Chapter 16 #2
“Darling.” He slides an arm around Camilla’s waist. “Charles was just asking about the new Porsche.”
Camilla’s expression flickers with annoyance before smoothing into a polite smile. “I was just thanking Captain Giggles for the wonderful show.”
“Yes, the children seemed entertained.” Mr. Henderson-Blackwell looks at me the way you might look at a particularly persistent salesperson. “Quite a lot of running about and shouting. Very energetic.”
“That’s the goal,” I say mildly.
“Must be nice, having a job where you play all day.” He says it with a smile, but the condescension drips off every word. “Not much thinking required, I imagine.”
Camilla’s jaw tightens. “Richard—”
“I mean it as a compliment,” he continues, steamrolling her. “I wish I could switch off my brain like that. But theoretical physics doesn’t really allow for mental holidays.”
Ah. There it is. The credentials, deployed like a weapon.
I’ve met men like Richard Henderson-Blackwell before. Men who measure their worth in publications and professorships and need everyone else to know exactly where they rank on the intellectual hierarchy.
“Richard’s at Imperial,” Camilla says with the air of someone who’s been made to say it many times. “Quantum field theory.”
“Fascinating field,” I say.
“You’ve heard of it?” Richard looks surprised, then amused. “Well. I suppose they do mention it on television sometimes. Dumbed down for general audiences, of course.”
Another man approaches. He’s a similar age to Richard, with a similar cashmere-to-condescension ratio. “Richard! There you are. Camilla, lovely party. Is this the entertainment?”
“His name is Captain Giggles,” Richard says, and there’s a slight smirk playing at his lips. “He was just telling us how fascinating he finds quantum field theory.”
The other man, whom I’m guessing is Charles of the Porsche inquiry, chuckles as he gives me the once-over. “Is that right? Always nice when the arts appreciate the sciences. What particular aspect do you find fascinating?”
Richard and Charles are performing for each other now. Two peacocks, displaying their plumage.
I should let this go. Smile, nod, pack up my scarves, and let these men feel superior. It’s the smart play.
But Richard’s still got that smirk, and his arm is still clamped around Camilla’s waist like she’s property, and I’ve always hated people who mistake credentials for intelligence.
“I find the renormalization problem particularly interesting,” I say. “The way infinities crop up in the calculations and have to be dealt with.”
Richard blinks. “You know about renormalization?”
“Bits and pieces. As I said, I’m interested in physics.
” I pause, tilting my head like I’m trying to remember something.
“Actually, there was a paper I came across recently. Hollowood and Shore, I think? On the running coupling in asymptotically free theories?” I furrow my brow.
“They had this interesting approach to the beta function calculation using dimensional regularization that seemed to contradict some of the older literature. I couldn’t quite tell whether it was a genuine correction or just a different renormalization scheme. Do you happen to know?”
The silence stretches.
Richard’s face has gone through several interesting shades of red. His mouth opens, closes, opens again.
“I…that’s quite a technical question,” he manages finally.
“Is it? Sorry, I thought since you were at Imperial…” I trail off, shrugging apologetically. “Never mind. Like you said, I mostly just run about and shout. Probably got the details wrong.”
Charles is staring at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. Camilla presses her lips together, but I can see the corners twitching upward.
“Excuse me,” Richard says stiffly. “I should check on the caterers.”
He releases Camilla’s waist and stalks toward the kitchen. Charles follows, shooting me one last bewildered look.
Camilla waits until they’re out of earshot, then turns to me with barely suppressed delight. “That,” she says, “was magnificent.”
“I have no idea what you mean. I was just making conversation.”
“Of course you were.” Her eyes are sparkling. “I don’t suppose you’d like to stay for dinner? I have a feeling the conversation would be fascinating.”
“Tempting, but I have dogs to walk and a dinosaur to return to its natural habitat.”
She laughs. “If you ever get tired of children’s parties, Captain Giggles, I suspect you could do just about anything you wanted.”
She drifts off to check on the cake situation, leaving me to finish packing.
I’m zipping up the last bag when I hear footsteps behind me.
“I forgot my business cards,” I say without turning around, assuming it’s Leo back from the changing room. “They’re on the—”
“Archie Mansley.”
I freeze.
It’s Richard. He’s holding one of my cards that I left on the table, staring at it with a strange expression. The smugness is gone, replaced by something I can’t quite read.
“That’s what it says,” I confirm carefully.
“Hang on a second.” He looks up at me, eyes narrowed. “Archie is not short for Archibald, is it?”
My stomach drops.
“I just go by Archie,” I say. “Common name.”
Richard stares at me for a long moment. I keep my expression pleasant, neutral, the same vapid cheerfulness I’ve perfected over the last year.
Finally, he shakes his head. “No, I suppose not. Absurd idea, really. Forget I said anything.”
He hands the card to me and walks away.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
That was close. Too close.
I turn around and my heart stutters.
Leo is standing in the doorway, the inflatable costume tucked under one arm. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and there’s a faint shimmer of glitter at the corner of his mouth.
Shit.
How long has he been there? Did he hear my conversation with Richard?
His expression gives nothing away. Those dark eyes just watch me, unreadable.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
“Almost,” I manage.
I busy myself with unnecessary adjustments to already-packed bags, not meeting his eyes.
Maybe he didn’t hear. Maybe he came in at the end. Maybe—
“Archie.”
I look up.
Leo’s still watching me. Still unreadable.
“You left your cards on the table,” he says. He walks over to retrieve them.
Our fingers brush as he hands them to me.
I can’t tell if there’s a question in his eyes. Or if it’s just my own paranoia reflected back at me.