Man Hunting
A stranger sat in Cornelius’ classroom.
Perched in the back, spine rigid and eyes curious, she was a whole world above the semester worn students around her.
Cornelius did his best to ignore the woman, but it proved difficult.
She was likely an auditor of some sort, they had a penchant for surprises.
It was almost the end of term, though. Hell, the academic year, at that. Why check up on his work now?
Something about the older, fair woman reminded him of Sara, which made it hard to dull the itch wracking hell in his brain.
He turned his back to the classroom, focusing his attention on streaking chalk across the blackboard while dictating the semester’s final assignments.
This was his favorite class, the reason why he was here, and the only one of his that didn’t cater to naive kids who thought archaeology was one step away from wild adventure.
Cornelius managed to occupy his curiosity until the end of class.
As the third year students trudged out of the cavernous lecture hall, glancing at his bruised face and damaged knuckles, Cornelius’ heart rate kicked up a notch in anticipation.
The woman stood, waiting for the groggy crowd to clear before she approached.
She didn’t hide her interest, and when their eyes met a wry smile curled her lips.
Mischievous, all-knowing, and perhaps a tad judgmental.
He’d never been audited before. His student’s scores had been top notch since shortly after he was hired, and there’d been no problems. He’d only had three transfers since he began, nothing to do with him and all to do with their expectations, and the ones that graduated under his eye thus far went on to esteemed research programs. Cornelius was well aware he didn’t have the best social reputation, but he was as professional and hardworking as one could be.
Bizarre, yes, but effective. Intelligent. Competent.
What if … what if news broke out of last night’s scuffle?
What if word got out where he’d been?
The woman finally stood before him, chin raised and lip quirked.
She wore a pretty navy blue dress that hung at her knees, and a smart handbag dangled from the crook of her arm.
A dark jacket hung over her arm as well, finely made but by no means new.
Deep lines creased her eyes and mouth, and her skin was weathered by time and the sun.
Cornelius got the sense that the woman spent most of her time outside, but wasn’t sure why.
She seemed to straddle the line between middle and upper class, but Cornelius knew better than most that clothes were simply an illusion.
Swallowing panic, Cornelius bowed his head and extended his hand. “Good morning, miss …?”
With a kind smile, she reached for him. He clasped her palm which was gloved in soft leather, and his gentle but firm pressure drew a smile from the woman.
With an accent that was more British than American, she said, “Fawcett, if you please. I must say, Dr. Sawyer, your perspective on astronomy and its application in regards to archaeology is a refreshing take, one I’d love to discuss with you further. ”
Absolutely stunned, Cornelius fought the urge to bow fully, because in the back of his mind he knew it’d be an awkward thing to do.
But this was Nina Fawcett, not only wife to one of the most famous explorers of his time, but an accomplished person in her own right.
To Cornelius, that made her as good as royalty.
Gathering his thoughts best he could, Cornelius said, “Mrs. Fawcett, it’s an honor to meet you. I—of course. Are you free now, or …?”
“In fact, I am.” Nina Fawcett smiled, glancing down at their still joined hands with a raised brow.
Cornelius’ cheeks flushed and he released her hand. He took hold of his cane leaning against the podium, then gestured towards the door. “Please, this way, I’ve some coffee in my office, it’s just a few halls over.”
Mrs. Fawcett nodded, following as he led the way. “That would be splendid. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m accompanied by a like-minded colleague of mine. He’s an avid follower of your work, actually.”
If the room became any hotter, Cornelius might evaporate. “Oh, not at all. Who—"
They stepped into the hall and veered to the right, revealing Watt Johnson standing at parade rest. He stared at a photo on the wall, and the right side of his face was shrouded in furious red, purple, and blue.
His nose was clearly shattered, but Cornelius knew for a fact that it wasn’t the first time that strong bridge had been fractured.
He looked all the better for it, of course.
He looked painfully familiar, aged but still recognizable as the boy Cornelius had once obsessed over.
There were more wrinkles, bulk, and last night Cornelius had noticed the top part of his left pinky finger was missing.
Today, he noticed the various scars on the backs of his hands. But he was still handsome.
Still Watt Johnson.
He’d always had the casually rugged and handsome look down pat, and the worst part was he never had to try.
Unlike Cornelius, who picked every article of clothing with great care.
Watt wore a gray three-piece suit done in herringbone tweed, collared by a strange dirt brown bow tie, and fancy capped oxfords.
The outfit was exquisite, but Watt’s bed tousled hair and two day old beard contrasted the beauty of it.
Cornelius owned one formal suit, and he hardly wore it.
Today was no exception, and he’d never felt more under dressed.
Slacks too tight around the high waist, the pinstripes on his vest too odd and the muslin of his white long sleeve too heavy.
He told himself the discomfort was due to Nina’s presence, not Watt’s.
Upon seeing the pair exit the lecture hall Watt turned to face them, disrupting Cornelius’ brief observations.
Watt joined Nina’s side and, like nothing had ever happened between them, extended his hand to Cornelius.
He met Cornelius’ eye, but just barely. Accent softer than his words, he said, “Watt Johnson. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Sawyer.
I hope we’re not imposing on your schedule. ”
Violence was a near, seductive thing. Cornelius had to beat down the part of himself that wanted to run, to fight, to scream. How dare he. How dare he.
Why—was last night—why?
Pressured by Mrs. Fawcett’s presence, Cornelius took Watt’s hand, channeling all his strength into the shake. “Dr. Johnson, not at all. Please, right this way.”
Watt flinched, but whether it was from the venom in Cornelius’ voice or his grip, it was unclear.
Cornelius led the way to his office, thankfully he’d brought his cane with him today and it was a short walk.
No one in the halls paid any mind to him, per usual.
He passed Esther’s office, but the door was closed.
Not that she could do anything to save him from the impending train wreck.
Mason was milling about outside his office, and he heralded Cornelius a warm greeting.
“Sawyer, good to see you,” J. Alden Mason said, pumping Cornelius’ hand vigorously.
He preferred J to John, and Cornelius never had a problem with respecting preferences.
He was a thin and hardened man, with excellent hair and a thick nose.
His eyes flicked to Cornelius’ black eye, then his cane.
He usually needed it a few days a week, so it wasn’t uncommon.
Perhaps paired with the black eye, it told a story of a greater pain. “Alright there, son?”
Cornelius smiled, despite his nerves. “Morning sir, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Good, good.” J nodded, crinkled eyes bright, and his mustache twitched as his gaze drifted to Nina and Watt.
Recognition upturned his features, and he shook Watt’s hand with the same energy he had Cornelius’.
“Dr. Johnson! What a pleasant surprise. Don’t tell me you made the mistake of debating with Sawyer here.
” J gestured between Watt and Cornelius’ faces.
Watt transformed in that moment, confident with a blinding cocksure smile.
His Transatlantic accent became proud and smooth as he said, “It’s good to see you again Chief, it’s been too long.
And no, I haven’t had the opportunity.” He glanced at Cornelius with that stupid fake smile, then back to J.
“Frank sends his best, by the way. Speck too.”
“That it has, oh do tell them hello for me, will you? And Mrs. Fawcett, is it? What a pleasure to meet you.” He was far more delicate when shaking Nina’s hand, and if Cornelius wasn’t mistaken, there was a slight flush to his cheeks.
Which was understandable, for Nina was likely around the same age as him and quite handsome. And widowed.
Nina said, “Oh, the pleasure is mine. I hear you are a talented curator of this fine establishment.”
“Indeed, but one of many I assure you. I oversee the American section.”
Nina smiled, and there was something conspiratorial about it. “And is it true that some of these curators are women?”
Mason returned her smile. “Of course, of course.” His gaze flicked to Cornelius briefly, then back to Nina and Watt.
“I’m not sure what business you have, but if you would like I could arrange for you to meet with our newly appointed Egyptian Curator, Ms. Mazur.
I think you especially would enjoy those exhibits, Dr. Johnson. ”
“If it pleases Mrs. Fawcett, then I would be happy to oblige,” Watt said, bowing his head slightly.
Nina laughed. “That would be splendid. Will you be available in say … an hour or so? We can work out the details then.”