The warmth of the kitchen, the familiar scent of steeping Earl Grey, and the kindness in her friend’s eyes pried away the little that remained of Saffron’s stiff upper lip. Her shoulders slumped.
“It was awful, Eliza,” she rasped out. “All of it. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
z
Alexander Ashton paced his office. Or attempted to.
Though the space was clear of the accumulation of flotsam that academia encouraged, his legs were long, and there were only so many strides his office could allow before he was forced to turn sharply on the heel of his polished oxfords. His office had become a kind of sanctuary this last week after his brother Adrian had stopped trying to be a pleasant houseguest and retreated back into old habits that left the sitting room and kitchen a mess and him sleeping past noon most days. But even the quiet order of his office couldn’t lower Alexander’s blood pressure when so much weighed on his mind.
On his fifth circuit of the room, he checked his wristwatch. It was ten past nine in the morning, well past the time he could expect to receive an answer to his question.
He left his office and strode down the hall of the North Wing. Thick clouds beyond the windows left the white-walled corridor gray. Below, the Quad was full of students and staff hustling to reach their lecture halls and offices. Few people lingered in the frosty morning air. The voices of those who’d already sought the warmth of the North Wing echoed through the tiled halls and scuffed wood-paneled staircase.
Alexander climbed the circular stair and saw his quarry at the door at the end of the hall.
“Mr. Ferrand,” he called, lengthening his stride to catch him.
Considering the number of times the secretary had seen Alexander this week, the older man should not have looked so surprised as he paused in unlocking the door and turned to face him. But Mr. Ferrand was polite to a fault, even friendly, and so he greeted Alexander with silver eyebrows lifted and a bright smile. “Good morning, Mr. Ashton. How do you do this very English morning?”
His French accent was thick and his tone warm. Alexander managed a smile back, and Ferrand’s grew into a knowing grin that might have chafed had it been on the face of a less affable man. “Ah, but Iknow what you are after. I believe if I just open these messages here”—he waved a hand bearing a handful of papers and envelopes—“I will have your answer.”
Alexander followed Ferrand inside. The neat office matched the Frenchman’s own appearance: tidy and polished. In all the years Ferrand had bounced from department to department at the University College London, Alexander had only ever known him to have his shining silver hair cut to suit a younger man and his stylish clothing tailored to perfection.
Ferrand did not move to sit behind his desk, which sat in the same place before the window that the last person to have occupied the position of secretary to the head of Botany had arranged it. He flipped through the messages and his face lit up. “Ah, but this must be it.”
Alexander didn’t reply. He knew he already seemed like an overeager boy, asking daily for an updated itinerary, but he was getting desperate. Nothing he’d done to mitigate his brother’s situation had borne fruit, and every day that passed wore on both their nerves.
Ferrand sliced the message open with a letter opener and scanned it, his brows dipping momentarily into a frown. “Wednesday,” he said at last.
“As in the day before yesterday?”
“Je le crois.” Ferrand let the message fall onto the table and shrugged. “Miss Everleigh left France Wednesday. I suppose her plans changed. But that is good news, no?”
It was good news. Alexander had panicked when he’d learned Saffron had changed her plans to stay in France for an additional week following the conference she’d been attending. Learning that she was already back in London should have been a good thing. But it seemed nothing would alleviate the dread that had coalesced in his belly when Adrian showed up at his door.
“Indeed,” Alexander said. “Thank you, Mr. Ferrand.”
“This means our little daily chats are at an end, I think,” Ferrand said, rounding his desk and sitting down with a sigh. “I did enjoy them. Anyone who manages to blink during a conversation is a welcome change from”—he tilted his head toward the double doors to his left—“the oldlézard.”
That was an apt description of Dr. Aster, the head of Botany, for whom Ferrand had worked for several weeks. “I will make a point to say hello more often. Thank you again, Mr. Ferrand. And if you wouldn’t mind—”
“I will say nothing to Miss Everleigh,” Ferrand assured him with a wink.
Alexander nodded gratefully and took his leave. As glad as he was that Saffron had returned ahead of schedule, it meant that the time had come for him to ask her to do exactly what he’d warned her away from doing a dozen times.
He returned to his office for his coat before catching a bus to Chelsea. It was time to ask Saffron Everleigh to meddle in a police investigation.
CHAPTER2
Saffron woke early Friday morning. She’d never made it into the bath the night before, having been too much of an exhausted mess after crying to Elizabeth, and so she took one first thing.
The bathroom, and indeed the whole flat, was not luxurious by any means. She and Elizabeth had secured it for an outrageous price, one that they could afford on Elizabeth’s unimpressive receptionist salary. Little was new or in perfect working order, but they loved it all the same.
That thought recalled her current worries, and Saffron sank deeper into the hot water, allowing it to creep up the nape of her neck and wet her hair.
Money was a concern that had faded from her mind in the last year. She and Elizabeth had scrimped and saved to afford living in London on Elizabeth’s salary while Saffron went to school, helped along by the money Saffron’s mother had secretly passed along. Mr. Feyzi, the Everleigh family’s solicitor, still mailed Saffron a modest check every month.
Growing up in her grandfather’s household meant Saffron had never wanted for anything material, and though there had been a number of years without luxuries she’d once considered daily staples, Saffron had never truly known need. When she was hired by University College London as an assistant researcher, those cash-strapped years faded from her memory. Her recent promotion to full researcher had further bolstered their budget.
