Chapter 27
As soon as they arrive, they’re swept up into a throng of delegates for the conference.
Edgar seems to know almost everyone who passes them – not just superficially, but enough to have any number of in-depth conversations about the status of X’s grant application, or Y’s upcoming publication in a prestigious journal.
The enthusiasm is infectious, as is being in the orbit of such a star.
Lucy is sparkling in his wake, introduced to any number of people as his brilliant MSc student who’s done such a great job helping him prepare for this.
Every time he says it, she grows pinker, more flushed, buzzing with the excitement of being a part of this.
At last, he makes his way to the podium, and Lucy flushes again with the excitement of the thought that out of everyone here, she is his student, studying directly beneath him.
There’s a ripple of anticipation in the auditorium, as if to say here he is, the one we’ve all been waiting for, and Lucy watches with amusement as half the women in the room start flicking at their hair as he passes.
Not that she can talk. The reactions he’s eliciting have changed her perception of him, no doubt. She thought he was attractive before, charismatic; now it’s turning into something even more profound.
Edgar quotes from the articles that Lucy herself summarised – she recognises the information.
He’s so passionate about the subject, though, it’s as if she’s hearing it all for the first time, with a new clarity as the pieces fall into place: her mum’s mental-health issues, the addictions, the crimes committed to fuel her habit once her relationship with Lucy’s father broke down.
They had all tried to help her, but she was beyond any assistance they could give.
A tear trickles down Lucy’s cheek, another, the horror of it, the tragedy of the waste fully hitting home, before Edgar’s speech reaches its crescendo and she’s filled with a hope, an inspiration she’s never known before.
She’s found her vocation now. She’s not alone – the room rises to its feet in a standing ovation, a ringing endorsement of the prison abolition that Edgar has outlined as the starting point of his vision for the future, and now Lucy is standing too, her hands stinging as she claps them together to join in the applause.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. Even the keynote speech by Alison Liebling, brilliant as it is, fails to have the same impact on Lucy as Edgar’s did earlier, the power of it still reverberating through her.
It’s plain it’s had the same effect on most of the other delegates, too, and the hair-flicking increases wherever he moves.
At last they get to the end of the lectures, and Edgar takes her by the elbow, leading her through to the bar where the delegates are congregating.
At nearly every step, he’s sought out, women stopping him to congratulate him on his work, his speech, his research.
Some men too, though fewer of those, Lucy notices.
Despite the attempts to distract him, Edgar shows an admirable level of determination to get to the bar, replying to each new greeting only with a nod and a smile, his grip on her arm unchanged as he uses her almost as a battering ram to make his way through.
Now they’re at the bar, leaning against it. It’s still a crush behind her, but at least there’s no one standing in front of Lucy now. She takes in a deep breath, relishing the head space.
‘What do you want?’ Edgar says.
‘Red wine, please.’
He orders her a large glass, the same for himself, and when the drinks are poured, he holds his glass out to her as if in invitation. She raises hers, a little hesitantly, and he clinks his off the side of it.
‘Cheers! Thanks so much for your help.’
‘I barely did anything.’
‘That’s not true,’ he says. ‘I can see how much work went into those summaries. You got to the heart of each of the articles in a way I haven’t seen done for a very long time.’
She’s about to argue, dismiss her contribution further, but she stops herself. A man wouldn’t minimise the work he’d done, so why should she?
Mind you, he might not be leaning quite so close if she were a man, nor looking quite so intently at her.
She knows she should object to it, but she can’t help responding, leaning in closer herself, flicking her hair in exactly the way that she’s been observing in the other women around him.
It’s different in this case, though; he is genuinely interested in what she has to say about the speakers they’ve heard today, laughing at her jokes in exactly the way she’d hoped that he would.
She doesn’t need to attract his attention – she’s got it.
The room might be crowded, but it could be empty for all it matters to them, enclosed as they are in a bubble that excludes everyone else.
She can smell the red wine on his breath, a hint of cologne, and underneath that, a scent of sweat, warm and earthy.
She’s moving in closer and closer, ignoring the chatter around them, people coming over occasionally and attempting to pull him free, defeated by the magnetic bond between them.
Lucy has never felt so understood, so heard, as she does this moment, the intensity of Edgar’s gaze not intimidating her but instead drawing her even further out of herself.
At this moment, there’s nothing she wouldn’t share, no fantasy too dark, no secret too buried—
‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,’ he says, and she thrills at the words.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a project I’ve been working on,’ he says. Her heart sinks a little, rises again. Work is his passion, after all. The rest will follow.
‘What’s the project?’
‘That’s the thing. It’s highly confidential.
I’ve been working alone on it, but I need some help.
I was waiting to see . . . well, I was waiting to see if you’d be suitable.
But I think you will be. It’s—’ He turns away from her abruptly.
‘Fuck,’ he says, and a man appears in front of them, his hands held up in front of him as if to say he comes in peace.
Lucy looks between the two of them, Edgar’s face wary, the other man’s challenging, one eyebrow raised, before the men wrap their arms round each other, in what could be an embrace or a death grip.
Lucy feels light-headed. The bubble has burst, and for a moment the noise in the bar threatens to overwhelm her.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Edgar says, stepping back from the embrace, his hands still on the stranger’s shoulders. The anger has faded from his face, but there’s still a trace of suspicion. ‘You’re the last person I expected to see here.’
Lucy swallows her disappointment. She was hoping to have Edgar to herself.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d be here?’ Edgar says.
‘I thought you might try and avoid me.’ The man speaks with a slight accent. There’s a shake in his voice. The sense of disappointment Lucy was feeling shifts, makes way for something different. She’s still in the inner circle, still privileged, witnessing what is clearly a deeply personal moment.
‘Forget all that shit. This is you and me. You know I’d always want to see you.
’ Edgar turns to Lucy. ‘Lucy, meet Victor. One of my colleagues from – God, I don’t know, about ten years ago?
Victor, this is Lucy, one of my masters students, though you would think she was a post-doc. She’s brilliant.’
Victor reaches out his hand and Lucy shakes it, taking him in at the same time.
He’s younger than Edgar, she reckons, though not by too much.
Less grey in his hair, fewer wrinkles. Also very good-looking.
The hair-flicking around them has doubled in intensity.
Lucy catches herself doing the same and grips her glass with both hands to stop it.
‘Hi,’ she says. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘You too,’ he says, smiling at her.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Edgar says. ‘We need to speak properly. Let’s go and get food somewhere.’
‘What about the conference dinner?’ Lucy says.
‘Fuck the conference dinner. This is more important,’ he says.
He takes each of them by the arm and pulls them through the bar.
The bubble is back around them, now expanded to include Victor.
As Lucy clocks all the envious glances darting in her direction as she leaves with the two men, she’s happy to welcome him inside.