Free True Grey by Clea Simon Page A

Maybe the ponytail was a sign that she was becoming more sure of herself, Dulcie mused, happy for an opportunity to coax the chubby girl out of her shell.
    â€˜If you compare the political essays of the early eighteen hundreds with those from only a few years earlier . . .’ Sophie was nailing it, drawing on some of the same raw material Dulcie had read. For a moment, Dulcie felt a twinge of jealousy. Once her skin cleared up, would this girl be threatening her too? Making her own name in Dulcie’s area of expertise?
    No, she shook her head slightly. To think like that was madness. That would be like . . . well, maybe a little bit like Mr Grey feeling defensive about Esmé. Though, to hear the young cat tell it, some tension had developed. Something like the tension that now ran up her back, raking the small hairs on her neck as if claws had been drawn over them.
    Dulcie felt her color rising and turned away from the table, ever so slightly. From here, she could see the left side of the courtyard. Not far from the hour, already students were crossing – heading from their rooms to class or over to the dining hall. A tall, dark-haired man wandered into view and paused, as if enjoying the sun. Rafe? Yes, it looked like the senior tutor. He must be taking a breather from cleaning the suite. Having such an important guest might be trying – especially when that VIP was your own ex.
    Moments later, the black girl – Darlene – appeared from the same direction. They must have made up after all. The girl – young woman, she corrected herself – was too far away for Dulcie to see her face. And she was still walking quickly, her long legs crossing the courtyard with the minimum strides necessary. There was something different about her, though. Maybe it was the way she was carrying herself, upright and confident. Maybe it was the way her arms swung by her sides. Dulcie had a strong sense that the young woman wasn’t crying any more.
    If the couple had been enjoying a make-up tryst, they’d finished just in time. Moments after Darlene had disappeared from the courtyard, she saw another figure crossing the courtyard. Short and solid, the human version of the brick walls that surrounded them, assistant dean Robert Haitner huffed and puffed as he strode, head down and purposeful, toward the dining hall. He was wearing a trench coat, way too warm for this weather even if it hung open and loose, making Dulcie wonder if this was his attempt at fashion. Despite his suspiciously thick, dark hair, the dean was no longer a young man. Surely, at his age – from here, she guessed he was forty-five or fifty – he didn’t have to try so hard. Then again, maybe being only an associate dean meant he had to try harder.
    â€˜Ms Schwartz?’ She was called back to herself. Once again, all eyes were on her.
    â€˜I’m sorry, folks.’ She wasn’t going to make the same mistake. These were young scholars, her students. ‘I’ve been caught up in issues in my own thesis, and I guess I’ve been distracted.’ She paused, considering how to make amends. ‘Does anyone have a specific question for me?’ As if on cue, the clock started chiming. The hour was over. ‘I’d be happy to stay later, if anyone would like my undivided attention.’
    For a moment, Sophie looked like she was about to say something, and Dulcie smiled at the girl in what she hoped was an encouraging manner. Then the bell chimed again, and as one her students stood, gathering books and notebooks together. Saturdays were hard that way, and Dulcie kicked herself for her lapses. This was her job, what she needed to be focusing on. She was good at it.
    â€˜Was that odd or what?’ She heard one of her students ask, his identity masked as they funneled into the doorway. ‘I guess somebody had a hangover today.’

TWELVE
    L unch. That was probably what she needed, Dulcie decided.