“That’s the truth,” replies Rob. “She’s always adopting some homesick student or lonely professor, sometimes whether they like it or not. Take your neighbour, for example. We’ve had Edward over for many an evening. He’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but we’ve uncovered his weakness - homemade mince pies. Harry makes them every time, no matter what the season.”
I’ve yet to run into my neighbour, probably due to my lost days working in the library. I’d honestly forgotten about him, but now that Rob has brought him up, I confess to my curiosity. “How did you get to know him? I mean, other than work.”
Harry laughs out loud, “We didn’t get off on the best foot. He turned up at the college, full of himself. He’s a prodigy, you see. Graduated from Cambridge early, publishing heaps of papers and hundreds of citations. The department wined and dined him to convince him to come over, so he shows up convinced that the sun rose and set on his head.”
“I’m not sure we’ve managed to convince him it doesn’t, Harry,” Rob interjects.
“I’m doing my best, Rob. Now, where was I? Oh yes, so in he waltzes expecting everyone to drop everything and cater to his needs. I could see he needed a small attitude adjustment if he didn’t want to alienate everyone around him. That would have ruined his career and made Dr Radcliffe look bad.”
Food momentarily forgotten, I beg Harry to continue with her story.
Nodding at the bread basket, she carries on as she butters another slice of bread. “When he showed up one day, demanding to speak to Dr Radcliffe with no appointment or care for the others sitting in my office, I told him she wasn’t in and to try back day after and I sent him right out the door. The next day I did the same thing again. I kept up this routine for a full week until he happened to be standing there when Dr Radcliffe walked out of her office. He blustered around and I told him in no uncertain terms that if he couldn’t respect his colleagues and the college staff, then Dr Radcliffe would continue to be unavailable to him.”
Rob jumps in to finish up the story, “He turned up the next week with a bouquet for Harry and has found Dr Radcliffe to be available ever since. My Harry has a core of steel and no patience for people who mistreat others.”
Chapter Nine
After dinner, Rob drops H and me back at the college, bellies stuffed and barely in time for me to make it to my first official prefect meeting. A walk seems like the perfect way to clear my head of gala stress and organise my thoughts before seeing the others.
When we spoke over the weekend, Mathilde insisted that the prefect group always met well outside of normal business hours so that no one would question why or how the group had connected. As promised, she’d texted me the address of the wine cafe she and Kate had selected.
As I turn to leave the college carpark, H takes off in the opposite direction, swooping past me on his way towards the garden gate into the college grounds. Shouting, I stop him before he disappears. “H, where are you going? I need you to show me the way to this cafe.”
Perching on top of the iron bars, H refuses to budge. “Oi, Nat, ya can get there on yer own. All ya gotta do is walk straight down tha road fer a mile and then turn right.”
Confused, I look around, wondering what other plans he has in place. “What are you going to do while I’m gone? There won’t be anyone to let you into the flat.”
H sneezes, lighting a column of ivy on fire. Whatever response he gives is swallowed up by the sounds of furious flapping as he tries to blow enough wind to snuff the flames out.
When he finally settles back again on the railing, I try again. That sneeze is a dead giveaway that he is nervous about something. “You were saying something about your plans? Could you repeat it? I didn’t quite catch it.”
Clearing his voice, he dusts plant ash from his tail before straightening up and puffing out his chest. “I said that I’m steppin out wiff my lassie. Princess Fluffy, not that it’s any of yer concern.”
“Princess Fluffy?” Incredulity drips from my voice.
“Hrmph. That’s right. She’s a Persian cat. I promised ta take her ‘untin’ fer mice in tha garden.” His eyes dare me to make something more out of it.
Backing away, I wave him on with his adventures. “Too much information. Fine, I’ll go on my own, so I don’t interrupt any more of your love life.”
Thankfully, the route is exactly as H described, my phone alerting me when it is time to make the right turn into the street where the wine cafe is located. It is hard to miss, its brightly lit windows casting a glow onto the surrounding pavement. I climb three steps to enter the front door, pausing at the bar to ask if the others have arrived. The barman points me down a hallway, telling me they’re seated in the conservatory.
Mathilde and another woman are tucked away in a small booth sipping red wine when I arrive. Mathilde is once again in t-shirt and jeans, making a sharp contrast to the well-dressed middle-aged woman next to her who must be Kate, the third prefect. With sleek chestnut hair smoothed into a sharp bob, diamonds winking on her ears and hands, and her starched white shirt collar flipped up, Kate looks more like a continental socialite than a university staffer. I bet she fits right in with the international art community.
Somehow I expected Kate to be close in age to me and Mathilde, but she appears to be in her early forties. Now I see why we keep our meetings a secret; we’re all so different
