Read Online Death at the Alma Mater by G. M. Malliet - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: G. M. Malliet
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glance over to Lexy to see how she was taking this, and was surprised to see a look of genuine indifference on her lovely face. Her eyes were seeking someone else. Three guesses who that might be, thought Portia.
Then Portia noticed the search operation was mutual—that is, Sir James stood near the drinks tray looking vaguely around the room, but at the sight of Lexy his gaze, anxious and worried, settled immediately on her. Portia wondered if there weren’t some truth in Lexy’s take on the situation. Odder things have happened, she thought, than old flames reigniting.
But Lexy headed straight for Geraldo, who had left India with the promise of fetching her a drink. He had stopped, however, to admire his profile in a gold-framed mirror, a distraction which had temporarily derailed his mission. Lexy, with a meaningful glance at Sir James, was heard to tell Geraldo and the assembly in a loud voice that someone had broken into her room.
Sir James looked about to respond, but a couple walked in just then, looking unmistakably American in a way Portia found hard to define. Perhaps it was that their clothes looked starchily brand new, as if fresh out of the boxes. The man wore a Masters’ gown, also shining in its newness. The woman Portia assumed was his wife wore a dress straight from the Paris couture collections, but of an unbecoming shade of purple under her own academic status gown.
Just after the pair came Hermione Jax, Fellow of the college and one of its most stalwart supporters, financial and otherwise. Hermione in academic regalia looked to be in her element, as in fact she was. Disapprovingly, she scanned the assembled company with her protuberant, long-lashed eyes, then made her way over to the drinks tray where the Master and Bursar were now standing.
Over the growing volume of conversation, Portia heard Sir James say, “It would be jolly fun. You’re quite right. A row for old times’ sake.” She turned and saw he was talking with the Reverend Otis and the big Texan from the bar. “Lexy was our coxswain, back in the day. I wonder if you could persuade her?”
“That’s a grand idea,” agreed Augie Cramb. “I used to love to row. Do we have enough to make an eight?”
“Doubtful,” said Sir James. “But we could manage a four, I think. I say, Geraldo, you rowed for your college, didn’t you?”
Geraldo, tearing himself away from his image, said, “Of course. I was and am a superb athlete.” Clasping his hands in front of his stomach, he flexed his chest muscles by way of demonstration.
“I saw a young man decked out for rowing headed towards the river earlier,” said Augie.
“That was my son,” said Sir James, not looking at Augie. His voice held an odd, gruff note that might have been melancholy.
“Will he be joining us for dinner?” asked Augie.
“He’s got his own friends.” India had walked over to her husband. She took his arm proprietarily. Just then the gong sounded for dinner, and James led the way towards the dining hall, rather charging ahead and dragging India with him. Portia wondered: Was he hoping to snag a seat next to Lexy? If so, he was out of luck. It was Augie Cramb, unencumbered and making an heroic sprint, who managed to gain the coveted spot.
–––
A short time later, the St. Mike’s alumni group sat beneath the painted bosses of the Hall’s hammerbeam roof and the painted eyes of the former Masters’ portraits, steadily working its way through the appetizer course (although as someone observed: “Appetizer is rather a misnomer in this case, wouldn’t you say?”). The conversation gradually gathered strength and became a collection of discordant noises, like a symphony warming up on untuned instruments. Adding to the cacophony, four undergraduates, huddled in a corner, sawed away on stringed instruments until they were finally banished by the Master, well before they’d run through their repertoire.
Because of the presence of the distinguished
Then Portia noticed the search operation was mutual—that is, Sir James stood near the drinks tray looking vaguely around the room, but at the sight of Lexy his gaze, anxious and worried, settled immediately on her. Portia wondered if there weren’t some truth in Lexy’s take on the situation. Odder things have happened, she thought, than old flames reigniting.
But Lexy headed straight for Geraldo, who had left India with the promise of fetching her a drink. He had stopped, however, to admire his profile in a gold-framed mirror, a distraction which had temporarily derailed his mission. Lexy, with a meaningful glance at Sir James, was heard to tell Geraldo and the assembly in a loud voice that someone had broken into her room.
Sir James looked about to respond, but a couple walked in just then, looking unmistakably American in a way Portia found hard to define. Perhaps it was that their clothes looked starchily brand new, as if fresh out of the boxes. The man wore a Masters’ gown, also shining in its newness. The woman Portia assumed was his wife wore a dress straight from the Paris couture collections, but of an unbecoming shade of purple under her own academic status gown.
Just after the pair came Hermione Jax, Fellow of the college and one of its most stalwart supporters, financial and otherwise. Hermione in academic regalia looked to be in her element, as in fact she was. Disapprovingly, she scanned the assembled company with her protuberant, long-lashed eyes, then made her way over to the drinks tray where the Master and Bursar were now standing.
Over the growing volume of conversation, Portia heard Sir James say, “It would be jolly fun. You’re quite right. A row for old times’ sake.” She turned and saw he was talking with the Reverend Otis and the big Texan from the bar. “Lexy was our coxswain, back in the day. I wonder if you could persuade her?”
“That’s a grand idea,” agreed Augie Cramb. “I used to love to row. Do we have enough to make an eight?”
“Doubtful,” said Sir James. “But we could manage a four, I think. I say, Geraldo, you rowed for your college, didn’t you?”
Geraldo, tearing himself away from his image, said, “Of course. I was and am a superb athlete.” Clasping his hands in front of his stomach, he flexed his chest muscles by way of demonstration.
“I saw a young man decked out for rowing headed towards the river earlier,” said Augie.
“That was my son,” said Sir James, not looking at Augie. His voice held an odd, gruff note that might have been melancholy.
“Will he be joining us for dinner?” asked Augie.
“He’s got his own friends.” India had walked over to her husband. She took his arm proprietarily. Just then the gong sounded for dinner, and James led the way towards the dining hall, rather charging ahead and dragging India with him. Portia wondered: Was he hoping to snag a seat next to Lexy? If so, he was out of luck. It was Augie Cramb, unencumbered and making an heroic sprint, who managed to gain the coveted spot.
–––
A short time later, the St. Mike’s alumni group sat beneath the painted bosses of the Hall’s hammerbeam roof and the painted eyes of the former Masters’ portraits, steadily working its way through the appetizer course (although as someone observed: “Appetizer is rather a misnomer in this case, wouldn’t you say?”). The conversation gradually gathered strength and became a collection of discordant noises, like a symphony warming up on untuned instruments. Adding to the cacophony, four undergraduates, huddled in a corner, sawed away on stringed instruments until they were finally banished by the Master, well before they’d run through their repertoire.
Because of the presence of the distinguished
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