert!” Elena warned, and I turned around just in time to greet him with what I hoped looked like a genuine smile. He had a small dark man with him who barely reached my eye level, his hair swept back and glistening, revealing a receding hairline.

  “Good evening, ladies, you both look quite stunning. What remarkably red facings to your gown, Professor D’Eresby. I had no idea Cambridge was so… colourful; you will certainly stand out tonight.”

  In full ooze-mode, Shotter obviously enjoyed the concept of his latest acquisition standing out. His gaze wandered between Elena and me, finally settling on Elena’s bust, and she fidgeted with the bodice, pulling it up as far as she could.

  “Have you met the bursar, Professor Smalova, Professor D’Eresby?”

  We shook our heads politely. The small man extended his hand to us in turn, a firmer handshake than expected, and he fixed me with small, sharp, but not unkind eyes. I recognized him as the man who sat next to the Dean at my inaugural lecture.

  “Professor D’Eresby – I heard you were quite unwell; this outbreak of ’flu has certainly taken its toll this year. I hope your new apartment is more suitable and that you are now fully recovered?”

  “Yes, thank you; it is – and I am – much better,” I replied, wondering how he knew about my illness.

  He continued, “I must say that Dr Lynes can be very persuasive – very insistent – when he wants to be, and when it’s in his patient’s best interests, of course.”

  His voice held an unasked question. All became suddenly clear and heat shot to my face. The Dean missed the point entirely, his eyes still buried somewhere in Elena’s cleavage. He caught Matthew’s name but no more.

  “Yes, yes, make no mistake, Dr Lynes is one of the finest surgeons, one of our greatest academics – quite brilliant.”

  I coloured even more on hearing Matthew praised so fulsomely and the bursar’s face relaxed into a smile, his question answered.

  “Well, I hope that you’ll have a good evening – and let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.”

  I thanked him, as there wasn’t much else I could say. As soon as they walked away, I turned to Elena who was peering down at her bust with a slight frown.

  “Am I showing too much, do you think?” She patted her breasts as if that would make them less conspicuous.

  “No, you’re perfectly decent; you could be wearing a shroud and it wouldn’t make any difference to Shotter; just ignore him. Look, did you know anything about this?” I demanded, but she seemed as bemused as I felt.

  “Know anything about what?” Matias asked as he arrived, gingerly balancing three glasses between his fingertips.

  “The bursar’s just told me that Matthew persuaded him to give me the new apartment. That’s not what Matthew told me,” I said indignantly.

  “It’s very romantic,” Elena said, taking a glass and handing me one.

  “What did Matthew tell you?” Matias asked, wiping condensation on his gown.

  “Well, he did say something about me moving on health grounds, but I thought the real reason was that the rooms had to be redecorated and they needed me out of there because I would be in the way, or something like that.”

  Matias choked into his drink, spilling it over his hand.

  “That’s a good one!”

  “Why didn’t he just tell me the truth?”

  “He did, but you weren’t listening. Aw, come on Emma, would you have gone if he said it was just for your benefit?”

  He had a point there. “No, probably not,” I admitted.

  “It sounds to me as if Matthew has the measure of you.” He grinned and I pulled a face, realizing the reality behind the uncomfortable truth. “Where is he, anyway?”

  He swivelled around to scan the room but I could have told him he wasn’t there; I could sense his absence as clearly as I could feel my own body. I sipped at my water, wishing for once that I’d chosen something with greater anaesthetic qualities in which I could escape the evening. A tap on my shoulder interrupted my self-absorption. Diminutive Madge squinted up at me with gimlets, wearing a black velvet trouser suit as severe as her haircut and as masculine.

  “What have you girls been up to, or shouldn’t I ask?” She licked her scrawny lips suggestively as she eyed us.

  “We’re all fine, thanks for your concern,” Matias answered abruptly, and I sensed he wasn’t overly fond of her.

  “You’ve made quite an impact, from what I hear,” she addressed me, turning her back on him.

  “Why, what have you heard?” I asked, noting the sly element to her tone.

  “Nothing, nothing – except Sam has been looking a little down lately. Is that anything to do with you?”

  “Should it be?”

  “You know what they say: ‘No smoke without fire’, and Sam looks as if his has been extinguished. I’m just looking out for my friends.” She pulled a knowing face, answering a question that had been bothering me since my conversation with Siggie about “campus crows”. My instinct had been right; nothing said in front of Madge would be safe from gossip. I took a deep breath, annoyance rising to the surface like a bubble. I popped it before it had a chance to break, but Matias barely contained his irritation.

  “That’s none of your business, Madge; Sam’s a big boy, he can look after himself.”

  “I was only asking, Matias; there’s no need to get so defensive – is there, Emma, my dear?”

  Siggie Gerhard spotted us and came over. She wore the same gold suit I had seen at the boutique, but with a plump elegance I couldn’t hope to match, making her look like a regal dowager, completely at ease with herself.

  “Hi, you guys.” She smiled benignly and leaned forward to give me a kiss on the cheek. “You’re looking better than when I last saw you and I like the outfit – good call,” she said, managing to look beyond the glaring red and black of the gown that caught my eye every time I looked down. “Have you had a chance to look over the paper I gave you?”

  I had, much to Elena’s annoyance, since I’d cancelled a trip to the cinema to get it finished.

  “Uh huh, and it’s fine from the historical context. If you don’t mind, I’ve made a couple of suggestions about some sources you might find useful. I really liked some of the comparisons you made, especially the reference to cultural genocide. It has interesting parallels to… to…” I was going to say that there were some remarkable similarities to several lesser-known events in the Early Modern period of history, but instead I paused, distracted by Madge who tapped her foot impatiently beside me, like a small dog yapping for attention. “Look, Siggie, would you like to meet up to discuss this? I have some extracts you might find illuminating.”

  Siggie beamed. “Excellent; I’ll let Saul know when I see him later. We were hoping you might join us for dinner sometime, perhaps next week? You would be most welcome to bring someone with you, if you’d like.”

  I noticed she left the choice of who that might be entirely up to me, and she mentioned no names.

  Madge stopped tapping and assumed an air of immense curiosity I had no intention of assuaging. Elena’s mouth opened as she was about to make a suggestion, then it shut just as abrupt
ly as she remembered who listened.

  “Siggie – I would love to, but I will be alone, I’m afraid; but I might bring over a couple of books that you might find good company instead.”

  I cast a sideways glance at Madge who could barely hide her frustration. Siggie smiled again, this time with a humorous twinkle that suggested she understood precisely what just occurred.

  “Then next week will be good; I’ll talk to Saul first before we fix a date, OK?”

  “Fine,” I agreed.

  The room steadily filled, burgeoning with academics whose gowned figures converged then fanned out as they worked their way around, stopping, chatting, drinking, then moving on like a slow dance. As the door opened again, a flurry of hope breathed life into me, flooding me with a warmth instantly reflected in my face. Madge followed my gaze.

  “Ah, the Ice-Man cometh. Well, well – twice in one semester; this must be a record. I wonder what he’s after.”

  Matthew had been intercepted by Shotter as he entered the room, but he looked beyond the Dean, searching among the faces until he found what he sought and our eyes engaged, sending a jolt through me as physically as if I touched an exposed wire. He said something quietly to Shotter, extricating himself, moving between the heaving mass of bodies and crossing the space between us without taking his eyes from mine. Then he was by me, absorbing every detail of my face, and I, his. He looked just the same, except his irises appeared darker, almost navy pools of blue, and there seemed a tension in the set of his mouth that should have cautioned the rapid beat of my pulse. Yet, he appeared exquisite in formal evening wear, the breadth of his shoulders accentuated by the black silk cummerbund, and his smile – once he had greeted the others with his restrained courtesy – was for me alone.

  “Dr D’Eresby,” he murmured.

  “Dr Lynes,” I breathed, and as far as I was concerned, from that moment no one else existed.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Surviving – and you?”

  “The same.” He paused, his eyes travelling over me, saying more than he wanted to put in words. “You look… well,” he said and his smile ate into my heart.

  Madge watched us with eyes that were mere slits. She harrumphed, sounding like a cat coughing up a fur-ball.

  “How come you never usually grace us with your presence, Matthew? Where have you been?”

  “Unfortunately, influenza is very contagious,” he said, clearing his throat without really answering her question.

  “Caught it off one of your patients, maybe?” she said, eyes sliding in my direction. He regarded her coolly and without replying led me to the side of the room by one of the windows where it was relatively quiet. I ignored the whispers and the dozens of eyes that followed us and I realized that what Sam had referred to in anger might partially be true: half the women on campus might indeed lust after Matthew; but Sam was entirely wrong if he thought it reciprocated.

  “I missed you,” I burst out when beyond earshot and instantly regretted saying anything, as his face became unreadable.

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be away for so long. It was… unavoidable.”

  I didn’t want him to think me the clingy sort; I didn’t want him thinking I assumed a relationship at all. I took a deep breath.

  “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t… I shouldn’t have said anything; it just seemed a long time, that’s all.”

  We stood close enough to touch, for him to hear the desperate call of my heart, but he kept his hands rigid by his sides and I clutched my glass with both of mine in case the tremor running throughout my body betrayed me.

  “Have you been busy?” he asked, his tone even, but his voice taut with an unspoken stress I couldn’t fathom. What did he want me to say? How did he expect me to answer such a bland question when there were so many I wanted to ask him? Oh yes, ever so busy, thanks; I bought some cushions from town, stole a priceless manuscript from the library, oh, and by the way – I love you. The moment I thought it, I realized the truth of it.

  I love you, Matthew.

  I felt the colour leave my face. When had curiosity become fascination? At what point did fascination become love? How could I have let it happen after everything I had been through, after all the promises I made to myself? After all the years spent reined in so tight that I hadn’t let my guard down – not once, not ever – and now this – stealthily and without declaration and without any shadow of doubt. I swayed slightly as I struggled to regain sovereignty over my thoughts.

  “Emma, are you all right?”

  I opened my eyes; I must have closed them in an effort to distil some sense out of the confusion. He frowned again, but this time with concern. It was as much as I could do to look at him without my face revealing how I felt, or speak to him without my voice giving me away.

  “Yes, I’m fine; I have been quite busy.”

  I jumped as a scream and a ricochet of firecrackers from just outside in the quad were followed by a tumble of bodies as students upped the tempo. Two faces, distorted by the uneven milling of the glass, pressed against the window. I recognized Josh and Hannah despite her witch’s costume and his horrendous wig flapping around his unshaven chin. Josh grinned at me, his face warped into a demonic sneer, and Hannah’s face whipped away from the glass as he grabbed her around the waist, and they both fell backwards into the darkness, laughing. I turned back to find Matthew gazing at me with a strange expression.

  “Would you like to be out there with them?”

  I allowed myself to be distracted because, at this moment, I still reeled in shock from my self-revelation.

  “No, not at all. I’m not into Halloween or anything like that – quite the opposite.”

  He allowed the faintest smile to reach his eyes. “Despite your choice of subject matter?”

  “Because of my subject matter; witches, monsters, demons – they scare me.”

  His eyes lost their humour. “Ah, so you think they do exist, then?” His voice had a remoteness to it that hadn’t been there before he went away and it frightened me more than I could let him see.

  “I think – I think I’m more scared of the monster in the man, than anything else.”

  He unexpectedly laughed – a short, harsh sound so unlike him. I trembled.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “No…” I wavered; “Matthew, what’s the matter? You seem different – you – your eyes…”

  “What about my eyes?” he interrupted, staring straight into mine, almost challenging. I blanched and looked away, baffled by the sudden change.

  “Emma, I’m so sorry.” He drew a hand across his face. “I’m tired, it’s been a long week. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” I heard pain in his voice and, without thinking, put my hand on his arm; but he flinched and I withdrew it instantly, conscious that I had crossed an undefined boundary.

  “No!” he said, louder than he meant, and several faces turned to look at us. “No, don’t take your hand away,” he said more gently, and took my hand and placed it where it had been. “Please, Emma, it isn’t you. I shouldn’t have come here this evening – not like this. But… but I needed to see you; Heaven forgive me, I missed you.”

  I didn’t know to what he referred; I didn’t understand what could have happened that placed an invisible barrier between us. I only heard those few words that showed he had missed me as much as I did him. I took a pace closer, wanting to comfort him and needing his reassurance in return but he stood stock still, his arm rigid under my hand.

  “I’ll be all right tomorrow,” he said, and he smiled a remote smile, taking a step away from me.

  I tried not to look hurt; I thought I probably wasn’t the cause of whatever seemed to be eating him from inside but – despite what he had said and until I knew otherwise – there was nothing or no one else I could blame.

  A discordant metallic clamour issued from somewhere in the outer hall.

  “Dinner time,” Matthew said, and his smile twis
ted a little. I became suddenly nervous at being separated from him again as people began to converge on the door.

  “Will I be able to sit with you?”

  He shook his head, and it gladdened me to note that he appeared as disappointed as I felt.

  “We all have set places to sit.”

  “You don’t like this very much, do you?” I said softly.

  “I play my part – but I don’t find it easy, no.” He looked down at me. “But then neither do you.”

  “No,” I whispered.

  He straightened. “Let’s get it over with,” he said, almost to himself, and he walked me towards the door and the line of people parading through it.

  It reminded me of the darkened ribs of a tide-washed hull.

  Like its medieval antecedents, the Great Hall’s barrel-vaulted ceiling yawned high above our heads to the full height of the old building. As with much of the college, here Ebenezer Howard had imitated the features of the antiquity he so admired without really understanding the rhythm of the architecture they sang to. There was something endearing about his attempts though, like a child’s version of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers – all gaudy pattern and no substance – but recognizable all the same. At one end of the hall, a raised dais bore a baronial chair of throne-like proportions, by which the Dean already waited.

  Almost a third of the way along the series of tables which stretched almost the length of the room, Elena waved, pointing to the chair on the opposite side from her. Matthew took me over and I saw my name in gilded letters on the heavy parchment place-card.

  “Where will you be?” I asked.

  “Up there, somewhere,” he said, looking towards where Shotter presided with several senior members of the academic staff. They all looked so much older than Matthew. “I’d better go,” he said with regret. “I’ll see you later.”

  I missed him the moment he left, the gulf widening between us as he moved towards the end of the table. I felt at a loss now that I recognized the void inside me for what it was; it hurt knowing that I loved him, but so much more thinking he might not feel the same way about me. In the past week we both had changed. I had become something I did not recognize: a thief – but a thief in love – and one whose prime motivation in life had been replaced by nothing more than a man; not a dream to better the world or a greater aspiration to study its past, but a man – lonely and fallible.