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“Right, I’ll go and see her and apologize then. I want her back here to do the work. Give me Miss Hargreave’s address in London and I’ll fix this.”
“I can’t do that. Privacy protection prohibits me from giving out her address. Surely you realize that would be wholly inappropriate.”
“But, I definitely want her to do the cataloguing of my art, Langley.”
“I’m sorry, Ivan, but I can’t help you with her.”
“You mean you won’t.” Langley would find my contribution to his foundation quite lacking in the coming year, but I’d let him worry about it when he missed my cheque.
“Correct,” he said firmly.
“Why not?”
He sighed in the line. “Gabrielle told me something quite disturbing, and I find I need to keep some distance between you and the university, in this situation. It’s best for all parties involved.” He coughed as if preparing himself to say more, and then he continued. “And, Ivan, your recent troubles with…female friends…is no secret. You need to sort your sordid shit out—away and separate from my students.”
There it was again. My private life on display for the world to ogle in disgust. Hadn’t Miss Hargreave told me I was disgusting right before she cracked me across the face? The idea she thought of me that way really bothered me considering what she does.
“What did she tell you?”
He paused uncomfortably and I could imagine him squirming at his antique desk, probably a lot like mine, as he struggled to lay the uncomfortable truth on me.
“She said you were firmly under the impression she worked for an escort service.”
But she does.
“Why on earth would you suggest something so—so coarse, to a student you hoped to make a professional working relationship with?”
Her showing up here took me by surprise and I said the first thoughts that came into my head? And because she is an escort moonlighting at a top-of-the-line private service? Because I want her in both of her professional capacities?
“Ivan?”
“Yeah. I get it, Langley.”
“Good, because you can’t be terrorizing female students and dragging the university’s reputation down into a scandalous goddamn mess—”
I cut the line and simply stared out the window at the sweeping green that went on for miles. So pristinely beautiful. At times I wished there was someone else to share it all with. Besides Finnegan and Marjorie, my groundskeeper.
I mentally kicked myself. What was I thinking? That fantasy idea was dead.
I’d learned long ago that trying to explain myself was utterly pointless most of the time. People usually made up their minds in advance. Didn’t really matter what Langley thought of me, anyway. I knew the truth about Gabrielle Hargreave and I’d find her again. There were ways to make that happen, and I had the resources.
The storm had passed through during
the night leaving scattered clouds and mild temperatures behind. It appeared the day might stay dry, and I was grateful her drive down to Belfast was made safer with no dangerous weather messing up the roads. At least there was that.
I texted my dad just before the flight attendant called for all cellular devices to be switched to airplane mode. The job in Ireland didn’t work out. Arriving Heathrow @ 11:30 on BA 1423. Can you pick me up? Don’t worry. xo - Gaby
The drive to Belfast, turning in the rental car, waiting in line to buy a ticket, and then the ordeal of getting my equipment through as checked baggage had pretty much wiped me out. I touched my forehead with the back of my hand in an attempt to feel if I was hot. I couldn’t really tell for sure, but maybe I had a fever. I knew I felt like shit, and that was plenty, fever or not. If I was indeed getting sick it sure explained a lot about my emotional state of the past sixteen hours. The crying and weeping was so out of character for me.
Poor Mr. Finnegan. No, thank God for Mr. Finnegan.
Had Mr. Everley inquired about me after I’d gone? He’d probably felt relieved to know his private sanctuary was back to being private again. The man really thought I was a prostitute. Total insanity. Well, not really, considering what you allowed him to do to you on the night of the gala. I shivered in shame, pretty sure I made an audible groan, because the guy seated next to me was all eyes and instant attention. I ignored him and turned away toward the window.
Professor Langley sure hadn’t expected the “Mr. Everley thinks I’m working for an escort service” announcement to come out of my mouth. But then, neither had I. Regardless, it got me off the hook of having to stay there and do the job. The whole nightmare was over, and I was free now, but still…I shuddered in mortification at the thought of what Mr. Everley had said about wanting to fuck me…and for how I’d slapped him. I had never behaved like I had with him with other men, both on the night of the gala, and last night at his estate. He affected me strangely for sure, and I said and did things that shocked even me.
It was just so damned awful, the whole thing. And I was certain I was coming down with something evil.
I rested my feverish head against the cool window and continued to ignore my early-balding, over-cologned seat-mate who kept trying desperately to get my attention, and didn’t seem to take the hint I wasn’t interested in being on the receiving end of his, can-I-buy-you-a-drink?, come on. Ugh.
