An Oxford Scandal

by Maxine Barry

  Gideon gritted his teeth. Damn the woman — it was as if she knew he didn’t dare have her touch him.

  He carefully began dabbing his various scrapes.

  ‘I think Sin-Jun wants the chance to do a little insider digging,’ Gideon said determinedly, steering the subject back on to safer ground. He still felt obliged to try and carry out his principal’s wishes, even if he didn’t totally agree with them himself.

  ‘I can understand that,’ Laurel sympathised. ‘But the thing is, will calling in the police not backfire on us all?’ She gnawed on her lower lip nervously. ‘If we hold back and the chalice isn’t recovered and we have to call the police in as a last resort, they’ll say it was our fault for not calling them in sooner. No, I can’t agree to keeping them in the dark. Surely Sin-Jun has some clout in this town?’ she asked, turning on Gideon and glaring at him fiercely.

  Gideon sighed. ‘I suppose he has.’

  ‘Well? Can’t he ask them to keep a lid on this thing until the chalice is back?’ she demanded.

  Gideon threw down a piece of cotton wool and slipped his feet into a pair of slippers by his chair. He stood up, walked carefully into the kitchen to throw the water away, and then came back.

  He looked at her steadily for a long while, obviously making his mind up about something.

  Laurel, aware of the new tension in the air, stopped her pacing and stared at him.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  Gideon shook his head. ‘Nothing. It’s only . . .’

  Laurel took a huge breath. ‘Come on, Gideon, just spit it out,’ she demanded. ‘This is no time for beating around the bush.’

  Gideon sat down and looked at her levelly as she retook her seat in the big armchair opposite him. ‘I don’t know you very well, do I?’ he said slowly, and saw that he’d surprised her.

  ‘Well, no, I don’t suppose you do,’ she said, confusion making her feel uneasy. ‘But what’s that got to do with anything?’ she asked, with far less aggression in her voice now. Sensing that something was wrong, she sat forward, her hands rubbing nervously up and down her knees.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Gideon said. How much can I trust you? ‘Just how did the thief know the chalice was there?’

  Laurel opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her eyes sharpened. Suddenly she laughed. It was a hard, biting laugh. ‘Oh, I get it. Now I understand why old Sin-Jun is so anxious to keep the cops out of this. It had to be one of your lot, didn’t it?’ she accused.

  Gideon winced. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that you have a very crude mouth?’ But as he spoke, he glanced at her lips and realised, rather abruptly, that as a matter of fact she had a very shapely mouth. With a full upper lip and a cupid’s bow that begged to be kissed.

  ‘Sure, all the time,’ Laurel snapped. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that you’re as two-faced as . . . as . . .’

  ‘Janus?’ Gideon helpfully named the Roman god that had two faces, and gave a sweet smile.

  Laurel glared at him, then felt a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. She had to hand it to him, the man had class.

  ‘Fine, whatever,’ she said. ‘Let’s face facts. The chalice had to have been stolen by someone at the party tonight, right?’

  Gideon sighed with dismay. ‘I just can’t believe it,’ he said helplessly. ‘And yet, I don’t see any other way around it. Look, I know I’ve no right to ask you this, but . . .’ He stopped speaking abruptly, as he realised he was on the verge of begging.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ Laurel said softly, utterly taking him by surprise. In an instant, she was by his side, her hand supportively squeezing his shoulder. ‘I was forgetting. These people are your friends, aren’t they? This college is, well, it’s your life I guess.’

  Gideon blinked, staring up at her bemused. One moment she was a snarling, loud-mouthed tigress, the next . . . more understanding than he possibly had a right to expect.

  He swallowed hard.

  Laurel brushed the silvery hair off his forehead. It was so soft and silky to the touch, and amazingly fair. Almost white. It was very sexy.

  ‘I mean, when all’s said and done, this thing with the chalice is bad for me, for the Van Gilders, but it’s hardly the end of the world,’ she murmured, absently twisting a strand of his hair around her finger.

  Gideon froze in the chair. His heart rate soared. He closed his eyes briefly, then snapped them open again.

  ‘I’ve got the option, if I want to,’ Laurel mused, ‘of just pushing it all on to the police and doing a Pontius Pilate — you know, washing my hands of it, and distancing the Van Gilder name as far as possible.’

  Her fingers were caressing his scalp, and his skin flushed hot. He could feel it travelling all the way down the back of his neck.

  ‘But for you, this is an absolute disaster,’ she said solemnly. ‘Isn’t it?’

  Gideon swallowed hard. ‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely. But in truth he’d hardly been listening to her words at all. Her voice — soft, rich, gentle — had almost hypnotised him.

  She leaned into him, pushing aside his knees to stand closer, and tenderly kissed his forehead. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she said softly. And kissed one silvery eyebrow. ‘It’ll be all right, I promise,’ she said again, and kissed the small bridge of his nose. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she whispered, and kissed one of his closed eyelids.

  He was shaking now. She could feel it.

  ‘It’ll be all right.’

  Her lips hovered over his own.

  Gideon heaved a great shuddering sigh. It felt so good. Suddenly his eyes snapped open, spearing her with a bright blue icy light. He reared back.

  ‘For pity’s sake, woman, leave me alone,’ he roared, pushing her away, getting to his feet and walking jerkily to the window. For one insane moment, he’d wanted her to go on and on and never stop!

  ‘I’ll be glad to,’ Laurel snapped back, hurt to the core and storming towards the door.

  Gideon spun around, anguished at the look of pain on her face. ‘Don’t you get it?’ he yelled in frustration. ‘I don’t need a man-eater in my life right now.’

  The moment he said it, he could have bitten off his own tongue. Laurel, her hand on the door handle, froze for one instant then turned slowly back to look at him.

  She was hurt and confused and scared and tired, and more than ready to hit right back. Where it hurt most.

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ she said coolly. ‘I don’t need a suspected thief in mine.’

  Gideon paled. ‘What?’

  Laurel smiled grimly into his wide, shocked eyes. ‘You think you’re the only one who can put two and two together, Gideon?’ she taunted. ‘I was there, too, remember, when your dean said about the alarm being off,’ she reminded him with deadly softness.

  But as his eyes widened further, she realised with a rush of exasperated tenderness that he’d never even considered the fact that he might be suspected of taking the chalice himself.

  ‘Oh, you goof!’ she cried, and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

  Men! They weren’t worth it. They simply weren’t worth the hassle.

  But by the time she’d caught a taxi and been driven home, she’d come to the conclusion that Gideon Welles probably was worth it.

  The question was, what did she intend to do about it?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Gideon walked into the breakfast room opposite the Senior Common Room and became instantly aware that something had changed but was unsure exactly what it was.

  Wrongfooted, he stopped, glancing around with a quizzical look on his handsome face. The college butler was circulating with the toast tray and two scouts were dispensing teapots. The hum of conversation was neither more hushed nor more avid than usual, so it seemed as if Sin-Jun had been successful in keeping the theft of the chalice a secret.

  Everything seemed normal, and yet for some reason Gideon felt like a stranger to it all, even though for the last decade he’d been taking his breakfast here. Th
e exquisite Edwardian oak dining tables, the silver cutlery bearing the college crest, the heavy white tablecloths always freshly washed and crisply starched, the faded green flock-velvet walls and, dominating the far wall, a huge and beautiful Lely portrait, were all familiar, yet now he didn’t seem to fit into the scene at all.

  As if sensing his plight, Rex Jimson-Clarke half raised a hand, one little finger beckoning him over to his table. The Theology don was obviously going to take a service somewhere, for he was dressed in his full clerical regalia, complete with dog-collar and his most severe black suit.

  ‘Rex,’ Gideon greeted him quietly, as he drew back one of the matching Edwardian chairs and sat down elegantly. For such a tall man, Gideon had a grace that complemented the room, and many of the female eyes turned in his direction were appreciative.

  The college butler deposited toast on the table and waited patiently for his order. Rex was already halfway through a full English breakfast, but the thought of food revolted Gideon. He murmured something about ‘just coffee’ and waited until they were once more alone.

  ‘Rex, you were at the party last night. Did anything strike you as odd?’

  The Theology don looked at him in surprise. ‘Odd? How do you mean? Blotto? Plenty were that, old man.’

  Gideon sighed. How did you go about questioning your friends without letting on what it was all about?

  ‘No. Nothing like that, Rex. I mean, did anyone seem particularly upset, scared, excited . . . ?’

  ‘You mean apart from those who were in a deep blue funk because you snaffled the Van Gilder chair?’ Rex asked, still obviously confused.

  Gideon sighed. ‘Never mind. Forget it.’ It was obvious that if Rex had seen anything obviously suspicious, he’d have said so by now. But then, what had Gideon expected? That the thief would give himself away by a show of nerves or remorse? Get real!

  Rex continued to stare at Gideon, his puzzlement slowly turning to worry. ‘You all right?’ he asked quietly. ‘You seem a bit . . . I don’t know . . . off.’

  Gideon felt like laughing.

  Apart from the fact that he was a suspected thief, had a hellcat on his tail, and now seemed to be facing some kind of mid-life crisis, he was fine.

  Something about the older man’s intuition made his stomach lurch unpleasantly. If Rex was noticing a change in him, he was in big trouble. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just tired, I suppose,’ he said miserably.

  With every passing second, he was aware that he was becoming more and more a stranger to these people. These people who had shared his life, his career, his living space, for the last fifteen years.

  He was sure his unease was nothing to do with a certain loud-mouthed American woman.

  It just wasn’t.

  But something was making him feel cheated. And worried. For the first time ever, he began to question the direction his life had taken. His commitment to the college. His very way of being.

  ‘Well, I’d best be off. I’ve got a sermon to deliver and I have to be back here by ten thirty sharp. Tutorials,’ Rex sighed, as if teaching wasn’t what Oxford was supposed to be all about.

  And once again, Gideon felt a disorientating lurch of unease.

  One part of him, the clinical psychologist, understood how something as drastic as a theft was bound to upset and agitate a world within a small, self-contained community like St Bede’s. Another, more human part of him began to feel stifled.

  And suddenly, Gideon understood.

  Did he have any real friends here? Any real life?

  Laurel Van Gilder had been right all along! When — no, if — the news ever broke about the chalice being stolen, just how supportive or helpful would these people be? And if, for some reason, suspicion should fall on him, would these people rally around and help him, or would they quickly distance themselves so that scandal wouldn’t fall on them also?

  Gideon knew, realistically, that he’d be a pariah and somehow it shocked him. It shouldn’t, of course. He was a big boy now, he knew the score. But still, it made him feel as if he’d been wasting his time here. Letting life just drift on by.

  And how much of this had Laurel Van Gilder realised when she’d stroked his hair last night, offering comfort that he’d then thrown back in her face?

  At the time, he’d thought that she had thrown the fact that he was on the suspect list in his face as nothing more than sour grapes. A way to get under his skin.

  As if she needed another way!

  Now, though, he wondered. Had she realised how lonely he was?

  For a whole second, Gideon fought the insane urge to laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all.

  One minute his life had been the same as usual, going along at the same contented pace, and then — wham. A woman throws herself under his car and his life goes to blazes.

  And, worse still, he was beginning to suspect that that might be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  Gideon sighed deeply and reached for the coffee pot. He was overtired and getting the jitters was not going to help him. Neither was feeling sorry for himself.

  Clearly, he had to get to the bottom of this affair. He didn’t know if Laurel had called in the police or not — he wasn’t certain what her current state of mind would be after the debacle last night.

  But one thing was for sure: no policeman would know college life, or his colleagues, like he did. They wouldn’t have a clue how the colleges operated, or the ins and outs of the academic world.

  However, Gideon Welles most certainly did.

  But where to start?

  With the people at the party, of course. If it wasn’t a random thief who just happened to get very, very lucky, then it had to be someone at the party. And, moreover, someone who knew the alarm was faulty, which narrowed the number of suspects considerably. Of course, the information could have been passed on beyond that, but it seemed a good place to begin.

  The Psychology don’s high forehead began to wrinkle in concentrated thought.

  Sir Laurence. No, that was impossible. Sir Laurence was about to retire, was a pillar of the community and — more to the point — was wealthy in his own right. He’d have no need to steal a valuable object. Unless he was an avid collector. Collectors, Gideon knew, could be merciless and without conscience when it came to adding to their treasures. But he was sure he’d have known about it if Sir Laurence was a collector of antique silver.

  Martha Doyle, then.

  Gideon shook his head. Slightly promiscuous, good-hearted Martha, a thief? It just didn’t gel somehow. She was too laid-back. Too at ease with herself and her world to risk it by taking such a chance.

  Unless she was desperate for money?

  That left Dr Ollenbach and Julie Ngabe.

  Gideon knew that Felicity Ollenbach did a lot of television stuff, and wasn’t that supposed to pay very well indeed?

  His thoughts turned to the African woman. Did that serene exterior hide someone who would steal?

  It just seemed so outrageous. Next he’d be wondering about the dean!

  Or Sin-Jun!

  There were the serving staff, of course. And the college butler. They were busy in the common room when the dean told Sin-Jun about the problem with the alarm, so there’s a chance they may have heard him. But even if they had, they’d been rushed off their feet all evening, tending to the dons — it’s highly unlikely they would have got away with slipping out of the party.

  Gideon wearily rubbed his face. Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way.

  He needed something concrete. An indisputable fact from which to start.

  Which was simple.

  Whoever it was must have left the party for a short time to break into the glass cabinet and steal the chalice. Then what? Hide it? Take it home and come back to the party? So, he was looking for someone who’d been missing from the party for at least five to ten minutes, likely a fair bit longer. Surely that would narrow it down?

  It was also someone who was
willing to take a chance on getting caught.

  Someone who was desperate enough to try it. For surely it must have been a spur-of-the-moment decision? The thief wouldn’t have known it would be in a cabinet that was temporarily vulnerable. Unless the alarm had been deliberately tampered with, of course, and that would open up a whole can of worms. But there was no evidence of that.

  No, someone must have acted on sheer inspiration.

  Surely it wouldn’t be hard to find that someone? And when he did, perhaps he’d find out that whoever it was was now heartily sorry they’d even yielded to temptation. It might be possible to get the chalice back without any criminal proceedings at all.

  Gideon wondered grimly if he was back to living in cloud cuckoo land again. And realised that, whatever happened, his life had now changed irreversibly.

  Damn that woman.

  She was turning his whole life upside down!

  * * *

  Laurel yawned, rolled over, and cast a baleful eye at the clock. Nearly nine thirty. It was no use. In spite of not sleeping a wink and feeling raggedly tired, she simply wasn’t going to be able to lie in.

  She dragged herself out of bed, aching and tired, and stumbled to the shower. The hot water helped a little and she shampooed her hair and towel-dried it, before selecting an amber and bronze suit from her wardrobe. The autumnal colours did a lot to emphasise her long black hair and ebony eyes, and she added the merest touch of bronze eyeshadow to her lids.

  At least she looked presentable.

  All dressed up and nowhere to go.

  She sighed and wandered to the kitchen, making herself coffee and popping some sliced bread into the toaster. She felt restless. Couldn’t settle. Couldn’t seem to think.

  She turned on the radio but, of course, there was no news about the theft at the college.

  She’d spent all night wondering whether she should call in the police and then finally decided she wouldn’t.

  And that had nothing to do with the fact that Gideon Welles would be treated as a suspect. Questioned. Humiliated.

  No. That hadn’t come into it at all.