by Maxine Barry
Laurel shook her head and met her reflection in the mirror.
‘Who are you trying to kid, kid?’ she asked herself wryly. ‘Oh no!’ she said weakly, sinking back in her chair.
It was all so stupid. As if Gideon, that great big oaf, would steal anything!
Laurel marched out into the hall, grabbed her coat, and stepped outside into the damp, foggy morning.
* * *
Brown’s was crowded, as it always was during the lunch hour. Gideon stepped inside the popular restaurant and glanced around. As he’d expected, Martha Doyle was sitting in her usual corner, her long honey-coloured hair caught back in an elegant chignon.
She saw him come in and her blue eyes gentled. She smiled.
At her own table in the corner, Laurel Van Gilder peeked above the huge menu she was hiding behind and noticed the older woman’s sudden change of expression.
She’d been busy that morning, ‘accidentally’ bumping into people who had been at the party and talking about the night’s events with them. It was easy. People so liked to talk about things to the rich and influential.
So far, she’d spoken to Rex Jimson-Clarke, having tracked him down at a church in Wolvercote, several of the college scouts who’d been serving that night, as well as three other guests, just trying to get an overall picture of last night from neutral parties.
But, so far, nobody had noticed a thing. Nobody acting out of character, no sound of breaking glass outside the Senior Common Room, nobody clutching a handbag to their bosom and looking wild-eyed.
Nothing.
It had been one of the scouts who’d told her that Brown’s was the place to go if she wanted to talk to academics.
Spotting Martha Doyle, one of the shortlisted candidates for the chair and one of those to overhear about the faulty alarm, had been a major bonus.
But by then she’d been hungry and thirsty and temporarily talked out. She’d opted for a salad and a breather before tackling Dr Doyle.
Now she was glad she had. For unless she mistook the look on her face (and no woman would), Martha was all set to meet a lover.
She glanced across to the door to see who had put that smile on her face and went cold.
Gideon, oblivious to the eyes boring into his back, smiled and walked towards his colleague. ‘Martha. Can I join you?’
‘Of course, darling. Any time.’
Gideon smiled. Martha was a notorious and self-confessed flirt. ‘Drink?’
‘G and T please.’
Gideon ordered, glancing around as he did so. The usual crowd. A host of dons and fellows, a smattering of well-heeled undergraduates. Even one or two businessmen, who were definitely in the minority, and someone overwhelmed by the menu over in the corner!
‘You look like hell, sweetheart,’ Martha said sympathetically. ‘Been celebrating a bit hard, have we?’
Gideon nodded. He’d always liked Martha. She was a feminine woman, but also a straightforward, basic, honest woman. Someone he could deal with.
‘Yes, something like that,’ he lied. Celebrating had been the last thing on his mind last night.
Unaware that the woman hiding in the corner had exceptionally good ears and, although she had to strain, was succeeding quite admirably in listening in on their conversation, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
‘Martha, did you speak to Dr Ngabe last night?’ he asked casually.
‘Julie? No, I don’t think so. We also-rans tended to avoid each other if we could.’
Gideon sighed. ‘Did you see her leave the party at all?’
‘Not that I can remember,’ Martha said. ‘Why? Don’t tell me you fancy the luscious lady?’
Gideon smiled and waved a hand. ‘How about Dr Ollenbach. Did she leave the party?’
‘Sure, I think so. But then, so did you,’ Martha said.
‘Me? Yes, I had to change my shirt. Dr Denbigh had been too long at the port, I think — ended up spilling the best part of a glass over me. How about Sir Laurence?’
‘No. He was buttonholed by that little man from Barton Hall. You know the one.’
Gideon winced. ‘Oh, him.’ The don she was talking about could talk the hind legs off a donkey!
‘Poor Sir Laurence never managed to get out until Sin-Jun started to throw us all out.’
So that let Sir Laurence off then.
‘Did anyone seem over-excited that you noticed?’
He watched her carefully, but saw nothing even remotely like suspicion or worry cross her face. If she wondered why Gideon was asking her all these questions, she didn’t show it. She was probably putting it down to a new social theory he was testing out.
‘No. I thought the dean looked a bit distracted. But that could have been because he was worried about the alarm. Did he get it fixed, by the way?’
Gideon stiffened. Was she hinting at something? A double bluff. Or was she just casually enquiring?
‘Oh yes, it’s been dealt with now,’ he lied smoothly. Sin-Jun was hardly going to have the man come to fix the alarm when there was a hole in the cabinet. He wondered whether to push his luck and tell her that the chalice wasn’t on display right now. Should he? He leaned forward again, the better to watch her reaction. ‘Not that it matters. Sin-Jun and Miss Van Gilder decided between them to get the chalice professionally cleaned.’
Martha looked slightly amused, nothing more. ‘Really? Looked fine to me.’
But she was obviously disinterested, and in his heart, Gideon couldn’t believe she was that good an actress.
He smiled and Martha smiled back. It looked like a very intimate gesture. The gesture of a man who wanted to get closer to his paramour.
Martha leaned forward slightly herself now, laying a hand across his. ‘Let’s have dinner tonight,’ she said, and Gideon flushed, realising she’d been taking all this the wrong way.
‘Oh, Martha, I . . .’
She squeezed his hand.
He smiled vaguely. ‘Can I take a rain check? I’m up to my ears in exam papers. I’m setting a multiple choice for prelims.’
Over in her corner, peeping from behind the laminated menu, Laurel gritted her teeth and simmered as she watched the two dons flirt and play.
Why didn’t Martha Doyle just crawl across the table and climb into his shirt while she was at it?
‘I know how that is,’ Martha was saying, wrinkling her nose in sympathy. ‘Well, no hard feelings. It’s your loss,’ she grinned unabashed at him, and Gideon sighed in relief.
The waiter came and he ordered a sandwich which was the speciality of the house and for a while they talked shop. Martha picked his brains for a lecture she was giving at a prestigious American university in Trinity Term, and praised him lavishly on his new book, all the while flirting with him outrageously.
And after his rocky morning he let her, enjoying the repartee and unimportant ego-massaging. Eventually they finished their wine and rose to leave.
Outside, Martha hailed a taxi, never liking to walk if she could ride. Gideon watched her go and was about to turn left, back towards college, when he suddenly felt his elbow grabbed.
He turned and looked into furious ebony eyes.
‘Well, that was a disgusting spectacle,’ Laurel snapped. ‘And in public too.’
Gideon felt himself blush. ‘What on earth! Were you the one who was lurking behind that menu?’
Laurel’s chin lifted. ‘What if I was?’
‘Enjoy playing “I spy”, did you?’ Gideon jeered.
‘As much as you were enjoying playing Sherlock Holmes!’ she flashed back.
Again Gideon felt himself flush. What was it about her that could reduce him to little-boy inadequacy?
‘Someone’s got to find out who took that stupid chalice of yours,’ he sniped, stiffening his spine and retrieving his dignity.
‘I agree,’ Laurel said, totally taking the wind out of his sails. ‘So I suggest we call a truce and get our heads together.’
�
�What?’ He reared back, his icy-blue eyes flaring. ‘Oh no!’
He held out his hands as if trying to ward her off. ‘Oh no. No, no, no.’ His fair head moved vigorously from side to side.
Laurel cocked her own head to one side, rather like a robin eyeing a very juicy, appealing worm.
‘If you think I’m going to let you drag the Van Gilder chair through the mud, you’d better think again, buddy,’ she drawled grimly. ‘Until this mess is cleared up, it’s you and me. All the way.’
And as she said it, she knew she meant it.
All the way.
Oh no, she thought in sudden dismay.
I love the jerk!
CHAPTER NINE
Laurel recognised the Morgan at once, of course. How could she ever forget it, after sailing across its bonnet in such a spectacular fashion? Or, after realising the extent of her feelings for its owner, how was she ever likely to forget anything that was even remotely connected with Dr Gideon Welles?
After telling her yesterday that he hadn’t needed her help in investigating the missing chalice, she’d let him have the last word and storm off, but only because she’d needed time to regroup herself.
It was a bit of a problem, realising for the first time that you’d fallen flat-out, no-fooling, in love with a man — who probably couldn’t stand the sight of you.
But she was not one to let such obstacles stand in her way, and so after moping about the house and getting slightly drunk last night, she’d gone to bed, had a good cry, and then risen that morning in a far more determined frame of mind.
First things first.
She’d cancelled all her other appointments scheduled for her British visit, and would no doubt be hearing from her uncles very soon. But she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
Her father had never allowed anyone to doubt or threaten his position as head of the show, and she would have to start as she meant to go on if she were to follow his example.
Which meant that if she deemed it necessary to stay in Oxford and safeguard the good name and reputation of the Van Gilder chair, then that’s what she’d do. And her family had better go along with her thinking . . . or else.
Or else what was something she had not yet got around to working out.
She’d showered and washed her hair, humming defiantly cheerfully as she did so, and dressed in a deep burgundy pair of slacks with a cream and burgundy cashmere sweater.
Over that she wore a long grey sheepskin-lined coat and ankle boots of the same colour.
She’d arranged her hair in a loose plait, and left it laying against her spine, where it swung to and fro as she marched confidently down the Woodstock Road towards St Bede’s. She’d just reached the main gates when she had spotted the Morgan pulling out of the narrow alleyway and signalling left.
Grimly, before she could pause to think, she quickly ran down the remaining few yards of pavement and stepped firmly into the Morgan’s path.
Gideon swore savagely and slammed on the brakes. The angry squeal that came from the classic car caused a few pedestrians to glance their way curiously.
Gideon, from his low bucket seat, glared at her through the windscreen. ‘Are you determined to kill yourself by throwing yourself under my car in particular, or will any poor motorist do?’ he snapped.
Laurel grinned at him widely. No doubt about it, she’d picked a prime specimen to fall in love with. Tall — that was an understatement! — good-looking, very intelligent, and with just a hint of repressed sexuality that she was going to enjoy playing with.
Like handling dynamite.
She took a long, deep breath.
Excitement prickled the air, along with the sharp November frost. All around her, the trees were shedding their leaves. Winter mist teased the fabled dreaming spires, and a winter malaise seemed to be spreading throughout the city as the British resigned themselves to their long, wet and cold winter.
But Laurel felt only the joys of spring.
Of course, falling in love had not been a good idea under the circumstances. But when did you ever get to choose the time and place?
At first, as she’d stood outside Brown’s, gaping at him and reeling at the sudden revelation that she loved him, she’d been inclined to panic.
First, she’d walked home, telling herself that she was mistaken. She was just caught up in the theft and the fraught emotions it generated.
Yeah. Right.
Then she’d tried convincing herself it was only an infatuation. Gideon Welles was the sort of man infatuation was made of, after all. That imperial lofty height. That silver hair and those piercing blue eyes.
The trouble with that was that she was no longer a giddy teenager, mooning over idols.
Eventually, yesterday evening, she’d forced herself to face up to facts. She’d met a man to love. Not a fortune hunter. Not a family-vetted or fully approved by all her friends. But a genuine, complicated, sexy, deeply fascinating man.
Which meant that she was faced with womankind’s age-old options.
Run or fight.
Running was out of the question.
So it was fight time.
Fight to clear his name first, and free him of this ridiculous suspicion that he’d fallen under. Then fight to get him into her bed and into her life!
Not that this looked particularly likely right at this moment, she thought wryly, as she contemplated his flashing electric-blue eyes and tight, pinched face.
‘Lighten up, Gideon,’ she said softly. ‘You look fit to blow a gasket. Why don’t you try to take it easy?’
She was worried about what stress could do to a man. Especially her man. She wanted to celebrate their golden wedding anniversary one day, not watch him have a coronary through stress and overwork in his forties! What was it with English men? Why were they all so buttoned-up?
Gideon’s eyes widened. What on earth would she come up with next? He couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to him like that.
But she looked so outrageously vibrant, standing there in her beautiful sheepskin coat, with her long black plait falling past her slim waist.
‘Oh, get in,’ he snapped. ‘It’s too early in the morning to pick a fight with you.’
Laurel needed no second bidding and, ignoring the less than gracious offer, she quickly nipped around the car and climbed into the passenger seat.
Like all tall people, she seemed to have to fold herself in the middle to get into the deep bucket seat. It was a slightly disconcerting feeling, as though her knees were heading towards her earlobes. She buckled her seatbelt and glanced across at him. He was even taller than she was. How on earth did he manage to drive this thing?
Very well, she soon found out.
Although they never left the confines of the city, and he kept strictly and scrupulously to the speed limit, she could tell he handled the car like a superb craftsman and could well imagine the paces he’d put the sports car through when out on the open country roads. Gear changes were smooth, rapid and easy. His hands on the steering wheel were light but firm. His eyes seemed to be everywhere at once. Despite being so low to the ground and so exposed to the elements, she felt completely safe.
Suddenly, Laurel realised how lucky she’d been the day she’d crashed her bike into this car. Someone else might not have had the reactions to brake so quickly. She could have been squished! She shuddered at the thought.
The cold wind whistled over the tops of their heads as they headed up Woodstock Road, further into the affluent, leafy suburbs of north Oxford.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked at last.
‘Dr Ollenbach’s.’
‘Why?’
He glanced at her briefly. ‘Why do you think?’
Laurel was glad there was no condescension in his voice. Some very clever people had a nasty habit of presuming everyone else was of lesser intelligence. But his voice had been encouraging more than anything. More interested to hear her response.
Laurel didn’t need long to think it through. ‘Do you think she’s just gonna come across and say, “Oh yeah, sure, I pinched your bit of silver”?’
Gideon had to grin. She had such a turn of phrase. ‘No.’
‘Oh. So you think she might have some idea who might have pinched it and tell you all about it?’
Gideon glanced across at her. ‘Can you get serious for a moment?’
‘Sure.’
‘Right. First off — have you called in the police yet?’
‘No. I thought I’d give St Bede’s and Sin-Jun a break. Mind you,’ she added hastily, as he breathed a sigh of relief, ‘I’m not going to sit on this thing forever. If we’re no further forward by the end of the day, I might have to call them in.’
Gideon nodded, indicated and overtook a fume-belching city bus, and then pulled back into his lane. ‘Fair enough. Now, second question. Do we tell anyone that the chalice is missing?’
Laurel cocked her head to one side and regarded him thoughtfully. He had a marvellous profile. Strong, straight nose, firm chin. High forehead and a big wave of near-white hair.
‘Laurel?’
‘Huh? What? Oh, no. I mean, why would we tell anyone that the chalice has been stolen? I thought you and Sin-Jun were hot on keeping it a nasty little secret.’
‘Well, yes. But I’ve been thinking.’
‘Something I know you do so well.’
‘Don’t get snippy!’
‘I wasn’t!’ Laurel fumed. ‘I meant it. It was a compliment. What is it — can’t you take one off a woman? Or are you just not used to them?’
Gideon gave her a quick, slightly appalled glance.
Laurel hid her grin.
‘So, you were saying,’ she said, mollified. It was nice to know she could handle him. Not that she’d had any doubts, but a girl in her situation needed all the bonuses she could get.
‘Yes. I was saying . . .’ Gideon cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Why did she have to lean so close against him? ‘Er, yes. We can hardly go around investigating the disappearance without giving some explanation, can we? I mean, when I questioned Martha yesterday, she wasn’t really paying much attention. But Felicity Ollenbach and Julie Ngabe are going to be very different.’
