Page 86 of The Secrets of Dragonfly Lodge
A fierce anger leapt in her. So much for her trying to be civil to him. He’d bear her ‘no ill will’. She would ‘never have settled’ for being his number two. The condescension, the obfuscation, the refusal to acknowledge any guilt. James had clearly reviewed the whole episode that led to their break-upand come up with his own interpretation. Well, good riddance to him.No, James, I hope we never have to meet again.She screwed up the cheap writing paper and was about to throw it into the bin, when, through the flames of anger, a small voice of calm stayed her hand. If she was ever accused of anything by ICP, she would need to marshal every piece of evidence she could and, vague as it was, the letter was an indication of James’ interference. She smoothed out the paper and folded it away in her briefcase.
At night, Nancy didn’t sleep well. Her dreams were full of noise, of being chased through swirling darkness. During the day, after James’ departure and with Dorothy’s loving kindness, most of the time she found peace in her work. However, sometimes a sharp word from the technician or a shirty response from a secretary caused tears to threaten.
It was from one of those occasions that Edmund rescued her. She’d dictated a short update on her work that needed to be properly laid out and typed and gave the tape to the office with a deadline, but a week later the work hadn’t been done. When she asked why not, she was told in no uncertain terms that her colleague Jim’s work took precedence.
‘Why?’ she asked the woman. ‘I happen to know that he submitted it after mine.’
The woman pressed her lips into a straight line and said Jim had told her to do his urgently.
‘Mine’s urgent, too,’ Nancy protested.
‘Perhaps he asks nicely,’ the woman snapped and Nancy was left without words.
‘Dr Foster asked very nicely, I’m sure,’ a mild voice said behind her and Nancy looked round to see Edmund. ‘Those letters I gave you on Thursday, Miss Weeks,’ he said to the secretary, ‘with a deadline of today. They’re routine. Do Nancy’s instead. Please?’
Nancy had noticed before how people liked Edmund. He never patronized anyone, nor did he try to charm. He just treated everyone pleasantly and as though they mattered.
The secretary nodded, muttering, ‘It’ll be ready late afternoon,’ to Nancy. Then she turned her back on her.
‘Coffee?’ Edmund suggested.
‘Mmm.’ They walked to the common room together. ‘That was kind of you,’ she said in a low voice, ‘but you don’t need to fight my battles.’
‘It was an easy victory for both of us. My letters will generate some tedious work that I don’t actually want to do.’
‘Oh dear.’ She smiled. ‘And I do need to submit that report. So thank you, Edmund.’
It was late for morning coffee and the scientists’ common room was almost empty. They settled themselves in two comfortable seats by the window looking out onto the park, now bathed in amber September sunshine.
‘How is it going?’ he asked her, spooning sugar into his coffee. ‘I try not to listen to rumour, but as I said in my letter, I’ve heard enough to realize life has not been easy for you.’
She understood that he knew very little of everything that had happened to her and so she started to tell him, awkwardly at first, but then the words tumbled out in a rush. She explained about the findings concerning Zalathion that hadalarmed her and how Dr Staunton had blocked her attempts to communicate them to ICP. All the things that had happened sounded ridiculous to her now, but she ploughed on nevertheless. She couldn’t, however, bring herself to tell him the scale of James’ involvement. It was still too raw and personal, and since she couldn’t get it to make sense to herself it was difficult to explain to him. Dorothy had understood, but she was a woman and knew about men like James. So all she said was that she hadn’t felt she could move to America and that she and James had decided mutually to end the relationship.
Edmund expressed his condolences, but asked no questions, which she was relieved about. Instead, they drank their coffee and she asked him about Edinburgh and how his daughter was, and he told her with a sad light in his eyes that he didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep up the contact.
‘I see her so rarely that she finds it difficult. She’s puzzled by me, I think. You know, she calls her stepfather ‘Daddy’ now. Her mother encourages her to. And says it might be better if I didn’t visit.’
‘Don’t give up,’ Nancy said, filled with compassion for him.
‘It might be kindest. After all, it’s unlikely to become easier. Marianne’s getting older and hardly remembers London. Her life is in Edinburgh. You know, she speaks with a lovely Scots lilt now.’ He chuckled. ‘I must seem strange to her. With my English vowels.’
‘I’m sure you know what’s best for her, Edmund, but it seems sad that you should be made to feel this way.’
‘You think I should keep trying?’ His face was troubled.
‘I think so.’
‘Thank you. I like your sort of advice.’
They smiled sadly at one another.
‘I suppose we must get back to work again,’ he sighed. He paused, contemplating her with an uncertain gaze, then added, ‘I’ll understand if you say no, but might you be free for dinner on Friday?’
It was the first of many such arrangements, and Edmund’s steady friendship helped Nancy through her last days at Brandingfield. He listened to her complaints about Dr Staunton with sympathy and mopped up her tears when she heard in late September that her contract was not being renewed. And he took a day off to accompany her to a school in nearby leafy Radlett one beautiful October morning, where she had been invited for interview.
He waited in a tea room in the high street with a novel to read and she hurried to join him there. The sight through the window of his lean, grave face frowning as he turned a page gave her an astonishing little frisson of pleasure.
He glanced up as she pushed open the door, admitting a gust of dead leaves. Seeing her delighted expression, he broke into a smile and closed his book. ‘Yes?’ he asked, as she plumped herself into the chair opposite.
