Some Day Days Read online

Chapter 02 – Piece Two – A Shattered Heart

 

  Early August, A Phone Call

  My watson, next to me on the bed, chirped. Caller unknown. Pick it up or let it go to voice mail? I was alone in my hotel room, on the road for my job, and a bit lonely. I picked it up.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello Gallagher.... Selina Beri.’

  My heart lurched.

  ‘Gallagher?’

  ‘Beri.... Sorry... I never... This is a surprise. SO how are you? Is everything alright?’

  She laughed. Nervousness? ‘Oh, I’m fine, fine enough. How are you? Catch you at a bad time? Wake you up? I know it’s a bit late...’

  ‘No, not at all, I’m just sitting in my hotel room checking my sites and waiting for a sleepy feeling...’

  ‘Oh... Are you on holiday?’

  ‘I wish. But no, I’m working on a project in Guildford, so the company puts me up at a hotel for the duration. I live the tinkerer’s life this long vacation, a week or two here, a week there, project to project.’

  ‘Ah,’ she hesitated. ‘Gallagher... I feel really silly... Actually, I feel terribly embarrassed. You must have known my intentions back in Oxford...’

  ‘You indicated in the kindest way not to dream and to move along. I’ve thought of you, of course, but well...’

  ‘I understand. After all, I cut you. I’d convinced myself it was for the best. The best for me, of course. But this time it didn’t quite work as planned....’

  ‘I’ll not complain. Say no more.’

  ‘No. I must apologize. You helped me, treated me as a friend. There’s no excuse for the way I treated you. You don’t treat friends, or anyone, like that. I know that, but well... I am sorry... Hugh.’

  I had never been Hugh, always just Gallagher. She hesitated ever so little over Hugh, but she said it, and strangely, it almost hurt – I knew how much it cost her to even suggest that I was close enough to her to use my first name.

  ‘Everything’s fine now,’ I said quickly for both our sakes. ‘Consider us friends since June. Now, how are you doing? How’s your plum? I hope it is better than you expected.’

  ‘Ha!’ That was a mirthless laugh. ‘It’s even worse, in a way, than I feared. Apparently my parents didn’t stop at stepping on a few toes, they stomped on them, one being owned by my superior, Mr Morton. I’m probably the highest paid tea lady in London. He has me doing little more than making tea, running errands and working with the clerical support staff. And since his distaste for me is quite evident, my colleagues steer well clear of me to avoid smudging their copy books with Morton. Only the girls in the support staff are friendly.

  ‘I hope you realize you need to get of there, Beri. You owe it to yourself – you’re too talented to be making tea.’

  ‘Well, that’s why I’m calling. I did make one rather off handed effort to pursue an academic career before I left Oxford. My friend, Grace, talked me into applying for the Wagner Mathematical Fellowship at Cambridge. I’m one of five finalists. I interview with the committee on Monday. I’m going up early, on Saturday, to familiarize myself with Cambridge and hopefully spark some authentic enthusiasm for attending the university which’ll come across in my interview.’

  ‘Wow, that’s ideal!’ But it sent a dart to my heart. Cambridge... not Oxford, Damn.

  ‘Grace attends Cambridge. She offered the use of her flat this weekend, though she won’t be there – she’s working in France this summer. I’ve not met her flat mate, Kate, but I’ve talked to her on the phone and she sounds quite nice. The thing is, she’s busy both Saturday and Sunday afternoons and evenings, and with the weather forecast calling for a rainy weekend... Well, I’ve this picture in my head of a dreary weekend alone in a strange town in a stranger’s flat, blue and miserable. I could do it, really. But, Gallagher, I really, really want to fall in love with Cambridge! I thought that if I had a friend along to share the experience, it could be fun, even in the rain. And, well, the strange thing is that when I thought of asking a friend, I thought of you...

  ‘I know that sounds crazy. I hardly know you, gave you the short and sharp push six weeks ago, haven’t talked to you since. Still, I’m inviting you to spend the weekend with me – just as a friend, mind you, that hasn’t changed, Gallagher, but still.... I know it’s weird. All I can say is, well, even though I like you, or maybe because I like you, I cut you. That’s the way I was treating everyone... I’d like to think I’m changing... I’m trying. anyway, would you like to come with me? I know it is only two days’ notice... You probably have plans...’

  ‘I’d love to come along – as a friend. As for plans, well, I spend the weekends just working on my school projects. Haven’t had a holiday all summer, so I’m due. I'll probably need to head back Sunday afternoon because of my job... though I might be able to arrange to get off of work on Monday...’

  ‘No need for that. I just want you along to help me enjoy the Cambridge experience. I can deal with the interview on my own. I hadn’t planned on bringing a friend when I talked to Kate, and since I don’t know her and don’t want to put her out, it would probably mean a hotel room for you...’

  ‘No problem. So what’s our plan?’ I asked, hurrying on before she entertained second thoughts.

  ‘I’m leaving from London and I’m looking at a 7:50 train out of Paddington. I can meet you in Cambridge around 9:30, if that would be the most convenient for you. And I’ll pay your expenses, of course.’

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort. You asked me as a friend, and as a friend I’ll come, not a paid companion. I’ll be back home in London Friday night, so I can meet you at Paddington and we can travel together. Hold on, what web site are you on? We can book our tickets right now...’

  Tickets booked. Details attended to.

  ‘Thank you for being, well, so nice and understanding about this.’

  ‘My pleasure, and you know that.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I do. But I’ve vowed not to constantly issue thinly veiled warnings so I’ll say only this, I think of you as my friend.’

  ‘And that’s grand, That’s what I am and will be.’

  ‘Thank you... Well, I see it’s getting late. We both have work tomorrow – tea to be made in my case. So I’ll let you go now. We’ll catch up on everything over the weekend.’

  ‘Sounds good to me...’

  ‘And Gallagher... I’m sorry about the short notice. I was planning to go alone, and then, well, I lost my courage at this rather late date. I haven’t asked anyone else. Good night, Gallagher.’

  ‘Good night, Beri...’

  She hung up.

  I typed ‘Selina Beri’ beside her number, stared at it for a while, and added it to my directory with a tap. I leaned back against the headboard, drew a long breath and waited for the harsh buzz of the alarm clock to wake me up from this dream.

  Saturday, On the Train

  I spent Friday night attempting sleep, like I did Thursday night, and Wednesday night. Too many questions and a fear of oversleeping. Up early, I slung my rucksack over a shoulder, slipped out the front door before anyone else was awake and into a cool, drippy grey morning. I looked around and smiled. ‘Thanks,’ I muttered and then crossed my fingers. I all but tumbled down the Brixton tube station stairs and paced impatiently waiting for the train – Victoria to Bakerloo to Paddington Station – arriving a half an hour early, but still in a hurry. My ticket was on my watson, so I quickly cut through the milling crowd of holiday trippers and hurried on to the platform.

  She was already waiting, trim and neat, standing midway down, with only a rucksack at her feet, reading her watson. I stopped as my heart lurched against my chest and marvelled, as always, at this power she has over me. I studied her from that distance. She was wearing a dark green rain jacket, a low crowned, grey-green felt hat, khaki slacks and brown walking shoes. In that pale light of a dreary morning falling through the glass roof, with holiday travellers hurrying by her in the warm oil and ozo
ne laced air of the station, she seemed to have an eye of the storm calmness about her. I’d imagined all sorts of, well, uneasy, explanations as to why she had called me, at such a cost. I could not believe that she didn’t have older, better friends than me to call on. Yet here I was. I didn’t know what to think. So for a few moments I just watched her from the crowd. Then gathering my courage, I threaded my way through the scurrying holiday makers to her side.

  I was about ten meters from her, when she looked up from her watson and glanced around. Her gaze passed over me – and then stopped and came back. Behind her glasses, her eyes widened with a quizzical, then amused look that lasted even as I smiled and gave her my most cheery ‘Good Morning, Beri’.

  ‘Hello, Gallagher. I hardly recognize you!’ she said. ‘Why you’re all trimmed and polished, and with those rimless glasses, you look almost...’

  ‘Human?’ I suggested laughing. I’d forgotten that I had changed since she had last seen me. ‘It’s my responsible adult look – or as close as I can come to it. I’d forgotten all about it or I’d have warned you!’

  ‘Then it’s not for me?’ she asked brightly, verging on flirting.

  ‘It would have been if you had asked, but as it is, my boss made it plain to me that if I was going to be a project manager I’d have to at least try to look the part.’

  ‘Project manager! I’m impressed. It’s just a vacation position, I hope?’ she asked, suddenly rather serious.

  ‘Oh yes, my usual vacation gig for the most part. The project manager title is just a little new twist. Before, I was just a tech, with no reason to look like anything but geek, as you well know.’

  ‘A geeky beatnik, I think,’ she smiled kindly.

  I laughed. ‘Well, maybe. I think. anyway, making me a project manager saves the company the expense of sending along a chap in a suit to deal with the client. I still do the same tech work, but now I have to deal with the clients as well.

  ‘Well it sounds impressive – but then, I’m just a humble tea lady and errand girl...’ she laughed, but without any trace of bitterness.

  ‘You’re an Oxford scholar, a mathematician, Beri. Now tell me about this Wagner Fellowship!’ I exclaimed. ‘Even if it’s to be Cambridge, I was so happy to hear that you’re not going to waste a year...’

  ‘Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m only one of five finalists, the others are every bit as qualified as I am. But let’s put off talk of that until we get to Cambridge. I’ll have plenty of opportunity to talk about it then and you won’t have to hear it twice. Shall we board and find our seats? You can dazzle me with the importance of being a project manager. And I, in turn, will amaze you with my stories of teas and copies made, and all the offices I’ve delivered confidential papers to.’

  ‘I want to hear about this responsible adult job of yours,’ Beri said after we had settled into our seats.

  ‘It’s not as impressive as it sounds. SSC, that is to say, Surveillance Security Consultants, is the company I’ve been working for, off and on, since I was in sixth form – almost since the firm started out. Essentially we provide technology and services aimed at preventing industrial spying. Think of the electronic bug-screen devise you use, only on an industrial scale as well as computer security and such. In addition, we analyse their plant or lab to tell them things that they might not want to do, like taking a dyary wearing salesmen through their lab...’

  ‘Which reminds me, these glasses are not dyary equipped, but if you’d like to record anything, I have a dyary pair in my bag.’

  Beri blushed prettily and laughed. ‘On the whole, I think I will do without a dyary record, if you don’t mind!’

  I grinned, “As I recall it, it was the lack of a dyary...’

  She gave me an elbow, ‘You were telling me about this job of yours...’

  ‘Yes, and where was I...’ I’d conjured up pictures of Beri on the edge of desperation, worn by her long, lonely last year at Oxford and then by her dismal, trivial job. The Beri next to me, however, seemed relaxed, cheerful, and amazingly enough, happy to see me. Within an hour of our first meeting, I’d felt unexplainably comfortable in Beri’s presence, and now I felt some of my hidden tension slip away.

  ‘anyway, gadgets being my specialty, I’ve been installing anti-audio and video equipment and designing systems for clients all along. I worked full time during my gap year to raise money for Oxford and have been working during my breaks ever since as one of the techs – they pay me well, bless them. This summer, they had a number of small projects lined up for me, usually just me and one or two techs or subcontractors, and rather than have another person in a suit on site trying to look useful, they just bumped up my wages a bit and added whatever it was he was supposed to be doing to my job description. For their scheme to work, however, I have to look something like an adult, not a geeky kid. And while they couldn’t really expect me to wear a suit, since I still have to do my share of crawling around installing things, I have to at least look like I might wear one...’

  She raised a sceptical eyebrow.

  ‘I know. But what else can they do? I’m their cheapest option. anyway, I still do the same stuff I’ve been doing all along, but now I’m on my own and have to actually talk to the clients and do things like staff training, which, I tell myself will come in handy some day should I ever have to lecture....’

  I rattled on a bit more and she asked a lot about questions of the job and about my tinkerer’s life of moving from project to project around Britain. So it was not until the train had pulled out of Paddington and we were clipping along through the green and brick London sprawl before I had a chance to ask her about how her life was in the Office of Budgetary Statistical Analysis.

  ‘It’s a case of my parent’s nepotism over Mr Morton’s.... his candidate ended up in the ditch and, things being the way they are, powers and principalities, he had to grin and bear it. Still, day to day he makes his displeasure clear. Being a ward of powers greater than his, he can’t do anything too overt, but because I’m the newest and least qualified of the professional staff, he can safely assign me all the trivial and mundane tasks about the office, especially since two of the clerical staff are on family leave. Some of this work, I suppose, would be expected to be done by the most junior of the staff, but some of the other jobs are ones normally performed by someone far less exalted than a Level B Clerk... Yet, should I complain, he’d merely point out that the clerical staff is very under staffed at the moment and since I was new and not fully up to speed yet, I should pitch in and help where I could, be it making a fresh pot of tea, or running some papers upstairs or around the block, which in the end would help me become acquainted with the total operation of the unit.’

  ‘You seem remarkable chipper for all of that.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve done my share of crying. By Friday of my first week, I could hardly keep the tears back while at work. I tramped about London all day Saturday and most of Sunday as well, trying to work out what went so wrong. I was angry at Morton, at my parents, at everyone and everything. How could they have done this to me? Eventually I walked long and far enough to realize that I’d done it by myself to myself, by not caring, by sleepwalking through the last year or two. I’d only myself to blame, and only I could dig myself out. I’ve been trying to do that ever since.’

  ‘You know you can count on me to help in any way.’

  She glanced at me. ‘You’re here, aren’t you?’

  ‘I jumped at the chance to have a great weekend holiday exploring Cambridge with you,’ I said. ‘If it’ll somehow help you, great, but for me, it’s just a dream come true.’

  ‘Well, there is a bit more to it... I believe in my long rant in that evening in Oxford I told you how shy I am, and then proceeded to be anything but shy!’ she laughed. ‘anyway, that’s one of the reasons you’re along today. I’m not shy around you. I’m far too comfortable, in fact. So I’m hoping that with you along, I’ll not revert to that cold, posh-wannabe snob that
my shyness seems to take the form of these days. I’d like for you to help break the ice with Kate and her boyfriend, keep everything friendly and conversations going, and if you see me getting on my high horse, knock me off it.’

  ‘Yikes. Those aren’t things I’m really good at, myself. I'm not all that great at conversations, especially with people I don' know. You apparently don’t mind long stretches of silence while I search for things to say, but I’m pretty sure that’s an exception. I’ll do my best, of course, but well...’

  ‘I must work with the materials at hand,' she laughed, 'I’m sure your best will be just fine ...Hugh...’ She stumbled over my name again.

  ‘Just keep calling me Gallagher, I don’t mind at all.’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that I think of you as “Gallagher”. I don’t see you as Hugh...’

  ‘Then it’s Gallagher and Gallagher is here – relax and be yourself. Just remember, it’s natural to be a little nervous. But don’t worry, you’ll do just fine.’

  ‘Right, that’s another of your jobs, keep telling me not to worry. I’m sure that’ll work just fine...’

  ‘I like it when you’re sarcastic, Beri,’ I replied. ‘Now that I’ve gotten my orders, tell me all about your “plum”. You were on the verge of tears when we got side-tracked.’

  ‘Well, after walking miles and miles and miles, until my legs ached, and all but fell off, it struck me that I was at one of those hinges of life where your life could swing this way or that way for the rest of your life. Luckily, I was no longer sleep walking – I was fully awake and absolutely certain I needed to return to a university and get my doctorate. I’m not cut out to be a mandarin.

  ‘But of course, it was July and I didn’t even know which universities offered programs that might suit my interests, never mind the fact that in many cases application deadlines were either fast approaching or past. Morton kept me busy enough at work so I had to do all my research and emailing people after work and on weekends. Still, by the end of the second week of work I had a prospect or two for escape. I might have to beg, borrow, and steal my way into a uni, but I now had hope. That following Monday, three weeks ago, I received the email out of the blue from the Wagner Committee informing me that I’d been selected as one of the final five candidates. I can’t begin to tell you how amazed and happy I was. I’d never seriously considered that possibility – I’d submitted the application and paperwork only because Grace wouldn’t give me any peace until I did. I’ve already told you how impulsive I can be, so you’ll not be surprised to find that as soon as I read the email, my heart jumped to the conclusion that I was going to get that fellowship and escape Morton and the office. I know that’s irrational, every other candidate will be just as, or better qualified than I am, but my heart refuses to be swayed by logic, and well, needing all the happiness I can get, I’ve just gone along with my heart. Mind you, I haven’t stopped pursuing other options, but right now they’re all up in the air, so I’ve nothing to lose and everything to gain with the Wagner.’

  ‘I have this feeling you’re going to get it, too, though I was rather hoping to see you back at Oxford this fall...’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think I’d care to return to Oxford. Not unless I had no other choice. Sorry.’

  I shrugged. ‘I’ll try not be selfish. I’m here and if we’re to be friends... I’ve nothing to complain about.’

  ‘Well, Gallagher, it seems I impulsively accepted you as a friend that evening I called on you – I just didn’t want to admit it. That’s the way I was. With Grace no longer around to keep me in the social circle, I'd all but abandoned my friendships this past year at Oxford. I’ve now come to see everything I’d lost in letting those friendships lapse. I’ve promised myself to try to mend those fences. I’ve contacted old friends again, and arranged several lunches with some who are in and about London, but, well, everyone’s busy these days, and many of them now are paired off and such. Time’s flown, I guess.’

  She paused, and then continued. ‘I’ve come to realize that I must make new friends. In a way I’m fortunate Morton has assigned me all the clerical duties. My would-be colleagues treat me as if I’m invisible. They’re not mean, but then again, they’ve no reason to be. Nor have they any reason to resent the way I obtained my position, since I believe many of them landed theirs in the same way. But they all have a careers to worry about and dare not risk them by being seen aiding a usurper. So, all in all, they avoid me when they can and take as little notice of me when they can’t. Fortunately, the clerical staff has no such ambitions nor are they in need of Morton’s patronage. And since I’m fairly competent at the clerical duties Morton assigned, (You see how knowing shorthand has paid off!) the clerks have welcomed my help and I’ve pretty much joined the clerical staff. I lunch with the girls and we cheerfully chat when Morton’s not around. All in all, the days fly by rather more pleasantly than one might expect. And, well, after all the work and stress of my last year at Oxford, it’s actually a welcome change. It’s only when I stop to think of what I’m doing, that I get a bit blue.

  ‘Anyway, I have these new friends at work. But I also have this Gallagher fellow that I’d made friends with, somehow, only to give him the push. What was I to do about him? Truthfully, I never did figure that out until I panicked at the thought of going to Cambridge alone and decided to find out where I stood with him. You know the rest.’

  ‘Never in a million years would I have expected a call from you. But it goes without saying that I’m delighted. I believe I understand how things are between us, so I’ll try to see that you don’t regret it.’

  ‘I believe you do, and I promise to try to refrain from reminding you all the time... Please forgive me if I sometimes fail.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, and hurrying on, ‘Now tell me more about those adventures at work...’

  ‘As far as my adventures at work go, well between the Wagner invite, my new friends at the office, and my determination to get out of the Treasury one way or another, I’ve found surviving the office a whole lot easier these past several weeks. With nothing to gain, I had nothing to lose either. I’ve even been able to have a little fun,’ She added with a smile.

  ‘For example, I can’t do much with...’ she glanced down and took a deep breath and shook her head. ‘But I do have nice legs...’

  ‘And nice ankles too,’ I added.

  She gave me a startled look for a second before it struck her. She laughed, ‘Do you remember everything I say?’

  ‘I keep a journal,’ I replied. ‘You’ve been warned. Go on with your story.’

  ‘Well, as I was saying, I have nice enough legs. All my walking no doubt. So I went out and bought several miniskirts and a pair of shoes with heels just to wear to work every so often. The boys might ignore me, but could they ignore my legs?’

  ‘I’m guessing “no”,’ I said, cautiously. ‘And you’ll note I’m being admirably discrete here, Beri.’

  She gave me a sidelong glance. ‘Noted. Well anyway, catching them watching me as I walked by was well worth the expense. I’d smile sweetly as soon as I caught their eye, and they’d quickly look away, or try to make it look like they were just looking around. Stupid, I know, but the other girls and I had so much fun playing the game. It’s been nice to let down my hair a bit and be just a girl again. anyway, having gotten over my initial blues, I’ve found more and more things, over the last month, to keep me amused at the Office of Budgetary Statistical Analysis. Take for example, the Case of the Green Labelled Folder, as I will one day record it in my memoirs....’

  She went on to describe, with a great deal of good humour, her trivial adventures in OBSA.

  ‘Of course, I can make fun of it today, I’m under the self-imposed delusion that I’m going to land the Wagner Fellowship. If that falls through though, I’ll be singing a different song,’ she said at the end of her stories, growing sombre.

  ‘I doubt you’ll be spending many
more days at OBSA, but I’ll say no more. I have very superstitious ancestors, who won’t let me name names and talk about things as a certainty before they are, even though I know they will be... if you follow me. And you do have those other options. I can’t imagine an undergrad, who’s published papers having the quality and originality of your papers will fail to land a fellowship in a first class program. But enough of that, tell me all about what you do for fun outside of work.’

  ‘Nothing much. I walk a lot. I’ll walk home from work on fine evenings and walk for hours on Saturdays. I’m thinking a lot...’ she glanced at me briefly, ‘and not about maths these days. And I’m catching up on all the piano practice I missed over the past year, plus occasionally going out with my brother or sister and their friends – I’m back living at home again and you know what that is like...’

  ‘I do – on weekends or when I’m working in London I live at home. The questions I had to dodge about this weekend....’

  ‘Tell me about it!’ she said, with a grin. ‘You can imagine what my parents think of me going off with unnamed “friends” for a long weekend, to an undisclosed somewhere, and taking several days off from a job I just started – one they pulled all the stops out to get. Not happy at all, but there’s nothing I can do about that.’

  ‘Did Morton make a fuss about you wanting to take a couple of days off?’

  ‘He was all set to get on his high horse, until I quickly added that I was interviewing for a position at Cambridge and that since he didn’t want me there, and I didn’t want to be there, our interests rather converged,’ she laughed. ‘He thought about that for a second, and then smiled, and said, “Just so.” and proved most obliging, telling me to take all the time I needed.’

  ‘And do your parents know about the fellowship?’

  ‘No, not yet. Or at least they haven’t tipped their hand. Some of the material was sent by post, so they may have a suspicion, but nothing’s been said. If I get it, I’ll be able to deal with their disappointment. I am, after all, all grown up now. But if I fail, I don’t really want to suffer their consolation mixed with reproach.’

  I nodded and we considered that for a while in silence.

  ‘You mentioned practicing your piano – I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, music and maths are said to be related. What type of music do you play?’

  ‘What type do you think?’ she replied.

  I considered my reply carefully, and decided to be a vague as possible, ‘I’m sure you can play most anything...’

  ‘Cheap answer, Gallagher. I expected you to be more honest than that.’

  ‘Well, I really do think you could play anything you wanted to – I know how you approach things. But if you want some specifics, well, I can see you playing Erik Satie pieces...’

  She considered that. ‘Maybe in my most pensive moods... But mostly I play jazz or rather lots of music as jazz.’

  ‘Now it’s your turn to surprise me! I’d never have guessed jazz. But now that you’ve said it, I can see why – it makes sense – all that improvising must in some respects parallel mathematical explorations....’

  ‘There’s that, and the fact that my father is a pretty accomplished amateur jazz piano player,’ she said with a grin.

  I laughed. ‘The X factor! Was he your teacher?’

  ‘Well, yes and no. My formal piano lessons started quite early with Miss Haven, an oh-so-conventional piano teacher. My mother wanted me to learn how to play the piano the proper way, and my father didn’t want to bother teaching me how to play the piano or read music – he was going to teach me how to play music – but only after I could play the piano. So I had lessons from Miss Haven in the proper way until I was 13. But by then I’d played enough with my father that I’d learned to swing, driving poor Miss Haven to tears and out the door. After that my father undertook my further musical education which, I may add, often included taking me to Ronnie Scott’s to hear all sorts of musicians and such – many of whom he seemed to know. At that age, and indeed, even now, it was fun to have such a secretly bohemian father, though he keeps that bohemian side very well hidden so that only his closest friends – and all those jazzmen – know.

  ‘Of course jazz is not popular, so growing I learned to play pop and alternative tunes as well – I can pretty much play a melody by ear and improvise over it. Then as I became more and more involved with maths, I began to see music, the notes and tones, as numbers and patterns, so music took on a whole new dimension. Luckily my piano is digital, so I can just plug in headphones – otherwise I’m sure I’d drive people to despair if they had to listen to my keyboard mathematical explorations...’

  We talked on for some time about her adventures in music, from hanging in jazz clubs with her dad, to using music to explore maths, and maths to explore music...

  ‘What about you, Gallagher. Do you play an instrument?’

  ‘No, not really. A few cords on the harmonica is about all. I could never quite get the hang of any musical instrument, to the constant exasperation of Evie Izzowkoski, my music teacher. She eventually settled on having me sing – or scat – most of the tune with a little ornamental harmonica here and there.’

  ‘You had a music teacher and sing! Still waters do indeed run deep,’ she said with all the appearance of delight.

  ‘My education was not formal, I assure you. And my singing is an acquired taste – I sing mostly to annoy my friends... And as for Evie, my musical teacher, well, it would be hard to find a more eccentric one than Evelyn Izzowkoski...’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Evie lived next door to me growing up. We’re of the same age and for as long as I can remember we were friends, even at that age, when it was not fashionable to be seen hanging with a girl. Now Evie’s a very fey creature. I suppose she has some form of autism, or something similar – though it was always hard to know where that condition left off, if it did at all, and where her deliberate eccentricity began. For example, she dressed very eclectically even for the crowd we ran in – which I’m sure comes as no great surprise – was not a posh set, but very much on the fringe of things, a little goth and very geeky. What her feyness, her autism, does, it allows her to remember every tune she hears – even if only once. She loves them all, every type and style. A phonographic mind, if you will pardon my pun... She is quite uncanny... childish and vague, and a little unnerving.

  ‘She’d listened to thousands and thousands of tunes in the streaming music service she subscribed to – and could sing or play all of them, usually on her harmonica – which she took and played anywhere, any time. I can still see her hanging out in our basement – where we’d set up a makeshift recording studio – sitting on a the old, ragged easy chair, just breathing tunes in and out on that harmonica for hours on end. She is quite the uncanny singer as well. All very fey. And since she was my singing coach, I sing in a similar vein...

  ‘I don’t know if she knew the lyrics to every tune she sang, but she could sing lyrics to any tune she knew, – whether they were the actual lyrics or just ones she makes up, I was never certain, as she seemed able to improvise lyrics as she went along.

  ‘As you can imagine, all this exposed me to a lot of music, pop, rock, jazz, classical, folk and world music from when I was five or six. Unlike Evie, however, my appreciation of music has never reached below the surface. If I like the tune, it was fine – hundreds of tunes haunt me to this day – but my understanding has never deepened into anything beyond appreciation.’ I shrugged, ‘The scary thing is that I’m not sure my maths skills are going to be any different....’

  ‘Anyway, once I got into the gadgets and stuff, we built a little makeshift studio in my folks' basement and recorded hundreds of tunes, adding track after track, her keyboard, harmonica and voice and my voice to the pieces. I still have the tracks and still enjoy them. And, strangely enough I still can sing a lot of the pieces if I close my eyes and follow the music, the words – Evie’s words at any rate, come to
me... But as I said, in a, well... think of Monk singing sort of way...’

  Beri laughed, ‘I’m not at all sure I can, but you’ve made me curious since I play the piano in a vaguely Monkish way myself, I’d like to hear you sing...’

  ‘Be careful of what you wish for – you’ve been warned,’ I said with a laugh. ‘But as for Evie’s singing, I’m certain that someday I’m going to hear a strange, angular silken voice coming from the radio and I’ll know I’ll have found her again...’

  ‘So how did you lose track of her?’ Beri asked.

  ‘Well, though I considered Evie my best friend, I’m not all that sure just where exactly I stood with her, or at least in her mind. It’s not that she didn’t have affection for me, but rather, I believe she actually lives in the music. That it is her real home – her real world. Me, well I was part of the strange dream world that she had to occasionally deal with. I was more of, well, for lack of a better word, her familiar, her trusty companion, in this, what we call, real world. She was like a sister to me, so there was never anything romantic between us – but because of her condition, our level of communication was almost entirely within the context of music. So after graduation when I went off to work every day, for long hours and her folks moved soon after, we quickly drifted apart, since Evie did not really communicate with texting, email or even the phone... And when I last talked to her folks, she had moved out and was involved in the music scene, somewhere, in some way...

  ‘I hope she’s found another familiar to look out for her...’ I added, more to myself, feeling rather sad. Evie had been so much a part of my life, for a long, long time – even if it seemed long ago now...

  Our time on the train flew almost as fast as the train was traveling. Beri questioned me more about Evie and our music for a while and then we drifted, as it seems we often did, comfortably off into our own thoughts.

  The countryside beyond the raindrop streaked window raced by, green, dark and dreary. Beri stared out lost in thought, and I settled back to think myself, marvelling at how easily we seemed to get along and other pleasant thoughts – though my long dead ancestors cautioned me not to count on too much. I seemed to have a talent for attracting fey girls...probably from those ancestors.

  We were gliding into Cambridge when I came out of my reverie and looked to Beri next to me. She was watching me with a friendly half smile.

  ‘You’ve been deep in thought... Gallagher.’

  ‘Could you hear my brain whirling and rattling?’ I laughed, trying to bring myself back to the present.

  ‘Well, almost...’ she laughed. ‘I think we’ve just about arrived...’

  Cambridge, Saturday Morning

  We hurried though the driving rain to a nearby bakery restaurant Kate Waterson had recommended for tea and breakfast. We passed an hour in quiet, sporadic conversation with the rain platting on and running down the window next to our table.

  We had lapsed into that strangely comfortable silence once again. I couldn’t help but wonder why she had changed her mind about me, but I had a feeling that I was sitting across a small cafe table from her in part because of the things I didn’t ask, so I kept my peace and watched the sky lighten and the rain taper off.

  I checked the radar on my watson to be sure that the showers had indeed passed. It was nearly ten, the time Beri had arranged to meet Kate. Beri called Kate to let her know we were on our way. I could hear her cheerful replies, reminding us to pick up two bikes from the bike share station which we’d need later to tour the Mathematics facilities out in the Western campus.

  Out into the cool dampness, we rented two rather soggy bikes, dried the seats as best we could and secured our rucksacks on either side of the rack on mine. Kate’s flat is only a few blocks from the station and so we arrived shortly after our call. Kate greeted Beri and me at the door with an easy cheerfulness and lots of laughing. She had us feeling like old friends within the first minute and that our visit was something she’d been looking forward to for ever so long. She told us that her boyfriend would be around shortly and then they’d give us the special deluxe tour of Cambridge. Beri thanked her, saying that she wouldn’t want to put them out, we could find our way around, but Kate wouldn’t hear of it, dismissing her objections with a wave of her hand and a laugh.

  ‘Too late. It’s all arranged. Philip can get us into the buildings I can’t. You’ll get the full guided tour, like it or not. Now I would imagine you want to freshen up... Let me show you Grace’s room...’

  While the girls were doing whatever, I had the small, cluttered sitting room to myself. There was a knock on the door and Kate called out, ‘That will be Philip, let him in, will you, Hugh.’

  I opened the door on a large, solid–built, tussled looking, well, schoolboy rather sums him up, with a carefree smile. Startled, he stared at me, his eyes widened behind his glasses, his smile stricken, he gulped. He glanced at the number next to the door and looked around, at a loss. Even on a weekend’s friendship with Philip Moss, I can state that Philip Moss speechless was an extremely rare event...

  ‘Philip? I’m Hugh Gallagher,’ I said, ‘A friend of Selina Beri... Kate asked me to get the door...’

  The light came on, he grinned, shook my hand. ‘Phil Moss, nice to meet you. Ignore what I say...’

  ‘Kate my Love!’ he called out in loud voice as he edged into the sitting room. ‘Are you trying to drive me around the bend?’

  ‘How so my dear?’ she called back sweetly from the bedroom.

  ‘You know darn well I rely on my feet to find my way to your door. I have all sorts of things to think about with my head... all sorts of things in 24 dimensions to think about. Imagine my horror and shock when my feet lead me to a door answered by a strange cove.... It was like a bad dream... a nightmare... If I can’t rely on my feet, how will I ever find you again?’

  ‘Oh Philip, how you go on! My friends have not even met you – what will they think?’ she called back.

  He gave me a grin and called back, ‘But my Dear, he is such a strange looking fellow... The fright has certainly shaved a year off of my life!’

  ‘Philip, please!’

  ‘Oh, all right. Six Months. But don’t be surprised to find my hair has turned white!’

  ‘Philip, how can you be so rude to our guests?’ she said, stepping out of the bedroom with a completely unconvincing scowl on her face. ‘Please accept my apologies, Hugh. Boyfriends are thin on the ground, and he’s the best I can do at the moment,’ And she kissed him. ‘Good morning, my dear.’

  ‘And good morning to you, my Lovely Kate, all the more beautiful after my nightmare!’ he replied. ‘And this dashing young lady must be Miss Selina Beri, the Wagner Fellow...’

  ‘Selina, allow me to introduce my friend, Philip Moss. Philip is a grad student in some sort of quantum, particle physics and not to be trusted in public without a keeper....’

  They shook hands and Kate said, ‘And I believe you’ve already met Hugh Gallagher...’

  We shook hands again. ‘Happy to meet you. I trust you did not take offence... You’ll get used to me, everyone does, eventually...’

  I just laughed and said, I was sure I would, eventually.

  Beri added, ‘Gallagher is a third year physics student at Oxford.’

  Moss grinned and shook my hand again, ‘That explains a lot! I knew right away that we were kindred spirits!’

  Shortly afterwards, our expedition set out. Beri and I on our rented bikes, Kate and Moss with their own. First stop was the building where Beri would have her interview on Monday, which was not far away. We parked the bikes and walked the old university for more than an hour and with Kate and Moss, sometimes acting as tour guides, showed us around. Often, however, we just talked, and the conversations never flagging. Sharing our passion for physics, Moss and I had much to talk about. Moss had an utterly boyish and infective enthusiasm for his field, so we, well, he talked and talked – Moss being Moss, as I can say now. And with Beri�
��s research papers in maths dealing with extracting and fine tuning data from the vast amount of data like the type generated by the physics experiments conducted by the SuperLHC, she and Moss also had much to talk about as well. Kate keeping us grounded with her good natured irreverence for Moss's flights of fancy.

  ‘You know you’re welcome to stay at the flat. The sofa’s comfortable – or so I’ve been told... we don’t stand on ceremony here.’ she said when we had a chance to talk alone.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m not sure Beri would feel comfortable with that. I know she doesn’t want to put you out more than she has already. And well, we're rather new friends. Before today I could have counted on the fingers of one hand how many hours we’ve spent together... So I’d rather not make any assumptions. I’ll get a hotel room.’

  She gave me a wondering look. ‘I wouldn’t have known. In that case, I’ll ask Philip, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind putting you up at his digs – does it all the time, unless you mind sleeping on sofas’

  ‘No, no... it’s not that, but there is no need to bother, a hotel room is just fine. My vacation job keeps me on the road, so hotel rooms are my lot – it's already factored in. Besides, you guys have more things to do that to take care of us...’

  She laughed, glancing at Moss ahead of us in an animated talk with Beri. ‘I think we’re all having fun, so don’t worry on that account. But we’ll just let it ride, for now, if you want...’

  The Cambridge mathematics facility is located a mile or so west of the old university, so we circled back to our bikes and rode out to tour that facility. Afterwards, with Beri’s interest in physics, and the fact that I was a student in the field myself, Moss had a good excuse to take us a bit further on to tour the Cavendish Laboratory as well. Moss and I eventually left the girls in a lounge and continued on a more complete tour – a very compete tour.

  We were walking back to meet the girls when Moss asked, ‘Are you planning to spend the night...’ He missed a beat with a grin. ‘... in Kate’s flat?’

  I gave him a look. ‘No. I plan to book a hotel room. Neither Beri or I want to impose too much. You and Kate have been ever so kind to take all this trouble to show us around, but I think you can use a break from us as well...’

  ‘I’ll ignore that remark. Why would we need a break from such pleasant company? We’ve had a grand time. And if you need a break from me, you’ll have to be man enough to tell me face to face...’

  I laughed and shook my head. ‘At least not yet, Moss.’

  ‘Then it’s settled. You can sleep on my sofa tonight – it’s every bit as comfortable as Kate’s. And we can slip out and meet some of the lads for a pint or two after Kate and I get back from this party I’m being dragged to.’

  ‘Thanks, sounds like a plan.’

  He grinned at me. ‘Don’t mention the lads part to the girls....’

  We eventually returned to find Beri playing the piano that was tucked into a corner of the room, with several other students in attendance.

  We paused to listen for a while. I recognized the tune she was playing in a vaguely Monkish fashion – Comes Love, which I thought, rather happily, was an interesting choice of tunes. I closed my eyes and sure enough the lyrics came to me as she played. Now I am not normally all that outgoing of a person – I fit the quiet, serious, physics major mode, or the geeky, gadgetry stereotype quite well, but I was feeling as happy as a fellow could feel without a few pints, and to the great credit of Kate and Moss, I was feeling comfortable, amongst friends, so I found myself strolling over to the piano and catching Beri’s eye, I began to quietly scat sing along with the tune in the style Evie had taught me, more as an instrument than a vocal. She smiled and played on, then coming around to another chorus, she said. ‘Do your worst, Gallagher – I need to know.’

  So, I hands in my pockets, leaning against the piano and closing my eyes to follow the tune and ‘see’ the lyrics, I gave them my best – trusting their good humour... I took the plunge and sung in my best Monkish style,

  Comes a heat wave, you can hurry to the shore

  Comes a summons, you can hide behind the door

  Comes love, nothing can be done.

  Comes a mousy, you can chase it with a broom

  Comes love, nothing can be done.

  That’s all brother, if you’ve ever been in love

  That’s all brother, you know what I’m speaking of

  Comes a nightmare, you can always stay awake

  Comes depression, you may get another break

  Comes love, nothing can be done...

  With my eyes closed to ‘see’ the lyrics, I had no idea as to how my performance was being received, but then, if I had cared, I would not have done it. As I’ve said, my singing is an acquired taste. I had to trust their good humour. So when I opened my eyes to see them smiling as they clapped (no doubt for Beri) I was happy enough. I looked down to Beri next to me at the keys. She looked up laughing. I gladly settled for that.

  ‘Good God, Selina! A jazz pianist, we must certainly secure your selection! The Hot Club of Cavendish – and I see one of its principles is in attendance – must surely demand it’.

  ‘Hear him!’ exclaimed Bill Foster, one of the other grad students present – the guitar player of the so call ‘hot club’ – the other being a fiddle player, Lewis Noste, who I met later that evening.

  ‘As for you, Gallagher. I would greatly appreciate it if you would give me sufficient warning before you caterwaul like that again. Perhaps after several pints I could tolerate it. I know physicists are not expected to be Sinatra, so we must take what we get.... but not cold sober.’

  ‘Philip!’ exclaimed Kate. ‘How can you be so rude to our new friends?’

  ‘Rude? Me?’ exclaimed Moss, his eyes wide with exaggerated surprise. ‘Gallagher knows I was just kidding. All my friends know enough not to pay any attention to what I say – is that not right, Foster?’

  Without missing a beat, Foster asked absently, ‘What was that, Moss?’

  Moss gave a wide grin. ‘See, my dear Kate, all my friends know me. And you are already my friend, are you not, Gallagher?’

  ‘Yes, Moss. I am,’ I replied with a laugh.

  ‘Then for goodness sake, give me a two-pint head start before you do that again!’

  As it was well after noon already, we biked back to the centre of the town and a deli for lunch.

  We placed our orders at the counter and looked around for a free table. Kate saw Anne Darneby waving from a table near the back of the establishment and led us back.

  ‘Hello Anne,’ Kate said, taking her offered hand and greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Hello Kate, hello Philip,’ she replied, offering Moss her hand.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Darneby, you’re looking exceptionally dashing this afternoon,’ replied Moss gallantly.

  ‘Anne, these are our friends, Selina Beri and Hugh Gallagher, Anne Darneby. Anne is the wife of Professor Darneby, Philip’s supervising professor,’ said Kate.

  ‘I’ve spent the morning shopping but David will be here any minute. Why don’t you join us, I’m sure we can all fit...?’

  After packages had been rearranged and we’d all settled in, Mrs Darneby asked Beri, ‘Are you a student too?’

  ‘I’m hoping to do my graduate work here, but this is actually my first chance to visit Cambridge. A good friend attends the University, but I’ve never visited her here.’

  ‘Too bad you are seeing it on such a damp and dreary day,’ said Mrs Darneby.

  ‘Just as predicted. I had so wanted to have a good impression of Cambridge – you see I’d this vision of being all alone in a strange city on a gloomy Saturday, so I begged Gallagher to come along to keep my spirits up,’ replied Beri.

  ‘I jumped at the chance...’ I remarked.

  ‘It’s turned out to be so much fun. Kate and Philip have been marvellous, so friendly. They’ve shown us all around and we have laughed and talked all mo
rning long. I’m sure I’ll always recall today as a sunny day!’ Beri said with a wide smile directed toward Kate and Moss. ‘And the funny thing is that I, we (with a nod to me) have only know Kate and Philip for a couple of hours. I really appreciate Kate and Philip for having taken all this time to show us around and make us feel so welcome. I don’t know how to thank them!’

  ‘They've been wonderful,’ I added. ‘It’s been great fun.’

  Kate reached over and put her hand on Beri’s ‘I’ve had a wonderful time, too. We're great friends already. I can’t wait until you’re up here for more than a weekend.’

  ‘Oh, hello, David,’ said Mrs Darneby, looking up to see a large rather bearish figure looming behind us.

  Moss turned in his chair, ‘Afternoon, Professor. I’m afraid we’ve dashed your dream of an intimate luncheon with your dear wife...’

  ‘Merely postponed. Hello Moss, and good afternoon, Kate – always a pleasure to see you again. I don’t believe I’ve met the other young people. Prospective students, I gather...’

  Moss did the honours. ‘Allow me to present Miss Selina Beri, a prospective student, and Mr Hugh Gallagher currently enrolled in the physics program of some institute in Oxfordshire, Professor Darneby, my supervising professor.’

  We shook hands, and he said ‘I’ve ordered our usual, my dear. I trust that was alright.’ And taking his seat next to his wife he turned to Beri. ‘So you’re the prospective student, a graduate student I take it?’

  ‘I’m certainly hoping to be one, but it all depends, of course, if I can make the grade – I’m certain it will be quite demanding.’

  ‘Yes it is, but I would think you'd have prospects, or you’d not be here today. What program are you applying for, and where did you earn your undergrad degree, if I may be a nosey old busybody?’

  ‘I earned my degree in Mathematics and Philosophy at Oxford this past spring.’ she replied, adding, ‘Though the philosophy part was a nod to my parents’ ambitions for a civil service career for me. Mathematics is, however, my true love.’

  And since it seemed that she was unwilling to mention it, I added, ‘She graduated with a double first.’

  Darneby nodded to me and back to Beri. ‘I should think that a double first in Mathematics and Philosophy from Oxford would go a long way in insuring a postgrad career anywhere you choose to go.

  She blushed a little and said, ‘Right now my only prospect is the Wagner Fellowship here at Cambridge.’

  I saw Mrs Darneby cast a quick glance at her husband.

  Beri explained, ‘I’m afraid I was altogether indecisive about my post grad career. My parents being in the government had expected me to join them in public service. They didn’t see any advantage in pursuing an advanced degree and I’m afraid I was not very active in pursuing one. I only applied for the Wagner Fellowship on the insistence of my friend, Grace. So at the moment I have nothing more promising than the Wagner Fellowship to save me from my rather dreary position in the Office of Budgetary Statistical Analysis. However, if not this year, then next year. I know the Treasury is not where I want to be...’ she added with a sad smile.

  Professor Darneby asked some questions about Beri’s treasury work and my program, and once our food was served, conversation became more general. Moss at his lively best, unintimidated by the presence of his supervising professor, along with Kate’s breezy cheerfulness and the graciousness of the Darnebys made for a very enjoyable lunch.

  At one point in the meal Professor Darneby asked me who my physics tutor was.

  ‘Professor Ruslan Aparin.’ I replied, a bit warily.

  Darneby darted me a glance and a faint smile. ‘Ah...’

  Ruslan Aparin holds a number of controversial positions in physics and is more or less an outcast amongst the various mainstream camps in contemporary physics.

  ‘Yes. Luckily I’m not averse to thinking outside the box, so I’m delighted that I have him as my tutor and guide. For someone so readily dismissed, it’s interesting to see how much of his work is now being cited in the papers of the younger set of physicists,’ I added, out of the habit of having to defend my tutor in discussions with other students.

  ‘Right. No need to rally to his defence with me. We’re friends that go back quite a few years. Ruslan is simply too far ahead of the times and pays the price. But if you absorb what he’s talking about now, you’ll be well positioned to use that understanding when the time comes around,’ Darneby said.

  We talked a bit more about my eccentric tutor and then conversation drifted on to other topics.

  As the meal drew to a close, Darneby looked over to Beri and said, ‘My wife and I are hosting an informal garden party for our grad students at our house tomorrow evening.’. Glancing at Moss, ‘You and Kate are coming, are you not?

  ‘Of course, Professor,’ Moss replied.

  ‘And Anne, we’ll be there early to help set things up,’ added Kate brightly.

  ‘I’m certain we have hired people to do that, haven’t we dear?’ Professor Darneby asked his wife.

  ‘There’s always a million little things that have to be done. We’ll be there a bit early to help,’ stated Kate.

  ‘Well, as I was about to say, Anne and I would be delighted if Miss Beri and Mr Gallagher would join us for the party. You’ll know Kate and Moss, and I must say I have a very social group of students these days, so I’m sure you will find yourself quite at home...’

  ‘She’s already met Foster and Silvani at the lab – while she was playing jazz piano – so you bet Noste will soon be dying to meet her. We’ll no doubt have some lively entertainment if you can make it, Selina,’ Moss said. ‘It’ll be a great time!’

  Beri thanked Darneby with a smile and said she would ‘Love to come.’

  I thanked him as well, but had to add, ‘However, I’m sorry to say I’ve booked the 4:55 train for London tomorrow, so as much as I would like to attend, duty calls – it’s back to London and then on to Guildford bright and early Monday morning.

  ‘Hugh has a summer position as a project manager for a security firm,’ Beri added brightly.

  I had to quickly explain my job.

  ‘It sounds like quite a responsible position, but must be hard to work your vacation study and papers into your schedule,’ Darneby added.

  I shrugged. ‘I think my work takes up the time I’d just be frittering away on holiday. So far I’ve been able to fit everything in. But I suspect my school work load will be increasing rather significantly, so this may well be my last summer – especially if I’m to continue to rub shoulders with such brilliant company.’

  ‘If I were to advise you Hugh, I would urge you to study very hard and focus in on what you want to do, physics is a demanding field and only getting more so.’ he said, but said it kindly enough.

  And then turning to Beri. ‘And to you, Miss Beri, I’ve a confession to make. I’m a member of the committee that you will be interviewing with on Monday. Perhaps I should have mentioned that right at the beginning, but I chose not to recast this informal social occasion into some sort of pre-interview. Of course, I also wanted to use the occasion to form an impression of you, since I’d been handed the chance. And especially since I was reading your papers just this past week. I’m very impressed with your work – quite brilliant, in fact. And it is, of course, of great interest to me since your work concerns questions so close to my work and the work of our key project. You’d have been my favoured candidate on that account alone, but having met you, I’m only more convinced. However, I’m only one of five members, so my favour means only so much, but, at least, you’ll have a friend on the other side of the table. I hope that will make you more comfortable and the ordeal less trying.’

  She blushed, and thanked him for his kind words.

  We walked outside together, and they wished us a good bye, saying they were looking forward to seeing us tomorrow evening. Beri then asked Kate what they’d be wearing to the garden party since she h
adn’t figured a garden party into her wardrobe in a rucksack budget. Kate said it wouldn’t matter, come as she was, but Beri insisted, saying she had the afternoon to find something, and no reason why not, seeing how well tea ladies were paid in the Office of Budgetary Statistical Analysis. Kate gave her a few ideas and we had an afternoon project. They then left to get ready for their family gathering, leaving Beri and I to our own devises.

  We returned our bikes to a bike station, and I spent the next two hours shopping with Beri. Now my old friend Evie dressed very eclectically. Beri, on the other hand, dresses, well, with a certain very understated, but very much individual style. Not exactly eclectic, but individualistic. I discovered that she often shops for her clothes at second hand shops, since, as she explained, ‘I have decades of style to choose from, not from just what is stylish this year’. I, of course, was little help since I liked everything she tried on, but I enjoyed being part of this process, for she was searching for an outfit that would say at least something about who she was, which I found fascinating. After she had assembled her outfit, we just drifted, packages in hand, around the university for a while until a sudden downpour drove us to the shelter of a park pavilion along the river.

  We’d been sitting silently for a while when she turned to me, ‘I was wondering Gallagher... I’m curious to know why you didn’t try to get in touch with me. Obviously I don’t hold it against you or anything, just curious...’

  ‘You mean why I didn’t call you despite a dozen thinly veiled warnings not to even think about it?’ I said with a laugh. ‘Or despite that So Long and Thanks for all the Fish kiss you gave me on the Broad?’

  She smiled and may even have blushed a little. Hard to tell in the greenish shadows of the pavilion and rain. ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘I didn’t have your number and you’re apparently not on the social web, so I’d have to use your university email address, but who knows how often you check that...’

  ‘I’m sure a fellow with your computer talents could have gotten my number,’ she said with a sidelong glance from under her hat.

  I shrugged. ‘Not my area of expertise, though I know fellows who could, but that would’ve been creepy. I feel bad enough about using your image on my White Queen avatar... Which, by the way, you were right, – after meeting you, my White Queen avatar only bummed me out...’

  ‘White Witch, and sorry,’ she flashed me a brief smile.

  ‘I’m not. It was worth it. anyway, I think I could’ve just called Ali Charters. She likely has your number or a better email address since you were both in the Women in Science Society, but it really all came down to either playing the puppy – by lying and pretending to be clueless, or the hound – by assuming you really didn’t mean it. Neither seemed right.’

  I glanced at her, but she said nothing. ‘It felt like we'd become friends – sort of – by the time we said good-bye. And perhaps I could’ve called, based on that friendship, especially since we were both in London, at least on weekends, but I'm not totally clueless, and knew you didn't want me to.

  ‘And well, from the way you talked, I was pretty certain your Treasury career would be a short one, so I hoped to see you be back in Oxford in the fall. If I was right, we’d certainly run across each other, and there’d be no reason for us not to renew our friendship – at some level, any level. At least that was my thinking before you called.’

  ‘Were you that sure?’

  I watched her, ‘I was. You may’ve sleepwalked into your ‘plum’, but after talking to you, I didn’t think you’d settle for it. Your future is clearly not in some cubbyhole in the Treasury. You’re a brilliant mathematician with the potential to be a rock star in the field. I assumed that you’d be back at Oxford, since I figured timing would be an issue and I knew the department would have you back in an instant.’

  Staring off into the rain, she remained silent. I didn’t know what she was thinking, or what to say. After a while I asked just to keep the conversation going, ‘Should I have called? Just curious, of course.’

  ‘Lord knows, Gallagher. It would have depended on when you called, the week, the day, the hour...’ She said with a little shrug.

  She paused and then continued, speaking softly, ‘I believe I told you that one of the hallmarks of my teen years was falling in love every month or two with some strange boy for some strange reason. I’d thought that I’d outgrown that weirdness. But then, how do I explain you?’

  ‘I haven’t fallen inexplicably in love with you,’ she glanced at me. ‘Never forget that. But I seem to have, by some strange intuitive process, decided that you are a dear friend, someone I can simply trust to look out for me, someone who’d not hurt me... Someone, I guess, who I could be open with after the last year or two of closing myself off to others. I’m a fool, but I can’t help it. Weird.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re a fool. You can trust me,’ I said, and dared say no more.

  ‘It’s dangerous for you, Gallagher, she continued, ‘since I may well treat you as a boyfriend or a lover, and, well, you’re not. I know you have a schoolboy crush on me, but I’ve searched my heart and there is no passion in my liking for you in return. If you should make the wrong assumption, you’ll certainly get your heart broken... And break this bond between us...’

  ‘I can be just a friend,’ I said. ‘I can’t help the way I feel about you. But maybe being friends is really the best way. I was a nervous wreck from the time you called until I met you on the platform this morning. I know you’re out of my league as a girlfriend and I know nothing about girlfriends anyway. Completely clueless. I’d be a nervous wreck the whole time if I had to be your boyfriend. Probably couldn’t put two sentences together in your presence.

  ‘But when I’m with you, it seems so right. I can’t explain why, but with a few words to me on the platform this morning my nervousness just evaporated away. It is certainly weird how we seem to get along so well on such short acquaintance, but why worry about it? Being friends will work. I know how to be a friend. So you’re actually doing me a great favour by being just a good friend. I’ll be able to actually talk to you and sleep at night.’

  ‘Gallagher, you’re so full of...’

  ‘Blarney...’

  ‘That your eyes should be...’

  ‘They’re green,’ I declared, adding, ‘But it will work. Won’t it?’

  ‘I don’t think we have a choice. I regret closing myself off from my friends, I’ll not go there again with you, my first and dearest new friend. But you must never imagine anything more than friendship.’

  ‘I’ll keep my schoolboy crush under lock and seal, but if I should inadvertently cross some line you tell me to knock it off. In turn, just be yourself and I’ll ignore any and all implications that could be read into your unguarded moments. The only thing I ask is that if you should change your mind about me, I mean, like, should you trip and hit your head on the edge of a table and wake up thinking I’m the light of your life, please just tell me, because I won’t be able to read your new attitude by any subtle changes you might think would signal this change...’

  ‘Assuming I remember our understanding after such a terrible fall...’ she said with smile.

  ‘Well, yes.’ I laughed. ‘But seriously, have we an understanding?’

  ‘What choice do we have, Gallagher? We’ll just have to take our chances. But who knows what the future holds? Things are so unsettled...’

  ‘It’ll work, won’t it, Selina?’

  ‘Yes, Gallagher. It’ll have to,’ she said, with a faint, enigmatic smile.

  ‘Shouldn’t we shake on that? I asked.

  She rolled her eyes at that, but extended her hand and we shook on it.

  After that, we sat in silence for a time.

  The rain sliced down in sheets, pouring off the eaves. We sat, lost in our thoughts.

  After a while I decide I’d had my fill of thinking and turned to Beri. Why waste time thinking when I had the most beautiful girl in t
he world sitting next to me? In the grey-green shadows of the pavilion and her fedora, she seemed very forlorn. My heart ached and I reached over and put my arm around her shoulder – the day had been so seamless in its flow that I did this without thought.

  She tensed, looking sharply at me.

  With the innocence of uncalculated action, I met her gaze, ‘I believe this is the moment you asked me along for...’

  ‘I was thinking more along the lines of someone to play cribbage with,’ she replied quietly, but then, completely unexpectedly, she snuggled closer.

  ‘Oh, and by the way, don’t worry,’ I added, and got an elbow in the ribs for my trouble.

  ‘So why are you looking so lost?’ I asked, after a while.

  ‘It is just that today’s been almost too good. You know that in my heart I’ve already got the Wagner. But every once in a while I come to my senses and realize that I’ve only a one in five chance of getting it. And if I don’t, then what?’

  ‘It’s true that all things being equal you have a one in five chance, but I’m sure Professor Darneby’s support for your appointment will count for a great deal and tip the balance more in your favour. Besides, if your work impressed Darneby, it’ll impress the others as well.’

  ‘This is a prestigious fellowship – the other candidates will certainly be most qualified candidates in the field. And they may also have champions on the selection committee. I didn’t care much back in May when I applied and now I care so much. Too much.’

  ‘I think you’ll get it. But as a sop to my superstitious ancestors, I’ll just add that even if you don’t, there are still those other alternatives you’ve been pursuing. I’ll not even mention Oxford... But if you have your heart set on Cambridge, there must be other opportunities within the University for you. All the materials you’ve supplied to the Wagner committee could certainly be used for another appointment.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking along that line as well. Yet it seems rather late now to begin that process...’ she said with a sigh. ‘Kate would know since she works for the uni’s admission office... I’m sure the material I’ve submitted for the fellowship could be reused but it’s a question of time. I’d have to find a college and a supervising professor to take me at this late date. Then there’s the question of where I’d find the money to pay for it....’

  ‘Minor details. I’m certain the uni would be delighted to have you as a grad student, all the other details can be dealt with, especially given Professor Darneby’s obvious regard. Besides, I think your folks would come around – they must know you’re not happy at the Treasury. Still, I don’t think it’ll matter – you’re the odds on favourite for the Wagner.’

  She just shrugged and snuggled a little closer, lost in her thoughts.

  So we sat together, she with her thoughts while I savoured the new delight of holding her close. We watched the rain come down until it did no more.

  As it cleared, and the radar on my watson confirmed it, we headed back to the flat. I offered to stand her a dinner, but she begged off, now very tired. We stopped at a Chinese takeaway, ordered a few favourites and enjoyed an informal dinner in Kate’s flat. We spent the rest of the evening lounging about, Beri on the sofa, me on a well broken in club chair. We talked of this and that, listened to music, including some of the tunes I had recorded with Evie from my watson and quietly enjoyed the easy comfort of each other’s company. At least I did.

  We’d not bothered to put a light on, so as twilight deepened we lounged in the dimness of the fading day. I’d thought that Beri had drifted off to sleep when she said softly, ‘It is funny. For the last year or two my friends have been moving or falling or being pushed away from me. I’ve not made any new ones, or even wanted to. Now within the space of a few weeks, I’ve made three new, good friends, and it seems like I will be making many more... Life is strange’

  I didn’t know if she was talking to me or just thinking out loud, but when she turned her head and looked to me, I said. ‘Maybe not so strange, Selina. Wonderful, yes, but the very same thing has happened to me.’

  She smiled and turned back to gaze at the ceiling in thought.

  ‘I’m not given to crying on people’s shoulders, as a rule...’ she said quietly, adding with a little laugh, ‘Though that seems to be what I do every time I’m with you... But what I’m going to say now is offered as an explanation I owe you, not to illicit any feeling of sympathy.

  ‘An explanation for what?’

  ‘For the way I’ve treated you – and the way I may very well treat you in the future.

  'Oh, come now. No need for that. We've an understanding already.'

  'Still, I feel I must explain myself, so you'll understand... I don't trust myself you see. If I can explain myself, then things might be easier.'

  'If you wish, but...'

  'I do. You see, when I was young and foolish I gave my heart away one too many times and to the wrong person. Two years ago he handed it back to me in a million pieces. It hurt very much. It still hurts, Gallagher. But I have my mathematics. You don’t need a heart for mathematics so I’ve lived in numbers these past two years. In a way, not unlike your Evie with her music, mathematics has been my whole world while I wait for my heart to heal. The saddest part is that over the past two years I’ve flinched away from everyone who would try to touch my poor shattered heart – even old friends who just wanted to help. I don’t want to hurt and just as you flinch if you think someone is going to touch a very sore part of your body, I flinch even at the possibility of someone touching my poor heart. It’s not healed, Gallagher, not by any means.

  ‘And that brings me to you. You’re unaffected, honest, mostly harmless, everything he wasn’t. I know we talked about these things already. I know we’ve agreed to be just friends, but I know, too, that you could touch my heart. You haven’t tried – you seem to understood me and heed my warnings – which makes you all the more dangerous in a way. I can’t fault you, get angry, and never, quite, get you out of my mind... In Oxford, I flinched, and gave you the short and sharp. But, as I said, I could never quite get you out of mind, so I called you when I really needed a friend, and, well, you’re here with me tonight. As much as I enjoy and appreciate your company, I know, too, that you’re a danger to my shattered heart. So please, please, be very careful, and don’t ever confuse my friendship with love, Gallagher. I’m not ready for love. I’m not capable of it.’

  ‘But you will be, in time. Broken hearts do heal, I believe,’ I said. ‘And I can’t help how I feel about you, but I’ve already promised to heed your warning and I will. I don’t want to ever hurt you, Selina.’

  ‘I know, but even so, even as I’m now determined to mend my poor heart and open it to, well, friendships at least, you must be careful, I may well push you of all people away again...if you should seem too dangerous.’

  And then, before we could say more, Moss was on the other side of the front door talking in a loud voice and making a production about finding the keys to the door. It was unlocked. I could hear Kate trying to quiet him.

  When they entered the dark room, Moss called out, ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘Yes Moss,’ I laughed. And he flipped the light switch.

  ‘See, my dear Kate. At least they are on separate chairs. All you need is a little discretion in matters like these... ouch!’ the latter remark as a result of an elbow in the ribs. Moss just leered at me. I dared not even look at Beri.

  We talked a bit, and then Moss said, ‘Grab your kit, and let’s be off. I don’t know about you, Gallagher, but I’m exhausted. Just want to get home and fall into bed. It’s been a long and eventful day.’

  ‘Oh, pull the other one, Philip. Do you really think I was hatched yesterday? Just be here at ten or your name will be mud,’ Kate replied, tired, but cheerful as always.

  Saying good night to the girls, we headed out into the cool rainy darkness, and proceeded with the program as planned. I met some of the physics grad students a
nd some others as well in the college pub. As a guest, and by far the least advanced of the students, I had little to say, but enjoyed their talk – much of it shop talk that often veered deeply into areas I had yet to explore in my undergrad career – and stood around for the lads, which was appreciated, and in general had a quiet good time. We were back early, by one in the morning, and sober as we needed to be to meet the girls for breakfast at ten the following morning.

  Sunday Morning

  Moss was up early, hardy and hale – far earlier than I would’ve been, had I not been sleeping on his sofa. But the sun was pouring in the window so I showered and shaved, and then we lounged about a bit with a cup of tea and a muffin or two to hold us over until breakfast. Then it was time to go.

  Swinging along the quiet sunlit streets of a Sunday morning, Moss kept up a constant chatter, mixing physics shop talk and tour guide observations. We eventually came around to talking about Beri’s chances for the Wagner.

  ‘You know, it was only this morning that I began to connect dots and some things began to make sense,’ said Moss, airily.

  ‘Huh?’ I said.

  ‘It strikes me that Professor Darneby was playing it rather cagey at lunch yesterday, keeping his involvement in the Wagner to himself until the end, and then inviting Beri and you to the garden party. All a bit odd. I’m not sure what the ethics of interviewing is, but it does seem somewhat unusual to invite only one of the candidates to a party, no matter how much she and her work impressed him, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Like you, I don’t know. I suppose... But so what?’

  ‘Well, this morning it struck me that earlier in the week Darneby had gone on about some very impressive work which had just come across his desk. He was quite excited about it. Of course, I can’t say for certain he was referring to Beri’s papers, but just judging from what was discussed over lunch, I wouldn’t be surprised.’

  ‘So?’

  He stared off into the middle distance for a while and then turned to me with a wink. ‘I’d best say nothing more. I’m not authorized to speak on the record as they say, and well, I’d just be spouting unsupported guesses anyway. But I’ll tell you this much – if I’m right, Selina will be clearing out her desk at the Treasury very soon now. But you’d best keep that between you and me. Don’t want to jinx anything, do we?’

  And he’d say no more about that and a short time later we were at Kate’s door.

  Moss was about to knock, when he hesitated and looked at me. ‘This is the right door, isn’t it, Gallagher?’

  ‘Yes, Moss.’

  He sighed an exaggerated sigh of relief and knocked.

  Moss’s knock brought a muffled ‘Come in, door’s open’. We entered to find the girls seated at the small table just outside the kitchenette.

  They were still in their nightgowns and robes, still fluffy from sleep, tea mugs in hand.

  ‘Good morning boys!’ Kate cheerfully exclaimed, lifting her mug in greeting. ‘My, these physicists are punctual – at least for breakfast,’ this an aside to Beri.

  ‘Good morning, dear Kate, Miss Beri,’ said Moss gravely.

  I contented myself with a sheepish smile and a general ‘Good Morning...’.

  Moss glanced gravely at his watch and remarked lightly, ‘Speaking of breakfast... unless I'm mistaken, did we not arrange to gather here for breakfast at ten?’

  ‘I’m certain you are correct, darling. You usually are in such matters. No matter how many other things you lose track of...’ she replied with a slow, unconcerned smile.

  ‘Then it’s painful, but necessary, for me to point out that while it is indeed nearly ten o'clock, preparations for breakfast do not yet appear to be underway...’

  Kate glanced up at a clock above the electric fireplace and then slowly looking over her shoulder at the empty kitchenette, replied. ‘Correct once again – I believe you’re on a roll this morning, Philip. I did, however, cook some water for tea...’ She picked up the tea pot and swirled it a bit. ‘...But I am afraid only the leaves are left.... But please make yourselves at home. Water’s in the faucet, breakfast fixings in the fridge...’

  Moss turned to me. ‘Be candid with me Gallagher, have we done anything – recently – to get on the wrong side of our girls – anything that is to say, that would warrant this rather cavalier treatment of two starving students in search of a promised breakfast?’

  ‘I’m just an innocent bystander,’ I laughed. ‘I know nothing.’

  ‘Then my darling Kate, you must enlighten me... and as hungry as I am, I will issue a blank apology – just fill in the lines and I will make amends...’

  ‘You’ve done nothing, my dear. But knowing that you boys were going to be carousing all night with those rowdy physics students after you left us, I was uncertain of when you would actually turn up this morning... And in what shape you would be in when you did. Philip has been known to arrive hours late and unable to consume more than strong coffee...’ this last an aside to Beri.

  Moss straightened himself and replied loftily, ‘That is a gross exaggeration. I don’t believe I’ve ever turned down a solid, substantial, English breakfast.’ Then turning to me he added without lowering his voice. ‘What I believe has happened here, Gallagher, is these two lovely downy birds have been chattering away all morning and simply lost track of the time. However, we’d be wise not to mention it, if we want to be fed.’

  ‘Ha!’ Kate gave a dismissive laugh.

  Moss turned to me once again and said, ‘There is one bright spot about this morning, however. Write it in your diary, my friend, because I am sure everyone will demand written proof, when I remind you, on some other sunny Sunday morning ten years from now, when we all are on holiday at the sea together, our children romping around us, that I had predicted it would be so on this very Sunday in Kate’s Cambridge flat.’

  Kate burst out with a loud ‘What! Are you still drunk Philip, or have you gone raving mad?’

  He ignored her outburst. ‘It is my fondest dream that our children will grow up playing together, the best of friends, and perhaps a son or daughter of ours will fall in love with each other, and we will someday be grandparents to Chuck and Vera – all four of us together...’

  I stared at him in alarm and then cast a glance at Beri with trepidation, but she seemed relaxed with a comfortable smile and showed nothing in her eyes but guarded amusement. Hopefully she had taken Moss’s measure, and realized he was just trying to stir the pot with outrageous statements.

  ‘You must be drunk or mad. Such raving...’

  ‘I’m neither, my Dear Kate. I base my statement on observed facts, namely that two lovely rumpled young ladies do not entertain two morally upright young men, while in their panamas and robes, with their hair still fluffy from sleep, and one, I might add, attractively arrayed in striking pink curlers – if they’ve not already decided that these particular young men are their life mates.’

  ‘And who slipped you that nonsense, my dear Philip? It could only have been Queen Victoria herself.’ Kate replied, but with an ever so slight blush and a swing of her leg as she sought to cover her guilty smile.

  ‘Oh my, Kate how charming you look in those slippers,’ Moss said, ignoring her question for the moment.

  Kate laughed and raised her foot, clad in a toothy ‘killer rabbit’ slipper. ‘Last year’s Christmas present from Philip,’ she said to Beri.

  ‘And damned dashing too, my Dear! But returning to your question, if I may. As you well know, I have four older sisters and what I don’t know about the relationship of young women with their beaus can be written on the head of a pin. It is an unwritten but universal rule that you don’t let your young man see you downy and dowdy in your robe and pyjamas unless he’s the one. As you well know, my Dear!’

  She just laughed and waved her ring-less left hand. “Talk is cheap, Philip darling!’

  ‘There’s a natural order in all things, my dear Kate. Killer rabbit slippers first, the ring, the we
dding, kids, grandkids follow, as one’s personal economy allows...’

  Kate laughed and gave up. ‘If you want breakfast this morning Philip, you’d best get making it while Selina and I make ourselves presentable – just in case some morally upright men should happen by....’ And turning to Beri she asked, ‘How would you like your eggs, Selina? Poached, soft boiled...’

  Moss, moving towards the kitchen said, ‘Feel free to order them any way you like, Beri. You’ll be getting them scrambled with bacon... Come along Gallagher – are you of any use in the kitchen?’

  Sunday Afternoon

  Kate and Moss once again had plans for the afternoon, so after a jolly breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon – I’d imagine almost everything’s jolly with Kate and Moss – I said 'Thank you and goodbye 'to them, and then Beri and I headed out to further explore Cambridge.

  Kate had suggested some places to visit and with our watson maps, we leisurely poked about a now sunny Cambridge, full of parks, narrow streets and low row houses – frequently finding our wandering had taken us to the verge of the countryside. I can’t recall anything worth recording, we talked of this or that – or said nothing at all, comfortably lost in thought. Beri had her interview the next day to think about, but beyond my concern for Beri’s success, I was carefree and simply enjoyed being able to turn my head and see Selina Beri next to me. I did that often and never tired of it.

  Mid-afternoon found us back in the town’s centre, stopping to shop for some special treats and a bottle of wine to take back for Kate.

  Since we had more than an hour before my train was scheduled to arrive, we had time to enjoy a pot of tea at Kate's flat. I put the water on, and leaned back against the opposite counter with Beri next to me, and proceeded to prove that a watched pot never boils. While waiting for the steam to rise I noticed our faces reflected in the glass of the cupboards above the counter and took advantage of it to admire Beri, no longer in a hurry for the water to boil. She had been watching the teakettle, buying me more time to admire her, when she looked up unexpectedly and caught and held my gaze in the glass. She gazed at me – or rather my reflection – with a look of deep and sweet affection – the force fields guarding her eyes seemingly down. I could look right into her eyes, into her shattered heart, and the sight took my breath. We must have held that gaze for several seconds and then she looked away with a faint smile.

  I glanced at her beside me, but she was watching the kettle again, and it had begun to steam... I heaved myself straight and stepped over to pour the water over the leaves in the pot. We took the pot and our mugs to the kitchen table, her eyes friendly, but guarded again behind her glasses, making me wonder if it had just been a trick of the light and reflection. Perhaps the simple domestic air of the last several hours – walking, talking, grocery shopping, making tea – had lulled her defences... Or maybe her force fields, like vampires, do not reflect in mirrors.

  ‘Are you comfortable going to the party this evening?’ I asked as we sipped our tea. ‘You know; I could catch a later train back to London. If you’d like.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, but thanks anyway.’

  ‘Work with me on this, Beri. I don’t know why I scheduled such an early train. I don’t want to leave,’ leaving the ‘you’ unsaid.

  She looked at me from across the table, her eyes once more their cool, guarded selves behind her glasses. ‘Too late. I must do some things on my own now. Of course Kate’s a mother hen type, so I don’t have to worry about mixing – she’ll fuss over me and will see that I’m included. And really the only thing I’m going for is to get a feel of Cambridge student life – it’s not like I’m going to be anything but a quiet observer.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think you’re going to be overlooked,’ I said. ‘Last night at the college pub Bill Foster was telling Lewis Noste about your piano playing. The Hot Club of Cavendish will be doing a set at the party, and just to slip you a tip from the stable cat, keep your fingers limber...’

  ‘Really?’ She looked up brightly.

  ‘Yes. Foster was very enthusiastic about your playing and about making the Hot Club a trio, so expect to sit in for a few numbers as a guest player,’ I said.

  ‘Do you know what type of pieces they play?’

  ‘Well they jammed for an hour or more last night, so I can tell you some of the pieces I recognized...’ I said.

  She got up and brought back her watson, bringing up its piano app. I brought mine out from the rucksack and slid it over to her so she could play, quite adeptly, two handed with the two watsons side by side on the table. I named the pieces I recognized and identified others as she played them for me. The hour flew by and then it was time to go.

  Beri insisted on accompanying me to the station and stayed with me on the platform, still talking of this and that until my train arrived. Then she shyly took my hands and said softly, ‘Thank you, Hugh, for everything. You’re the friend I knew you’d be. You’ve made it so much easier for me...’

  ‘Kate and Philip made it easy, you didn’t need me at all, but you know how happy you’ve made me by inviting me along. I’ve had a wonderful weekend. Thank you, Selina.’

  ‘Oh no, you’ve helped me just like I thought you would! You did your job perfectly, I felt comfortable and secure – you often broke the ice, allowing things to flow in a way that they might not have, had I been alone. I owe you, Gallagher,’ she added over a blast of wind and noise that rolled over us with the slowing train. She stepped closer and kissed me.

  Stepping back, she said so softly I could hardly hear her, ‘The last time was supposed to be goodbye so this time it’s just thank you.’ She stepped back and nodded to the train, its doors opening.

  ‘Thank you, Selina. And good luck tomorrow, I’ll be on pins and needles, so let me know how things go, wont’ you?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course... See you later, Gallagher.’

  I smiled, hating to go. I boarded the train and stayed by the door until it closed and the train began to move, we exchanged a wave and then the station slipped away.

  Sunday Evening

  From the moment the train pulled out of Cambridge until I drifted to sleep on my childhood bed in a row house in South Lambeth sometime after midnight, I lived as if intoxicated. The glow of the weekend lingered, its dark matter weight gone, the weight of trying to do everything right, nothing wrong, of new places, new things, meeting new people, and wondering if Selina Beri could be what I imagined her to be. Now like an escaped helium balloon, I drifted above the slowly fading English summer Sunday. The lush green countryside flashed by in a whirling dream as fey any land in any faery book and upon arrival, London with its faint ozone breath, curiously quiet and warmed in the summer sun, embraced me. Shouldering my knapsack, I set out for home on foot, heedless of the walking I’d done with Beri, unwilling to let the day slip away.

  Discovering that I was starving, I stopped at a garishly lit Chinese fast food joint. The pork buns and egg rolls – eaten as I walked – were the best I ever tasted.

  It was that type of evening.

  (Will I ever find that joint again? Or another such evening?)

  I traversed unexplored streets lined with cars plugged into their charging posts, darkening ravines of brick and stucco, drifting in the general direction of home, altering my course as I came upon familiar landmarks. I arrived in twilight. I answered the curiosity of my family with breezy evasions of all but the most obvious facts and ducked into my room for bed. My aching legs were throbbing now...

  Shortly after ten I received a text from Moss.

  Gallagher, Evening was a great success. Beri a favourite of all. She seemed to enjoy herself. Fit right in. I’ll send along a video from my dyary of her opening tune. It will scare the bejeezus out of you. This is just between you and me, Gallagher. Darneby came up to Kate and me later and asked us what we thought of Beri as a person, having spent time with her. Kate was enthusiastic in her praise and I assured him Kate was never wrong i
n these matters, and that I was already on record as saying that I was sure we’d be lifelong friends. The fact that he asked us is significant, Gallagher. I could see his mind working. Remember what we were talking about this morning... Best not say any more – as you’d say, naming names. Keep your fingers crossed. Moss

  I stared at my watson, going over the message again and again – Moss was full of mysteries, damn him.

  About eleven Beri texted me a few lines saying that she had a wonderful time, everybody was friendly, everything went well. She was very tired and could write no more tonight. I replied with a simple good luck tomorrow and good night.

  Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, Moss’s clip of Beri’s piano piece arrived. I watched it on my watson a half a dozen times. Moss had placed himself off to one side of the piano so he could see Beri in profile, the fiddle player, Lewis Noste, a mathematically inclined fellow, and Bill Foster with his guitar beyond her. The piano was in a room with French doors that opened out to a twilit lawn.

  Knowing her admiration of Thelomious Monk, and that she used her piano to explore mathematical ideas, her opening was not all that unexpected – but it still scared – well, the bejeezus, whatever that is – out of me too. She started the tune – a strong, simple rhythmic beat and then she deconstructed it, seeming to hesitate and lose her bearings. She hit wrong notes started and stopped, so that it seemed that she was completely lost. Moss glanced around the room – people were watching her intently, almost embarrassed for her – people she’d only just met but had a very pressing reason to impress, at least one of them. This must have lasted only ten, fifteen seconds or so, but it seemed like an eternity. It was an amazingly bold thing to do – I just shake my head in wonder every time I hear it, but it had a purpose, if I know Selina Beri at all – it served notice that she was something more than a pretty face.

  Several viewings later I watched Lewis Noste’s face as he watched her every move – he never looked away, but neither he nor Bill Foster moved to rescue her. They had to have known...

  But then she launched into the tune, leaving no doubt that not only could she play, but she could swing and swing hard. Midway through Moss and Foster joined her and they drove and swung to the tune’s conclusion. The piece, I found out later, was the Kate Bush tune Cloudbusting, and if I close my eyes toward the end of the tune I can sing, the sun’s coming out. This cheered me, as I believe her choice of music is a window to her soul. When they concluded to a very appreciative audience, her smile just glowed, stray damp curls clinging to her forehead from her effort, and she was applauding her fellow players. It was an electric performance. I doubt I will ever grow tired of watching it.

  I texted Moss, Amazing thanks

  Monday

  I was back in Guilford far too early and in very sorry shape the next morning. I ached all over – too much walking – and I could hardly keep my eyes open to boot. I spent the morning testing and tweaking the newly installed equipment, trying to keep focused on my work to prevent my mind from wondering about Beri and her interview.

  There was a short email from her when I escaped for lunch,

  Gallagher – Interview seemed to go well, I was pretty relaxed considering, and everyone seemed friendly. Nice comments on my papers. I’ll know by 4:00 if I am chosen to be one of the two finalist interviewed tomorrow. Professor Darneby called and asked me to stop by either this afternoon or tomorrow. I’ll stop by after lunch – meeting Kate during her lunch hour – she needs to know how things went. Have to run. Beri

  I spent the afternoon training the small clerical staff on the counter surveillance sensors and software we installed last week. That meant that I could not check my watson every five minutes – I had to wait until the afternoon tea break.

  Moss had sent a cryptic, text message,

  Darneby has just introduced our newest Darneby Trust Scholar.

  Moss, damn him, seemed to delight in mysteries. Dare I put two and two together?

  I finished the afternoon session, though who knows what I told them, and was hardly out the door when my watson chirped. I grabbed it from my pocket – it was Beri.

  ‘Beri! Can I congratulate you?’

  ‘Oh, yes! Gallagher, you’ll never guess what happened!’ she laughed, breathlessly.

  I laughed and let out my drawn breath. ‘Oh, I might be able to guess – Moss sent a cryptic text, but you’ll have to tell me what is going on – he was just messing with my mind!’

  ‘Did that chatty so and so let my cat out of the bag?’ she asked lightly.

  I could hear Moss in the background say ‘I merely informed him that we had a new Darneby Scholar, just being sociable.’

  ‘Tell me all, Beri!’

  ‘I’ll have to call or email you later, Gallagher – Moss has allowed only a minute for this call, we’re all on our way out to celebrate...’

  Moss was saying, ‘Don’t count on it Gallagher, unless Beri can handle her campaign better that I suspect she can...’

  ‘Oh, keep still, Moss,’ Beri laughed. ‘Professor Darneby has offered me a physics fellowship and to be my Supervisor this afternoon when I visited him. He said I was one of the two finalists for the Wagner, but he wanted me to consider his offer as well... No need to make a decision until after I know how I fared tomorrow, but I jumped at the chance and accepted right off...’

  ‘She’s no fool, Gallagher!’ said Moss in the background. ‘Time’s up Beri ... let me have that for a moment...’

  ‘Say Gallagher,’ Moss continued now on Beri’s watson. ‘I don’t know how the connections work from Guildford, but why not come up. The party will have likely moved to my digs by the time you can get here. I’m sure I’ll be able to enjoy your singing by that time, old chap!’

  I could hear Beri say, “Oh give that back to me... Ignore him Gallagher. I’m going to stand the crew a nice quiet supper and then I’m going to get some sleep. It’s been a long weekend and I’ve a whole list of people to visit and things to do tomorrow. It may be Wednesday before I head home. I’ll talk or write you later... All right I’m done...’ this last to Moss, no doubt.

  ‘Have fun Beri, and you know I’m so happy and proud of you!’

  ‘Thanks, Gallagher, I’ll fill you in on all the details later.’

  Tuesday

  I waited up till nearly 11:00 in my hotel room, but drifted off after that. Beri sent a long email that arrived by my first break on Tuesday morning.

  Hi Gallagher,

  Sorry, Moss is a force to be reckoned with. I ended up staying out far later than I had planned – too late to do anything but fall into bed. So here are all the details I promised you yesterday.

  After lunch with Kate, I walked over to Professor Darneby’s office. He warmly welcomed me and settled me into one of the large leather club chairs. He said he was happy to inform me that I had been selected as one of the two finalists for the Wagner Fellowship. He gave me the details for my second interview. ‘That takes care of the first item of business’, he said and then sitting down at his desk he went on to explain that he had another, more personal reason, for wanting to see me.

  He explained that his father had made a pile of money in business, and that Professor Darneby had managed to secure some of the ‘loot’ for an endowment with which he has sole discretion on how and when it is distributed. ‘As my father says, it’s my inheritance,’ he explained with a laugh.

  He went on to say that he usually uses it for a fellowship for a physics student when he sees someone who he believes will bring a unique quality to the department and who might not otherwise get into the program. He said that the Cavendish Lab is currently finishing work on an advanced detector, SPARC, for the improved Ultra Large Hadron Collider in Geneva. Before it gets up and running, he’d like a new mathematical framework to fully exploit this detector. In addition to his current maths orientated student, Lewis Noste, he snagged one Edward Simonette, an American mathematical physics grad student, to wor
k as a research fellow for a year to work on this project as well. ‘And then,’ he said, ‘when your application and your paper using SLHC data came across my desk for the Wagner Fellowship, well, it seemed like the hand of Providence... And not only for our jazz program,’ he added with a laugh.

  ‘I’m sure, Miss Beri’ he said, ‘you can see where this is heading. Since you already have all your paperwork in and have been approved by the Board of Graduate Studies, I would like to offer for your consideration, what is known as the Darneby Scholar Fellowship. I would be your supervisor in your studies in physics.’ And before I could say anything, he hurried on to say that truth in advertising required him to note that high energy physics had ‘hit a wall,’ despite billions spent, and was split into warring theoretical camps, making the field rather unattractive to new talent. While he hoped that would soon change once the Ultra Collider gets up and running in a year or so, he said he was confident that the work his team would be doing for the SPARC detector and the ULHC would be so ground-breaking that I might look forward to positions in either the physics or maths once I earned my degree. He then quickly added that he did not expect an answer that day. He only wanted me to know about it now, so that I would not consider it some sort of consolation prize if he was able to offer it to me after tomorrow, and he added with a grin, ‘I would rather not risk losing you to the Wagner without at least presenting my proposal to you. And I should say that several times this morning at the lab it was brought to my attention that I have not awarded a Darneby Fellowship for some time. I had to agree with them, Miss Beri. I believe that I can say that you would be warmly welcomed into our program, should you decide to take up my offer. But I want to emphasize again, that you may have two Fellowships to choose from, so please wait until after you know the results tomorrow to make any decision.’

  I can’t tell you how wonderful I felt, listening to him. I could hardly wait to for him to stop hedging so that I could tell him that I would love to be in his program. I believe my work with the collider data has laid the groundwork for a fairly easy adjustment to mathematical physics, which I’m confident I'll enjoy – not the least because I know he sincerely wants me in the program, and that his other students, who I met last night, I think will welcome me as well.

  So as soon as he paused, I thanked him for the offer, told him how much it meant to me and then told him that I would love to join his program, that there was no need to wait until after the interview tomorrow. He seemed surprised – but very pleased as well. I said my only concern was how to withdraw from the Wagner Fellowship at this late date without appearing ungrateful or flighty. He laughed and said not to worry. He would take any blame for having ‘poached’ me, but he was certain that everything would be fine with the rest of the committee – the other finalist for the Wagner was very qualified in maths, though less so in physics, so that in this way they would not only be spared a hard decision, but will have gathered both candidates into the Cambridge fold.... first choices both.

  He had some papers of intent for me to sign, called Kate to set up appointments for me to see the proper people to arrange all the details of my fellowship, housing and such. I dashed off a brief letter thanking them for their consideration but withdrawing my application for the Wagner. After that he took me around to introduce me to all the staff and the students that were working over the summer, most of whom I had already met. It was all very jolly. That brings you up to date and I’m finally getting very sleepy. Sorry that you’re not here. I feel as happy as I did when I finished my last final at Oxford and I wish you were here to share it with me.

  As I told you Sunday, having you with me over the weekend was wonderful and oh, so very helpful. Thanks again. I’ll write later with more details.

  Beri

  Beri called late Wednesday afternoon from the train station. She talked about the day, mostly running here and there to complete her enrolment, and I asked her about her music program at Darneby’s. She said that Foster, Noste and she had slipped away to work on the program for a half an hour or so – deciding on the pieces, playing through some of the parts... She’d played the original version of the Cloudbursting piece from her watson and they had then gone over how they were to approach it – both Lewis and Bill being quite accomplished players they picked it up easily, so they go by nicely without a lot of practice for the handful of tunes they did, so ‘it was not as off the cuff as it may have appeared...’

  I gathered my courage and asked her if she would like to get together this weekend, since we’d both be in London. I told her not to consider it a date – I was completely unfamiliar with that process, but that I would be happy to fall into any plan she might propose. She hedged – not unexpectedly – saying she’d have to see how things fell out at home and work and then she said her train was arriving so she had to go. She’d call on Thursday or Friday to let me know what was up.

  Beri called Thursday evening while I was wandering aimlessly about Guildford in the warm twilight, unwilling to retire to my hotel room until I was tired enough for sleep. My heart skipped a beat just seeing who was calling. I answered cheerfully, but braced myself for bad news. Everything seems different when I’m not with her, far iffier, and I can’t exactly put my finger on why. We’re so comfortable with each other when we’re together, but when viewed from any distance other than in her company, we seemed such an unlikely pair. And then too, we’d been walking hand in hand that afternoon in Oxford right up to the time she delivered the short and sharp with a kiss. And that seemed in character. Yet she isn’t the girl she’d been reputed to be when I’d admired her from afar, but I know so little about these things. I couldn’t trust my judgement, especially since I know it’s coloured by so much wishful thinking.

  We exchanged friendly greetings and small talk for a half a minute until she came around to the reason for her call. She said her folks were taking her out to dinner and then to Ronnie Scott’s on Saturday night and then on a family outing on Sunday so that the only time she had for me was on her customary Saturday walk. I was welcome, if I cared to join her. I told her I’d love to walk, and spend the day with her. We arranged to meet at the Golders Hill’s north gate at ten. I’d give her a quick call to give her my bus route ID number so she’d not have to wait, and then she was ready go. I tried to ask her a few questions about how things had gone at home, but she said we had all Saturday to talk about all of that, and that she was pretty exhausted, having put in a full day’s work. Besides, she said, she really hates to talk on the phone, to be just a voice in someone’s palm and that may well be true. So we said goodbye and see you and hung up – all in all our conversation lasted 3 minutes 24 seconds. But I was seeing Beri Saturday and that was all that counted.

  Saturday, Again

  I stepped off the bus into the warm milky light of an August morning on Golders Hill and looked for her. I saw her coming through the green shadows and bright spots of slanting sunlight that patterned the sidewalk with a sort of weary, (or was it wary?) nonchalance. My heart gave its accustomed lurch. She was dressed much as I'd first met her, in her own style, in an off-white blouse, and a black batik patterned scarf to match her skirt, with a black flat cap, black canvas shoes and white ankle socks.

  She gave me a tentative smile when she saw me, which frightened me, a little. I'd a premonition. But I smiled back.

  ‘To steal a line from Moss, you look dashing this morning, Beri!’ I said as I dodged the last of the pedestrians between us. ‘And my, what nice legs!’

  ‘Good morning Gallagher,’ she replied, and with a rather half-hearted attempt at a scowl, ‘And knock it off.’

  ‘Just saying.’ I replied and dared a brief, kiss on her cheek – just friends – as we stood in the green shadows next to the park fence. Up close she looked tired, happy, and yet, as she watched me from under the brim of her cap, wary as well, which put me on guard. Just friends, I told myself.

  ‘I’m so happy to congratulate you on your fellowshi
p, new friends, a successful debut in the Hot Club of Cavendish. And welcome to the pinnacle of all sciences, physics.’

  ‘Ha! Phil handed me the same line.’

  ‘It’s true. Be nice and I’ll show you the physicists’ secret handshake...’

  ‘I can’t wait, but Gallagher, I believe we agreed to a walk,’ she said. 'Let's walk.'

  ‘Yes. Of course. But first, may I congratulate you on your Cambridge success, with a kiss?’

  Her eyes sought mine, and held them for a long moment. And then, without a word, she stepped closer, leaned against me and she kissed me.

  Stepping back, watching me, ‘Happy now?’

  ‘Oh, my, yes,’ I said. ‘Really, I’m happy for you, and proud. I hope you’re as happy as I am.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘Very. Oh, I have my spells of be careful what you wish for because it may come true, and get scared at what I’ve gotten myself into, but that’s to be expected. Still, let’s walk now, shall we? I need to unwind and walk out all those worries.’ she said, turning away and setting out.

  ‘You do look a bit tired – beautiful, but tired. Still, given a very full and eventful week that’s hardly surprising.’

  ‘That, and yesterday’s lunch.’

  ‘Yesterday’s lunch? Over indulge, did we?’ I asked as I hurried to fall in step with her.

  ‘I stood my office girlfriends' lunch yesterday to celebrate my fellowship, and we celebrated.’

  ‘Ah...’ I grinned. I’d not have expected that of her. ‘Morton kick about it?’

  ‘We’re pals,’ she laughed, crossing her fingers. ‘Morton didn’t officially see anything. He’s been ever the gracious winner. Quite accommodating.’

  ‘Yesterday your last day?’

  ‘No. I’m working through next week. But my friends were so excited about my escape that we decided not to wait. Morton was kind enough to back date my resignation letter a day, so I’ll have given the fortnight notice. And since my family leaves for France on our annual holiday to the South of France next Saturday, I figured I might as well make tea and file for one last week – I rather like having a little money of my own.’

  ‘Well, I’m going abroad next week too, three weeks in Scotland to be exact. Three weeks of work, of course. If we have jobs in the South of France, I’m not getting them. Guildford and Glasgow is more my lot,’ I added.

  ‘I imagine Guildford’s quite charming in the summer.’

  ‘I envy you, you need to imagine Guildford,’ I replied.

  ‘Oh, it can’t be that bad...’

  ‘Not bad, boring...’ I said. ‘anyway, I’m glad Morton’s been so accommodating.’

  ‘Oh, he has little choice, really. Without me in the office he has no hostage, so he needs my goodwill. He knows who I am and who’s behind me, after all. The favours my mother called in trumped his, so if I left bitter and vindictive, his future budgets and career might well be blighted by the powers behind my appointment.’

  ‘Quite the bare knuckle business, this civil servant gig,’ I remarked. ‘Never imagined that.’

  ‘It’s an intricate balancing act between civil servants and politicians when you get above a certain level. Trust me, I grew up in a house filled with an atmosphere of political ambition and intrigue, seeing that my mother’s an influential party official and very social. And, of course my father’s a senior civil servant as well, so I’ve a pretty good idea how things work.

  ‘I do think Morton was playing it pretty close to the wind with me, banking on the belief that I’d not risk making things worse for myself by complaining. If I cared, he might come to have regretted that over time. Luckily for him, I didn’t give a damn about his Office of Budgetary Statistical Analysis so I’ll not bother to make waves. But he can’t be certain, so turning a blind eye to a slightly long and wet lunch yesterday by the clerical staff and the fact that we didn’t do much more than giggle the rest of the afternoon is simply a matter of grinning and bearing it. We got pretty happy... I’ll miss them... They made it all bearable,’ she added with a sigh. ‘But between the week and the lunch, I do need to clear my head. I hope you’re up for a long walk.’

  ‘After last week, I expected nothing less. Glad everything worked out at work. How did things go at home?’

  ‘Quite well. I think when they came to understand that while I was interviewing for a prestigious fellowship I was hijacked by a Cavendish professor for a key project involving a billion-pound international physics experiment, they’ve finally come around to realizing that I’m not just a silly girl with a knack for numbers. I’m a silly girl with a real talent for numbers, who’d be wasting her talent in a Treasury cubbyhole. And to be fair, they must have realized I wasn’t happy at the Treasury, so I was welcomed home as a conquering hero. And I made them happy by agreeing to go along with them on holiday next week since I’ll no longer be employed. Of course, it’s no sacrifice on my part – I’m going to need a fortnight in the South of France to get my head cleared for the work ahead.

  ‘One Hugh Gallagher is a different story, however. You didn’t go over all that well.’

  ‘Huh. Me? What do I have to do with anything?’

  ‘I seem to recall you accompanying me to Cambridge last weekend.’ she said, casting me a sideways glance and grin.

  ‘As a friend. You made that clear, didn’t you?’

  ‘Of course I did. And you were a perfect friend. However, you realize that during that whole long weekend in Cambridge, we’d not done anything I couldn’t tell my parents...’

  ‘Exactly. So what’ve they got to be concerned about?’

  ‘Well, you know parents. They want to know everything, and since you were the perfect gentleman, I could tell my parents a completely unedited version of the weekend. And really, why not? So I did.’

  ‘I still don’t see anything to be alarmed about,’ I protested, though why I cared, I couldn’t quite put my finger on. ‘You are of age, and can go to Cambridge with whom you care to, I’d think.’

  ‘Yes Gallagher, I am of age and I can and did go to Cambridge with whom I pleased, but I’m afraid that my going off to spending a weekend with a boy, and one previously unknown to them, raised some red flags with them. And I have to tell you that it didn’t make them appreciably more comfortable when I assured them that you were just a friend, only to admit that I’d just met you once or twice while studying for my last exam, and then only for a few hours. And then there were those questions I couldn’t answer about you. Basic questions like, where does he live? Who are his parents and what do they do? How old is he? Is he handsome?’

  ‘Certainly you could’ve answered that one...’ I protested.

  ‘Maybe, but that would have only raised more red flags, wouldn’t it?’ she laughed.

  I laughed too. ‘Well, I suppose, if you were honest...’

  ‘And the list goes on, does he have any children, or ex-wives in his past? Is he politically acceptable? Does he have a trust fund? Did I know anything about you at all?

  ‘I told them that you were a nice boy and I liked you and that you worked as a project manager during school holidays, but that only served to put the trust fund under a cloud. And why you, didn’t I have a lot of other, older friends that I could have called on? Were you really just a friend? Why aren’t you telling us more about him? They said my answers, or rather the lack of answers, simply didn’t add up. I said maybe. But I didn’t care...’ she said with a light laugh.

  ‘Why do I get the feeling that you were enjoying yourself?’

  She just gave me a wide smile, and a shrug. ‘They didn’t like it when I wouldn’t tell them anything about the weekend before I went, and now they don’t like it when I tell them everything. There’s no pleasing them. What can a girl do?’

  ‘Well, I can answer their questions so that...’

  ‘No.’ she replied airily. ‘I know all I need to know about you. I feel no need to know the answers to my parent’s questions. But don’t worry, w
hat my parents think of you is nothing you have to worry about. I certainly don’t. I’m not much of a rebel, but I’m not a little girl anymore.’

  ‘Well, I suppose.’ I said with a shrug. ‘Though I kind ‘a wish you’d not use me to annoy them.’

  ‘And why is that?’ she asked brightly, as if she didn’t know.

  ‘I think you enjoy teasing people, Selina Beri.’

  ‘I do,’ she laughed. ‘You might want to remember that.’

  I gave up. ‘Tell me all about your time in Cambridge after I had to leave.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve told it so many times to so many people, I don’t feel like going through the whole tale yet again. You know so much more about it than everyone else, so just ask questions, and we’ll just wing it.’

  I’ll not give a verbatim transcription of all that we talked about, since we talked and walked for almost two hours discussing all that transpired after I had to leave.

  I should give a quick overview of the project that Beri has been invited to join. The SPARC project is a large high energy particle detector that has been designed to work with the soon to be completed Ultra Large Hadron Collider (the ULHD) near Geneva Switzerland. It is a joint project of the Cavendish Laboratory and ten other university programs from several countries. It is designed to detect around a dozen theoretical sub atomic particles that the standard model suggests will be created when once the ULHD gets up to its designed operating energy levels. Each of these possible particles has at least one mathematical model designed to pick the particle out of all the resulting debris of the smashed atoms. What Professor Darneby has done is create a small ad hoc grad student working group, of which Beri is part of, and tasked them with coming up with a single unified mathematical model that could be used to identify all the possible particles and used interactively to identify the relationships between these still theoretical particles. It is clearly an impossible task. But Professor Darneby holds the theory that people are at their creative peak in their 20’s, when they know enough to work on their own, and are naive enough not to recognize the impossible when they confront it. Many of the important physics discoveries of the last century were made by the giants of the field when they were still in their 20’s or early 30’s. Darneby wants to see if three brilliant young mathematical physicists working together on the SPARC analytical framework project could do the impossible.

  Lewis Noste has been working on this project for the last two years and according to Beri, he’s made a significant dent in the project.

  ‘I was amazed,’ she said, ‘at what he’s done so far. I felt bad seeing all the work he’s put into it, only to have me and the American suddenly thrust into his project. I asked him if he resented it. He told me, by no means. He still had five years, seven months, give or take two months of work ahead of him, if he kept working on it, and not only would his schedule miss the target date of the SPARC start up, but he thought he might grow weary of it...’ she laughed.

  ‘Lewis is rather a curious person. I don’t know if you met him or not...’

  ‘He was at the gathering Saturday night, so I’ve met him. Rather long winded, I seem to recall.’

  ‘Exactly. He doesn’t use one word where ten can be used to nail down any ambiguity that the one word might allow. And that’s exactly how he does his maths. He showed me his work. Every step, every line of mathematical logic is built up, precise step by precise step, every formulation unassailably constructed and grounded in exhaustive proofs. You get to the end and all you can say is, well, that’s obvious. But of course, it wasn’t until he discovered it and constructed a six lane motorway to the conclusion. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not criticizing him or his work – it’s impressive, compelling, and exhausting. He’s made an impressive start in devising a framework for the project and knows all about the various particles that the detector is being built to detect. And he knows all about the physics behind the math, something I don’t. Professor Darneby has great faith in him, but finds him frustrating as well, since he’s unwilling to publish any of his work as he doesn’t consider it complete until the whole of it is complete, in five years, seven months. I know I’d have published some of it. It deserves to be published, even if it is just a mile stone on the journey. After all, that’s what science is about, a journey of discovery. But of course, it’s his work and his choice.

  ‘But as I said, he seemed to welcome the help and seemed very welcoming to me.’

  She caught me smiling. ‘What are you grinning about?’ she asked, trying to keep a straight face.

  ‘I saw on Moss’ dyary video of your garden party concert how he was watching you,’ I winked. ‘playing the piano. I’ve seen that look many a time. In fact, I’ve seen it in my own mirror if I should catch myself thinking of you in front of it.’

  ‘Jealous already, Gallagher?’

  ‘I’m extremely jealous of how much time this Noste is going to get to spend with you. And all the time I won’t.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Well, I don’t wish to appear cocky or unkind, but I have to say that if I could pick my rivals, Lewis Noste would be close to the top of that list,’ I said. ‘But then, who knows, perhaps a fiddle is the key to your heart.’

  ‘Who knows? We’ll see, won’t we?’ she replied airily.

  ‘Well, what do you know about the other member of your maths trio, the American?’ I asked.

  ‘That would be Edward Simonette. Professor Darneby saw a published paper of his immediately invited him to do a year’s post doc work on the SPARC analytic project. As it turns out, he’s only just finished his course work and hasn’t started on his dissertation yet. However, when he learned what the project was all about and what Professor Darneby wanted us to do, he was so anxious to be a part of it that he’s putting off writing his dissertation for a year and is coming over as a research student on a Darneby grant. I gather he’s a few years older, 27 or 28 years old, since it’s a six-year program in the States, but then he’s a genius.

  ‘I had a chance to read his paper and I have to say that it sent me to the heights and depths at the very same time. He hasn’t arrived yet, so I don’t know what he’s like in person, but his maths is like, well, think of an anti-Noste. Where Noste uses the equivalent of ten words where one might do well enough, Simonette uses just the absolutely right one word where most people would need ten words. I read his paper in awe. His work has an elegance that only a mathematician could sense, but it’s just, well, awesome. Noste’s work is massive, solid and unchallengeable, but Simonette’s is spare, elegant and equally unchallengeable...’ she said, shaking her head and went on to talk at some length about the work of Simonette, Noste, and her conversations with Professor Darneby and what he said about why he wanted her in the project.

  ‘He told me, he knew he didn’t have a matched pair with Noste and Simonette, he had a dray horse and a race horse, and while he knew he had the raw talent, he wasn’t sure that they’d be able to pull together effectively. That’s why when he saw my senior project and other published papers, and especially after talking to me and my approach to maths, he knew he had found the very person he needed to balance the team. You see, I often intuitively see my answers and jump ahead of my proofs to get to there and then must work my way back to solid ground. My mathematical formulae are original, but their structure is, well, often rather ramshackle. They work, but they’re neither very elegant nor absolutely unchallengeable. Darneby feels that not only will our three unique approaches find a structure that will work, but they will be, well, “self-healing” to use his word. He feels that the weakness in each of our individual approaches will be automatically corrected by a combination of all our approaches, so we have what is needed to do the impossible.’

  Beri talked about some concerns she felt in trying to live up to Darneby’s confidence and her determination not to let him or her fellow students involved in the analytical project, and the SPARC project in general, down. Still, compared to the Be
ri I knew the night before her last exam, or even last weekend, she was now positively carefree, so I didn’t have to do more than put in an encouraging word or two in here and there, and before long we were off and talking on other subjects, the people she’d met and events that she’d experienced in Cambridge.

  After so much talking, we strolled in a very comfortable silence – that rather wary undercurrent of our initial meeting had long since worn off. We’d left the park some time back and were wandering the leafy residential streets of Camden Town when Beri said, ‘Have you given any thought to what all this means to us?’

  Us. I glanced at her, smiling, but she was looking ahead.

  ‘I have, occasionally, given some thought to you, even us...’ with a slight emphasis on us.

  She cast a sidelong glance, ‘And?’

  I sighed. ‘I've a feeling ours is a quantum relationship. I dare not define us without changing it. So I haven't. Instead, I've considered what I have to do to make any sort of relationship possible.'

  'And what do you have to do?'

  'Well, hanging out with you and Moss made me realize that if I hope to continue to be part of your life, I need make it not only to grad school, I need to become a respected physicist. And that means that I need to put a great deal more time and effort into my studies. Time and effort for both of us.

  ‘Given the distance between us, and the time and effort we'll both be putting into our studies, well, I have very modest expectations of us, at least in the next few years. I don't see this as precluding our continued friendship. And of course, I'd hope that slowly that friendship would deepen over the years... And well, if wishes were horses and beggars rode, I'd hope for more than friendship. But I haven't forgotten what you said last weekend, so I'll try to keep those wishes well hidden.'

  To my surprise, she took my hand and pulled me close. 'Thank you.'

  'For what?' I asked, looking into her now more carefree eyes.

  ‘I was afraid we’d have very different expectations, and well, things would then go very badly between us.’

  ‘Beggars would be riding horses and pigs would be flying if I expected more,' I replied. Hope, on the other hand...

  'Yes, Gallagher, I'm sorry, but that is the case,' she replied. 'The thing is, well, even with your modest expectations, I hope you'll understand...'

  ‘Oh... Or should I say Oh, no?’ I said lightly, trying to ignore the light touch of panic in the pit of my stomach. We were, after all, still walking hand in hand, and I'd never been more comfortable with her. But then we’d been doing much the same thing while walking to the Broad in Oxford...

  'I hope you'll just say Oh. The issue, Gallagher, is that I don't know what to make of you. You don't fit any of my familiar patterns. And, well, like you, I feel there's this quantum element in our relationship. I can't define your role in my life. I told the girls you were a ticking time bomb, but that’s not quite accurate. You’re an unstable element that can't stay unstable for long. Something must give. You must decay into something more coherent, but what that is, when it will happen, or how, I can’t predict.’

  ‘Must I really explode or decay?’ Watching her closely. She had warned me that she might flinch again, and this seemed it, sort of.

  ‘I’m afraid so. I have examined both my heart and my head. I like and trust you, far more than the few days I've known you would justify. But you have to know, there’s no passion in that affection. None. Given the shape of my heart, that’s hardly surprising. I doubt I’m capable of falling in love now. And yet I find myself treating you like a lover. Believe me, I've shared more with you than with anyone but my oldest friends. I don't regret it, but I'm afraid it will give you the wrong signals, especially since we would be so far apart and misunderstandings could so easily arise. And well, drama is the last thing I need when I'm starting a new phase of my life, and I feel a great deal of pressure to live up to Professor Darneby's expectations.’

  ‘Yes, of course. But I'm not asking, or expecting anything more than a friendship. How much drama is there in that? What's to go bang?’

  She gave me a wry look. ’You’re saying that if we were to fall in love it would be no big deal.’

  She had me there. I laughed. ‘It’s my wildest daydream, but if we are friends already, wouldn't it be easy, over time to deepen it to love?’

  ‘Being in love with each other would not distract you from your studies? We could stay in love just by seeing each other every few months. Do you really think we could tend both our love and our studies as they needed to be tended? Staying apart, for months at a time, for years, to complete our studies would put a great strain on our love, while getting together often would put a great strain on our programs.’

  She had me again. I sighed. ‘Okay, I see your point, but seeing how busy and involved we both expect to be in our studies, I'd say the risk would be rather low of such a desirable complication at this point.’

  She shrugged. 'I don't know. But what if things turn ugly? I know that when I get involved in my studies, in my work, I get very annoyed by any distractions. Phone calls, texts... anything that demands my attention... You know what I was like this past year. I hope to avoid the extremes of that, but even so, I know I'll be very involved in Cambridge. Perhaps too involved to be involved with you in Oxford, no matter how well-meaning your intentions are. I'd hate for things to go bang over little, pointless misunderstandings.'

  I opened my mouth to speak, but she held a finger to her lips.

  ‘You know how outgoing Philip was last weekend. Well, Kate tells me that once the term starts she sees Philip mostly on weekends, and then half the time he’s little more than a lump to have to move around because he’s either working or lost in thought. So you can imagine how I’ll be once I get involved in the project. I’m impulsive, and I'm afraid I'll resent and impulsively respond harshly to outside distractions, even from you. That’s the dark side of my impulsiveness. And if we're not together, separated by distance and the ambiguities of the written word, misunderstanding and hurt feelings should arise, the quantum element of our friendship might cause it to blow up. I don't want to risk that.’

  I found I could say nothing. Arguing with her now would accomplish nothing. She’d made up her mind already. 'I trust your judgement, Selina. What do you want me to do?'

  She gave me a considered, but unreadable look. ‘Yesterday at lunch, I asked my girlfriends what I should do. They came up with a plan in just a few minutes. The solution was obvious, to them. I needed to resolve the uncertainty of my feelings about you. I needed to decide to keep you or throw you back. I said I couldn't because I hadn't gotten over James Marten. My heart wasn't ready for a new love. They said, well, mourning over a bloke for two years was enough. I needed to put Marten behind me and that I’d be able to do that with you.

  ‘This is two bottles of wine into our long lunch, mind you, so it doesn’t have to make sense while sober. But the essence of their solution was that I could resolve the lingering unhappy effects of my love affair, celebrate my new career in Cambridge and decide what to do with you in one stroke since I was already going to spend today with you. All I needed to do was to book a room in a small hotel and get well and thoroughly laid by you. Getting laid, they assured me, by a sweet and no doubt eager boy, would be a wonderful way to celebrate my good fortune, work off all my stress and straighten out my wounded pride. And by then, by the end of the afternoon, I’d be in the possession of enough facts to decide if you were worth keeping or throwing back. QED.’

  I just stared at her. This wasn't going where I'd expected it to go. Not in a million years.

  She cast me a darting glance and went on. ‘Now, I’m a pretty shy and old-fashioned girl. I’ve had only one lover, and he dumped me two years ago, but I must admit that the more we talked, the more attractive the plan seemed. Of course I had objections, but by the time we arrived back at the office, the girls were so fired up with the idea that they compiled a list of small
hotels in the area, and even called the desk clerks to ask if they were cool with the idea of letting rooms to couples without luggage. They also made a list of chemist shops near these hotels just in case you happened to be unprepared.’

  She sighed. ‘Now we weren’t, in the strictest sense of the word, sober, but it did seem like an attractive idea at the time. But well, you understand that I’m coming up on a big “but on sober consideration” don’t you?’ she added with a glance.

  ‘Good Lord, Selina I hope so!’ I said, hitching up my gaping jaw and drawing a breath.

  ‘You hope so?’

  ‘I love you dearly, but well, I'm pretty shy and old-fashioned myself. I've never taken a hotel room for an afternoon.’

  ‘You do know how to make love, Gallagher, don’t you?’

  ‘If I didn't, I know where to find out how. But making love with the girl of my dreams, in a hotel room on a Saturday afternoon, knowing I'm going to be thrown back if I somehow failed my audition in some way – well, talk about stress. My only hope might be to be such a total disaster that it’d be too hilarious to be taken as anything but a joke. Something we could laugh about for the rest of our lives.’

  We’d stopped and stood facing each other. She watched me with a curious smile. I was almost certain she was just kidding me, but I didn’t dare, for any number of reasons I hadn’t the time to sort out, make that assumption. And, well, you'd have to be a bigger fool than I to turn down making love to Selina Beri...

  ‘But give me a hotel number and I’ll book us a room. I’m a fool, but not a big enough fool to refuse making love to you. I believe you’re just kidding, but I’ll take this chance to say that I do love you, that I want you, and I want to love you my whole life long, not just for one Saturday afternoon. I’d rather not risk that dream on a turn of a card, or a roll of the dice, but I’m yours to command.’

  She shook her head and smiled, ‘Yes, Gallagher, I’m teasing you. There is a certain logic in the idea, and perhaps, if we weren't going to be so far apart and so wrapped up in our studies – for years, really – it would've been worth some – sober – consideration. But as it stands, well, I wanted you to know that I have thought of you in that light, even if I was more than a little intoxicated at the time. Especially in light of my sober plan...’

  (Oh, no...) I thought. 'Which is?'

  'I think we need to break up,' she said, simply, quickly adding, 'For now – for the next term, maybe longer. With a promise of renewing our friendship when I can see my way clear...'

  'You've confused me. How are we defining breaking up? If we're only friends to begin with. We are still friends?'

  'Yes, of course. And we'll remain friends. But I need some time without you. Time to get settled into my new life. Time to meet new friends, to delve into my studies and Professor Darneby's project. To start fresh and put my last, rather unhappy years at Oxford behind me. You're part of that past, and part of my future too... But as I said, you're such an unstable element in my thinking. I just don't want to deal with it now. If we were both in Cambridge, it would be one thing, but apart, too many misunderstandings, too many distractions can arise, so I want to put even our friendship on hold. Know that it exists, but just let it be idle for a time. Put it in a box on the shelf. We'll have plenty of work to keep us busy in the meanwhile... You understand, don't you?'

  Really, it could've been a lot worse. And in many ways, it wasn't much worse than just going along as we were now – if I was too seriously attending to my studies. A long distance relationship would only complicate things for me, too. And, I suppose, in the end, a friendship with Selina would, in my mind, at least, be not just a friendship.

  ‘Yes, of course,' I said, 'I’ll do as you ask. This has been a dream come true for me. I want to continue to be your friend, and if this is what it takes, I'm happy to comply.

  'You’re my first and dearest new friend, and I hate to be so selfish. But you're something else as well. I don't know what, but I know I can't deal with that now. We’ll have time to settle someday.’

  'Someday. Still, it'd be nice if we could keep in touch and get to know each other better on a low key. An occasional email, not love letters, just updates about what’s going on in our lives, written and read when we have a spare moment or two. And I’d understand if you didn't have time to write often.’

  She shook her head “no”. 'If I didn’t write or didn't write often enough I’d feel guilty, or annoyed that I felt I had to write. And then there’s the possibility something written being misunderstood. We have this easy relationship, let’s not risk it.’

  ‘Alright, whatever you think best. I'll wait. You're worth it.'

  ‘Thank you, Hugh, for understanding.’

  ‘I can’t help but be understanding. I’m a beggar on horseback, and I know it. I'll not complain. Right. That's settled. So what do you say? I’m thinking maybe we should celebrate that after all... Ouch! You needn't have kicked me in the shins. It was your idea,’ I exclaimed, laughing. 'Besides, I was about to suggest I treat you to lunch.'

  ‘No you weren’t. But I’ll take you up on the lunch idea. I’ve worked up an appetite with all this talking. I’m thinking of a nice cafe deli on Golders Green Road.’

  'Right, but, I think we need to seal our understanding with a kiss,' I said, boldly. 'Unless you're afraid one more little kiss will set off this explosion you fear.'

  ‘I think that's still a low level risk,' she said with an all too confident grin, but leaned in and kissed me.

  ’Now,' she said, gently pushing me back, 'We’ve still half an hour’s walk ahead of us. Once we start walking.’

  ‘I’m in no great hurry,’ I said, but she was on her way, so I could only fall in step with her as she started down the road.

  Beri found the cafe and we had panini sandwiches and a glass of wine in the backyard garden of the cafe. (But only one glass. She wouldn’t let me talk her into a second, for some reason.) Since I wasn’t wearing my dyary glasses, she let me take a few photos of her in the garden. And to get a picture of both of us together, I set my watson on our table to take a video. As I slipped around to sit next to her, she said with a straight face, ‘He photoshopped himself into this...’ But when we stopped laughing, she did kiss me sweetly. However, everyone who knows me will still think it was all photoshopped. And I can’t say I’d blame them.

  Afterwards we set out again on a long, leisurely stroll, along quiet residential streets dappled in sunlight and shade. We wandered eastwards and then around and through Hampstead Heath, talking or not as the mood took us.

  Around 3:00 Beri’s watson chirped. She took it out of her bag and looked to see who was calling. ‘Sheri. One of my office friends,’ she laughed.

  ‘Going to answer it?’

  ‘No. You know why she’s calling, don’t you? I think we’ll just let her imagination run wild.’

  When Sheri’s call reached Beri’s voice mail we heard her say, ‘You’d better have a very good reason for not picking up, Selina Beri. And we’ll expect to hear all the juicy details first thing Monday morning.’

  Selina shook her head, but said, ’I believe those girls have done me a world of good. Not only have they made working at the Treasury fun, but they’ve, how should I say this? They’ve grounded me in the real world again. I owe them.’

  We’d been walking in silence for a while when she stopped and looked at me.

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m home,’ she said.

  ‘Oh...’ I looked about, we were standing next to a neatly trimmed hedge before a rather substantial stucco and brick home a street or two north of Childs Hill and Golders Hill parks. ‘Oh.’ I sighed, adding wishfully, ‘Maybe a few more turns around the block? I haven’t told you about my ex-wives and kids yet.’

  ‘Unless you were lying to me earlier today, those aren’t your kids, Gallagher,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I guess you’re right. I suppose that explains the ex-wives too...’


  ‘Gallagher, it’s time to say our goodbyes.’ she said, and she meant it. ‘It’s after five. I have to shower and dress. I’m sure they’re having a fit that I’m not home already.’

  I looked at her standing so close next to me. ‘I can’t seem to think of anything to say.’

  ‘We’ve talked for almost seven hours, I should think we’ve said just about everything we’ve had on our minds,’ she said quietly.

  So stepping close I took her hands in mine, ‘Alright then, Selina. Goodbye, and good luck,’ and boldly kissed her one last time. We’d been more boyfriend and girlfriend all day than friends, but I wasn't about to mention that. I’d be just an old friend, and one on the shelf tomorrow, but today the sun was shining, so I’d make hay today.

  She pushed gently away. ‘Goodbye Gallagher. Thank you for everything.’

  We shared a long tender look.

  ‘It might have worked...’ she said, with a slow smile, but with a teasing sparkle in her eyes.

  ‘Out of curiosity, when did you abandon plan A?’ I asked warily.

  ‘Several hours ago. It was getting too late to do it properly.’

  I closed my eyes and sighed. ‘Selina, please don’t tease. You know that as soon as you are out of sight, all my noble, and ignoble objections for plan A are going to fly out the window and I’m going to be feeling horrible about passing on the dream of a lifetime. Please tell me you never really considered it.’

  ‘What part of I trust you like a lover do you not get? Who knows how far things would have gone on that trust?’

  I sighed again, and shook my head. ‘You’re not helping here...’

  ‘Of course the reason I trust you is that I knew you'd not have gone too far, however too far would've been. Sort of a catch-22, but in a good way... Besides, I know as well as you that things would never have been the same again. It’s far too early with us to decide things in that way. It wouldn’t have been right, and we both know it.’ And with a wicked smile she pulled me close and kissed me again.

  When she pushed away again, she said smiling, ‘Just wondering.’

  ‘Four months in a box...’ I sighed.

  ‘No promises.’

  ‘Four months. Get settled, Beri.’ I replied. ‘And you know you can call me at any time, for anything.’

  ‘Yes, Gallagher,’ she said softly and kissed me lightly before breaking away. ‘Take care and study hard.’

  ‘You, too,’ I said as she turned, walked up the path and opening the front door, disappeared into the shadow without looking back.

  P.S.

  I received a brief text from Beri late that night, ‘It’s midnight. You’re back to being a pumpkin, Gallagher.’

  I replied, ‘Dear Beri, I believe the coach reverted to a pumpkin, not the Prince. I think you meant I’m once more the frog. If I’m wrong, let me know. Your friend, Gallagher.’

  Didn’t hear anything back.

  Chapter 03 – Piece Three – Dinner with Beri