Blue with Black Dots (The Caprice Trilogy Book 2)

by Cole Reid

  It took Professor Spice the entirety of the class to make up his mind. He found the answer just before time. He wanted both. Georgia did him a big favor. She didn’t say anything during class. She didn’t need to. She let the contrast between what she wore on Monday and what she was wearing on Thursday take turns in his head. When the lecture was over he felt an emotional reaction when she left. When all students were gone he took two deep breaths. It was starting like it started before. It wasn’t the easiest thing for him to come to terms with. He had gotten an unfavorable reaction from University Administration the last time. Her name was Nita Harris and she was bright. And she was cute. She had provoked the same curiosity in him as he was feeling in the lecture hall by himself. That was the fear. He knew there was something outside his control. When he was alone focusing on a woman, he was out of control. It was one of the many reasons he divorced his wife. As an MP, he began a professional friendship with a Daily Telegraph reporter. He handled the situation as best he could. His wife didn’t like the spotlight and he was often away. He didn’t know if he could control himself always, especially around Ruby Hall, the reporter. Divorce was better in his mind than betraying his wife. She respected him for it. That was a weak spot for him. That initial curiosity. He wouldn’t call it attraction. Interest was a better word. Naturally, interests changed over time. Conflict arose when his interests didn’t naturally change. He got the same feeling about Georgia. He was taking an interest in her and he felt, with all seriousness, it wasn’t likely to change. It bothered him. He stood for some time in the room, by himself—bothered.

  Chapter Seven Bothered

  Georgia had a trap set for the professor the following Monday. She followed the same dress code, forest green sweater—hair down. The weather was getting cooler and Georgia decided against wearing another camisole. She could, but it wouldn’t come across as casual on her part. The students and the professor would be lead to think she was vying for attention. She was. Officially, she wasn’t. Georgia let her study habits show. It wasn’t just her intelligence, which showed itself but the fact that she actually had to have done the assigned readings to know as much as she did. It didn’t matter, male or female. Work ethic and intelligence were attractive from both ends. Georgia kept both on display. She wasn’t overtly ambitious. She mostly answered up when others missed the mark. It was more productive than always engaging in debate. She didn’t want to become annoying for the group or professor. She just caught dropped questions. It was efficient because it showed her deeper understanding of the subjects at hand. She seemed intelligent by understanding the gaps of logic and not falling into them.

  She knew the professor to come out the Business School doors after class. She was there after class, smoking Pall Mall. He didn’t show up on Monday or Thursday. But she did all she could. She waited after every class, smoking.

  Thursday, October 7th was the first time the Professor came out of Business School with Georgia waiting outside with a lit cigarette between her fingers. It was a casual meeting. It went casually.

  “Miss Standing,” said Owen, “I thought that was you.”

  “Professor Spice,” said Georgia, “How are you doing?”

  “I’m good,” said Owen, “I love this time of year.”

  “Autumn?” said Georgia.

  “Yes,” said Owen, “It’s gonna start raining soon.”

  “You’re a fan of the rain?” said Georgia.

  “It’s fantastic,” said Owen, “It’s what makes Britain, British. Brits look so good in the rain.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Georgia.

  “You go down to Italy during the summer months and you can spot a Brit a mile away,” said Owen, “We’re pasty and pale and have swim shorts up to our navels. A young Brit is walking around like someone’s grandfather. We’re out of our element. But in this weather, we’ve got our frocks and plaid scarf’s—Wellies to keep the water out. I like this weather because we do this weather, we Brits.”

  “You still have some politician in you,” said Georgia, fishing in her purse.

  “I guess that was sort of a nationalist plug,” said Owen.

  “It most certainly was,” said Georgia, holding out her half-spent pack of Pall Mall cigarettes.

  “Oh God,” said Owen, “I try not to smoke on campus.” Georgia rattled the pack in front of him.

  “I am,” said Georgia.

  “I see that,” said Owen, “Actually, now that you mention it. I smoke that brand.”

  “Really?” said Georgia.

  “Well, I don’t keep a pack on my person when I’m on campus,” said Owen, “Too tempting.”

  “Then take one and cross the street,” said Georgia.

  “I see logic is your strong suit,” said Owen.

  “Not logic,” said Georgia, “Courtesy.”

  “How do you figure?” asked Owen.

  “I’m offering you a smoke and you won’t smoke on campus,” said Georgia, “So take the cigarette and march across the street. Then you’re in violation of nothing, neither my courtesy nor your policy.” The professor took a single stick from the pack.

  “It is a bit non-courteous to take a smoke and run,” said Owen, “You’re supposed to smoke with your hostess.”

  “I have to walk across the street in anycase,” said Georgia. Georgia handed her lighter to Owen. He lit his cigarette and handed it back to Georgia. She lit a cigarette and lead Owen across the street.

  Owen walked inside and let Georgia walk on the street side. He was trying to shield himself from being seen smoking. He used his fingers to extinguish the end of his cigarette. His sensibility overcame him.

  “I’ll smoke it later,” said Owen.

  “It’s fine,” said Georgia, “Suit yourself. It’s not the longest of walks to my flat.”

  “Where are you living?” asked Owen.

  “It’s that building there,” Georgia pointed.

  “It’s quite near the campus,” said Owen.

  “Yeah,” said Georgia, “As I’m new to Glasgow and Scotland in general. I wanted to be sure the one place I could find was the campus.”

  “Makes sense,” said Owen, “I get the feeling the lights always on with you.”

  “I dim it sometimes,” said Georgia.

  “But it never goes off I imagine,” said Owen.

  “No time for that,” said Georgia, “Life’s much too short.”

  “You begin to realize how short when you reach my age,” said Owen.

  “You don’t look that old,” said Georgia, “I’d say between thirty-eight and forty, no more.”

  “That’s generous,” said Owen.

  “Am I off?” asked Georgia.

  “By about six years,” said Owen.

  “You’re thirty-two then,” said Georgia.

  “That’s making my day,” said Owen.

  “Did I go in the wrong direction?” said Georgia.

  “Wrong direction, right direction,” said Owen, “I guess it depends on your interpretation of flattery.”

  “Mine’s quite expansive,” said Georgia.

  “Then you went in the right direction,” said Owen.

  “All I needed to know,” said Georgia, increasing her walking speed by a slight pace. As they approached her building, the unseen cord that attached them in conversation became tought—tense.

  “Thank you for your time professor,” said Georgia.

  “Thank you for the cigarette,” said Owen,

  “You’re welcome,” said Georgia, “Now, I have to go tidy up my tiny apartment.”

  “It’s the same everywhere,” said Owen, “All student apartments are small.”

  “Well,” said Georgia, “With any luck it won’t last too much longer.”

  “You’re moving out?” said Owen.

  “Well,” said Georgia, “Moving on is more like it.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Owen.

  “I’ve applied for a position in London,” said Georgia, “I’
ve made it to the third round so fingers crossed.”

  “Really?” said Owen, “Which company? Perhaps I can help.”

  “I’d rather not say,” said Georgia, “I don’t want to jinx it. I get really supersticious about these things, especially when I’m so close.”

  “So you don’t plan to finish your post-graduate studies?” said Owen.

  “I can finish them at some later junction,” said Georgia, “But I wanted to get some experience and earn some money. I’m in the sort of position where I want to bolster my savings, build a cushion.”

  “You know what’s funny?” said Owen.

  “What’s that?” said Georgia.

  “I don’t think most of my students think like you,” said Owen.

  “In what sense?” said Georgia.

  “You seem to be planning long-term,” said Owen, “Strategically thinking about the future.”

  “The others aren’t?” said Georgia.

  “I think most everybody in my class wants good marks to graduate with so they can get a senior position at some bank or finance house in City of London,” said Owen.

  “That’s admirable,” said Georgia.

  “It’s not bad,” said Owen, “But most of them are prepping themselves as if it’s a guarantee.”

  “Strathclyde is a good school,” said Georgia.

  “True,” said Owen, “But so are so many others. There are no guarantees. It makes sense to do it like you’re doing it and start early. Smart.”

  “Thank you, professor,” said Georgia.

  “Well,” said Owen, “I wish you good luck, even though I’m always sad to see my good students go.”

  “I’m still around for a bit longer,” said Georgia.

  “True you are,” said Owen, “Good day.”

  “Good day, Professor,” said Georgia. Owen turned back and headed in the opposite direction, revealing that he had walked with Georgia for her sake. Georgia turned around and headed inside to her third floor room. She came upon a young woman cooking in the common-use kitchen. She knew she had roommates, just never met them.

  “Hi,” said Georgia.

  “Hello,” said the woman.

  “I’m in the third room,” said Georgia, “My name’s Georgia.”

  “I’m Evie,” said the woman.

  “I’ve been here for a few weeks but we haven’t had a chance to meet yet,” said Georgia. Evie turned toward Georgia and held out her hand.

  “I know,” said Evie, “It was interesting because your room was empty for the first few weeks of the semester and then we were trying to figure out if someone was living there because we never saw you come in or out. We thought maybe someone was squatting or being dodgy for some reason.”

  “That’s funny,” said Georgia, “I’ve had to wait on my ID and my books so I was studying in the library and doing all my reading from reserve books.”

  “Oh, wow,” said Evie, “How was that?”

  “You get used to it,” said Georgia.

  “I suppose so,” said Evie.

  “What’s the name of the other girl who lives with us?” asked Georgia.

  “Her name’s Deirdre,” said Evie, “She goes by Didi though.”

  “That’s funny,” said Georgia, “Friends used to call me Gigi.”

  “That makes us Gigi, Didi and Evie,” said Evie. Georgia laughed.

  “Sounds like a Disney cartoon,” said Georgia.

  “It does,” said Evie.

  “I’ll let you continue with your food,” said Georgia, “I’m gonna go fall out for a few hours.”

  “No worries,” said Evie, “I’m a bit knackered myself. I just wanted to fill my stomach and I’ll probably go fall out, as well. I sleep better on a full stomach. Knock on my door if you wanna go out later. There’s a place a few blocks over, where we go for a pint of dog or a cigarette. Just me and Didi.”

  “Did you guys know each other before you came?” asked Georgia.

  “No,” said Evie, “But we clicked. It was just the two of us and neither one of us is from Glasgow so we found a few places together.”

  “Sounds good,” said Georgia, “I’m caught up on everything for my courses so I could definitely use the break.”

  “Nice,” said Evie, “Just give us a knock.”

  “I will,” said Georgia. Georgia retreated to her room with thoughts to organize. She had left Owen with the idea that she was intending to leave the following semester. It was a double-edged sword. It had the intended consequence of giving the professor a redhot deadline. Knowing that she might be leaving was meant to create a sense of urgency and accelerate the process. But it had the potential to backfire. If she was leaving, Owen might ask himself why bother? Georgia comforted herself with the thought that the document might not even exist. It was comforting because it meant if she failed, the Agency couldn’t send someone behind her who would succeed. There was no success to be had.

  Georgia thought of an idea as she lied down. The girls were given some different training than the boys. They were taught a different type of offense. She relied on a learned technique. She would make it more or less clear to the professor that they both wanted the same thing.

  She was told to be aware of solutions presenting themselves. She saw one. Evie invited her out with Dierdre. She was of the idea that mingling with other students wasn’t productive to further her interests on campus. She changed her mind. Flying solo was too obvious. She wanted to put the period on the sentence, before it ran on. She had to do more recon and find out where Owen spent his time, when he wasn’t on campus. Then she had to get Evie and Deirdre to go with her. It was the training that Georgia and the other girls had received individually. They were all taught to manipulate scenarios on top of other scenarios. If Georgia bumped into Owen off campus with friends, it was coincidence. If she bumped into Owen by herself, it was curious. Everything had to be undercover. Like any camouflage, it had to fit the surroundings. Georgia always alone, always running into Owen, was no cover at all.

  A week and a half later, Georgia had a new way of life. Thursday was her second lecture of the week with Owen. She had been out with Evie and Deirdre twice, spending less time in the library. The plan had a lot of moving parts. But it was the best way to move forward, as far ahead as Georgia could think. And there was one other thing she was thinking; she needed help. It was part of training. They were taught that ego could not be a part of the equation when planning. There were already enough variables in fieldwork. Ego would just be another one. For sake of simplicity, ego had to be taken out. She decided to call Mark Miller and offer up a proposal. She still hadn’t told him about the plan to discontinue her studies for the following semester. In fact, she had talked to him since she made the decision. She just hadn’t made the decision to talk to him about it. It would have to wait. She had her early morning class with Owen. The class was non-standard, in the sense that Georgia didn’t say a word. She could have. But she was shifting tactics. She didn’t want to give Owen any interaction during the lecture. In theory, it would make him more willing to stop and chat if he ran into her outside of the usually campus setting. Georgia wanted to ensure they would meet somewhere on the outside. After the lecture, she didn’t stand, wait and smoke outside the entrance. Even if Owen was there, she didn’t want to be. She went to find a new phone box. She had to cycle. She couldn’t use the same phone box to call in. And she couldn’t have a phone in her room to make things more simple. There was a risk in using the same line to communicate. If it could be discovered, it could be patched, hijacked. But Georgia didn’t know which phone box she would use to call Mark Miller. She had exploited so many phone boxes near the river, she decided to marched east, away from the river. She found an empty phone box on Duke Street east of Glasgow’s Necropolis.