“That’s different. I never lied to you about it, and you’re myfriend.”
“Or the recommendation from her father? Were you not using that relationship to help your career?”
Alex’s cheeks warmed as an unpleasant chill ran down his spine. “I never lied, Henry. I wouldn’t have been so cruel.”
“Not even when you were desperate?” Henry looked more intense than Alex had ever seen him. “You don’t remember what happened our first year, do you?”
Alex stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
Henry shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. “You stole my pin money.”
A wave of nausea washed over him. He did remember. His father had fallen and he had just received the letter from his mother.Nothing to worry about, but he will be in bed for quite some time…He recalled the feeling of helplessness, the dread when he realized he did not have enough money for a train ticket home, knowing Henry kept several bills on his dressing table.He won’t notice it’s gone, Alex had justified the action to himself. Walking out of the room,the bills crinkling in his pocket, he ran directly into Henry. Alex was a terrible liar and Henry immediately suspected something was amiss.
“You lied to me, Alex.” Henry’s voice was low and intense. “You looked straight into my eyes and told me nothing was wrong. Even when I saw the money was missing and Iknewit was you, you still lied.”
Alex clenched his jaw, the thick mantle of shame draping over him. “I hated myself for it.”
“But you were desperate. There was something you wanted so badly but you couldn’t get it on your own.”
“Would you have forgiven me? If I’d told you the truth?” Alex felt the little control he had maintained slipping away.
“Of course,” Henry replied without pretense. “You’re myfriend. Yes, I wish to this day you had been honest with me from the start, but I forgave you.”
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
Henry jumped to his feet, his whisky sloshing from the glass and splattering on the terrace. “Stop being such a bloody martyr, Alex!” Alex gaped at his best friend. “You are allowed to make mistakes, and behappyfor once in your life. You say she used you when you used her sister the same way. You deserve her forgiveness as much as she deserves yours. So stop punishing yourself and stop punishing poor Francine.”
“Fern.” Saying her name aloud felt like stripping away the last layer of resistance.
“Her too,” Henry said, falling back into his seat. “You both made mistakes, and if you love her, you’ll forgive her. And she’ll forgive you. Don’t punish yourselves by staying away.”
“But what if I can’t trust her?”
Henry swirled the whisky in his glass. “It’s the risk that makes life worth living, Alex.”
The pigeonhole mailbox assigned toCarroway, A.overflowed with graduation notices, congratulations from former professors, a final invoice for his room at Pembroke, and a large envelope, most likely containing a bound manuscript of his thesis. He had stuffed his meager belongings, an obscene number of books and relatively few articles of clothing, into a trunk and loaded it onto a post coach bound for Birmingham. The mathematics building was his last destination before he would return home, a final sanctuary before the time came for him to close this chapter and begin a new one.
“Mr. Carroway.” He flinched as he recognized the voice, turning with a stiff smile.
“Professor Sylvester, how are you?”
“Very well, my boy,” the man said as he approached, leaning heavily on his cane. Alex was again impressed by the mathematician, topping eighty years of age and still sharp as a tack and deeply intimidating. “Although Paris is a swamp this time of year, simply ghastly. I was expecting you would make another appointment to meet with me, about your protege.”
Alex exhaled. “I’m sorry, sir, but I am no longer working with her.”
Sylvester eyed him critically. “That’s a shame. Because I was surprised to find a manuscript, containing nearly identical research to what you described, awaiting me in my office when I returned, with you credited as co-author.”
“Me?” Alex gaped.
Sylvester raised one bushy eyebrow. “It was a thorough review of your work with a gentleman by the name of Eliot Dickinson.”
Suppressing a laugh, Alex shook his head. She was clever, indeed.
“It needs quite a bit of work, but the potential is there. If Mr. Dickinson cannot be found, I wonder if you would like to continue the research in his place?”
“With you, sir?”
“Yes, Mr. Carroway. You are a gifted mathematician, and you have made that quite clear. If you decide against going to the School of Economics, I would be delighted if you would join our faculty next year.”
