“If you can execute your vision, it will be.”
Now that I’ve got the approval to proceed, I move on to the next item on my list. It’s an unusual request, and I’m not sure whether Dr Radcliffe will agree. “I’d like to keep the theme a secret, not to be revealed until the guests arrive.” I cross my fingers underneath my note paper.
Dr Radcliffe sits up in her seat, tilting her head to the side as she mulls over my request. “It is rather unorthodox; we will get questions from attendees curious about the dress code.”
I’m prepared for this question. “We printed the dress code on the invitation - simple black tie - after all, it isn’t the guests who will be the ones dressing up.”
“No, I suppose you’re right…” she mulls my request for another moment before nodding her agreement. “I believe Harry can handle any concerns, but have you thought this through, Natalie?” Her sharp gaze searches my face for any hint of uncertainty. “It will put even more pressure on you to make the gala a night to remember.”
Holding strong, I raise my head high, confidence brimming on my face. “Don’t worry, Dr Radcliffe. I have it all under control. Trust me when I say that every guest who attends will leave feeling that they had a truly magical experience.”
We spend a few more minutes chatting about budgets and external support staff and my ongoing search for a replacement caterer. To distract her from any further questions about my lack of success finding a new chef, I tell her I’ve got a call booked with an acting agency.
“Will you need any help to audition the actors for the gala? I’m sure Harry would be happy to assist.” Dr Radcliffe offers as I stand up to leave.
“No.” The word slips out of my mouth. “I mean, no thanks, that is. I won’t be auditioning people per se.”
Her brow furrows. “How will find actors for the roles we discussed if you don’t hold auditions?”
I’m not holding auditions because all the “actors” are already here in the building. But I can’t exactly explain that. Thankfully, I’d prepared an answer to this question.
“I know a group from my days in London. Kept in touch as I knew I might need them again. They’re brilliant, can step into any role and you’d be convinced that they were the individuals themselves, brought back to life.”
I make a quick goodbye and dart out the door before she can ask or suggest anything else.
I don’t dare to hesitate as I make my way through the reception area. Thankfully, Harry is on a call when I step out of Dr Radcliffe’s office. Harry uses her free hand to mime drinking a cup of coffee. I shake my head and hold up five fingers to remind her how many cups I’ve already had today. I mime the universal signal for ‘I need a loo break’ and wave goodbye before practically running out into the hallway.
Hopefully, in the next few hours I’ll find the courage to put some serious questions to Harry.
❖
I invite Jill and Will, my trusty assistants, into my office to share the good news that we’ve got an approved gala theme. Once again, I start with the story of the two women and their fateful trip to Versailles, building up into an explanation of my vision for the Autumn Gala. Both Will and Jill are buzzing with excitement by the end, spending the next two hours discussing decorations, lighting, and menu ideas, glossing over the fact that we still don’t have a caterer. Having promised to keep my plans a secret, my assistants rush out of my office, notes in hand, ready to take on their new assignments.
I double-check my own To Do list, initially pleased to see I’ve only got one big task left for the day. Unfortunately, it’s the one I was trying to avoid. ‘Talk to Harry’ is in big letters, impossible to miss. I force myself up from my chair and out of my office door.
Why is it that when you want to avoid someone, they’re around every corner you turn, but when you need to find someone, they’re nowhere? I seem to be perpetually one step behind Harry. In every room I visit, there’s someone saying, “She was just here. You just missed her.” Just, just, just.
When my energy flags and my stomach growls, I put my search on hold and grab lunch in the dining hall. I stop by the gardens to call H, knowing that if I leave him behind, I’ll never hear the end of it. Plus, I promised him some cheddar, a staple on the dining hall cheese board.
We walk into the dining hall; me moaning about how much my feet hurt. “I give up, H. I’ve walked every inch of the college grounds and I still can’t find Harry.”
“That ‘Arry?” H points across the room.
Yes, that Harry. The missing woman is sitting alone at the end of one of the long student tables, sipping a cup of coffee and looking as though she hasn’t a care in the world. Maybe she doesn’t since she offed the one person who was standing between her and marital happiness. Or maybe she didn’t do it, communing away with her clean conscience.
I rush through the serving line, grabbing a plate of the day’s special. Harry spots me waiting to pay, waving me towards the empty seat across from her.
Beatrice, the cashier, is once again sitting at the pay counter. I thought Beatrice would be happy to be free of the brunt of Chef Smythe’s anger, but she seems subdued. I chat with her as I wait for her to scan my ID card. “Hiya Beatrice, looks busier in here. I guess things are back to normal now.”
Beatrice stares at me, eyes unblinking, before shaking herself back into the here and now. “Yeah, normal. Everything is normal, as though Chef Smythe never died.” Her expression is glum, discouraging me from
