“It’s my fault for not introducing myself. There’s no need to be so formal, you can call me Harry. Short for Harriet. I’m the Principal’s executive assistant.”
“I imagine I’ll be spending a lot of time with you. As you’ve likely guessed, I’m Natalie Payne. Please call me Nat, most people do once they get to know me.”
Harry’s warm welcome has put me at ease, but based on the seniority of her role and the glint in her eye, I’m guessing she has a core of steel inside her.
A flurry of raised voices coming from behind the closed inner door interrupts any further conversation. When we hear the crash of glass breaking, Harry winces and offers me a weak smile. I cling to my smile but shift on the edge of the cushioned seat. My eyebrows arch into question marks as I nod towards the exit, a silent query to see if I should make excuses and come back later.
Harry shakes her head and motions me to stay where I am. “Don’t you worry, hun. Dr Radcliffe is a gem. It’s that other woman in there. She’s stirring up all the trouble.”
The heavy inner office door slams open, a broad-shouldered and thick-waisted woman in a stained chef’s coat comes barrelling out of it straight into the reception. I spy a familiar pair of black clogs on her feet. So much for my efforts to avoid her.
She doesn’t spare a glance at me, glaring at Harry before turning back around and continuing with her angry rant. “How dare you tell me what I have to do! The kitchen and dining hall are my domain and I must have complete and total freedom.”
A voice calls out from the inner office, “Of course, you are in control, but surely you can see how your decisions can affect others?”
The chef is undeterred, her face glowing red with fury. “What happened to them is no fault of mine! If you want me to remain here as Head Chef, I’ll thank you to remember that. Now if you’ve no other false complaints to hold against me, I have to finish preparing dinner.”
When the chef stomps out of the room, slamming the reception door behind herself, both Harry and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“The glass paperweight?” asks Harry as a middle-aged woman in pressed trousers and a silk blouse appears in the doorway.
“Got it in one. I’m lucky she smashed it onto my desk instead of my head.” The woman spots me smiling in my chair. “You must be Ms Payne. Do come in. I’m so sorry about the delay… and that you had to witness that.”
I murmur polite reassurances as I gather my bag. Harry winks at me, offering reassurance with her expression that I’m not walking into the proverbial lion’s den.
Fixing my smile back in place, I straighten my shoulders and follow. I soak in more of the detail as I trail behind her into the next room. My last job locked me in the unforgiving modern glass and clean lines of London’s exhibition halls. The college Principal’s office is the exact opposite, located in the east wing of a sprawling mansion. The Edwardian architecture echoes in the decor, the space filled by an antique hardwood desk, claw-footed chairs and velvet sofas that scream to be stroked. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, embossed leather covers mixing in with well-worn paperbacks and a few popular self-help novels. The room strikes a balance between well-respected and welcoming.
A life-size portrait of a man in an old-fashioned white wig dominates the space above the walnut fireplace mantle. His dour expression is so piercing that it almost feels as if he’s glaring at me. I choose the chair that faces in the opposite direction. Better to have Mr MacCreepy at my back than staring me in the face throughout my first meeting.
“I’m Scarlett Radcliffe, the Principal here at St. Margaret College at the University of Oxford. I’m really pleased to welcome you to our team.”
“This is an incredible opportunity, particularly for someone my age. I’m thrilled to be here.” My eyes are bright with genuine enthusiasm.
Dr Radcliffe settles into her padded leather chair. “When your predecessor, Lillian, announced her retirement, we didn’t know how we’d ever find someone who could work her magic in planning our ceremonies and events. Before she left, Lillian assured us you are more than competent for the job.” Pausing, she leans in my direction, “Did you know that Lillian was only 30 when she took on the role? I imagine you reminded her of herself.”
Dr Radcliffe digs around on her desk before coming up with a familiar looking document. “I’m ashamed to say I’ve had little time to review your CV, despite Harry continually moving it to the top of my pile. Would you mind talking me through it? It will help me learn more about you, which will be useful later when Harry quizzes me on our catch-up.”
I clear my throat and drive into my career highlights. “Although my CV covers my professional experience, my passion for events started much earlier. I’ve been planning my birthday parties since I was out of nappies. My mother let me help with her charity events in my teens, and by the time I headed off to uni, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.”
I pause for a breath before continuing. “I stayed near home, attending City, University of London where I studied Business and Marketing. From there, they offered me an internship at Disneyland Paris. It was a dream come true to work behind the scenes at the park. No one in the world is better at event planning. I learned so much from seeing first hand the tricks they used to make it look like things happen by magic.”
Dr Radcliffe leans over her desk, her head resting on her hand, engrossed in my story. “I’ve experienced the magic of Disney myself. I can imagine a lot of work goes into planning their events. When did you come back to the UK?”
“I stayed at Disney for a year and a half. I had the chance of taking a full-time role in Orlando, but I wasn’t up for moving that far away. Paris was adventure enough. I found a job with a corporate events agency in London and spent the last few years there.”
“And now Oxford.” Dr Radcliffe eyes me before nodding. “You’ll fit right in, plenty of former London diehards here in the area. Everyone moves up here to raise their families, trying to escape the London house prices. Not much of a discount anymore, I’m afraid. But nothing for you to worry about now, you’re welcome to stay here in the college for the next six months. Is anyone joining you?”
“No family for me, just myself. I’m dedicated to my job.”
Dr Radcliffe smiles, “Much like our grad students and junior professors. So many of them are single that I’ve stopped offering a plus one on my dinner invitations.”
I straighten up in my seat, trying to brush off the feeling that the old portrait is huffing his disapproval onto the back of my neck. I am a confident, grown woman, and I don’t need a man to feel complete. Jumping ahead, I shift the conversation. “It’s incredibly generous of the college to put me up for so long. I am sure the house will be perfect, if what I’ve seen so far is any sign.”
The college fills an entire city block with a mix of hundred-year-old Edwardian buildings and modern halls tucked away behind a tall, wrought-iron fence. Each building is named for an earlier benefactor or notable college fellow, the halls hung with ageing portraits and commemorative plaques. I felt like I was stepping back a century when I walked in the front door. Only the sheer history of Oxford keeps the elements of modern technology from reminding me I’m still in the 21st century.
Dr Radcliffe rises from her chair, inviting me to follow. “I appreciate you stopping by to introduce yourself. I’m sure you want to unpack, so I won’t keep you long. Harry will get you a set of keys and show you to the flat. Shall we meet back here tomorrow morning, say 7am? I know it’s early, but I have an all-day meeting I can’t postpone.”
I pick up my bag and follow. “That’s fine. I’m an early riser. I’d love a proper tour, and then to meet the key staff.”
“Perfect. Do you have any other questions before you head off?”
I mull over whether it is appropriate to ask about the angry staff member or not. Better to know if she’s someone important so I can start strategising on how to win her over.
“The key sta
ff members, do they include the woman who stomped her way out of here?”
Dr Radcliffe chuckles and nods her head. “Unfortunately, yes. Mrs Smythe will be someone you can’t avoid. As you must have overheard, she’s the head chef here. In fact, she’s one of the top chefs in the country, as she often reminds us. We have to fall in line with her demands, regardless of whether they are rational or even palatable. The other colleges here in Oxford keep trying to lure her away.”
I smile at her candour and reassure her, “There’s one in every bunch, even at Disney. I’m sure I can find a common interest to connect with her.”
“We’ll be very impressed if you do. Good night, Ms Payne.”
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Other books in the series
Follow along with Nat and her friends as the Oxford Key Mysteries series continues:
Book 1: Murder at St Margaret
Book 2: Burglary at Barnard
Book 3: Arson at the Ashmolean
Book 4: Sabotage at Somerset
Novella: The Eternal Investigator
Books 5 & 6: Coming in 2021
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my wonderful editing team — Inga Kruse, Anne Radcliffe and my dad. A special thanks to Lida Sophia Townsley, who copyedited this novella.
Big thanks to my cover designer — Emilie Yane Lopes.
Thanks to my husband, my daughters, and my mom. And the cats.
As always, a shout-out to my readers and fans. I hope you enjoyed learning more about Bartie. I had a lot of fun dreaming up his tale and seeing it come to life.
About the Author
Lynn Morrison lives in Oxford, England with her husband, two daughters and two cats. Originally from the US, she has also lived in Italy, France and the Netherlands. It’s no surprise then that she loves to travel, with a never-ending wish list of destinations to visit. She is as passionate about reading as she is writing, and can almost always be found with a book in hand. You can find out more about her on her website LynnMorrisonWriter.com.
You can chat with her directly in her Facebook group - Lynn Morrison’s Not a Book Club - where she talks about books, life and anything else that crosses her mind.
Also by Lynn Morrison
The Oxford Key Mysteries
Murder at St Margaret
Burglary at Barnard
Arson at the Ashmolean
Sabotage at Somerset
The Eternal Investigator
Nonfiction (published by Fairlight Books)
How to be Published
How to Market Your Book
The Eternal Investigator: An Oxford Key Mysteries Novella Page 8
