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Liam Doyle shrugged. “I think she was disappointed to see that she wasn’t going to be the focus of attention anymore. I’m afraid that too much attention can be just as harmful as too little. At any rate, Ms. Marinca expressed an aversion to writing poetry, which is what I plan to do with the class for the two weeks remaining in the semester.”
“It’s a shame, though, that she won’t get credit for the class after all the work she did. I’ve looked all over for her papers…”
“I’m sure you have…which reminds me. I gather you were renting out your spare room to Ms. Middlefield. I’m staying right across the street at the Hart Brake Inn—” He grimaced at the name. “Which is fine for a day or two, but if I have to stay there much longer I might go into diabetic shock, from the décor if not the food.”
“Dianadoeshave a sweet tooth,” I concurred, “and a fondness for tchotchkes.”
“I didn’t mean to insult another of your friends, Dr. McFay. Ms. Hart is a gracious innkeeper, but the rooms are…well, a tad feminine for my taste and the foodisa little on the sugary side. What I wondered is…well, I don’t know if you’d be uncomfortable taking on a male lodger.”
“You want to rent Phoenix’s room?”
“Yes. Dean Book mentioned it had a separate entrance and access to a kitchen. I like to cook. In fact, I took a course at the Cordon Bleu when I lived in Paris.”
I was about to wonder aloud why he didn’t list that accomplishment along with lute playing and speaking Albanian on his Facebook page, but caught myself before revealing my cyber-stalking activities. I smiled regretfully instead. “I’d love to help you out, Mr. Doyle, but Phoenix left her things there and I want her to feel welcome to come back.”
“That’s very loyal of you,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything that made you uncomfortable. But if Ms. Middlefield sends for her things…”
“Well, then you’ll be the first on my prospective lodger list,” I replied, confident that Phoenix was in no shape to send for her things. I returned Liam Doyle’s brilliant smile, glad that this time I’d had a ready excuse for not taking on an unwanted roommate.
When I left Fraser Hall, though, I felt unsettled. Why, I asked myself, had I taken such an immediate dislike to Liam Doyle? Was I jealous of his easy success with his students when I had spent all weekend reading their papers and all day yesterday conferencing with them? Or his exotic travels and philanthropic activities? Or his Oxford degree? Okay, there was something annoyingly pretentious about the guy. Lute playing, for heaven’s sake, and that shirt! I couldn’t be the only one to see it, could I?
I turned around and headed back toward Fraser Hall, choosing the back entrance to avoid running into Doyle. If there really was something off about Liam Doyle, Soheila Lilly would be the one to notice it. There were no students waiting outside her office, but there were voices coming from inside. I was going to leave when I heard one of those voices—a deep, rumbly male one—say: “And did you get a good look at his shirt? It looked like he ordered it from the J. Peterman catalog!”
Oh good, I thought spitefully, I am not the only one. Iknocked on the half-ajar door and poked my head in. Soheila was behind her desk in a lovely toffee-colored sweater and long amber beads that matched the color of the tea she was drinking. The last person I would have pegged as her tea-drinking partner was Frank Delmarco, but there he was, leaning back precariously on a delicately carved chair, holding a steaming glass of spiced tea.
“Am I interrupting anything?” I asked.
“We were just talking about Phoenix’s replacement,” Soheila responded, getting up to pour me a glass of tea from the samovar. “Have you met him yet?”
“Yes,” I answered, taking the chair next to Frank’s. “He seems very…dedicated,” I ventured cautiously.
“Ha!” Frank snorted, and rocked forward in his chair so roughly I thought the fragile wood would crack. “All you women have been completely bamboozled by him.”
“Not at all,” I said, annoyed to be lumped in with the infatuated students. “Actually, I thought he was a little presumptuous. He asked if he could have Phoenix’s room.”
“See!” Frank crowed. “The poor woman’s bed isn’t even cold and he’s trying to take it from her. I hope you told him no.”
“I did,” I said, then smiling slyly, added, “Although I might regret it. He told me he studied cooking at the Cordon Bleu.”
Frank leaned back in his chair again and roared with laughter—as I’d known he would. I felt a little spiteful thrill.
“Maybe he also sews—you could have gotten some curtains out of him! Have you read his poetry yet?”
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to admit to that, but Frank didn’t wait for my answer. He quoted a line from the poem I’d read in the library in a mocking falsetto. I’d thought the line was lovely when I read it, but now something malicious made me laugh and ask, “Do you think he really believes that nonsense?”
I heard a step behind me.
Soheila cleared her throat and glanced over my head. Ilooked over my shoulder and there, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders, was Liam Doyle. The late-afternoon sun was in his eyes, so I couldn’t read his expression, but his voice was cool as ice water.
“Yes, in fact I do,” he said. Before I could apologize, he was gone.
