Catching my eye, Catherine explains, “It requires a small amount of effort, but we can climb out of our paintings when we’re suitably inclined. Our image remains behind whilst our spirits wander the hallways. Now, what has the two of you so excitable this morning?”
This time I let Bartie explain my idea, hoping that it will go down better coming from a fellow Eternal. Thankfully Catherine clues in to the necessity of such extreme measures and immediately gets on board with the plans.
“Like Bartie, I believe it could be done. You can run the idea past Dr Radcliffe, but we’ll need to try it out in advance on someone unrelated to the magic, preferably someone here you can trust with a secret in case anything goes awry. Does anyone come to mind?” asks Catherine.
There’s only one person who fits the bill here at St Margaret. Harry. Looks like my plans to dip and dodge her for a few days will need to be revised. But first, I need to get Dr Radcliffe’s approval for my gala theme.
❖
Despite working again until the wee hours, I bounce out of bed in the morning before the sun is even up. After several cups of coffee and reviewing my notes, I’m ready and raring to go. I shower and get dressed in my most sedate black skirt and a black peplum top, not wanting anything about me to distract Dr Radcliffe’s attention away from my gala plans.
H sneaks a peek in her office window, confirming that she’s in and not in a meeting. I can’t risk getting caught up chatting with Harry until I figure out what to say to her. But with her desk sitting between me and Dr Radcliffe’s inner office door, I must be clever if I hope to get past her.
When H gives me the all clear sign, I quickstep down the hallway, arriving at the door to Dr Radcliffe’s waiting area with a mountain of notes threatening to tumble out of my handbag. I don’t dare pause for a breath. “Morning, Harry. Is Dr Radcliffe in?” I shove my notes back into place as I march into the waiting room, eyes focused on the inner office door.
Harry drops a letter onto her desk, my sudden arrival catching her by surprise. “Nat? What are you doing here so early… and how much coffee have you had?”
I can see Dr Radcliffe’s door is slightly ajar, a sure sign that she is there and isn’t in a meeting or on a call. “Five cups, I think. I lost count. I can see that she’s there, don’t get up, I’ll see myself in.”
I blast past Harry, leaving her sitting behind her desk with her mouth hanging open. I am in a hurry to make my big pitch, but I’m also doing my best to avoid having to give my friend the third degree.
The inner office door opens smoothly, a slight creaking noise alerting Dr Radcliffe to my presence. She looks up, a small smile crossing her face when she sees that it’s me hovering in her doorway. “Morning, Dr Radcliffe. I hope you don’t mind me popping in without an appointment, but I wanted to update you on my plans for the gala.”
Setting her paperwork aside, Dr Radcliffe leans forward, waving me to come in. “That’s quite all right, Natalie. Have a seat. I’m eager to hear how you’re getting on.”
After closing the office door, I pick a seat, choosing again to sit with my back to the portrait. Now I’m aware the man pictured is glaring down at me. Probably an old stuffed shirt like Edward who doesn’t think I belong here.
Back straight in my seat, I shuffle through my notes, finding the page with the talking points I prepared for the meeting. Given the gala is only three weeks away, I’ve only got one chance to sell Dr Radcliffe on my plans. I’m not leaving anything to chance.
“Dr Radcliffe, I’d like to tell you a story about two women and their rather unusual trip to Versailles.”
She seems perplexed when I tell the story, both intrigue and confusion flitting across her face in equal measure. However, as I explain the connection with St Margaret, segueing over to the gala and my vision for the event, Dr Radcliffe gradually eases back into her seat, an invisible stress falling off her shoulders as a smile grows on her face.
“… so you see, Dr Radcliffe, as soon as our guests walk into the main marquee, it will seem like they have accidentally fallen back in time.”
Although her smile reassures me that she doesn’t hate my gala idea, I wait to see if she thinks it is good enough to approve. She’s lost in thought, her gaze unfocused as she no doubt tries to imagine how the final event might look. When she finally opens her mouth to speak, I catch my breath.
“My word, Natalie. I will admit to having been nervous when I spotted you noodling away in the library. I was concerned that you were at a loss for ideas. I can see now that you were simply researching a plan. A brilliant plan, I might add.”
I release the breath I’d been holding. Thank goodness! Leaving nothing to chance, I ask for a final confirmation. “I take it you approve my proposed theme?”
Beaming, Dr Radcliffe replies, “Not only do I approve, I fully endorse it. I’ve never heard of anyone doing anything like it, and yet it is so quintessentially St Margaret that it seems near impossible it’s been overlooked.”
As the stress falls from my shoulders, it’s all I can do not to collapse against my chair back. “I’m pleased you like it. I really want my first event here at Oxford to be a roaring
