Mortal Fire

by C F Dunn

  And Matthew?

  In that time the reserve had returned but also something else, a secrecy – perhaps frustration – something I couldn’t quite pin down or put a name to. But he said he had missed me; he made the effort to come tonight because he wanted to see me; I meant enough to him for that at least, if nothing more.

  I had all but forgotten the dinner until I heard my name being called urgently.

  “Emma!” Elena leaned as far forward over the broad table as she dared without exposing too much to the male guests who took an intense interest in her posture. I looked up. “Staahl – he’s not here, he’s ill.”

  “Yes!” One thing less to worry about.

  “He’s got ’flu!” she whispered loudly. I raised my eyes to Heaven and mouthed “Thank you.” She grinned back at me.

  “But you have me instead.” Matias said over my shoulder right by my ear, making me start.

  “You, Matias, I can deal with – you’re just a pussy cat really, aren’t you?”

  He lowered his voice to the level of a lewd proposal. “Does that mean that if I roll over on my back you’ll scratch my belly?” he smirked suggestively, but without any real intent. Elena squeaked at him from across the table in protest. I wrinkled my nose and poked a finger at his chest.

  “No, it means that if you misbehave I’ll put you out with all the other mangy mogs and you can exchange fleas.”

  Matias sucked in air over his teeth, pretending to be mortified.

  “Ow, vicious! I’m glad I’m not your pet.”

  “So am I,” I said, feeling better for having him around. Elena made warning faces as a general shuffling preceded the gong in the hall and everyone stood to attention behind their chairs. The chatter faded into an expectant hush. Adopting his most pompous voice for the task, the Dean intoned a prayer in Latin. I looked up from under my eyelashes to make sure I followed the correct etiquette and found Matthew watching me from near the end of the table. I smiled briefly, hopefully, as the Dean pronounced “Amen” and the room filled with a wave of sound in response. Matias pulled the heavy chair out for me. The chair to my left chafed as it moved and someone sat next to me.

  “Hello, Emma.” A familiar, edgy voice cut through the noise as the room broke into chatter once more; I hadn’t seen his name on the card.

  “Hi, Sam.” He was the second person I least wanted to see tonight and my voice echoed my lack of enthusiasm.

  “Well, this is going to be fun,” Matias said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Hey, Sam, you were leaving it a bit late.”

  “I’m not going to make trouble, Emma,” Sam said, ignoring him. “I got the message last time, don’t worry.”

  “OK,” I said slowly. “But tell me, why – of all the places we could be sitting – I end up with you three reprobates for company? What have I done to deserve such a fate?” I couldn’t help glancing towards Matthew further up the table. Sam followed my gaze.

  “Huh, yeah, didn’t he tell you? Shotter’s so crazy about keeping it traditional, he’s got us all sitting according to our ‘academic status’.” He drew two quote marks in the air with his fingers.

  “So the four of us are roughly equal – academically – that is?” I asked.

  “Yeah, and anyone at that end…” and he jabbed his finger in Matthew’s direction, “is ‘top table’, the ‘elite’ of the university, Shotter’s blue-eyed…”

  Matias coughed loudly, interrupting him before he said something he shouldn’t and which I wouldn’t have been able to ignore.

  “Matthew’s considered to be one of the best minds here, Emma.”

  I felt a glow of pride for him. I turned towards Matias so that I couldn’t see the barely disguised sneer on Sam’s face.

  “I know he’s supposed to be good – Shotter said he’s brilliant – but I thought that was a bit of hyperbole, you know, reflected glory and all that.”

  Matias raised an eyebrow “No, for once Shotter’s right. You see Matthew doesn’t wear a gown like the rest of us?” I nodded, though in truth I hadn’t noticed. “That’s because he doesn’t have to.” I drew my eyebrows together in a question. “Matthew has more qualifications than the rest of that top table put together. It’s pointless trying to represent them on one gown; not wearing one is a mark of his status.”

  “Oh. He never said.”

  Matias gave me a sort of told-you-so look. “Well, that’s typical of Matthew – he wouldn’t say, would he?”

  Sam’s gown caught his fork as he moved; he put out a hand and straightened it.

  “You wouldn’t have thought he’d want to stick around here with the rest of us klutzes when he could’ve gone to any place he wanted,” he said, sourly, then leaned back again and flicked his glass, making it ting. Matias shot a look at Sam then up the table to Matthew.

  “Well, Sam, not everyone’s seeking fame and fortune; some have less selfish motives.”

  “Good old Matthew,” Sam muttered on the other side of me.

  “Sam, you said you were going to behave so I expect you to,” I said sternly. He unexpectedly smiled and saluted.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That’s better,” I acknowledged.

  A bevy of uniformed staff served the first of the six courses; that meant six glasses of wine I wouldn’t be drinking tonight. Delicate hors d’oeuvres involving salmon in a lime sauce with a sprinkling of caviar appeared in front of me, and the first of the wineglasses filled. I looked for the customary water carafe, and selected the largest wine glass.

  “That’s for wine,” Sam said, still slightly caustic.

  “Thanks for educating me,” I replied, dripping sarcasm in return.

  “Yeah, OK – sorry; so, there’s more for me.” He pulled my full wine glass in front of him.

  I managed half of the first course before I felt full.

  Sam mellowed with the wine; his shoulders gradually relaxed and he even remembered to let a smile break through once or twice.

  “I reckon you’re used to this sort of thing – coming from Cambridge and all that, right?”

  I put my knife and fork down, glad to talk rather than eat.

  “The colleges have their traditions, certainly, but this is trying to be more English than we are. And no, I’ll never get used to this amount of food – it’s like a marathon in terms of eating and I’m not up to running it.”

  He grinned, a little of the Sam I first knew shining through.

  “Saves cooking, anyhow.”

  “That’s true,” I agreed, leaning back to allow my plate to be removed and the second course to be served.

  “So, what are you doing for the winter break?” he said, making an effort to be conversational.

  “I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it yet; I suppose I’ll go home.” I peeked discreetly at Matthew so as not to wind up Sam. Christmas in England with my family as usual I considered normal; but Christmas without Matthew? That would need thinking about. I eyed a piece of asparagus draped with a rich butter sauce that would be the undoing of my suit if it spattered.

  “What will you do, Sam?” I said, as I remembered he was not long divorced.

  He shrugged, the grin sliding away to nothing.

  “Don’t know – might stay here, might go see my kids – don’t know.” He looked utterly despondent and I recognized his loneliness. It was my turn to make an effort to introduce some conviviality.

  “I didn’t know you have children. How old are they?”

  Sam drank the remnants of his second glass of wine. “My boy’s seven and I have two girls: one’s five and the youngest is three. I get to see them sometimes over the holidays or on vacation but they live a-ways from here with their moms.”

  How little I knew about him, but then even that was more than I knew about Matthew. I scraped most of the sauce to one side, and risked the asparagus successfully, then speared a single petit pois on the end of my fork, thoughtfully. Elena caught my eye, and raised her eyebrows
at me, then looked at Sam. I couldn’t reach to kick her under the table, so I dragged my brow into a furrow instead until she got the message.

  The second course had been and gone without me eating more than a quarter of it. By the third, the food looked less and less appetizing, although a cursory glance at other diners told me I was just about alone in that. Elena tucked in with as much gusto as she had the first course. I ate a French bean slowly and looked to see how Matthew fared at the end of the table. He wore a polite expression of interest as the distinguished woman of at least forty years’ seniority talked animatedly between mouthfuls. Although he held a fork in one hand, it never went near the food in front of him nor touched his mouth. I wondered what he thought about and why he didn’t eat.

  “Are you drinking that?” Sam asked, hand already around the third glass of wine I’d rejected. I shook my head and he took it, taking a swig before putting it down in front of him.

  “You look really great tonight, Em,” he said, without looking at me.

  “Thanks,” I said, automatically, still watching Matthew as closely as I dared. He picked up his full wineglass and put it to his lips but drew it away again without drinking as he answered a question from the Dean. Shrieks from the quad interrupted the polite conversations around the table; several people laughed and Shotter looked annoyed.

  “At least they’re enjoying themselves,” Sam said into my glass of wine. He hadn’t attempted to talk to his other neighbour, who looked bored. I internalized a sigh; there were another three courses and five glasses of wine for Sam to drink before we could leave, and there were bound to be speeches. This was excruciating. Matthew seemed to be faring better at the other end of the table, his composed, aquiline face never betraying a moment of boredom. As I watched, he reached swiftly into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small mobile, or it might have been a pager, apologizing to his neighbour as he read a text. His eyes flickered towards me and it took only a few seconds before he snapped it shut and leaned towards the Dean, saying something quietly. The Dean nodded and Matthew left the table without looking in my direction again. The brief flurry of interest at his departure died almost as soon as he left the hall, but I felt bereft.

  By the fifth course I gave up any pretence at eating, ready to fall on my sword if one had been to hand. I inspected every aspect of the room’s architecture, guessed from which universities the other academics graduated, and tried to engage an elderly professor in conversation, rendered futile by failing batteries in his old-fashioned hearing aid. To cap it all, Sam wallowed in self-pity as he drowned his sorrows, and Elena busily entertained both men either side of her. Matias and I kept up the banter, in between him doing his duty with the woman to his right, whom he obviously found hard going.

  My gown hung heavy and itchy and hot, and I longed to take it off, but Shotter was being uncharacteristically restrained in his intake of alcohol and would notice if I slipped the vivid cloth from my shoulders. I thought about eating the fragile chocolate basket surrounding the strawberries, but became distracted when one of the porters from the front desk entered the room and went straight to the Dean, his solid-heeled shoes clumping noisily against the raised chorus of voices in the room. Matias sensed my despair and offered me another glass of water.

  “No thanks. Is it always like this?” I groaned.

  “Pretty much, but the best bit comes later – well worth waiting for.”

  “Best bit? What’s that?”

  “The speeches – they last just over an hour.”

  “Please, Matias, I can’t take much more of this; end my suffering now,” I begged him.

  He was about to reply when the porter leaned between us, bringing with him the smell of old stone and spent fireworks.

  “There’s a call for you, ma’am – it’s urgent.”

  My heart lost step. “Who’s it from?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m just told that it’s a call from England.” His gentle Maine accent couldn’t soften the impact of the long-anticipated call, and I felt my world implode.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Matias asked.

  “No… thanks, I’ll be fine,” I said, aware of the other diners straining towards us inquisitively, and pulling myself together. He helped draw my chair out for me, but my gown snagged under one of the chair legs and I tugged to free it.

  “Never mind about that,” he said, helping me undo the clasp that held the gown in place. I let it fall, and left it on the chair, acutely conscious of my curious audience. Restrained by my tight skirt, my shortened footsteps were the only noise to be heard in the ensuing silence as I followed the porter from the hall and down the cold cloister towards the porters’ lodge. Screams and cordite punctuated the stillness of the dark passage and outside, shadows scurried and tumbled, partially lit by torches and the burst of yellow flame from firecrackers. It looked as if all hell had broken loose, intent on inflicting maximum damage on the world beyond the windows. The porter muttered something that sounded like he intended “Sortin’ them young’ns aut,” although I couldn’t be certain above the racket. He held the heavy door open for me. “Through there, ma’am, and on the desk.” He indicated with his head towards the reception desk. I went through, but he didn’t follow, and the door closed with finality behind me.

  I was alone.

  Almost total darkness covered the atrium except for the faint glow filtering from the great glass dome lighting the immediate floor beneath. Subdued light escaped from the porters’ lodge to one side through the partially open door.

  A telephone handset lay beside its cradle, a light indicating it was in use – a red, glowing eye in the dark. I hurried to pick up the phone, my footsteps echoing eerily in the insulated hush as I tried to keep my high heels from slipping on the smooth marble floor. My heart thumped unevenly; this was the call I had been dreading from my father. I took a deep breath and picked up the handset.

  “Hello?”

  I expected to hear his voice, but instead, an empty buzz like a trapped insect issued from the earpiece.

  “Hello?” I repeated and shook the handset in case of a loose connection. I tried again, a mixture of foreboding and anxiety competing to dominate.

  “Hello? Dad?”

  An insignificant movement – nothing more than the ghost of a shadow against the pale stone floor – caught my eye. I stared intently at it, trying to work out what caused it, the barren telephone now redundant in my hand. I quietly replaced the handset, aware of the oppressive silence that bore down around me, senses stretched taut to catch the least sound.

  A slight hiss, an exhalation of air directly behind me, so close it raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I whirled around. Staahl’s grey face materialized out of the darkness. My mouth opened instinctively to scream but he placed a finger to his lipless mouth in warning and I closed it soundlessly. I stared at him, a surge of cold fear gluing me to the floor.

  “That’s better,” he said softly. “Thank you for coming to meet me, I didn’t know if you would be able to get away.” He made it sound like an invitation.

  He was supposed to be ill; he wasn’t supposed to be here.

  “What are you doing here?” My voice trembled even as my legs began to move and I backed away from him, but he mirrored my movement step by step in a sinister dance. I shot a look behind me; the door to the cloister was too far away across the slippery floor to reach without the risk of being caught like a calf brought down by a wolf. He watched me with amusement.

  “So eager to leave when you’ve only just arrived. No, no that won’t do.” He moved quickly to my right, forestalling any hope of flight in that direction.

  I thought rapidly; the front door would be locked, as would the doors to the offices either side of the atrium. There was only one way out and Staahl blocked it.

  “What do you want from me?” I demanded. He didn’t like that.

  “I told you the other evening, but you were obviously not – payin
g – attention.” He slapped his open hand hard against his thigh as he spoke the final words and I flinched back. His eyes opened wide momentarily and then narrowed again as he ran his tongue over his lips, leaving a trail of spittle trapped in the crease of his mouth. His voice became a careful monotone as if soothing a scared child. He closed the gap between us by a step.

  “I know you, Emma, I understand the way you think. We have so much to offer each other; is it so much to ask that we spend this little time together?”

  My gut instinct had been right all along: this man was dangerous and I needed to get away from him now. I flexed my fingers and curved them into fixed weapons, holding them at my sides in readiness. I placed as much strength and authority in my voice as I could and glared stonily at his hooded eyes.

  “I want nothing to do with you. I’m leaving.”

  I managed to get as far as the outer circle of the delicate marble cosmology before he caught me, his hand clenching my left wrist. Instinctively I lashed out, panic rendering the effort futile as he caught my other arm. He brought his face so close that the stale stench of his breath made me want to retch, his colourless eyes boring into mine.

  “Get off me!” My terrified voice caught in my throat, no more than a harsh whisper. In one swift movement he moved behind me, encasing the upper part of my body in a vice formed by his arm. I opened my mouth to cry out, but Staahl shifted his arm around my neck, cutting me short.

  “Not a sound now… no, no shhh – don’t struggle,” his acid articulation cautioned me as I gasped for air, my mind in chaos. He pulled me back against him, the length of his body hard against mine. He moved his hips insidiously. “That’s nice,” he breathed. “I’ve so looked forward to meeting you like this, but I never dreamt that you would invite me.”