Seeing I’m finally starting to catch Edward’s attention, I continue on. “The St Margaret gala has taken place every October for the last fifty years. Should we postpone the event, or worse yet, cancel it all together, it will make the papers. Local and potentially national. Do you want to see Chef Smythe’s murder splashed on all the broadsheets? St Margaret’s reputation for academic excellence replaced by a sensationalist tabloid headline?”
Face now green, Edward stammers out a reply. “I had… well, I hadn’t any idea that could happen. Surely you must exaggerate…”
I don’t wait for him to finish, my voice rising in volume. “I am not exaggerating. I may not have a doctoral degree from Oxbridge, but I know public relations. I know the press. Most importantly, I’ve seen how people respond to bad news.”
My words echo up the stairwell, Edward at a loss for further arguments. I lower my voice back to a level barely above a whisper. “Do you have any idea why your snap judgement made me so mad?”
Edward’s face snaps towards mine, confusion written on his wrinkled brow. “Because I assumed you were incompetent?”
Shaking my head, I explain, “No, not that, although I’ll admit it frustrated me. However, what lit my temper on fire was your assumption I am an outsider, someone who can’t possibly understand how important ceremony is to Oxford, and who won’t respect Oxford’s history or unique place in British society. I grew up listening to my grandfather tell me stories about his life as a librarian here. The Oxford colleges were sacred ground for him. He planted the seed in my mind that my greatest accomplishment in life would be to find a career here within the University system.”
“Ms Payne, Natalie, I’m sorry, I should have…”
Using the stairwell, I pull myself onto my feet, taking a small leap down the last few stairs to land near the main exit. Resting my hand on the door handle, I turn back, getting in my last words. “I have as much right to be here as anyone else within St Margaret’s iron gates. And I’m not letting you, the investigation team, or anyone else stand in the way of the Autumn gala taking place. Not just happening, but it being an incredible success. So, either get on board with St Margaret’s priorities, or get out of the way.”
If Edward had anything else to say, it got lost in the slamming of our front door.
❖
As my feet pound the pavement, I replay every word of the conversation with Edward. It’s clear to me Edward has little time for anyone and anything which doesn’t suit his ideal of Oxford. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why Harry was so insistent on introducing the two of us. We have nothing in common. I can’t see us bonding over episodes of the Great British Bake-off.
He’s far too lackadaisical about finding Chef Smythe’s killer. Left to his own devices, he’d sit back and let the police investigate for weeks, months, probably even years. He’d find some way to publish a paper on their efforts, unaware about the impact on the college.
Is there something more to Edward than meets the eye, or is this some kind of Machiavellian plot to distract us from finding out that it was Harry who did it? My mind pulls back from that thought, not willing to explore it further just yet.
I dip and dodge through the fields of Port Meadow, trying to avoid other runners and the livestock who call the meadow home. It isn’t all that different from the rest of my time at Oxford. Since I arrived, I’ve been rushing full steam from one thing to another, struggling not to stand in a cow patty or be bowled over by someone coming at me.
By the time I reach the banks of the Thames, my mind is clear and my brow is dripping in sweat. An hour ago, I was praying for a ghost to step in and save me. Between the talk with Edward and the fresh air in my lungs, I might have another path in front of me.
Sure, it isn’t the path I chose for myself. I signed up to throw amazing parties in historical venues. But I, Natalie Payne, am not a quitter. I didn’t quit as a child when I struggled to learn to read. I didn’t quit when my teachers said I would never be better than middle of the pack. I found my way of learning, ignoring their instructions and sketching my notes into my memory. By the time the dyslexia diagnosis came, I had already figured out how to use my brain difference to my benefit.
Between my pattern-seeking brain and my insights into people, I am more than capable of getting to the bottom of the mystery of who killed Chef Smythe and what is throwing the magic out of alignment.
Maybe Harry did it. Maybe she didn’t. I know better than most that people, places, and things here at Oxford are more than they seem on the surface.
But there’s no reason to rush over and accuse her. I’ve finally got the start of an event theme in my head. Plenty to keep me busy for a day or two. Perhaps I’ve lit a fire under Edward and he and the police will interrogate Harry before I do it myself.
Working on my idea for the gala theme is now my top priority. I’ll go back into the office, assign out a few new tasks, check in on the search for a caterer. If I order some supplies, update my charts and cross items off my To Do list, I’m sure I’ll feel better… be more in control.
Once I’m standing comfortably on my feet again, then I’ll speak to Harry. I’ve got the weekend to figure out what to say.
Chapter Eleven
