Page 30 of See Me After Class

Ishut the door of my aging Honda with more force than necessary, frustration already seeping into my bones.

The day was shaping up to be a trial. My preferred grocery store in Stillingbrook was out of the Greek goat cheese I favored, a flat tire had delayed my return to the Institute, and to top it off, I was greeted by the sight of that garish purple Lamborghini belonging to Desdemona Davenport. Its ostentatious display only served to amplify my own feelings of inadequacy.

Why do I even persist? I mused bitterly. Managing the institute had always been a Sisyphean task, even under Oswald's leadership. And now, with the added pressure of securing government grants for the first time since the inception of our research projects, the presence of that extravagant car felt like the universe's cruel jest.

As if on cue, the owner herself appeared, just as I was making my way to the main building.

She rounded the corner of the southern wing with such haste, her breath coming in quick bursts, that I wondered if she had been running. Our collision was not gentle. I braced myself against the warm brick wall to steady my stance and frowned.

"Watch your step," I chided, instantly regretting the scolding tone of my voice. "Someone could get hurt with such carelessness."

She lifted her eyes to meet mine briefly before quickly looking away. "Sorry. I didn't see you there. Sir," she added, the honorific coming as an afterthought.

I couldn't help but wonder why I had to contend with her presence. Amid the current turmoil, facing such blatant animosity from a junior staff member seemed like an unnecessary burden.

"Be more cautious next time," I said, a hint of irritation in my voice, fully aware that no amount of reprimand would alter her disposition.

After all, I had more pressing issues to attend to than her attitude.

"Yes, sir," she responded, but her tone had shifted, softer, less defensive.

It was then I noticed her eyelashes, long and curling, casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. Her eyes flickered as she gave me a thorough once-over.

Surprisingly, she seemed less antagonistic than before.

The corners of her lips curled into a subtle smile, and despite myself, I found a smile forming on my own lips in response.

Desdemona smoothed her tousled hair, patting it down. "I was just heading to the dining room, sir. Have you had your meal yet?"

Was that an implicit invitation? I quickly brushed aside the idea of joining her for a meal. It wasn't customary for seniorstaff to mingle with junior doctors during meal times, though I pondered the possibility under different circumstances...

But no, time was a luxury I couldn't afford.

"You go ahead," I replied briskly, noticing a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

"Alright," she responded, her tone polite as she moved past me with a subtle, almost elusive grace. I watched her head toward the front doors of the house.

Impulsively, I called out, "I hope you're settling in okay!" She glanced over her shoulder, offering a quick thumbs-up before vanishing inside.

Strange, I mused.

My gaze lingered on the path she had taken, leading to nothing more than some rose bushes and the yew alley near Ms. Wainwright's cottage. The gardens were a common secret haven for Institute staff seeking privacy, despite our efforts to discourage such rendezvous. Ms. Wainwright had often bitterly complained about the 'inappropriate activities' near her home, seeing it as a stark reflection of the declining moral standards of both the Institute and society at large.

While I didn't fully share her sentiment, if Desdemona Davenport was already arranging clandestine meetings, she was indeed moving fast. The memory of seeing her with Leon Vincenzo earlier that day crossed my mind, knitting my brow in concern.

Perhaps a discreet conversation with Leon was in order. I had a certain fondness for him. He was one of my earliest hires, and I sometimes felt more invested in his career than he was himself.

Considering Leon's tendencies, he seemed more inclined to pursue romantic interests than professional ones. While it wasn't my place to judge, I couldn't shake off an uneasy feelingabout Desdemona Davenport. It seemed like a complication Leon would be wise to steer clear of.

Lost in my thoughts, ruminating over the complexities of human relationships and the challenges posed by entitled youngsters, I navigated around the house's perimeter and slipped through a side entrance hidden by a hedge. This led to a narrow foyer and then a staircase that ascended to the more spacious accommodations on the second floor.

One of the perks reserved for senior staff at the Institute was a degree of privacy. For me, this was a mixed blessing. My close proximity to the office meant that many assumed I was perpetually on-call.

I ascended the stairs, heading to my suite. Oswald had invested significantly in renovating the house when he acquired it, and it was evident everywhere. Two old bedrooms had been combined into a spacious open-plan living and study area for my use, adjoining a bedroom and a compact kitchenette cleverly fitted into a former balcony.

My rooms were a sanctuary, a place of calm amid the sometimes tumultuous nature of my work. The challenges were manifold, but they were what made my role engaging.

That was, until Oswald's unexpected demise.

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