Part Ten
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: Gutted
To: Halley Hart
Halley, I’m so gutted I missed you.
I stupidly dropped my phone, and it smashed. I almost left it and kept running, but it raised a customs officer’s suspicions, and he insisted on checking my bag. I finally got into the arrivals hall at exactly half past, so we must have only just missed each other. I even thought I heard your voice, calling me, but perhaps it was wishful thinking...
And I didn’t have my laptop with me, so I couldn’t even let you know until I just reached my parents’ place. I’m so sorry. I hope you’re not too upset.
I love you, and you love me, and we’ll be together in about a month, for half a year .
All my love, Henry xxx
* * *
From: Halley Hart
Subject: Cursed
To: Henry Inglis
Henry, it feels like I’m cursed to eternally being driven away from you. That’s what happened — I was on the terminal bus just outside when I saw you, and yelled.
I’m glad you heard me, but I wish you saw me, if only for a second, like I saw you.
I really, really like the way you look. I mean, I knew that already, because I’ve met you and I have your photo and I see you on my screen all the time. But now I’m in love with you, I was overwhelmed by it. Even really briefly, at a distance. (What’s it going to be like in a month, when you meet me at the airport and we know we’ll be together for half a year ?) (I hope it’s OK to assume you’ll come meet me. If you’re too busy or something, I can go straight to Southampton, and get to Oxford the following weekend.)
Please don’t be worried about me being upset. I’m not gonna cry the whole way to California. Instead, I’ll spend the flight finalizing my transfer forms for Stanford and enrolment forms for Southampton. And by the way, I haven’t forgotten that we’re spending a week together, for our birthdays and Valentine’s. Can we please still do that — I don’t wanna keep being apart from you for big celebrations?
Please say hi to Viola for me, and I hope your parents are both doing as well as can be hoped.
Love, your Halley
* * *
Sunday, 29 December
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: Yes and yes and yes
To: Halley Hart
Dear Halley,
Since you mentioned a curse, I should admit to something similar, when I was stopped by that customs officer just metres from where I knew you were waiting. That thing about Halley’s comet only being seen once in a lifetime flashed into my mind, and I panicked that the one day on which I saw you, nearly four months ago, would be the only one, ever.
So I wish I’d seen you too — at any distance and however briefly. Or maybe it’d be a new kind of misery, watching you leave in a vehicle again, and it growing smaller and smaller on the horizon. The first time, I wished very hard for another taxi to pull up, so I could leap in going, ‘Follow that car!’ This time, I suspect I’d have raced around to your terminal and bought a cheap ticket anywhere, so I could hang out with you through security. It would have made me late for my parents, so Viola would have had my guts for garters. Fair enough trade, for an hour at your side.
I can’t answer what it’ll be like when we’re together again at last, but I dream of it often. And it’s yes and yes to your other questions — you’re mine-all-mine for that week in mid-February, and I can’t imagine anything that could prevent me being there to collect you, beyond you not telling me the date and time. Which is a hint to let me know, as soon as you’ve booked your ticket.
Dad’s good — the check-up went well, and he’s back home now. Mum’s been especially confused, unfortunately, so Viola’s been working on Dad to downsize, and release the funds to keep the carers on long-term, but he hasn’t agreed yet. I only saw her briefly before she left to visit her ‘old friend’ Aron, in Iceland. Yes, you read that right — Iceland ! I’ve never heard of this Aron before, and she only went to Iceland once, accompanying a tour group last summer.
Are you doing anything to mark the New Year? I’ll be here in Hampshire, with plenty of time and a new phone...
All my love, Henry xxx
* * *
Monday, 30 December
From: Halley Hart
Subject: Also yes!
To: Henry Inglis
This is a quick one, because jet lag’s screwed up my biorhythms and I slept when I should be getting ready to go up to the observatory. I have to be there tomorrow night, too, but I’m totally up for seeing in your new year, eight hours before mine. I’ll vid-call you shortly before.
If you contact Viola, tell her I say New Year with the northern lights sounds awesome — actually, scratch that. DO NOT contact Viola — leave her to enjoy her Viking fun!
Love, your Halley
* * *
Tuesday, 31 December
Halley
Halley scrolled through the accommodation that was available in Southampton. There were minimal photos, and everything was expensive.
‘Honey, I’m home !’
She hastily minimized the page, before springing to her feet and pacing into the hallway. ‘I wasn’t expecting you for a few hours.’
Angelie reached up to throw her arms around Halley. ‘Flight got in early.’
‘Some people have all the luck.’
‘You got a bad delay returning from England?’
Halley paused. With everything that had happened afterwards, she’d forgotten that Mom told Angelie about the trip, to ensure Halley had her passport. At some point, she’d have to figure out at which point Angelie had contacted Viola, and how she’d avoided letting Viola know that Halley was coming for Christmas, but now wasn’t the time.
‘Worse than that,’ Halley said. ‘Henry flew to Chicago while I was headed there.’
‘Wait, what? You didn’t see Henry after all?’
‘Except for a glimpse from the transit bus,’ Halley confirmed morosely, collapsing onto their couch and explaining the calamitous events. ‘I can’t figure out if it was worse for him, not seeing me, or for me to get a reminder of how cute he is just as the bus pulled away. Seriously, he’s so , so cute.’
‘Good to know you’ve finally noticed.’
‘It’s nearly four months since we met, and people look different in real life compared to flat on a screen.’
‘So, fly back there,’ Angelie said. ‘You’ve only got two weeks’ worth of data to collect, right? And if your aunt paid for that flight, at least you haven’t blown through all your savings pointlessly.’
‘Yeah, I can afford a new ticket,’ Halley said with caution. She didn’t want to confess she was moving to the UK until Angelie had at least caught up on some sleep, having experienced the terrible combination of bad news and jet lag herself. ‘But I can’t visit in January. I’ve been accepted to give a presentation at that symposium in Chicago.’
‘You have?’ Angelie shrieked. She unzipped her suitcase, which was so huge that she practically had to dive inside to fish around at the bottom. ‘I brought something we can celebrate with...’ She popped up again, bearing a bottle of Filipino rum triumphantly. ‘We’ll have to drink it all today, because my diet starts tomorrow. I ate so much lechon, the top button on my jeans won’t close.’ She glared at Halley. ‘Earth to Halley...’
‘What?’
‘You’re meant to tell me I look fine as I am, and the voice in my head insisting I need to be the thinnest woman in the room is toxic,’ Angelie called, disappearing into the kitchen. She returned a moment later with two tumblers.
‘You’re stunning as you are,’ Halley assured her. ‘And despite your concerns about fitting into your size two jeans, you remain the thinnest woman in this room, at least. I’d really worry more about the fact that you’re hearing voices.’
Angelie poured the rum, and passed one glass to Halley. ‘It sounds just like my mother’s. What you mean you’re getting tattooed — you want to look like a jailbird, huh? You want to look like a prostitute? ’
‘You got a tattoo?’
‘I was going to get a tiny one, and cover it with my watch strap, but the voice is too strong. Hey, what did your mom make of Henry?’
‘She already liked him, but she’s even keener now. Apparently he’s clean and polite, and expressed apt horror at both motorbikes and cults. It helps with—’ Halley broke off rather than explain that it meant Mom was enthusiastic about her only child’s plan to move to Europe. She gulped more rum instead. ‘I’ve made plans with Henry. Can we hang out in an hour or two?’
‘Sure,’ Angelie said, topping both their glasses up before Halley made for her bedroom, rum in hand. She sipped it as she raked through her wardrobe for something to wear. Henry liked seeing her in his sweater before, or... she had a better idea, and pulled off her T-shirt and sports bra, replacing them with a push-up bra and a sequin crop top.
‘Experiment to test if Henry’s an abs or cleavage man,’ she murmured, grinning at herself in the mirror, and added red lipstick, aware that rum on an empty stomach was making her bold.
She manipulated her mouse, calling him from her desktop.
‘Halley!’
‘Hey, handsome.’
His blue-green eyes sharpened, and he leaned closer to his camera. From the angle, she guessed he’d borrowed a tablet. ‘Well you’re a sight for sore eyes. I didn’t know we were dressing up.’
‘This old thing?’ She wiggled so the gold sequins sparkled. ‘We’re celebrating a brand new year, at least half of which we’ll be spending together.’
‘That’s worth celebrating properly,’ he agreed, pushing one hand through his hair. It took a little effort to figure out the trajectory of someone’s gaze through a camera and a couple of screens. She scrutinized him from under her lashes as she repositioned on the desk chair, tucking her legs under her.
‘Aha!’ she said.
‘Pardon?’
‘Nothing.’ He was mostly looking at her lips, but his eyes had flicked to her cleavage then moved down to her abs, before speeding back to her face. He was trying to be polite, and failing in a flattering kind of way. He also wasn’t betraying any particular preference ― he must like both abs and cleavage.
‘What are you drinking?’ he asked.
‘Strong rum.’
He lifted a crystal tumbler filled with a yellow concoction. ‘Dad made me a snowball — it’s not dissimilar to the eggnog I had with your mother — and warned me not to drink it too quickly in case it went to my head.’
She sipped her drink. ‘This rum’s going to my head. Your dad wouldn’t approve.’
‘Is it now,’ Henry said, smiling. ‘I couldn’t have guessed.’
‘Really?’
He laughed. ‘It’s four minutes to midnight, beautiful. Do you know the words of “Auld Lang Syne”?’
‘Never heard of it. We don’t do that in America.’
He raised one eyebrow. ‘Don’t believe you.’
‘Fine, fine! I lied. I’m good at a fair few things, but singing isn’t one of them OK?’
‘Kissing, however, is,’ Henry said, his eyes lingering on her lips again. ‘But we’re over five thousand miles apart. So let’s toast in the new year.’
Halley was dubious. ‘I’m not usually superstitious, but when we drank to making the most of twelve hours together, we didn’t even get twelve seconds.’
‘And then you drank to the Blue Moon, and I drank to you, but neither the boat nor you disappeared from the face of the planet.’
‘I still don’t think we should do toasts until we’re together in person to clink glasses.’
‘Or mugs,’ Henry said, so solemnly that she knew he was amused. ‘But fair enough. There’s one minute to go... shall we just say Happy New Year?’
‘And make a joint resolution, never to surprise each other again?’
‘No surprises takes it too far,’ Henry said firmly.
‘Very good point. How about no surprises involving trans-Atlantic travel? We have to inform the other first, so we can workshop the logistics?’
He nodded. ‘It’s a resolution — and it’s time — happy new year!’
She blew him a kiss. ‘And to you. I love you so much, Henry.’
‘I’ll never tire of hearing that.’
‘What about if I sang it to the tune of “I Know a Song That Will Get on Your Nerves”?’
‘Then I do get to hear you sing?’
‘Absolutely not,’ she said promptly. ‘Where are you, anyway?’
‘This is my room in my parents’ house. Brief tour... chess trophies, childhood books, dinosaur duvet cover...’
‘Seriously? Let me see!’
He winked at her. ‘Joking, Halley.’
‘Oh. Rum makes me stupid.’
‘That’s impossible.’ Parallel lines appeared on his brow. ‘Don’t you need to drive to the observatory once it’s dark?’
‘I’ll have sobered up by then, but I’ll walk anyway. I never drive if I’ve drunk even a drop — Emergency Room nurse’s kid, remember?’
Angelie hammered on her door. ‘Want a top up?’
‘Not really,’ Halley called back. ‘But you can say hi to Henry.’ She switched the call to her laptop and carried it through to the lounge, tilting the screen before leaning back on the couch beside Angelie, who was writing on small wooden blocks.
‘Hi, Angelie,’ Henry said, with a wave.
‘Hey, Henry. I’m making drunk Jenga for later. You know it? Well, there’s intrusive or funny or weird questions written on each of the blocks. If the stack falls while it’s your turn to place one, you chug your drink, then pick up a block and answer it. But I’ve run out of ideas for questions.’
‘I’ve got one,’ Henry said immediately. ‘What’s the nickname you call your best friend?’
Halley stiffened, as Angelie stared at the screen for a moment, then collapsed into laughter. ‘You know I’ve got one for Halley that she hates with a passion?’
‘I do. I’ve never been able to work it out though.’
‘I could tell you,’ Angelie said, with a sly expression, as Halley squeaked a protest. ‘But then I’d get to ask you two , and you’d have to answer honestly.’
‘ Noooooo ,’ Halley insisted, but Henry looked intrigued.
‘Deal,’ he said.
‘I don’t consent to this,’ Halley said loudly. Angelie whacked her with a cushion, but Henry’s eyes softened.
‘If I’ve overstepped—’
‘You haven’t,’ Halley said, relenting. ‘But get it over with quickly, Angelie.’
‘So you know how my name was made by my parents smooshing both theirs together?’ Angelie asked, bouncing up and down a little in her glee. ‘I nickname my friends by smooshing their parents’ together too. Halley’s dad went by Buddy, and her mom’s obviously also Halley, so she’s Buddha . You can imagine the looks she gets, as a skinny white girl, when I yell Buddha at her in public!’
Halley retreated behind her glass as Henry laughed — though not as hard as Angelie, who was endlessly entertained by her own humour when she was drinking.
‘My turn to ask a question,’ Angelie slurred. ‘And you both have to answer honestly.’
‘That wasn’t the deal!’ Halley protested. ‘Only that Henry had to.’
‘I changed it. But I’ll only ask things I’ve written on blocks already.’ She made a show of rummaging, before pulling one free. ‘What’s the thing you like least about your current crush?’
‘It doesn’t really say that,’ Halley said, snatching at the block. ‘Henry, you don’t need to answer.’
‘It does though,’ Angelie said.
Halley checked it, and groaned. ‘We’re still not answering.’
‘Henry will. He made the deal,’ Angelie said.
Henry was looking between them. ‘I’d much rather not.’
He hadn’t said there was nothing he didn’t like about her. She wondered what it could be — or if she wasn’t even who he considered his current crush. ‘How about we both answer it at the same time, off the top of our heads. And neither of us will take offence.’
‘Exactly,’ Angelie said, leaning back as if getting out of the way of a lit firework. ‘It’s only a bit of fun! Three, two...’
‘He’s pretty ignorant about sports,’ Halley blurted.
‘She’s really obsessed with sport,’ Henry said, at exactly the same moment.
She stared at him and, also in tandem, they burst out laughing.
Angelie’s mutter that they were sickening was interrupted by the doorbell, and she stumbled off to see who it was, re-entering with a curly-haired linebacker.
Halley rolled her eyes, and mouthed ‘Bin! The one who steals my food!’ at the screen. Henry nodded quickly.
‘Well we’ve got work to do,’ Angelie said, towing Ben toward her bedroom.
Halley snorted. ‘ Work ? That’s what they’re calling it these days?’ It must have come out louder than she’d intended, because Angelie dropped Ben’s hand and returned to the couch.
‘Someone in this apartment has to get some bedroom action,’ Angelie said.
Ben grinned, and Halley glowered at him, avoiding catching sight of Henry. ‘So go get some.’
‘Not until I’ve asked Henry’s second question,’ Angelie said. ‘Ooh, it’s a fun one. What sentence would you use to indicate you were being held hostage? Y’know, it should sound completely innocuous to the kidnapper, but obviously wrong to us. Well, to Halley, since I’ve only met you twice.’
Henry pursed his lips, thinking.
‘Off the top of your head again,’ Halley said, wanting it over, and him to herself once more.
He smiled at her. ‘To be clear, this is the opposite of what I really want, to alert you that there’s a bloke with a gun to my head.’
Halley winced at the mental picture. ‘I get it, babe.’
‘Halley, I don’t want you to move over here next month, after all,’ Henry said.
Silence descended.
‘Shit,’ Halley murmured.
‘What?’ Angelie said. ‘What the hell does that mean? Halley?’
* * *
Wednesday, 1 January
Text messages between Halley and Henry:
Henry it was an accident. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine — I should have given you a heads-up she didn’t know yet.
Not thinking it through more carefully is on me. Is she still refusing to communicate with you?
Yes and no. She hasn’t spoken to me, but slamming doors is some sort of communication, right?
Ugh. Poor Angelie.
Ben was still here when I got back from the observatory, so at least she has someone to hug her.
Oh Halley, I’m sorry. I wish I could hug you right now.
I know you do. And sure, Angelie took it harder than I expected, but again — my fault, not yours. She’s mad I didn’t tell her I was even applying for visiting studentships — but I didn’t tell anyone, because I didn’t think I’d get one! And she’s even madder that I didn’t tell her as soon as I got the offer — but I wanted to tell you and Mom first. I’ll get all that through to her, when she calms down.
I hope so. xxx
* * *
Thursday, 2 January
Henry
Henry shouldered his bag as he headed out of Oxford railway station towards the nearby canal. Dad was doing well, and the carer had urged Henry to get back to Oxford. Wanting to check on the Blue Moon, and make a start on the Sedgwick letters, Henry had agreed, promising to return for the weekend, when Viola would be back and they’d try together to persuade Dad to downsize.
It was only as Henry reached the towpath that it clicked quite why he wanted to be at the Blue Moon. Kwame had been keeping an eye on it, and reported no problems that were evident from the outside, at least. It was that Halley had been there, sleeping in his bed and cooking in the galley, and he wanted to feel close to her even more than usual, after dropping her in it with Angelie. It was embarrassing to admit, even to himself, that he’d been so thoughtless because he was distracted by how especially delectable Halley was looking.
He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it as he neared the boat. Angelie would surely forgive Halley soon, and then he’d be able to forgive himself. In the meantime, he needed to manage his own expectations: Halley had been aboard the Blue Moon for less than three days — there probably wouldn’t be any sign of her occupancy. His hand alighted on the chain padlocked across the decked area at the stern. There was something caught in the lock — a plastic bag, with paper inside. He smiled, recognizing the note from Halley’s description of her harried arrival. She’d forgotten to remove it — or more likely, purposely left it for him.
Cheered already, he released the chain and stepped on, before unlocking the back door and ducking as he entered. The temperature felt even colder than outside, and the galley appeared just as he’d left it. On the other side of the dining table-come-desk, the only change he could identify was moved boxes, which were no longer pushed flat against one wall. He puzzled on that as he pressed on, into the short corridor toward the bedroom — and halted.
The bookcases lining the walls were three-quarters complete, and filled with an assortment of his books. And there was a folded sheet of paper on the shelf at his eyeline. He squinted to read it, too impatient to get out his glasses.
* * *
Handwritten note from Halley:
4 A.M., 28 DEC.
SURPRISE! I GOT BORED AND WORKED ON THESE. A FEW CRATES HAD ABSORBED SOME DAMP, SO I PRIORITIZED SHELVING THE BOOKS FROM THOSE. FINISH THEM READY FOR MY RETURN, OK?
ABOUT TO LEAVE FOR THE AIRPORT WITH JULIAN AND I’M BESIDE MYSELF AT SEEING YOU IN TWO HOURS!!
I LOVE YOU
YOUR HH x
* * *
Friday, 3 January
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: Love letter
To: Halley Hart
Dearest Halley,
‘Can you humbly request whether Miss Mallory will write to me, dear sister? For I have often thought you noticed that my feelings for her were much deeper than that for your other friends, and it is true. Please tell her, if you think she would not be insulted, that I love her for her beauty and wit. And for her kindness to you when I am so often absent.’ Second Lieutenant Lawrence Sedgwick, 1809.
The above is a quote from the earliest dated of the Sedgwick letters, from the archive I discovered. It was written by Lawrence to his sister, Louisa, about her close friend, Miss Mallory. His sister was presumably successful, because there’s a whole sheaf of letters from Lawrence to Miss Mallory — I’ll work on decoding the first of those tomorrow.
Lawrence Sedgwick would have written the above in the cramped Lieutenant’s cabin, amidst conditions so bleak they’re unimaginable to us. Paper was incredibly expensive, so his handwriting was purposely tiny, and for the above paragraph alone, he’d used the code his sister had devised, to keep the request from prying eyes. It hit me as I left the library that he went to all that effort, inspired by his love for Miss Mallory, and yet I’ve never written a love letter to you.
To (mis)quote Lt. Sedgwick: Halley, I love you for your beauty and wit. I love you for leaving proof you’ve been here, and the promise of your return. For the bookcases and for sleeping in my bed, which left traces of your scent on my pillows. I love you for kissing me when I was a stranger, and flying around the planet to surprise me, and your upcoming half-year visit to be near me. I love you whatever you wear — clothes from random universities, my jumper, skimpy sparkling things — and, at some point in the future, I’ll love you when you’re wearing nothing at all.
And I’ll love you booking your flight. I need to know when we’ll finally be reunited.
All my love, Henry xxx
* * *
Saturday, 4 January
From: Halley Hart
Subject: Love letters, plural.
To: Henry Inglis
I love your letter and I love hearing about Lawrence’s and most of all, I love you. But don’t you know, Henry — you’ve been writing me love letters all along!
A couple practical things, before I forget... I think my scent on your pillow must be from my perfumed shampoo. I don’t want to repel you, so I’ll switch brands if it makes your eyes water? Also, thanks for the reminder — I booked my flight for the twenty-seventh, so there’s officially now only twenty-three days to go! Finally, can I stay with you on the Blue Moon through to at least your birthday? I don’t want to commit to a rental in Southampton before checking out options in person. I’ll be able to do my writing remotely, and for events I need to attend at the university it looks like the train only takes ninety minutes.
Love, your Halley
* * *
Sunday, 5 January
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: 22 days . . .
To: Halley Hart
Sweetheart, it never ceases to amaze me how romantic you can be under the guise of getting practical. Thank you for booking the flight — and I can’t think of anything better then you staying with me. And, not that I don’t want you here constantly, because I very much do, but Vi insists I tell you that she lives twenty minutes from Southampton, and you’re welcome to crash on her sofa whenever you need to in those first few weeks. You’d need wheels, though, so I’ll speed up on the search for a reliable car.
Viola and I are here with our parents. Dad’s pretended to be offended that we’ve ganged up on him to suggest downsizing, but we saw him watching one of the carers getting Mum smiling by playing a recording of one of her old violin performances. Maybe he’s quietly considering the benefits of keeping care on full-time, so we’re going to stop pushing for now.
I’ve finished transcribing the first letter from Lawrence Sedgwick to Miss Mallory. He thanks her for her own letter and tells her a couple of shipboard anecdotes I suspect he’s highly sanitized. Then he hints rather charmingly to preferring her letter to any he’s received from his family, and even to the one when the Admiralty commended him for valour in a sea battle. And while he signed off to his sister with the valediction ‘ yours, etc ... L ’, Miss Mallory got ‘ Always remaining your most humble and affectionate servant, Laurie .’
Lots of work ahead with these letters — I think I might get a book out of them. But I’ll spend every waking moment I’m not in the library finishing those shelves, so all the crates are unpacked ready for your arrival. Hope your nights are going all right at the telescope, and that Angelie’s coming around?
Oh, and I can’t imagine anything about you repelling me in any way. Including your shampoo.
Always remaining your most humble and affectionate servant , Henry xxx
* * *
Monday, 6 January
From: Halley Hart
Subject: 21!
To: Henry Inglis
That’s very nice of Viola! Please tell her I look forward to a night or two on her couch, getting the tea about Aron!
I’m pleased to hear that you’ll finish those shelves, as a humble and obedient servant should. Seriously though, with my belongings to squeeze in as well, to begin with, space will be at a premium.
How would you feel about waiting for me to help you choose a car when I arrive? I’m good at recognizing bargains that I can cheaply repair/upgrade — I sold both my prior cars for nearly twice what I bought them for.
Lawrence sounds like such a babe — I can’t wait to hear if his stealth-brag about his commendation for valour impressed Miss Mallory! And you’ve got to keep it up with the cute valedictions — I’d like a new one in every email!
Data collection’s going good, aside from cloud cover last night. Which reminded me to compare the weather — apparently Oxford has an average of 165 rainy days each year? (Actually, of all types of precipitation, but that’s almost all rain.) Chicago has an average of 127 days a year, and Palo Alto only 61. I’d have guessed Oxford’s rainy days to be much higher than that, since it’s been wet every day I’ve spent there. I’m starting to think it’s personal, and Oxford hates me.
Angelie’s thawing a bit. She left a note on the refrigerator offering to replace my smoothie that she’d ‘accidentally drunk’. (Bet it was actually Bin, on purpose, grr...) (I’ve replied telling her not to worry about it, as a peace offering.)
Love, your Halley
* * *
Tuesday, 7 January
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: 20 . . .
To: Halley Hart
Dear Halley,
I’m so pleased to hear that the data collection is progressing to plan, and that things are improving with Angelie. I’d be delighted to wait until you can advise on a car, and don’t worry about fitting your belongings in — I’ve already removed the crates you unloaded and moved the full ones to my office in college. So once I’ve finished the shelves there’ll be plenty of empty ones for you.
Viola called to say Aron’s arrived for a return visit, and she wants to bring him to guest night at St Jude’s, tomorrow. I asked what he’s like and she only took the piss, saying he’s six foot four, blond and bearded, and shovels snow for a living. I’ll report back with the reality!
Rupert goes on sabbatical in a few days. Hogshoo will step in as senior history tutor for the term, but I guess Rupert doesn’t trust him to do the role properly, as he’s asked me to alert him, on the quiet, if any issues arise with our undergraduate historians. I agreed, on the proviso that I can take a week off work entirely in the middle of February...
I’ve deciphered the next Sedgwick letters, including Lawrence’s second to Miss Mallory. I gathered that she’d asked him for more details of the sea battle, so I suppose she was impressed. I already knew about it from the Naval records — the ship he served on got blocked between two larger French vessels, and he led a small force to fight their way aboard one of those. They succeeded in taking it as a prize, which both enabled their own ship to escape, and earned them a fair wedge in prize money. It’s probably why Lawrence feels he’s in a position to pursue Miss Mallory — he’s got some money behind him. Anyway, Lawrence goes on to ask if she would consider telling her father that they’re corresponding. I think, if she agrees, she’d be acknowledging him as her suitor. He ends that he would be most obliged if she would let him know her decision on the matter, and ‘ Yours to command, Laurie ’.
Only twenty days until you’re in my arms... And Halley, Oxford could never hate you. Oxford loves you, as do I.
Yours to Command , Henry xxx
* * *
Wednesday, 8 January
Henry
Aron was six foot four with a bushy blond beard.
He wrenched Henry’s hand and boomed, ‘Nice dress!’
‘It’s more commonly called an academic gown,’ Henry said mildly, nursing his right hand in an attempt to restore the blood flow, as he directed them up to high table. ‘What is it you do in Iceland, Aron?’
‘I have a glacier excursion company with two friends,’ he explained, beaming beneath the beard. ‘Gunner deals with bookings and Ingrid manages the office, and I focus on everything outdoors. It’s easier to hire guides than people who can undertake the track maintenance, so it generally falls to me to shovel snow.’
‘I told you,’ Viola muttered to Henry. ‘Why wouldn’t you believe me?’
‘It sounded like you were just listing stereotypes,’ Henry murmured back, as he pulled her chair out. Aron took the place opposite Viola so Henry sat beside her, and introduced Rupert when he came over to join them. He’d had a neat haircut for the first time since Henry had known him.
‘My sister again, Viola,’ Henry said, with heavy emphasis on again , in an attempt to remind Rupert that they’d met before. ‘And this is Aron, her...’
‘Icelander,’ Viola finished smoothly.
‘I’m pleased to meet a relative of Henry’s at last,’ Rupert said affably to Viola, like he had on at least two prior occasions. ‘And Iceland, how...’ he petered out as the space on Henry’s left was taken by another early career research fellow: a physicist who’d been appointed the previous term.
Rupert had launched into a series of questions about one of the Icelandic sagas. Henry opened his mouth to steer the conversation away, but saw Aron nodding enthusiastically.
‘My mother works at a museum dedicated to Njáls saga, so I know something on the matter.’
Viola groaned softly, and from the surprised look that came over Aron’s face, Henry suspected she’d kicked him. But it was too late for any diversions — the conversation now in his favourite sphere, Rupert would do his best to keep it there.
Soup was served, and Henry’s attention drifted again. The colleague to his left had been joined by a couple of guests, who seemed from their conversation to be from her department.
‘So you’re saying,’ Rupert said, ignoring his soup and instead using his spoon to punctuate his words. ‘That it’s believed to form a cross shape? Do they know anything about the patina?’
‘A little,’ Aron said. ‘Except... how to explain it in English. Ah no need.’ Aron got his phone out and Rupert craned his head over it, as Aron found a photo.
Viola widened her eyes at Henry, conveying an enquiry about his opinion of Aron.
He leaned closer to her. ‘If you like him, I like him. Do you like him?’
She widened her eyes again, this time enigmatically, as the waiter returned and asked Rupert if his soup was to his liking. Rupert stared down as though he’d just noticed that the soup existed, and Henry capitalized on his distraction to chip into the conversation.
‘Aron, Viola’s never told me how you two met?’
Aron launched into an explanation of Viola accompanying several groups of tourists to the glacier, over the course of a few days, and how pleased he’d been when she’d finally accepted his invitation to go for a beer. Viola flushed, which Henry noted with amusement. He never saw much of that side of her.
She steered the conversation to the difference between Aron’s company, and the larger one that she worked for. ‘I organize more complex travel itineraries than anything else at this point,’ she added rather glumly. ‘Apparently I’ve got a knack for them — not that your situation at Christmas went to prove that, Henry.’
Rupert perked up and re-entered the conversation. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask about your trip, Henry. How did you find Chicago?’
‘It seemed a great city, though extremely cold.’
Rupert nodded slowly, as though Henry has offered something more interesting than a comment on the weather. ‘I’ve been trying to book my upcoming trip to America. I’m speaking at several different universities before stopping off in...’ he petered out, before restarting. ‘I was complaining about the complexity earlier, and our bursar said it was a travel agent I needed, rather than trying to do it all alone.’
‘I’m not really a travel agent,’ Viola said quickly. ‘But I could recommend someone good.’
While the main course was served, Henry found his attention drawn by the group on his left again, as a word they’d repeated filtered into his consciousness... astronomy. He listened intently. The man was a year post an Astronomy Ph.D., Henry gathered, and not having much luck on the job market.
‘I can’t survive on this part-time lectureship,’ he said, stabbing his steak with his fork.
‘You’re not looking further afield?’ the female guest asked. ‘There’s a bit of funding in America.’
‘I can’t. My fiancé’s career isn’t portable — you know he’s a junior doctor? I’m hopeful something in Italy might work out as a stopgap, so at least we could fly back and forth cheaply. But it’s doing grunt work, rather than focusing on my own project, and without my own projects I won’t get the recognition that I need to ever get a junior professorship.’
Losing his appetite, Henry introduced himself to the four of them. ‘I heard mention of astronomy. My girlfriend’s just finishing up an Astronomy Ph.D. at Stanford, though she’s heading to the UK, with visiting student status, to write up.’
‘Why would she do that?’ the male guest asked, looking scandalized. ‘She should stay there, sucking up to her American contacts for all she’s worth. Surely she knows that’s far and away her best chance of an academic job?’