Chapter 9
Ten and a Half Years Earlier
“John, you have to help us,” Chloe pleaded, leaning over the keyboard in the music room, stopping him from playing.
John leaned back on the piano stool, flexing tired hands.
“What do you two want?” he asked. He was dressed in his usual attire, gray tweed suit trousers with a white collared shirt and polished leather shoes.
Some people made fun of his style, but Chloe thought of him as a leather-bound book on a shelf full of garish paperbacks.
“We can’t have Shakespeare without music, and we don’t have any music,” she told him.
“ ‘If music be the food of love…,’ ” Sean added in a grandiose voice, throwing a theatrical hand in the air, flicking a lock of hair backward.
“We’re planning a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” she told him. “We’re going to do it next term, outside, around college. We’d love your help.” Chloe pressed her hands together in a pleading gesture.
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream, in the spring?” John asked.
“Yes, summer is so overdone, and I love spring. It feels like the beginning of something,” Chloe said with a grin.
He bit his lip as though suppressing a smile, but then frowned. “No, I have a concert on Sunday,” he said firmly. “I told you, last time was the last time.”
“We wouldn’t need much. Nothing original, just a few bits of music for the woods, for the enchantment scenes,” Chloe said, batting her eyelids.
“This is how it always starts,” John said with a sigh.
“Then before I know it, you’ve got me signed up for every rehearsal.
” He narrowed his eyes at Chloe, but there was fondness there too.
She knew he didn’t have time to spare as a music scholar, but whenever John was involved, it always took their production to a completely different level.
“We just can’t do it without you,” Sean said, closing the piano lid. “We won’t.”
“I’ll love you forever,” Chloe said. “Please, John.”
John let out a resigned sigh.
“I will meet you in the bar later to discuss it, but I’m not making any promises.
Now, I need to practice.” Then he firmly reopened the piano lid and started to play.
Chloe watched for a moment, in awe as his hands skipped across the keys and the glorious sound of Rachmaninoff filled the practice room. He made it look so easy.
“Thank you, thank you,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He blushed ever so slightly but didn’t pause his playing.
“See you in Deepers at eight,” Sean said. “We’ll bring the script.”
John nodded, and they left quickly before he could change his mind. This was how it always played out between the three of them. John said no, Sean said, “Can we just tell you our idea,” and then by the time Chloe had pitched it, he was in. And once John was in, he was all in.
That evening, Sean and Chloe got to the bar early. They walked down to Deep Hall and passed the original Lincoln Imp, a weathered stone statue kept behind bars on an old stairway below college.
“I don’t like that freaky little guy,” Chloe said, nodding toward him.
“I do. I think he’s been maligned by history,” said Sean, as they both paused in front of the statue.
The story went that according to medieval legend, two imps were dispatched by Satan to do the devil’s work on earth.
After wreaking mayhem and mischief all over the north of England, they headed to Lincoln Cathedral, causing havoc before an angel intervened and turned one of the imps to stone, while the other managed to escape.
The spires and rooftops of Oxford were home to numerous stone gargoyles and monsters looking down over the city, and this particular imp used to sit above Lincoln College.
It had been moved, replaced, when it was deemed too weathered and worn, and was now kept behind bars to prevent him doing further mischief.
The imp had become the college mascot, a symbol of Lincoln, and he was often blamed for any misdeeds that might occur after dark.
“How different is he from Puck?” Sean asked, linking his arm through Chloe’s. “A mischievous fairy sounds so much better than a havoc-wreaking devil.”
“Maybe the imp should be in our play?” Chloe suggested. “A Puck for our times.”
They looked at each other, and she saw in his eyes the same dart of excitement she’d just felt.
She and Sean were fueled by the same urge—the urge to tell stories, to use art to make sense of the world.
While alone, they often found their ideas never quite igniting, but when they worked together, it was a different story.
They were like flint and steel—on their own, inert; struck together, they sparked.
When John got to the bar, they bought him a beer and pitched him their idea.
“It won’t be until the middle of Trinity term, so we have plenty of time,” Chloe explained. “We’re thinking we start in Grove, then the production moves around, the audience follows, like they’re on the journey through the woods with us.”
“So, you want not just music, but music that can move and play outside in all weather,” John said, taking off his glasses, then he pulled a white hanky from his jacket pocket to wipe away a smear.
“You never do things by halves, do you?” Chloe noticed how startling John’s eyes were, when they weren’t hidden by thick lenses.
“She doesn’t,” Sean agreed, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. The hug felt a little overzealous, like a locker room hug after a big game, but she appreciated the sentiment. When she looked back at John, he was suddenly preoccupied with his drink.
“Come outside, I want to set the scene for you. And don’t worry, it’s not going to rain, I won’t let it rain,” she said, jumping up, taking a man in each hand and pulling them along.
Outside, it was already dark, but beneath the stars and the light of the college windows, she showed John her vision.
“We’ll have a small stage here, fairy lights in this tree, the audience will sit on the grass, and then come, come…” She started to run, and they both followed her through to Chapel Quad.
“You think we’ll be allowed to do this?” John asked.
“I’ll get permission from the dean,” she said.
“Oberon’s den could be here, the whole set will be made from nature.
I know this girl who makes sculptures from wicker, they’re incredible, she’s going to make us a huge throne…
” On she went, painting her vision with words.
Slowly she saw John falling under her spell.
Who wouldn’t want to be involved in such a delightful production?
“We thought Puck could be the Lincoln Imp,” Sean said, and John laughed at this, a genuine, unfiltered laugh.
“Fine, I’ll write you some music,” John said, looking directly at Chloe now, “and put together a band. Do you want my firstborn too?”
Chloe clapped, jumping up and down on the spot.
Then she pulled both men into a hug. Sean bounced up and down, leaning into her, while John stiffened slightly.
He wasn’t really a group-hug kind of guy.
“This is going to be so good!” she cried, but as she pulled away, she sensed something missing.
She clutched at her hand. “Oh no, my ring!” She looked at Sean. “My Artemis ring.”
“You didn’t feel it come off?” John asked, frowning because he knew the ring’s significance.
“No, but I know I had it in the bar, I’m sure I did.”
“We’ll find it. Don’t worry,” Sean told her, reaching out to squeeze her hand.
All three of them searched the quads with torches for over an hour, until John said, “This is madness, we’re better off looking in the morning. It’s too dark to see anything now.”
Chloe sniffed back tears. “I can’t believe I lost it. It was my grandmother’s, I never take it off.”
“It’s not lost,” Sean reassured her. “We’ll find it. We won’t stop looking until we do. Right, John?” He reached for Chloe’s hand in the dark and his eyes met hers. They agreed to meet as soon as it was light to start looking again.
But when Chloe woke to her alarm the next morning, she found an envelope pushed beneath her door. Inside was her ring, and a note written in sweeping calligraphy. I once was lost but now am found. From your friend, the Lincoln Imp.