“I’m not… out much.” Emma hurried on. “But it is that dedication I would apply to this project, which could bring significant insight into the wildlife of—”
“Did you go to a state school?” Imogen broke in.
“Well—yes, when we were in England—”
“There.” Imogen grinned at Julia. “She’s diversity. You needed one of those.”
Julia opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“It’s not as though you have any other options.” Venetia lunged to her feet. “For once, I agree with Imogen. Why waste our time? If Arabella or Daisy had really wanted it, they should have shown up.”
She swept past Emma to the door, Imogen jostling behind her.
“Come on, Jules.” Venetia tossed her hair over one shoulder. “Pick-me-up at Boddington’s? I kept the taxi waiting.”
“You go ahead.”
The footsteps faded away. Julia stayed in her chair, cool gaze appraising Emma.
“This foundation is important to my family, and to me. Do you know why?”
Perplexed at this turn in the conversation, Emma shook her head.
“My father started it, back when the University wasn’t so sure that someone who looked like him belonged here. The Lees are as old money as any family in England, don’t get me wrong. But their currency was still a little too—Chinese—for the University.” Her voice turned sharp. “For the college servants that refused to work for him. For certain lecturers and tutors. And now our name is on their buildings. The Colefax-Lee Foundation funds their key research. The University can no longer politely pretend that we don’t exist, not when we’re so important to its survival.”
She wasn’t meeting Emma’s eyes. She was looking at something in her binder. Emma’s heart sank. “This program for femalestudents was my idea. My part of our legacy. Its success means more to me than you can know.”
The silence stretched. Then Julia lifted her gaze. “And I think you take this as seriously as I do.” She turned the binder to face Emma. She had placed Emma’s proposal at the top of the applications.
“Nobody else did this. Among our accomplished candidates—and whatever Venetia says about us handing out fellowships to our friends, they are extraordinarily accomplished—not one built this kind of proposal. The detail. The numbers.”
Warmth spread from Emma’s cheeks to her neck.
“A Colefax-Lee science fellowship is open to you. If you want it.”
“I—I do. Of course.” Julia’s outstretched hand was waiting. Emma stumbled up to shake it.
“There is one thing.” Julia’s eyes seemed to snag on Emma’s shirt and trousers. “Being a fellow means being the face of the foundation. My father would expect you to represent us. In front of press, at parties. Could you do that?”
A single party with Nat’s friends had felt impossible just hours ago. Julia’s world would be something else entirely. Emma pictured the cameras, the crush of eyes on her. And amid the fear and doubt was something else, something she was surprised to find. Something like excitement.
“Yes,” Emma said. “I can do that.”
As she led Emma out to the corridor, Julia seemed to permit herself a real smile, very different from her gracious air. “Now that the official bit’s over, I have to ask. How on earth did you get here so dry?”
“These.” Emma pulled her waders from beneath the chair. “Youput your legs into them, like so—it’s a tight fit, so you have to wriggle a bit—there. Then you pull them up to—here.”
Julia barked a laugh, quickly smothered in a cough. “I—I see. Well. There’s a little launch party for the fellows to meet, a few days from now. At the new conference center in Beaufort College, if you know it? It’s all architectural angles and glass, and achingly modern. The perfect backdrop for the program. Press will be arriving at seven thirty—at current count, we haveTatler, The Telegraph,good noises fromThe Times—oh, and a features writer fromVanity Fair,if we can sort her plane tickets in time. You won’t have much to do, just answering reporters’ questions.”
“Right,” said Emma. “An-answering reporters. Absolutely.”
“And for the party. Do try to wear something a little”—Julia paused—“different, perhaps?”
As Emma strolled back down the High Street, she saw that the sun had burned all but a few silvery puddles from the cobbles. She tilted her face to the warmth. The flood was almost gone. And in its place, a world fresh and ready to begin again.
CHAPTER 3
The party was a stressful blur. A wall of lenses pointed at her, and people asking questions. Her own voice, talking from very far away. The Beaufort College conference center was dizzyingly bright, a kaleidoscope of chrome and glass and multimillion-pound design. But at least, in a black velvet dress that guarded her rib cage like armor, Emma finally felt the part. That was all due to Nat.
