Page 82 of The Secrets of Dragonfly Lodge
‘I’m sure I’ll be all right,’ she assured him. ‘I expect I’m just being stupid.’
Forty-Eight
Monday morning, and Nancy’s feet dragged on her walk to work. She’d passed an anxious weekend and was now certain that she’d be called into Dr Staunton’s office, that something admonishing would be said, that she’d lose her job. No one higher up in ICP would ever see her research, consequently people would die and she would have failed.
By the time she arrived, she was a bag of nerves. It wasn’t quite nine and she was the first in the lab. While she was buttoning her lab coat, she heard Dr Staunton unlocking his office and stilled, waiting, but nothing happened. She checked her locusts and fed them, then scooped two out for her next experiment and set to work.
One by one, her colleagues arrived. She smiled at Philip, but his mouth only twitched slightly before he turned away. When Jim, too, hardly acknowledged her, she found she could hardly concentrate and felt the pressure of tears. Whatever was going on, she felt that they knew something. Whether they wereafraid for themselves or contemptuous of her, she couldn’t guess. Well, she wouldn’t let them win. She would carry on. And carry on she did, but all morning she was wondering what had happened to the evidence of her undercover research, and what would happen to her as a result of it being found.
There came to her, oddly, a story in a Ladybird book of Greek myths that she’d read as a child. It was called ‘The Sword of Damocles’. There had been a picture in it of King Damocles, terrified by the vision of a sword hanging by a single horse hair above his throne. If the hair broke when he was sitting there, the sword would fall and he would be killed. She felt like Damocles.
Finally, she took her courage in her hands. She knocked on Dr Staunton’s door and at his thin ‘Come’ entered. He finished pencilling a note on a closely typed letter, then looked up and, seeing her, frowned.
‘Miss Foster. How can I help you? Sit down, do. You seem anxious. What’s the matter?’
She sat. ‘I—’ Her voice was a croak. She tried again. ‘My work station has been searched, some of my research stolen.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘That’s a serious accusation. Who would have done such a thing?’
‘That’s what I’m wondering.’
‘You’ve spoken to your colleagues, have you? And the technicians? There must be a simple explanation.’
She closed her eyes against a wave of panic. ‘I’ve tried.’
‘What exactly is missing?’
‘A notebook. And possibly some loose papers. I… haven’t been through everything properly yet.’
‘Then I suggest that you do, before I make any enquiries. This is to do with your legitimate research for us, is it?’
She swallowed. ‘It’s related.’
‘I see.’ He stared at her coldly.
She wondered whether to mention the loss of her typed report, then thought better of it. Either he knew already or he’d quickly realize the full extent of her secret project and she’d get herself into deeper trouble. Whatever game was being played, she was being outmanoeuvred.
All she could do was appeal to his better nature. ‘Surely this is a question of principle. Whatever work we’re doing here, we have to be able to trust our colleagues.’
‘Quite,’ he said crisply and she caught his meaning clearly enough. He couldn’t trust her. ‘I suggest that you go through your papers again. It may simply be that a cleaner has moved something. I once came back from leave to find my books out of order. Apparently, the shelves had slipped and been repaired in my absence. It took some anxious enquiries to find this out. Most disturbing.’
He returned to his letter and she saw she was dismissed.
Nancy had reached home that evening and was fumbling her key in the front door lock when she heard the telephone starting to ring in the hall. Flinging open the door, she rushed to answer. There was an echo initially and it took her a moment to identify the typist, Miss Bateman. ‘Did you find out who it was, Dr Foster? Who collected your report?’
‘No. The copies are still missing.’
‘Oh. Well there’s some good news, at least. The gentlemanonly took the typed reports, not your handwritten original. My colleague found it under her desk. It must have fallen out of the envelope. I have a quiet patch tomorrow. I can type it again if you like, though you’ll have to pay another twelve and six.’
Nancy closed her eyes in relief. ‘Yes, please,’ she sighed. ‘But it must be me who collects it this time. Nobody else, do you hear?’
‘I understand, Dr Foster. I wonder who that gentleman was. It’s quite the mystery, isn’t it?’
‘Quite.’ Nancy gave a nervous laugh. After she replaced the receiver, she sank down on the hall chair feeling dizzy with relief. But she’d have her report back. Then she’d have to think what to do with it. She couldn’t wait to tell James.
When she found him alone in his lab the following morning and told him, his expression darkened.
‘I’m glad, of course, but Nancy, haven’t you learned anything? It’s very clear that Staunton isn’t interested in this research. Either that or he doesn’t want it getting out. Aren’t you worried about your job?’
