G Malliet - Death at the Alma Mater

"This was before I gave it all up to sit in dusty libraries, no doubt developing life-long allergies to dust mites. Anyway, she and Geraldo Valentiano go back some way. Oh, I see you didn't know that? Yes, well. His reputation precedes him. It would be hard to find an attractive woman within miles who had not succumbed, or was not planning to succumb. The two of them seemed quite friendly this weekend, as well. I overhead a little of their conversation. She was definitely being romanced, and not for the first time."

St. Just, looking rather alarmed lest Portia also find the Argentine charming, asked, "And Lexy? How did Lexy feel about all that?"

Portia considered. "Irritated. I'm not sure she minded all that much, not really, but it looked bad. Made a bad impression, and I think impressions were rather important to Lexy. She seemed to have other fish to fry-Sir James was her focus, as I've said-so she wasn't positively seething over it. Anyway, Gwennap is very high profile, and a better match for the Argentine, really. Maybe he was getting ready to dump Lexy for her-is that your thinking? It could have provoked a quarrel? Yes… Geraldo is what we call a bad boy, no question. I imagine trouble with women is a recurring theme of his life."

St. Just cleared this throat before saying, "But you were immune, of course?"

Portia smiled. "That's rather the point. No woman is immune. But any sensible woman wanting a quiet life would definitely stay clear of him. No good saying to oneself that a casual fling couldn't hurt. It would hurt like mad, before it was over. He's rather poisonous, I think."

Good, thought St. Just. Keep thinking that. Sensible girl. As for Geraldo, he'd talk with him about the relationship with Gwenn, but first he'd let him hang about a bit longer, beating his chest, or having it waxed, or whatever.

"Very wise," he said aloud.

Sergeant Fear nodded in unison. He knew Portia only slightly, but already held her in the highest regard. She'd done St. Just a world of good-nothing and no one must be allowed to interfere with that. Already his dislike of the Argentine was beginning to harden. Unlike St. Just, he felt no compunction about needing to keep an open mind. The man was a good old-fashioned rotter, and that was that.

"Who do we have next?" asked St. Just. "Let's see. Hermione Jax. Wonderful, Empire-like ring to that name, don't you think? What's your impression of her?"

Portia replied slowly, "Decent enough sort, but I find her rather a type, I'm afraid. All tweeds and twinsets and long brisk walks by the river. No pearls, however-much more likely to wear a necklace that looks made of dried seaweed and barbed wire. Earrings to match. You know the sort of thing. Often seen wheeling about on her bicycle, with the basket full of her shopping and odd snippings of plants. She seems to have a formidable intellect, or she does a good imitation of having one, although I can't recall a brilliant remark I've heard her say. She can be rather frightening in her bluestockinged way. She's a botanist or something of the sort, but I suppose these days she'd be called an ecologist-she's written several famous tomes on the topic. Much given to ranting about the destruction of the planet by Mankind. That would be with a capital M-women are generally absolved of blame in her canon. You would be wise not to invite her views on the role of peat diggings with respect to existing British waterways, unless that is a topic of great and fathomless interest to you.

"That leaves… let's see, apart from the odd stray student: the Master, the Bursar, and the Dean. The Master you've met, and I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions. As to the Bursar, well."

And Portia gave them a quick rundown on what, from her viewpoint, were the Bursar's crimes (Portia, the gourmet, was of course appalled at being subjected to what came out of the college kitchen, "Although the rumors he's come to an arrangement with the zoology department are complete slander, but it is Cambridge and whenever an obscure and appalling cut of meat appears on the table one can't help but wonder"), concluding, "And then there's the Dean. What you see is what you get with the Reverend Otis. He is such a sweet man. We have to keep a constant eye on him or he'd be swindled every time he set foot outside the college, or put all his money in the first charity box he came across."

"An innocent."

"To quite an alarming degree. Sometimes that type can cause havoc unknowingly. He somehow knows everything that goes on and will repeat things in all innocence that should not be said. For example: The sous-chef and the gardener were having quite a pash and he kept repeating how much fresher the vegetables had been in recent months. Everyone knew, of course, but the Reverend Otis, why we had such a sudden uptick in the quality of the Brussels sprouts. I would think someone in his position would be more worldly, wouldn't you?"

"One would think. All right. Now, tonight in the SCR, after dinner. Tell us-whatever. Your impressions."

She closed her eyes a moment, thinking back.

"James comes to mind first. He was a bit distracted looking. I had the impression he was watching the door… for Lexy? Anyway, he stood talking with India and the others, but kept rather a wary eye on the Argentine as well, I thought."

"My God. Not yet another conquest for Mr. Valentiano?"

"Could be. James seemed to think so. He was guarding her like a pit bull."

"If Geraldo Valentiano did this," said St. Just determinedly, "it will be a pleasure having him up for it. I find him rather a useless person, don't you?"

How thrillingly macho, she thought, deducing the reason behind St. Just's evident dislike. She returned the list to him, and watched as his eyes again scanned the list of names. Suspects all. His face held the puzzled, fretful look of a man examining a computer-generated letter from the Inland Revenue. She knew he would worry at this case until he solved it, at least to his own satisfaction, and she loved him for that tenacity. She knew already he would not entirely be hers again until the case was over. But it was what made Arthur, Arthur. She had long since accepted she could not envision life without him, and if these terrible working hours came with the territory, she'd just have to cope.

"Did anything happen during dinner tonight that struck you?" he asked her now. "Anything at all?"

She thought back to the meal, and what she had been able to hear of the conversation. As usual when people reminisced about events to which others had not been witness, the conversation struck her as a trifle dull, although the others had seemed engrossed-happy, even. They had been talking at some point about Pennying, she remembered, the drinking game they had used to play during Formal Hall using Smarties, with, apparently, disastrous effect. As she had looked up from her meal, they had all been laughing. Someone had slipped a penny in someone else's drink, making the pennied person obliged to drink up. No wonder the results could be ruinous. Had anyone struck her as being melancholy or distracted? Maybe the Bursar, but that was his default position. No doubt he was worrying about how much the meal was costing. And if a look of any significance passed between Lexy and another of the diners, probably no one could have said.

She related all this to St. Just.

"Sorry not to be of more help. They just seemed to be enjoying themselves. I was a bit distracted myself. The writing, you know-it makes me preoccupied and oblivious to my surroundings, sometimes."

"It's all right-you're doing fine, in fact. Now, everyone was in the SCR when you got there after dinner?"

She said slowly, "I think so. There may have been one or two missing but offhand I can only say there were more there than were not there, if you know what I mean. Excepting Lexy-I did notice, for some reason, she wasn't there. Well, people did notice Lexy. I saw her sitting in the Fellows' Garden earlier, just after dinner."