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“Family?” he asked as she joined him.

“And some neighboring kids, but yes, mostly grandchildren. You and Reine-Marie have a couple now too.”

“Four.”

“Four? Not quite enough for a hockey team, but close.”

“They’ve just started skating,” he said, returning to the armchairs. “If only hockey could be played on hands and knees.”

The room was warm, inviting. It reflected the Chancellor perfectly.

Colette Roberge had held the mainly ceremonial post at the University for two years. Before that she’d retired as Dean of the mathematics department and been made a Professor Emeritus.

He considered her a friend, though not a close one.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Non, merci.”

“Tea?”

“Nothing for me, thank you, Colette.” He smiled and waited for her to sit before taking his own seat. “How’s Jean-Paul? I’d like to say hello.”

“He’s at the lake, refereeing the game. Your family? All got through the pandemic?”

“Yes, thriving, thank you.”

“And Stephen? After what happened in Paris?”

“His old self.”

“That can’t be good,” she said with a smile.

In her mid-seventies now, Chancellor Roberge was a tireless champion for the University, and an accomplished academic. And now, in the midst of her own holidays with her family, she’d made time for him, greeting him as though he’d been expected.

And maybe, he thought, he had been.

“What can I do for you, Armand?”

“It’s about Abigail Robinson.”

The shaped brows rose very slightly. Her manicured hands folded one on top of the other, and he noticed a slight squeeze. But her expression remained pleasant.

The Chancellor was smart enough not to feign ignorance.

“Yes? What about her?”

“You know she’s speaking tomorrow afternoon at the University.”

“I’d seen that, yes.”

“And you approve?”

“It’s not for me to approve or disapprove.” A very slight chill had crept into her voice. An early warning. “Nor is it for you.”

He crossed his legs, a subtle indication that he was just settling in and wouldn’t be intimidated.

Seeing that, the Chancellor rose and threw another log on the fire, sending giddy sparks up the chimney. And with it, her own message.