by C F Dunn
I held up my hands in submission. “It’s all right, I’m coming; I surrender.”
He offered us both an arm to lean on and I glanced around his back as he walked us briskly towards the door, but the figure had gone.
The reception room swam with people. I wavered at the door and peered in at the large, masculine space – all wood panelling and heavy grandeur. Iron candelabra dominated the ceiling as ominous as crows, but lamps stood on oak tables at intervals around the room, throwing welcome warm pools of light in which people gathered.
I recognized several members of the history faculty, but there were more senior academic staff here than I thought existed at the college and their combined voices were an engulfing wall of sound as I entered the room. A hush fell as dozens of curious eyes turned to focus on me. Fleetingly, I considered making my excuses and making a run for it, but Matias blocked my escape and Elena held on to me with a grip of steel. No going back, I would have to make the best of it.
“OK, let’s get on with it. Who’s first?” I said cheerfully, despite the nerves bouncing around my tummy like a hyperactive ball in a bare room.
Elena squeezed my arm encouragingly as she led me over to a well-dressed woman in her late fifties. Greyed fair hair framing a benign face gave me the distinct impression of being broken in gently, and Elena all but pushed me forward as the woman held out her hand in greeting.
“Siggie Gerhard, Faculty of Psychology and Neurological Science, and you must be Professor D’Eresby. I have so looked forward to meeting you; we have common interests, I believe.” Her voice smiled, her northern European accent just apparent through impeccable English.
“Please call me Emma; how do you do? Do we?” I searched for a connection but couldn’t think of any off hand.
“We do,” she confirmed. “I have read your paper on the use of torture during the Inquisition – there are many similarities with incidences I have recorded with more recent victims; apart from the obvious use of pain, that is. This is Saul Abrahms, he is particularly interested in your theory.” She indicated to a slight man with a little beard and a bald head with whom she had been talking a moment before. He nodded, a faint smile on his fleshy lips as he gauged me.
“We were only discussing a case the other day. A little morbid, perhaps, but we would be most interested to explore this further with you.” He spoke rapidly but softly and with a strangely soothing, lilting expression like listening to water tumbling over pebbles in a stream. I needed no encouragement. A subject with which I was sadly very comfortable, it enabled me to legitimately indulge my interest at the expense of meeting a room full of strangers.
“What aspect of torture are you looking at? Political, cultural, military…?” I asked.
“Ideological,” Professor Abrahms said quietly. I felt my interest quicken.
“I can see the relationship,” I replied. “Religious and ideological: different reasons, similar motives. You said that the cases you are investigating are recent; what areas are you looking at in terms of region?”
The unctuous voice of the Dean broke in and I felt a hand on my elbow.
“Professor D’Eresby – welcome, welcome. I see you have met Professors Gerhard and Abrahms already.” Siggie Gerhard’s smile became fixed. “Professor Abrahms is internationally known for his work on Functional Governance relating to dictatorship and Professor Gerhard is, of course, a leading expert in the field of psychological disorders, as I’m sure you know. I’m afraid I must steal Professor D’Eresby from you, my dear.”
His ingratiating smile did not reach his eyes and he didn’t appear in the least bit sorry. It occurred to me that he reserved the endearment for those whom he disliked. The Dean grasped my hand in his. Hot and fleshy, his palms were tacky, and I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip tightened as he manoeuvred me towards a cluster of people in the centre of the room.
“I am so pleased that you have been able to join our little family; I think you will find we have some of the finest minds gathered here. Quite the elite in their fields, as I am sure you are aware.”
I fought temptation to look behind him to see if he left a trail of slime, and instead smiled politely, gritting my teeth as I nodded to the unfamiliar faces.
A small figure with close-cropped hair stepped away from a group and placed herself squarely in front of me, looking expectantly at Shotter. He cast an acrid look at her, then, reassuming his veil of civility, introduced us.
“Professor D’Eresby – Professor Makepeace, one of our most illustrious lecturers and holder of the Chair of Anthropology.” His voice slid with obvious gratification over her accolades.
“Emma D’Eresby.” I removed my hand with alacrity from Shotter’s grasp and held it out to the tiny, grizzled woman standing in front of me. She leaned towards me with a conspiratorial air.
“Don’t listen to him, he’s full of wind,” she remarked in a low, husky voice, looking tartly at Shotter who huffed at her.
“Call me Madge,” she said, turning to face me finally and shaking my hand. “I’ll take it from here, Stephen.” She dismissed the Dean without looking at him and he reluctantly acceded and, giving a stiff smile, turned away. “By the way,” she whispered audibly in the direction of his retreating back, “don’t ever accept an invitation to tea from the old lech.” His shoulders flinched noticeably and I grimaced. She caught my expression. “Too late already? Well, you’ve obviously lived to tell the tale. We’ve all been expecting you, you know – new blood. Now tell me, what are you doing in this godforsaken place? You’re far too young to be buried along with the rest of the forgotten and unloved.” She squinted up at me, calculating, deep creases scored in skin leathered from years of sun and smoking. “You didn’t come for the climate, so what did you come for?”
Her questions came laced with a sharpness I couldn’t quite place; I found her directness disconcerting and became reluctant to open up under her scrutiny. To my relief, we were interrupted. She scowled.
“Hey, Madge, you old crow, you’re monopolizing the chief cause of this gathering and that’s very bad manners in my books. Well, he-llo there, Professor D’Eresby.” Warm brown eyes and an easy, self-assured grin accompanied a tall, very attractive, loose-limbed man, whose casual garb defied the formal dress of the rest of the gathering. He threw his arm around Madge’s shoulders and made no attempt to hide his appreciation as he ran his eyes over me. I didn’t know where to look, feeling my colour rising.
“Are you the latest in our dear Dean’s collection?”
“Collection of what?” I asked, returning his smile without hesitation and forgetting to answer Madge’s question.
“Trophies. Been for tea with the Dean yet?” He raised a dark, arched eyebrow.
I nodded, frowning and his eyes gleamed.
“Su-re you have. Didn’t you see the line of stuffed heads on the wall?”
“Heads?” Was I missing something here?
His grin widened. “Uh huh.”
Madge tried to wrench herself free from his arm, but he kept it lying across her shoulders as if she were an old, comfy sofa.
“Stop playing with the girl, Samuel. She doesn’t know what you are talking about,” Madge admonished him. He ignored her glare and continued looking at me through half-closed eyes. His voice as warm as his eyes, he dripped seduction quite irresistibly, making my limbs weaken.
“He accumulates academics. This college has the greatest concentration of PhDs per student-head of any university in the US. Didn’t you see the photographs on the wall? You know you’ve made it when you’ve been framed,” he crooned like a TV advertisement, wrapping his hands around his neck to illustrate a mounted head. I couldn’t help laughing – he was irrepressible. Madge grunted.
“Professor Emma D’Eresby – Professor Samuel Wiesner – if you can believe he’s mature enough to have ever been to school. He has an excess of confidence.”
He bowed with pretend formality and I laughed; I couldn’t begin to t
ake him seriously. “Don’t be taken in by his charm, my dear – it’s a honey-trap. He’s just divorced his second wife.”
“She divorced me,” Samuel corrected. “Don’t believe a word the old harridan says, she’s just jealous.”
“Believe me, you’re not my type, Sam.”
He feigned disappointment but within a split second bent down with his mouth to her ear. “Sure I’m not, but she is,” he said, still looking at me. “This one’s not for you Madge; strictly off limits.”
She ignored him and succeeded in freeing herself. “You rudely interrupted my subtle interrogation,” she continued archly; Samuel looked interested.
“Can I help?” he eyed me hopefully. Madge returned to her former question.
“So, what does bring you here?”
I concentrated on her, controlling the urge to smile as Samuel’s dark-brown eyes danced wickedly at me.
“The college has something I want,” I said carefully.
Samuel let out a low whistle. “British, beautiful and enigmatic. The Dean has surpassed himself. You’re here for the year, right?” I nodded, wondering why it was relevant. “There’s plenty of time then.” He rubbed his hands together in relish, grinning again. Madge nudged him hard in the ribs and he massaged them ruefully. “Time for a drink. What would you like?” he asked me, shooting a glance at the nearest table covered with half-consumed bottles.
“Nothing, thanks.”
“Aw, gee, let me get you something. Wine, beer…?”
“No, thank you, I don’t really drink. You get one if you like.”
Madge cast a swift look at him. “Take my advice, Emma, my dear, and don’t let yourself get distracted. Before you know it, you’re a Mrs Nobody with three kids and a mortgage. You’ll never know what happened to your career and nobody will care.”
Samuel placed a hand over his heart. “I’m mortally wounded by that remark. My wives didn’t disappear but they sure sucked the life out of me. Or are you talking from experience, maybe?”
“No, just from observation,” she answered dryly. I glanced towards Elena and Matias. She didn’t look as if she would fade into obscurity any time soon. I caught her eye and she waved. I waved back.
“I’ve not found anyone I’d want to marry so far and besides…” I tried to think of something to say that didn’t sound fatuous, “I have my work to focus on.” I failed: Madge didn’t look convinced and Sam rolled his eyes. “I’d better introduce myself to some of the others,” I said, not meeting their eyes, grateful when Elena came bouncing up and hooked her arm through mine, saving me from embarrassing myself further.
“I hope Sam’s behaving himself – he has a reputation, you know.” Elena winked at him. Sam smirked; it was a reputation he obviously enjoyed.
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” I replied and Elena giggled.
“Come and meet the rest of the history department; I want you to tell them I met you first and won the bet; they do not believe me and I want my pizza.”
“Thank you,” I whispered when we were out of earshot. “That was getting a little… odd.”
“You’re welcome.” She squeezed my arm. “But I thought you said you couldn’t act; I think you should go on the stage.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t act, just that I don’t like acting; there’s a difference.”
Elena checked that nobody was within earshot. “What do you think of Sam? He likes you, I can tell.”
“He’s…” I hesitated, trying to describe him, “… very funny.”
She squeaked, only just suppressing laughter. “Funny? Do you not think he is good-looking?”
“Mmm – that too,” I conceded. “But I didn’t come here looking for a man, Elena, so don’t go having any ideas about match-making.” That was one thing with which I heartily agreed with Madge: I didn’t need any complications right now.
Not discouraged, Elena scanned all the faces in the room as we crossed it.
“What about him?” she suggested, indicating a baby-blond man with a cherubic face and a dimpled chin.
“Too blond.”
“You don’t like blonds?” she exclaimed.
“Shhh,” I hushed her. “I’m sure he’s very nice, but he just doesn’t do anything for me. I prefer darker hair.”
“Tall, dark and handsome?” she probed, with an impish smirk.
“Yes, I suppose so…”
“Like Sam?”
She laughed at the look on my face.
“Yes, all right, like Sam,” I admitted, not only to her, but to myself as well. He exuded a seductive humour difficult to resist even though I loathed men who thought themselves attractive and used it to trap women. He must be aware of his good looks, but his sexuality wasn’t a snare, just how he was and I found his attention quite beguiling even though I should have known better by now.
There ensued what passed for a relatively normal conversation with the senior members of the history faculty, one of whom I knew from a conference in Florence and another two for their formidable reputations in their particular fields. It came as a relief to talk the same language without any further explanation or amplification and I would have happily stayed with them. However, I saw the Dean look towards me and detach himself from an earnest-looking couple with intent.
I tugged urgently on Elena’s sleeve, indicating an escape with a slight nod of my head. I made my excuses to my colleagues, already moving away in the opposite direction to the Dean.
“Not that way,” she hissed. Puzzled, I stopped short. A man standing to one side of the room made no attempt to disguise the fact that he watched us – his eyes unblinking, his face immobile. He stood between two lights where the shadows fell and, although in a group, he seemed alone. My skin crawled and I felt my face pale under his stare. A slight smile formed across his lipless mouth and I turned quickly away, but I could feel his eyes as clearly as I had seen them. I wanted to get away from them more than anything else at that moment. I didn’t need to explain; Elena wriggled nervously next to me.
“I’ll go and find Matias.” She craned her neck to look for him and saw his back at the far end of the room by the emergency exit, talking to Sam. “I will not be a moment.” She began to weave her way towards him.
“No, wait!” I called after her but it was too late: the man slid through the crowd towards me like a wolf through trees. I started to follow her but found my way blocked by a little dumpy woman in a two-piece suit that bulged, talking animatedly to her companion as they made their way towards a table of canapés.
“Professor D’Eresby.”
I didn’t need to see the man to know who spoke, as his voice cornered me. I froze. To leave now would be unforgivably rude. I forged a mask of courtesy and swivelled slowly on the spot. Middling in height, everything about him appeared grey although he dressed entirely in black, the only point of colour the silver buckle of his belt. Pale eyes – cold as the North Sea – neither blinked nor deviated from my face. Nervously, I pushed a wayward strand of hair back into place.
“Professor D’Eresby,” he said again and when he spoke, only the bottom half of his face moved, like the jaw of a skull. “I have waited such a long time to meet you; I believe we are neighbours.”
My throat – dry as dust in the stuffy room – strained as I tried not to stutter.
“Neighbours?”
“My name is Kort Staahl.” He seemed to think that I should have heard of him. “Faculty of English,” he explained when I didn’t react.
“Oh.”
“There are things that I would like to share with you. The Dean has expressed a desire for me to mentor you – to show you the ropes, so to speak.” Hairs rose on the back of my neck. “Such interesting things,” he added softly, the air hissing slightly on his “s”.
That did it. Irrational or not, I did not want to talk with this man whose motives were obscured by the mirror of his face. I nearly yelped with relief to see Matias striding towards me with Elena close behind.
He raised a hand in greeting.
“Emma, I’ve been looking for you! Sam’s been asking about you and I said that only you would know the answers to his questions. You don’t mind do you, Kort, if I borrow Emma?”
Staahl’s expression remained rigid.
“No, of course not, there will be plenty of opportunities to meet in the future.”
He smiled stiffly but there was an element in his intonation I didn’t like, almost as if what he said was not a promise, but a threat. Matias kept his arm in place as he walked me away.
“Now, if you two have finished using and abusing my manly strength by rescuing you from the untold horrors of Professor Staahl, I have to speak to a colleague. Will you be quite safe, Emma, or would you like me to fetch Sam over for you? I’m sure he would be more than willing to step into my shoes…” he trailed off with a suggestive grin.
The thought – although quite appealing – I considered a little too obvious for my taste; besides, an attractive woman had attached herself to Sam and, from what I could see, he enjoyed the attention, although every now and again, his eyes wandered over to where we stood.
“Nope, thanks – I’m in search of a drink. Elena, can I get you one?”
She didn’t hear me as she waved vigorously to someone by the table laden with food. The man looked up and waved back.
“I’m just going to see David,” she said.
“If you must,” Matias grumped, but he shrugged with a degree of resignation as he watched her skip out of hearing, before turning back to me. “Emma, I won’t be long; I’ll be over there if you need me.”
“OK,” I nodded. “Thanks.”
Staahl seemed to have vanished and I welcomed a bit of thinking space where I didn’t have to be archly correct or dance on somebody else’s eggshells. But I longed for a drink. I picked up a bottle of water from a nearby table, and shook it, peering through the thick green glass into its empty heart. The juice similarly consumed, only a dribble of white wine remained and I wouldn’t touch that. I should have accepted the drink from Sam when offered. I pivoted, searching the rest of the room for something more promising. Tucked away in a corner over by the window in the general direction in which Matias disappeared, stood a table where the bottles looked more or less untouched. I made a beeline for it, but a little man in an ill-fitting suit and odd socks stepped in front of me so suddenly that I nearly ran into him.
