They say you never can tell how grief will hit you. Maybe Beatrice was fonder of Chef Smythe than she realised. Or maybe she’s upset over Claudia’s departure at the end of last week. That makes more sense. I make a mental note to check in on her later.
As I set my tray and H’s plate of cheese on the table, Harry’s smile flips to a frown when she gets a close-up view of my dishevelled state. “Nat, dear, have a seat. You look positively haggard. Did you forget to go to sleep last night?”
“Thanks, Harry. I got caught up in party planning again and didn’t go to bed until the wee hours.”
Harry swipes a chip from my plate and dips it into my tomato ketchup. “What have you been doing all morning? I imagine you have your hands full now that Dr Radcliffe has signed off on the theme.” She chews the chip, narrowing her eyes at me. “I expect you to tell me everything, as Dr Radcliffe refused to say even a peep. On you go, out with it. What are you up to, Nat?”
I know she means the gala plans, but all I can think about is her and Chef Smythe. Postponing this conversation will not make it any easier.
I duck my head down into my shoulders and whisper my question. I wasn’t planning to hold the inquisition in front of a studio audience. “Did something happen between you and Chef Smythe?”
Harry’s expression shifts from excitement to confusion. “Why on earth would you ask me that? I mean, I disliked the old biddy as much as the next person, but that’s it. Anything else is ancient history.”
Ancient history? That phrase reassures me that the situation might not be as bad as I thought. Nonetheless, I need to get it all out. I cough and stop for a sip of water. “I heard something the other day… something about Chef Smythe, you and Rob… a friend spotted you crying alone in the hallway one evening, a few days before Chef Smythe was killed.”
“Oh no, someone saw that did they?” Harry’s cheeks pink with embarrassment. “I’m so embarrassed. I don’t know what got into me that night, making me break down in the college hallway. I was sure I was all alone.”
I give her a soft smile of apology, allowing her to collect her thoughts.
She sits back in her chair. “Must be someone who’s been here for a long while if they managed to connect up those dots. That is absolutely ancient history.” Her eyebrows arch, waiting for me to tell who spoke with me.
I can’t reveal that my source is the portrait in our hallway, so I wave off her question. “Yes, they’ve been here for ages, years really. I wouldn’t want to embarrass them. They said that it was late, after a high table dinner, and you were muttering something about not being able to go through it all again. When Chef Smythe turned up dead, they, well, wondered if the two things might be connected. Maybe she was trying again to start up a tendre with Rob.”
Sitting up straight, Harry leans over the table, her voice a harsh whisper. “I bloody would kill the woman if she tried something like that again. Nearly ruined my marriage and my life because of her own unfounded jealousy. Thankfully, Rob was oblivious to her efforts. He thought she was being nice. When she made an actual pass at him, he sent her packing. How he could stomach her in the first place, I’ll never know. Guess he was only thinking about how good her food was.”
Now I feel terrible. I’ve drudged up bad memories, practically accused my friend of murder, and I still haven’t gotten to the bottom of why she was crying. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“I know I should mind my business,” I start off.
“Do you know how to do that?” Harry interrupts.
“Ha. Yes, I do. I hate to ask now that I’ve aired your dirty laundry, but is everything okay?”
Thankfully Harry takes pity on my tired, stressed face. “Let’s go grab a cup of fresh coffee and I’ll tell you what happened.”
I put my tray away, once again calling H back from Beatrice’s arms. Together we follow Harry along the hallway. When she turns into the Senior Common Room, I grab her arm to stop her. “Maybe we should go somewhere else? I don’t want to disturb anyone.”
“Nonsense, dear. This room’s relaxing environment is exactly what we need to brighten our moods back up. Not to mention it houses the best coffee machine in the college. Why wouldn’t you want to go inside?”
I release her arm but remain frozen in the doorway. “Am I allowed? I know there are rules about which common rooms people can use, I don’t want to intrude where I don’t belong.”
“My dear, you can go anywhere you want within St Margaret walls. You are the university’s Head of Ceremonies. There is nowhere that you would be unwelcome.”
Having said her piece, Harry leaves me to follow behind her, with little idea of how much I needed to hear those very words.
I wave her to sit, crossing the room and picking up two teacups and saucers from the serving tray. I push buttons until we each have a steaming latte, add a few biscuits to each plate and walk over to the armchairs Harry has claimed for our use. Thankfully, they are tucked into a little nook, providing a semblance of privacy in the open space.
Once I’m seated, Harry dunks a biscuit into her coffee before picking up our conversation where we left off in the dining hall. “It’s all fine now, Nat. I was crying over Rob. Do you remember him mentioning his bad knee the other night?” I nod mechanically. “He had some tests done to see if the extra physio was working, but the early results didn’t look good. I was concerned he’d need more
