“Can I get you something, Professor Clairmont?”
I pressed my lips together. A small crease appeared in the smooth skin between my husband’s keen eyes.
“Thank you, Chip, but I believe we’re ready to go.”
It was not a moment too soon. I stood and gathered my things, slipping them into the large messenger bag at my feet.
“Can you put the charges on Dr. Whitmore’s account?” Matthew murmured, pulling out my chair.
“Absolutely,” Chip said. “No problem. Always a pleasure to welcome a member of Dr. Whitmore’s family.”
For once I beat Matthew outside.
“Where’s the car?” I said, searching the parking lot.
“It’s parked in the shade.” Matthew lifted the messenger bag from my shoulder. “We’re walking to the lab, not driving. Members are free to leave their cars here, and it’s very close to the lab.” He looked sympathetic. “This is strange for both of us, but the oddness will pass.”
I took a deep breath and nodded. Matthew carried my bag, holding it by the short handle on top.
“It will be better once I’m in the library,” I said, as much for my benefit as his. “Shall we get to work?”
Matthew held out his free hand. I took it, and his expression softened. “Lead the way,” he said.
We crossed Whitney Avenue by the garden filled with dinosaur statuary, cut behind the Peabody, and approached the tall tower where Chris’s labs were located. My steps slowed. Matthew looked up, and up some more.
“No. Please not there. It’s worse than the Beinecke.” His eyes were glued to the unappealing outlines of Kline Biology Tower, or KBT as it was known on campus. He’d likened the Beinecke, with its white marble walls carved into square hollows, to a giant ice-cube tray. “It reminds me of—”
“Your lab in Oxford was no great beauty either, as I recall,” I said, cutting him off before he could give me another vivid analogy that would stay with me forever. “Let’s go.”
It was Matthew’s turn to be reluctant now. He grumbled as we walked into the building, refused to put his blue-and-white Yale lanyard with its magnetized plastic ID card around his neck when the security guard asked him to, continued to complain in the elevator, and was glowering as we looked for the door to Chris’s lab. “It’s going to be fine, Matthew. Chris’s students will be thrilled to meet you,” I assured him.
Matthew was an internationally renowned scholar and a member of the Oxford University faculty. There were few institutions that impressed Yale, but that was one of them.
“The last time I was around students was when Hamish and I were fellows at All Souls.” Matthew looked away in an effort to hide his nervousness. “I’m better suited to a research lab.”
I pulled on his arm, forcing him to stop. Finally he met my eyes.
“You taught Jack all sorts of things. Annie, too,” I reminded him, remembering how he’d been with the two children who had lived with us in Elizabethan London.
“That was different. They were . . .” Matthew trailed off, a shadow flitting through his eyes.
“Family?”
I waited for his response. He nodded reluctantly.
“Students want the same things Annie and Jack did: your attention, your honesty, and your faith in them. You’re going to be brilliant at this. I promise.”
“I’ll settle for adequate,” Matthew muttered. He scanned the hallway. “There’s Christopher’s lab.
We should go. If I’m late, he’s threatened to repossess my ID.”