Grey Matters (8 page)

He shook his head. ‘Midterms.’ As Dulcie watched, he ran one hand through his thinning hair. She bit her lip. Most of the student midterms had been graded weeks before. ‘Bullock held these up for some reason. Wouldn’t hand them over. And I, well, I figured I’d help him any way I can.’ He answered her unspoken question.

‘So there is something going on!’ She craned her neck over to look and was a little taken aback when Lloyd slapped one hand down on the closest paper.

‘Who are we to question the gods?’ The humor in Lloyd’s voice softened the blow, but he’d noticed how she had recoiled. ‘I’m sorry, Dulcie. I’ve just got to plow through these.’

‘No problem.’ Now that she was sitting here, she wanted to tell him all about her morning. He was close enough to Bullock that maybe he could shed some light on what would make the professor a suspect. But in the moment as she gathered her thoughts, Lloyd had gotten back to work. Whatever he was scrawling in the margin might not be legible, but at least the graduate student was giving the paper more attention than the professor ever would.

When the knock came on the door, they both jumped.

‘Come in,’ Dulcie called and stood to greet the guest – and ended up craning her neck. The tall, slender woman who waltzed into the tiny office looked as out of place as a swan in a duck pond. ‘May I help you?’

‘I’m looking for Dulcie Schwartz?’ The voice was low and as warm as her golden skin.

‘You found her.’ Dulcie pointed to the one guest chair. Behind her, she could hear Lloyd shifting. She’d have to get rid of this visitor quickly and let her officemate work in peace.

‘I’m Raleigh Hall,’ said the bronzed beauty, as she lowered herself into the chair with the grace of a model. ‘I’ve come to talk with you about my senior thesis.’

‘Raleigh. Of course.’ Dulcie blinked. At five-five, she’d gotten used to most of the student body being taller. But undergrads were not supposed to be this self-assured. Or this gorgeous. ‘I left you a message.’

‘Yes, I got it, and I thought it would be best if we met as soon as possible.’

Behind her, Dulcie heard Lloyd cough. ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid we’re disturbing my colleague here.’

‘Not at all.’ Lloyd squeezed by Dulcie’s desk and extended a hand to the undergrad. ‘Lloyd. Lloyd Pruitt. Doctoral candidate in eighteenth-century prose.’

Raleigh smiled, her chestnut hair falling across her face. ‘Pleased to meet you, Lloyd.’ She took his hand, and Dulcie noticed the shimmer of pearl polish on her tapered fingers. ‘Don’t you work with Professor Bullock?’

‘Oh, y-yes!’ Lloyd almost stuttered, and Dulcie was amused to hear her colleague’s old speech defect – gone for years – reawakened by the presence of this girl.

‘We should talk sometime,’ the undergrad was saying. Lloyd stood transfixed, as Dulcie reached for her coat.

‘Anyway, Raleigh, why don’t we go grab some coffee?’ She ushered the willowy girl out in front of her. Turning back, she raised her eyebrows at Lloyd. ‘Back to work, Lloyd,’ she stage whispered. She’d been about to add something more. Something about how maybe the tired-looking scholar should try to finish by midnight for a change. Should maybe come out with his fellow students for some beer and socializing once in a while. But the look on his pale face stopped her. She’d expected him to look smitten. Shocked, maybe, or awed. What she saw was fear.

TEN

W
hatever was going on with Lloyd, however, was none of Raleigh Hall’s business, and Dulcie hurried the undergrad out of the Commons and into the bright, cold day.

‘Kate’s?’ she suggested. The coffeehouse wouldn’t be too crowded in the middle of the day and it was only half a block from Harvard Yard.

Raleigh nodded and buttoned up her coat. ‘I’m really glad you could see me so soon.’

‘Hey, that’s my job.’ Dulcie put on her warmest smile as she looked up at Raleigh. Maybe the pretty young student had an undergraduate’s nerves after all. ‘To help you get your thesis done.’

‘Well, I’m glad.’ The taller girl’s longer legs had Dulcie scrambling to keep up, but when she saw Dulcie puffing she paused. For a moment, they both looked in a store window. High-end knits, imported and dyed into a rainbow of hues. But even as Dulcie pulled her own rather scratchy hat down over her ears, she realized the younger woman was still talking. ‘Because, you see, I want to get my first draft finished in time for my sponsors to read. I’ve submitted a chapter as an essay to the
Modern Languages Review
, and I believe I’m a strong candidate for the Krullworth Prize, and you know how political that can be.’

Dulcie made herself close her mouth. Publication in the
Review
was usually reserved for graduate students or post-grads, an honor that almost guaranteed a fellowship – if not the offer of a teaching job. And the Krullworth Prize was the most prestigious award given to undergraduates. ‘You know that students in all disciplines will be competing for the Krullworth?’ she managed to say. ‘Not just English.’

They were walking side by side through the Yard now, the bright sun occasionally broken by the shadows of the bare trees around them. Raleigh had once again pulled ahead, but Dulcie had the distinct impression that the younger woman had rolled her eyes.

‘I’m fully aware of the competition for the Krullworth.’ The younger girl turned to glance down at Dulcie. ‘But I also know that the last two have gone to abstract mathematics and paleophysiology. So Cam and I knew that this year the judges would want to consider the humanities.’

‘Cam?’ It just slipped out.

‘Cameron. You know, my thesis adviser?’

‘Ex-thesis adviser,’ Dulcie muttered. Her colleague’s face flashed into her mind. Not as he had been: handsome, and, yes, a bit manipulative. But cold and white, with that smudge of dirt and blood on his face. ‘But wait.’ She shook her head to clear it and nearly sent her hat flying. ‘This year? What do you mean?’

The younger woman looked over, her eyes wide. ‘I took two semesters off, didn’t it say in my files?’

Dulcie shook her head. They’d reached Mass Ave and stood, waiting, while a crowd of Japanese tourists piled into a bus. ‘I haven’t had a chance to read your file yet. I’m sorry.’

‘Well, what have you been doing?’

‘I’ve been a little busy.’ They stepped around the last of the tour group and up to the curb, just as the light gave them the okay to cross. Perfect timing, thought Dulcie. She was very tempted to give the younger student a piece of her mind, but not when she had to use all her breath to keep up.

‘Well, you can catch up on your own time.’ Raleigh stepped into the street. ‘But basically, I’m looking at the postmodernist novel-drama interplay from a semiotics standpoint.’

‘Wait.’ Dulcie grabbed her student’s sleeve, stopping them both in the middle of traffic. ‘This is an undergraduate thesis? In the English department?’

‘Well, yeah.’ A car honked, and the two kept walking. ‘I started out in philosophy, but then I met Cam and he convinced me that what I was doing would really stand out in English. I mean, aren’t most of the theses just more re-readings of some old texts?’

Dulcie bit her lip and then made herself take a breath. They’d reached the coffeehouse, but she was no longer convinced she could sit down with this woman. ‘Something like that,’ she managed to say.

‘Well, that’s what Cam said, anyway. And so when he suggested I wait a year, I . . . oh, I’m sorry.’

To Dulcie’s horror and surprise, the pretty undergrad suddenly put her mittens up to her face and started to sob.

‘It’s so terrible,’ she managed to say. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, it’s fine. There, there.’ Dulcie reached up to pat the slim girl’s shoulder with one hand, while rustling around in her pocket for a clean tissue with the other. ‘It’s okay.’ She had no idea what to say. Mr Grey would have been so much better at this. He, at least, could have leaned in, offering his soft, warm bulk for comfort. In lieu of a similar act, Dulcie found a tissue that looked clean enough and handed it over as she ushered her student to a table. Raleigh wiped her eyes and blew her nose. When she looked up, she was trying to smile. The attempt made her look younger, and Dulcie dismissed her earlier reservations.

‘Raleigh, if you don’t mind me asking, when did you last have something to eat?’

‘Oh, I had an egg-white omelet for breakfast—’ Dulcie cut her off and ordered two bowls of split pea soup and an oversized chocolate chip cookie to share. Maybe Mr Grey had taught her something about creature comforts after all.

Twenty minutes later, Raleigh had resumed her equilibrium and Dulcie had eaten most of the cookie. But along the way, Dulcie had also gotten the rundown on the willowy senior, if not her thesis. The pampered only child of a bi-coastal couple, Raleigh Amesbury Hall had whizzed through some of the finest prep schools in the world. Whizzed through – or burned out of. The slender brunette blushed slightly as she described running off for a weekend with her Classics tutor at Everett. But from the way she described her career, Dulcie began to understand her confidence. This young woman had long been the most brilliant star in whatever firmament shone overhead. Probably the prettiest, too. Dulcie also had the sense that she hadn’t ever really lost anyone before. Not to murder, at any rate.

‘I am sorry, Raleigh.’ She poured the last of the organic peppermint tea into her student’s mug. ‘This has been a huge loss for all of us.’

‘Well, yeah.’ Her voice had gotten soft. ‘Of course, Cam was a bit of a dog.’

‘Oh?’ Dulcie hadn’t heard any negative gossip about her late colleague. Women tended to like him, but as far as she knew, he hadn’t been breaking any hearts. Then again, if he had a tendency to hit on undergrads, he’d have wanted to keep that secret. Such relationships were considered a serious breach of ethics. ‘Raleigh, was there something going on with Cameron?’

‘God, no. He might have impressed other girls, but, really, I’m so over that whole routine: staring into your eyes and acting all solicitious.’ She fiddled with the handle of her cup, and Dulcie felt herself blush. ‘Although, I have to admit, I do think those rules about students and teachers are way out of date.’

Dulcie kept quiet. This girl had already confessed her past. But just then another thought crossed her mind. ‘You’re not . . . There’s nothing going on with Professor Bullock, is there?’

To her great relief, the younger woman laughed, throwing back her head and revealing perfect teeth. ‘The old Bull? God, no.’ Her humor was contagious, and Dulcie found herself giggling along. Of course not. If Bullock was involved with any of his students, it would more likely be an older one. One of the graduate students who was already spending hours with him. Was already beaten down by his will. Her mind flashed to Polly and, regrettably, to Lloyd. But Raleigh had started talking again.

‘I’ll tell you, though, Cam thought something was wrong with the old guy.’

Dulcie looked at her, her own thoughts joining with what the younger woman was saying. She sipped what was left of her own tea, loath to voice her suspicions.

Raleigh leaned forward. ‘Plagiarism.’

Dulcie choked and the two spent the next few minutes with tissues and glasses of water, Raleigh patting her tutor’s back until the erring tea had been redirected.

‘That’s unthinkable.’ Dulcie whispered the second word. It was, she thought, the only appropriate one for the sin that Raleigh had mentioned. ‘It’s just not possible.’

‘I don’t know for sure.’ Raleigh shrugged and slipped back into her seat. ‘Cam wouldn’t tell me exactly what he was thinking, just that something was up with the old guy. But Cam was really sharp about people, and he was sure of it.’ The pretty brunette considered Dulcie. ‘You’d better watch out that he doesn’t pull a fast one on you.’

‘Why? What do you mean?’ Dulcie was still reeling from her last suggestion. It fit too well with Lucy’s last dream. And from what Lloyd had said, the professor might be that desperate.

‘You know.’ Raleigh had the grace to look abashed. ‘The typical professor thing?’ She even kicked at the ground.

‘No, Raleigh.’ Dulcie tried to concentrate on what the undergrad was saying. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Well, that he might do what they say professors do.’ She looked up, finally, her face serious. ‘That he might just steal his student’s work.’

ELEVEN

A
s Dulcie watched her new charge take off into the Cambridge afternoon, she felt the energy drain out of her. Had she ever been that confident? That smart? Young Raleigh was not what Dulcie had expected, and any fleeting fantasy of a close mentor-student relationship was fading as quickly as the autumn light. It wasn’t only the younger woman’s looks, though if she were being completely honest with herself Dulcie had to admit that the senior’s willowy beauty made her feel both shorter and chubbier than usual. It was that air of entitlement. What had she said about ‘old books’? Dulcie had spent her academic life in just such worn-out pursuits. Had felt like she’d
found
herself deep in the stacks. And that comment about Professor Bullock? No, it couldn’t be. Or, Dulcie thought as she shrugged on her own coat and prepared to face the chill, if it was, it just might be too late.

What exactly was the professor working on? Dulcie made a mental note to grill Lloyd further, wondering again at her officemate’s apparent discomfort in the presence of the beautiful young student. Well, thought Dulcie as she shrugged her heavy bag back on to her shoulder, maybe that wasn’t so odd. How often does someone like Lloyd see a beauty like that? She couldn’t be sure of Lloyd’s orientation, but if any part of his connection with the professor depended on . . . Dulcie didn’t even want to go there.

Instead, she watched as the lithe undergrad gradually blended into the rush-hour crowd and then made her own way back into the Yard. Dulcie couldn’t have said exactly why she didn’t want to walk with her new student, but she knew she needed the time alone. Even with all the leaves fallen, Harvard Yard was a beautiful place. This late in the afternoon, the buildings cast long shadows across the grass, the bare trees stark against a deepening blue sky. But the New England fall was winding up. A cold gust prompted Dulcie to turn up her collar and stirred the remaining leaves. Letting her feet wander, she watched one errant oak leaf as it flew into a corner, joining a small pile that had gathered between the steps and the bike rack by Emerson. The leaf – and the wind – settled, and Dulcie was startled to see the pile move. A squirrel, cheeks extended with bounty, popped out and she laughed out loud.