Chapter 11
The cool evening air was bracing after the overwhelming warmth of the greenhouse. Saffron was glad she had kept her coat on rather than leaving it in the office when she had arrived earlier.
She’d gone to the university after Inspector Green’s visit, not to work, but to get some answers.
She had proof, at least proof enough for her, that the xolotl vine was not the cause of the poisoning.
Her first task was to speak to Mr. Winters to get support in her theory that someone was using xolotl to frame Maxwell before going to Inspector Green, but had instead found Alexander.
She hoped they could be friendly again. Working together meant they’d see each other every day.
A good working relationship was important.
And if something more came about … Well, Saffron wouldn’t mind at all.
Dusk faded into evening as they walked, quiet but for the automobiles and buses trundling by and snatches of overheard conversations from open doorways and windows.
They settled into a casual place for students Saffron had visited a number of times. Alexander and Saffron ordered pasta, and the waiter inquired whether they wanted wine.
“None for me,” Alexander said.
Saffron shook her head. “Nor me, thank you.”
The waiter vanished. Remembering the party and the full glass of scotch Alexander had tried to get rid of, Saffron said lightly, “I thought all hearty explorers scoffed at temperance.”
He shifted in his seat, eyes on his glass of water. “I avoid alcohol altogether whenever possible.”
Saffron’s mind jumped to her uncle, who had died after a night of heavy drinking when he returned from his deployment. Curiosity getting the better of her propriety, she asked, “After the War?”
His dark eyes stayed on his water glass. “People have different ways of coping with whatever burdens they came back with. Alcohol is common enough.”
Saffron was glad he wasn’t looking at her, as he surely would have seen the surprise on her face.
She had never heard anyone speak about lingering effects apart from in very general and impersonal terms, not even her family when her uncle died.
Most found it too embarrassing or too risky.
It was difficult to maintain employment and relationships if people thought one was shell-shocked.
At once, she was terribly curious about the man across from her.
What burdens had he borne, or might he still bear?
It was clear he must have been injured, given the extensive scarring on his arm.
Mindful of not wanting to come off as either pitying or nosy, she asked, “What would be your method of coping? If you don’t mind me asking. ”
Alexander’s lips lifted into an enigmatic smile. “A few years ago I learned how to meditate from a professor who studied in Tibet. He taught me a breathing technique I find effective. It’s about controlling your breathing, your thoughts. Alcohol does the opposite.”
His expression was neutral, and Saffron couldn’t tell if he was serious. It all sounded rather outlandish. He began on another topic before she could confirm it.
The meal was spent in conversation about work.
Saffron knew relatively little about bacteria, and when Alexander protested that it was not considered polite dinner conversation, she reminded him that he’d already brought up warty eruptions.
The surprise of his full, deep laugh made her feel filled with electricity again.
Night had fully fallen when they departed the restaurant. The orange-tinted street lights illuminating white blossoms on trees created the impression of tangerine clouds hovering near the lampposts. As they walked in the direction of Hyde Park, their conversation returned to Mrs. Henry’s poisoning.
“The problem is that Dr. Maxwell does seem to have a credible motive,” Saffron explained. “According to Harry Snyder, he was very upset about not being allowed to go on the expedition.”
“This expedition seems to be getting less and less popular the more I hear of it,” Alexander said with a sigh.
“What do you mean?” Saffron asked.
“Dr. Henry was very … forthcoming, about some issues regarding the expedition. He tends to speak freely when imbibing, and at the party, he told me quite a bit about his debates with Dr. Berking about his inclusion on the team. Apparently, Henry has a problem when he’s the victim of strong-arming rather than the perpetrator. ”
“Berking forced his way onto the team?” Saffron was surprised.
If anything, she’d expect the head of the department to want to stay in the comfort of his office, where he could prop up his feet and terrorize his staff members.
Or just her. But it was very glamorous to be on a scientific expedition, and would bring more prestige to Berking’s reputation as a botanist, what with all the opportunities to discover new plants and especially determine their taxonomy.
Getting the chance to discover a new species was all some people in the biology department thought about, it seemed.
Regardless of his reasons, Saffron was glad Berking was going to Brazil.
“That’s what Henry said. Richard Blake is going too, though I’m not sure why he’d want to, considering he and Henry have a dispute over the funding.”
“Richard Blake? The funding coordinator?” Saffron asked, remembering his blandly handsome face.
“I overhead Berking talking about it the other day.” They paused beneath a streetlamp, Alexander frowning.
“I thought he’d been talking about Dr. Henry securing the rest of the funding for the expedition.
He said something about the money being ill-gotten.
That’s the source of Henry and Blake’s argument.
Blake is supposed to contact the donors and solicit pledges, but apparently Henry went straight to Cedric Ermine himself.
Blake mentioned, rather bitterly, that they had finally secured the last bit thanks to Dr. Henry’s, er, ingenuity. ”
Saffron laughed at Alexander’s serious tones. “I can’t imagine a man like Dr. Henry having much ingenuity beyond building a jaguar trap using sticks and leaves.”
“I got the impression it wasn’t that sort of ingenuity,” Alexander said.
Saffron thought again of Miss Ermine and her fawning over Dr. Henry. She could guess what he meant. She sighed, continuing on down the sidewalk. “I’m afraid I’m as confused as ever.”
“The police will sort it out, no doubt. Once they figure out what poison it was, Dr. Maxwell will hopefully be in the clear.”
It was still early when they reached her building, though their walk was quite a long one.
Saffron invited Alexander up to continue their conversation about the function of color variegation.
Or at least, that was the reason she gave.
She wasn’t going to waste a moment of Alexander Ashton being talkative and perhaps even a little flirtatious.
Saffron stepped in first to see if Elizabeth was home, and she wasn’t. She flicked the radiator and the lamps on in the sitting room, checking for any stray embarrassing articles, and invited Alexander in.
They sat in the sitting room for a while, Saffron chattering about the various examples of variegation and whether they were of benefit to the plants.
Alexander’s theories became more and more outlandish, concluding that the cause for the darker green lines on the swordlike sansevieria plant in the corner of the sitting room was because there was a draft in the room and it was alternating too hot and too cold.
Laughing, Saffron went to get a reference book with more information on the sansevieria, which was more of an excuse to powder her nose.
When she returned, she found Alexander examining the photographs on the mantle.
Perched in a small silver frame was a photograph of Saffron and her parents.
In the photograph, Saffron had been fifteen, a gangly girl with big eyes.
Her mother had a smile very similar to Saffron’s, though in the black and white photograph it wasn’t clear that Saffron shared her coloring with her father.
Thomas Everleigh stood proudly with his family, bright eyes framed by glasses and his graying brown hair smoothed back.
Next to Saffron’s family portrait was Elizabeth’s family, a group of light-haired, tall people.
The Hale family all looked as strong and robust as their name suggested, like they’d spent their days hiking through the hills and fields of Bedford, where Elizabeth and Saffron grew up.
Elizabeth sat in the middle of her mother and father, and two older brothers stood behind, both wearing uniforms. The oldest looked steadily into the camera.
The younger brother glowed with pride. The familiar pang of heartache touched Saffron when she looked into Wesley’s eyes.
“Elizabeth’s family?” Alexander asked.
“Yes. This was just before her brothers were sent out.” Saffron indicated the older brother. “Nicholas is still in the military, off doing something important, Elizabeth says. But Wesley died at Flanders.”
Alexander’s eyes lingered on the brothers for a long moment, a strange expression on his face. “You and Elizabeth grew up together?”
She nodded and turned to the couch, where she sat with the book in her lap.
“You must have known her brothers quite well,” Alexander said, sitting down next to her.
“Yes, our families spent a lot of time together,” Saffron replied. “Wesley was just two years older than Elizabeth and me. Usually he was chasing me around or throwing things at me. Just before he left, we became quite close.”
“It must have been a shock to hear of his passing.”
“It was soon after my father died. It was a hard year.” Saffron busied herself with the book in her lap. Pages slipped past without her taking them in; she was too focused on the sting of grief and the contrasting guilt and appreciation of Alexander’s warmth at her side.