by Darci Balogh
Ian was an old college friend of Michael's and hadn't known Bea and Travis before the castle wedding where Sofia had seen him perform. Bea and Travis had stopped to help Ian and his band on the side of the road while driving back to London. Ian's van had broken down. They'd since become friends.
"I still don't know if Ian was more concerned about getting his band mates home or his guitar," Travis said with a chuckle.
"Guitar, absolutely," Ian responded. "And, I guess the drum set, too." He leaned back in his chair, a move that showed off a strong, flat abdomen underneath his sleek shirt. He looked at Sofia, the sparkle he'd had in his eyes when she left him in the hallway was there again. "Do you like music?"
Sofia found it impossible to look away from him. The color of his eyes was strange. She'd never seen anything like it. Tawnyetta had amber eyes that could glow a liquid golden brown, which were quiet arresting. But Ian's eyes were golden yellow all the time. Like a cat. They flashed with intelligence, humor, and something Sofia couldn't quite put her finger on, something electrifying.
"Um, yes, I like music," she stammered.
Seated across from her, Ian leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, his colorful tattoos in stark contrast to his pale skin. He continued to hold her gaze with his. "Who do you like?"
Sofia could not think of one band that she could mention. Not one singer or musician came to mind. She had always been terrible at remembering names of bands or the songs they sang. With Ian watching her it was impossible for her to answer. She drew a complete blank.
A beeping noise erupted from the kitchen.
"The meat pie!" Bea exclaimed. She and Travis both hopped up from the table and rushed into the kitchen, the bow on the back of Travis' apron flopping wildly as they disappeared through the door.
"Lamb pie," Ian said.
Sofia turned her attention back to him and became intensely aware that they were quite alone in the dining room. "Is that was we're having?" She'd never had a meat pie and wasn't sure it sounded very appetizing. To be polite she said, "It smells good."
"It smells delicious. I don't get many home cooked meals anymore, so it's a real treat."
"Do you travel a lot with your music?" Sofia managed to come up with a semi-intelligent question.
Ian nodded and picked up the open bottle of wine. "May I?" he asked as he tipped it toward her glass, which was almost empty. She nodded. He spoke as he poured, "Yes, I do a lot of takeaway."
Her mind clicked through the possible meanings of that statement. Finally it landed on one that made sense. "Right, takeout. Me too, especially since I got here. I don't have much of a kitchen at my apartm–at my flat."
The sound of lighthearted bickering in the kitchen drifted over the guitar music Bea had put on for ambience. They both paused then shared a smile.
"Married life," Ian said wryly.
Sofia laughed sharp and loud. It was such an unexpected sound she shut her mouth tight to stop it. He grinned at her, his eyes gleaming with that odd intensity again. Embarrassed at her outburst she looked down at her wine glass and took a deep sip, wondering what else they could talk about.
"You should come to a concert," Ian said. He had leaned back in his chair again and was sipping his wine, looking at her over the glass.
"Your concert?"
He nodded and swallowed. "Yeah..." his cat eyes continued gazing at her. Then, as if he'd realized he was staring, he looked down at his hands. His shoulders hunched forward just a bit and she got the distinct impression he had turned shy all of a sudden. "If you want. You may not like it."
A flutter of nerves erupted in her stomach. Was he asking her out? She couldn't tell for sure. The fluttering increased and Sofia took another sip of wine. Washing her nervous stomach with wine didn't do much to reduce her nerves. She didn't know if she would be capable of eating anything called lamb pie.
"I've heard you sing," Sofia said. She meant it as proof that she had enjoyed his performance. That's not how he took it.
"Ouch," he responded.
"No, that's not what I meant," Sofia started to explain.
"Rosemary and garlic lamb pie," Bea announced. She held a bowl of tossed greens while Travis followed her, savory lamb pie in his oven mitt covered hands.
Dinner was on. The time to explain herself to Ian was over. As the meal and conversation progressed Sofia realized it wasn't that important. It's not like she had been looking for a date, especially not with a rock musician. She couldn't deny the attraction between them, but in the real world he wasn't her type. Besides she had bigger concerns looming on the horizon. Monday morning she would be reporting to her first day at work, and when she remembered that fact the fluttering nerves in her stomach morphed into full-blown tremors of anxiety.
Chapter Four
As Sofia made her way from the Victoria Embankment along the River Thames into King's College Strand Campus on Monday morning she felt like Alice in Wonderland.
Outside, along the river where she'd grown comfortable over the past week, she was normal sized. Once she walked under the King's College ancient archway built from smooth, shaped stone with the glowering face of a bearded man she assumed was King George IV hovering over her, Sofia started shrinking.
The buildings were grand and intimidating. They stretched five and six stories high, built from smooth marble and pure white stone, with huge pillars as big around as her first car gracing their fronts. She made her way across the great courtyard, through crowds of students who were either busily moving from point A to point B or relaxing in the sun at outdoor tables, and past the four rows of fountains that shot never ending streams of water straight into the air until they reached the limits of gravity and plummeted back to the flat stone tiles with a great splash. By the time she reached the fountains, Sofia felt only five inches tall.
She paused in the cool mist coming off of the splashing water. She had heard once that anxiety was just a form of excitement, but with the brakes on. On this morning, standing in the middle of this historic place, an academic powerhouse like King's, world renowned, respected, and resplendent, Sofia finally understood that saying. The magnitude of being invited to work with some of the most respected academics in the world lifted her spirits to a thrilling height. The realization that one misstep, one stupid mistake, could bring it all to an end, made any amount of excitement she felt come to a screeching halt.
Her research assistant position was not as permanent as she had led her family and friends to believe. How could it be? She had never interviewed with the faculty with whom she would be working. There had been nothing but her application and some letters of recommendation from her professors at DU to recommend her to the job. She had been offered only a temporary position working under Professor Frederick Shipley on a trial basis. That part of the offer letter hadn't popped out at her when she first read it in the garden shed. And she had already announced her new job to everyone and their brother by the time she figured out those stipulations. After that, she'd been too embarrassed to tell anyone the whole truth.
Sofia watched two students walk so close to the fountains that water droplets sprinkled across their shirts, leaving little wet spots spattered over the cloth. Her eyes followed the water to its peak where it fell over itself in a turmoil of bubbled spheres before falling back to earth. The towering Bush House stood on the other side of the fountains, beckoning her to enter and face her fate.
"Well, no going back now," Sofia said to herself under her breath. She loved math, she had to remember that. The logic of it. The way it was forced to do the right and correct thing no matter what. Math didn't change its mind because of emotion. It didn't lie. It didn't change. It made the whole world make sense. "All you have to do is your best," she told herself. Then, before she lost her nerve, she straightened her shoulders and turned toward the entrance.
After climbing the magnificent staircase made of carved marble curving gracefully up from the front lobby, Sofia arrived at the third floor.
She found her way down long hallways that crisscrossed through the huge building in an almost never-ending maze. When she finally found room 327 she hesitated before opening the substantial wooden door. The worn brass doorknob was smooth and cold to the touch. She took a deep breath through her nose and out through her mouth to quell her butterflies, then pushed the door open.
Sofia had spent hours researching this position as well as her new boss, Professor Shipley. He was an expert in his field of math and data analytics. She had online stalked him and found pictures of him at several university websites where he had presented his research, as well as on King's College website. Some of his better known lectures had even made it to YouTube. From all of this she had learned a few things about him. He was 67 years old, held three doctorate degrees in mathematical sciences, lived in London currently, but had been born in Liverpool. He was not only intellectually intimidating, but had a towering physical presence as well. Of a hefty stature, 6' 5" tall, and with a deep, commanding voice, he was one of the most successful black men in his field.
With these expectations front of mind, it was no wonder Sofia was surprised to find an entirely different individual waiting for her on the other side of the door. Instead of a tall older black man, Sofia found a tall, platinum haired white woman perched on the corner of a long table in the center of the room. The woman was in her fifties, had thin almost white hair that fell limp and straight to just past her broad chin. Her eyes were small and narrow, and her face was long, reminding Sofia of a horse. When the woman saw her she stood and smiled, revealing very large horse like teeth. When she spoke her voice was deep and smooth.
"You must be Dr. Venegas," the woman said, offering Sofia her hand.
Sofia answered as confidently as she could manage, "Yes, yes I am." She took the woman's hand to shake. Her hand was so big it wrapped completely around Sofia's with room to spare.
"I'm Professor Weston, Clara Weston," the woman said as she shook Sofia's hand firmly.
It took a moment for the name to register. "Oh yes, of course, Dr. Weston," Sofia said. She had read up on Dr. Clara Weston as well. "I'm familiar with your work."
"Please, call me Clara. I get enough of the 'doctor' and 'professor' thing from students."
Much of Sofia's nerves settled as Clara showed her around the suite of rooms. Clara had her own office and Professor Shipley had a larger office next to hers. Both office doors connected to the large room that held the long table where Clara had been sitting when Sofia arrived. There were several laptops on the table and two desktop computers on small tables up against one wall. There was a long window on the other wall that looked out over the courtyard and the fountains. The floors were all dark wood and shone as if they'd been buffed a thousand times, which was probably the case. Comfortably cool despite the warm August morning, the room had that slight sour scent that accompanied all old buildings.
"We've set up a workstation for you here," Clara motioned Sofia toward what could only be described as a dent in the wall, a four-by-four space that may have at one time been a closet but now had no door. The architectural feature created a cramped cubby where a small desk, lamp, desktop computer and office chair could fit–barely. "It may feel a bit cramped here," Clara said apologetically. "But much of the time you'll be working at the larger table with the grad students. So hopefully this will work." Clara's long, bland face gave Sofia a hopeful smile.
"Yes, it will be just fine, thank you," Sofia responded politely. She tried to give Clara a warm smile, but she was a little disappointed not to get her own office. Even a small office would have gone a long way to making her presence here feel more permanent.
"And this is where we make our tea," Clara added brightly, sweeping her long arm toward an antique secretary a few feet away from Sofia's new chair. The left side was a glass cabinet, which held china teacups. The flat surface on top of the cabinet held an electric teapot, and on the right side, on the shelf in front of a beveled mirror, was a real china sugar bowl and a handful of stir sticks in a yellow glass jar. Clara pulled down the shelf where a fine lady may have penned a letter 150 years or more ago. Instead of stationary and inkwell, the shelves inside held several types of tea.
"On a break again, are we?" A booming voice came from the front door.
Sofia knew without looking that this must be Professor Shipley. His voice had a proprietary air, plus she recognized it from the online videos. He loomed in the doorway holding a crooked stack of books in his arms. Sofia's nerves returned as she faced him.
"Frederick, this is Dr. Venegas," Clara introduced Sofia.
Bravely sticking out her hand, Sofia said, "Please, call me Sofia."
Professor Shipley moved into the room, scowling. He stopped directly in front of her and Sofia had to practically look straight up in order to meet his irritated glare. He peered down at her outstretched hand through thick, black-rimmed glasses. Then he indicated the books filling his arms by lifting them slightly higher. His hands were full. As he dropped his arms back down he did something that Sofia had only imagined famous professors ever did. He made a harrumph sound.
"And you may call me Professor Shipley," he said. "Or Dr. Shipley." He brushed past her and after an awkward moment she returned her outstretched hand quickly to her side.
"Oh, Frederick," Clara said chiding.
Professor Shipley turned halfway back to the two women with an even deeper scowl darkening his expression. "You see, Clara, that's the problem. This informal tone you propagate will be the ruin of us all." Then he stomped into his office and used his foot to slam the door behind him.
Chapter Five
Her first few days at work were grueling. Sofia had never been so tired. Given the fact that she had worked her way through college, graduate school, and finally earned her PhD, the fact that this job was wiping her out certainly said something. What, she wasn't sure.
Clara was kind, intelligent, and patient. All of the students called her 'Dr. Clara' and Sofia found it more natural to call her that as well. The graduate students on Sofia's team, Henry and Liza, were both mild mannered math, science geeks. They were pale and thin with dark hair and looked like bookends. Even their mannerisms were the same. Quiet, smart, and efficient. If Sofia hadn't known better she would have guessed they were siblings. Everyone was quite nice and professional, except for Professor Shipley. Professor Shipley was a bear.
Whenever she felt like she was relaxing into the work, or they had reached an acceptable conclusion, or she was starting to feel like maybe taking this job and moving across the world wasn't the worst mistake of her life, Professor Shipley stuck his nose in and wreaked havoc on her day. He was demanding, condescending, and grumpy in every single interaction she had with him. At times she wondered if he had it in for her, but then backtracked on that thought. She was not the only one. Henry and Liza were terrified of him, as was every secretary or student or professor who interacted with him. Dr. Clara was the only one who seemed to be able to let everything he said roll off her back, like water off of a duck.
"I think of it as he expends so much energy using his brain that he has nothing left to manage his social interactions," she explained to Sofia one lunch break.
"I guess," Sofia responded with little to no conviction. She wanted to say something much more scathing, but didn't dare. She marveled at Dr. Clara's ability to say anything even remotely kind about him. The best thing Sofia could say about Professor Shipley was that he was consistent. Consistently a jerk.
At the end of her first week Sofia stopped at the liquor store and picked up three bottles of wine.
"One for tonight, one for Saturday, and one for Sunday," she said to herself as she was walking home. Her feet hurt from wearing high heels all week. Her eyes hurt from the strain of staring at numbers and computer screens all day. And her head hurt, because...well, just because.
When she got back to her flat Sofia kicked off her shoes and turned on the fan in her window for some air movement. Then s
he opened the first bottle of wine. She had made it one week and though it hadn't been the smoothest week of her life, she was still standing. It was time to have a mini-celebration.
When she sat down with her mug full of wine, she noticed that her phone had some messages. Texts from Luna, Bridget, Angie and Thomas, and three voicemails. She had been too sleepy the night before to check her voice mails so she clicked on those first.
The first one was her mother checking in on her. She would have to call her back over the weekend and give her all of the news. The next message was from Tawnyetta.
"Exciting news!" Tawnyetta's voice rose from her speaker phone. "We're throwing a huge fundraiser for the health clinics and child care programs in our area. And guess what? It's going to be another ball, Sofia!" Sofia smiled. She could hear the excitement in Tawnyetta's voice. She had to agree, another ball at the Scottish Castle sounded pretty exciting. "So, anyway, we are going to be in London for a few days making some of the arrangements. We would love to see you while we're there. See your new place and everything. Call me! Hope your first week at work is going well! Talk to you later!"
Sofia took a sip of wine and made a mental note to call Tawnyetta this weekend, too. She deleted the message and hit the button to listen to her last voicemail.
A man's voice. She didn't recognize it right away, but the instant she did a shiver went across her shoulders. "Hi Sofia, it's Ian. Ian Law?" From the dinner party at Travis and Bea's? I certainly hope you remember me or this is even more wretched than it feels." Sofia's stomach did a flip-flop. He must have gotten her number from Bea. "I'm ringing you because I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me sometime? I know you're new to the area and I was thinking I could show you around...take you to see some of the sights...that sort of thing." The thrill of a possible new romance tickled her and she smiled. He sounded so nervous. So earnest. So sexy. "I'll just leave my number...oh, you probably already have it on your phone...but just in case you blocked it or something...I don't know why I said that...I doubt that you would block my number immediately...that would be harsh," There was a pause when she imagined he was wishing he could stop talking. Then it started again, "I'm going to run out of–" The message ended. Her voicemail had cut him off.
