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“I don’t know, late I think. After my lecture, I’ve got one-on-one tutorials for the rest of the day, and then I’m having dinner with Zoe and her husband.” He lowered his voice. “I couldn’t get out of it.”
“You’ll survive.” And he would be nicely busy while the ball was on.
“I’d better go. They want to get started.”
“Good luck.” She hung up and turned to see that everyone had started moving and talking again.
“Wait,” he called. “I’m no’ done.”
“What?” she said.
“Think about me in bed tonight, Angel. I know I’ll be thinking about you.” The line went dead and Donna’s hand clenched around the phone.
“Are you okay?” Mairi said as she came up beside her.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason.” She gave her a tight hug. “What’s next on the list?”
“Setting up tables in the foyer and the orangery for people who want to get away from the music or don’t fit into the ballroom.” That had been Flora and Joyce’s bright idea for squeezing in forty more people. “And I want to string up ropes on the staircases and corridors that are off limits during the ball.”
“I’m not sure that will stop people,” Mairi said.
“I need more teens to stand guard.” Donna looked down at her iPad.
“Now that I can sort. Leave it to me,” Mairi said with a grin as she pulled out her phone.
Donna wasn’t sure leaving anything to Mairi was a good idea, but honestly, she was desperate, so she did just that.
***
“Are you nervous?” Zoe, the dean of Fine Arts, asked Duncan as he eyed the crowded auditorium.
“No,” he answered honestly. As soon as he’d walked up the grey steps at the front of the building and stopped to looked at the warm golden stone that made up the Mac, he’d felt like he’d come home.
“That’s good to hear,” Zoe said. “We’ve got an eager crowd this morning. And the tutorial slots filled up faster than they’ve ever done before. Within minutes of posting the signup sheet.”
“I don’t recall offering to do one-on-one tutorials.” Duncan cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Now, isn’t that strange?” she said without cracking a smile.
They were in the lecture theatre in the basement of the Mackintosh building. It was the same room he’d sat in on many occasions during the four years he’d spent studying there, and he well remembered how hard those old benches were on your backside when a talk droned on.
The room was square and high-ceilinged, with the stage area down in one corner facing three stacks of black benches that formed a semi-circle in front. High in the corner opposite the stage, was the tiny technician’s closet, where his old lecturers used to get a student to load up their slides for them. Times had changed, and Duncan had a laptop on the stand beside him, rigged to the projector overhead.
The blinds on the windows to his right were drawn, and overhead, the small golden drop lanterns were lit. High on the walls, at the top of the thin dark wood panels, was one of Mackintosh’s signature motifs—four squares, arranged two by two.
“It brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Zoe said softly.
“Last time I was here, I got into an argument with Thomas Joshua Cooper in this exact spot.” He gave her a wry look. “I seem to remember him winning.”
She laughed. Thomas was a world-renowned photographer who, although American, had been around The Glasgow School of Art for decades. What he didn’t know about photography wasn’t worth knowing, and he was always up for a discussion with someone who needed some schooling on the topic.
“I met my wife in this room,” Duncan said. “During a piss-poor lecture on German Expressionism. She was studying textile design not painting, so she wasn’t even supposed to be in there. She told me later, over lunch in the bar, that she’d followed me into the room and shoved another girl out of the way to sit beside me.” He smiled at the memory. “She wasn’t known for being shy.” Not like another woman who had stitched his heart back together again.
“That sounds like Fiona.” Zoe grinned at him before putting her hand on his arm. “You can’t imagine how pleased I was when you emailed with the offer to lecture. I’ve been worried about you ever since we lost Fiona.”
“My offer t—” He was cut off as the lights dimmed.
