Duplicity, p.2
Duplicity, page 2
‘Really?’
‘I don’t know why because she lived in Paris. And I thought living in Paris was every model’s dream. But not your mother. She was different.’
The two men sat opposite each other, engaging in further small talk. As the minutes ticked by, James’s hope of hearing more stories about his mother faded. With a heavy feeling in his chest, James said goodbye to Alexander and wandered out of the Queen’s Lane Coffee House and onto the High Street.
With almost eight hours until his reunion dinner with Liam and their friends, James had some time to kill, but the tourist attractions of his former home didn’t appeal to him. All he could think about was going back into the coffeehouse and asking more questions about his mother. Would Alexander understand his need to ask? Was he being selfish by asking? Often, there was great sadness in Alexander’s eyes after talking about her. For that reason, asking felt wrong.
Two
Wednesday: 6:58 p.m.
James pressed the doorbell, stepped back from the porch, glanced at the redbrick Victorian maisonette, and listened to the chiming as it echoed through the house. The sweet, pungent aroma of the overgrown gardenias in the front garden made his eyes water. The place hadn’t changed since he was last there. In fact, Oxford felt as if it existed in a time loop.
He listened to the chatter within the house. As James recognised the voices, he smiled. His friends had all graduated in 2008. A few went off to find employment, while others stayed to complete a master’s degree. Liam, his best friend, worked for All Saints College. And Liam’s girlfriend, Kate, worked for the Radcliffe Camera library. James didn’t understand why people wanted to stay in the same place for a long time. It wasn’t his thing. When they’d all graduated with their undergraduate degrees, the friends had promised to keep in touch. It was easier said than done, but seven years later, they organised a reunion dinner followed by drinks. Maybe next time, he would take the initiative and do the organising.
The door slowly opened. A short ginger-haired man stood opposite him and chuckled.
James lifted a baguette and bottle of red wine into the air. ‘What?’
‘No cheese?’ Liam stood aside, leaving room for James to enter.
He rolled his eyes. Not that again. Every time. The joke was never going to get old.
‘I hate cheese.’ James sighed then shook his head.
Liam chuckled. ‘It’s just so weird and not to mention not very French.’
James pursed his lips. ‘Like an Englishman wearing sunscreen on holidays.’
‘Look at me.’ Liam’s hazel eyes widened. ‘My skin is practically translucent, and I have freckles. I’m ginger. I have to wear sunscreen.’
‘Not everything I do has to be French.’
Liam stifled a laugh. ‘Next time, say that sans baguette and bottle of Bordeaux.’
James strolled into the maisonette, paused by the stairs, and turned around. ‘This is a polite gesture. Besides, you need excellent bread and wine for this meal.’
‘Wait.’ Liam closed the door and slid the chain along its tracks. After a quick peek through the spyhole, Liam asked, ‘How do you know that wine will go with the meal I’m cooking?’
‘I texted Kate,’ James said nonchalantly.
Liam yawned. ‘So Kate’s still enabling you.’
‘I know bread and wine, and this will go well with the meal.’ James handed over the baguette and the bottle of red.
‘I’ll take these and start preparing them.’ Liam dashed through the sitting room towards the closed white door. Without slowing, he raced to the kitchen, and the door burst open.
Standing by the stairs, James yelled as the door slammed shut. ‘Don’t refrigerate the wine or the baguette!’
Propped up against the mantelpiece, Manesh listened to the chatter in the room with a smile. An aroma of garlic, thyme, and onions floated into the sitting room, masking the faint smell of the burnt-out orange blossom candle on the mantel. To the right was a buffet table with cocktail sausage rolls and smoked-salmon-and-cream-cheese blinis. It seemed like only yesterday that Liam had been in the kitchen, burning milk in a tiny saucepan. But Liam had been domesticated. Perhaps Owen would find a use for that old whip-sound-effect app once again.
As James strolled towards the fireplace, he waved at Tom and Georgiana, who sat in the cove of the bay window. Tom’s usual short black hair was long, scruffy, and desperate for a cut. Tom caressed Georgiana’s lips as he snuggled into her. It was out of character for his reserved friend, but Tom was in a new relationship with a woman who, until that moment, James had been quite certain wasn’t real. The stories—more like bragging opportunities—had seemed too good to be true.
Upon arriving at his destination, James patted Manesh on the shoulder. On the mantel above the fireplace, next to the candle, was a half-drunk glass of gin and a smartphone lying faceup.
‘Easy, Frenchy. He knows what to do.’ Manesh glanced over James’s shoulder in the direction of the bay window.
‘No, he doesn’t.’ James kept one eye on the door.
Manesh grinned. ‘Are you trying to tell me you drink wine, eat bread at every meal, and are still shaped like a beanpole?’
‘You don’t have to drink the entire bottle. Besides, I prefer boxed wine because the tap prevents air from getting in the box, unlike, say, a bottle. A little wine every day is the key to happiness.’
A snort followed by a series of chuckles came from the room’s far corner. Glancing over Manesh’s shoulder, Owen held a hand over his mouth and hid a mischievous grin. But his hazel eyes gave him away. That infamous twinkle was still there seven years later. Some people never leave college.
‘Not this again.’ James tilted his head towards the mirror and stared at Owen, who leaned against the bookcase opposite Ben. ‘My h wasn’t aspirated that time. I said it right.’ James stared into the mirror as he braced himself for the chaos that was about to ensue. ‘I didn’t say app-iness.’ James shook his index finger at Manesh, who had doubled over laughing.
‘It’s still too funny,’ Manesh said as the room erupted with laughter.
James pointed at Manesh. ‘You were supposed to be my assistant professor, and you laughed at me that day, in front of a packed lecture hall, during freshers’ week. Everyone thinks this is funny now. Even at graduation, people were still saying app-iness to me.’
Manesh placed his hands on his hips then looked at his feet as he clearly attempted to rein in his laughter.
‘In my next life, I’m choosing better friends. You guys are a bunch of pricks,’ James said as Liam burst through the door with a small glass of plum-red wine and raised his eyebrows at James.
As James stepped aside, he grabbed the glass from Liam’s hand. Waltzing around James, Liam nestled against the small ledge above the fireplace. Liam picked up his glass of gin, turned it in his hand, and stared at the churning liquid. Clearly stifling a laugh, Liam stared over Manesh’s shoulder into the distance.
Things must be tense in the lab.
James sipped from the frosty wineglass. The astringent dark-cherry liquid swirled around in his mouth, its flavour intensifying with each swirl. As the bitter wine slipped down his throat, James became more curious about the tension between his two friends. Was it just a bad day or something else? The more he contemplated Liam’s usual defensive strategy, avoiding all logical discussion and making no eye contact, the more he couldn’t resist giving the situation a gentle poke. Maybe James needed a story. He hadn’t chased an interesting story since that fateful day in May when he’d turned up at Elizabeth’s flat and found a crime scene. What’s the worst that could happen?
‘So, how’s work? I heard you’re doing a second PhD.’ James nodded in Manesh’s direction.
Manesh dived into what sounded like a rehearsed monologue, saved for such occasions, as he peered over his shoulder at the bay window.
Is he keeping an eye on Tom? Or is my imagination running wild again?
Sitting in the cove of the bay window, Tom avoided Manesh’s gaze. As the monologue continued, Liam stiffened. Regret building within him, James surveyed the room.
With the Bordeaux in one hand, James sauntered to the buffet table and picked up a smoked salmon blini. He grimaced at the taste of the tangy cream cheese. A delicious appetiser, ruined. Desperate to escape from the brewing argument, James gazed over his shoulder as the chatter in the corner of the room subsided. It was unusual for Owen not to talk. It meant only one thing—trouble was in the making. That was just what the reunion needed: more drama than an episode of Coronation Street.
In the background, Manesh continued his monologue, seeming unaware of the commotion around him and utterly oblivious to all the bored faces and the fact that James had slipped away. James wondered whether he himself was like that when he talked about a story. Truth be told, he didn’t want to hear the answer to that question. A part of him already knew.
Over his shoulder, James watched as Owen crept across the room, nudged the door, and slipped inside. A look of amusement twinkled in Ben’s bright-green eyes as he glanced in the direction that Owen had disappeared. So you’re up to no good, both of you. What were they planning? It was out of character for Ben to mix in with the drama—he preferred to stay out of things. Perhaps he had changed. Ben’s gaze wandered around the room then settled on his watch. A few seconds later, Ben faced the bookshelves and took a sip from the tall glass of beer in his hand.
Liam slammed his empty gin glass on the mantel. Startled, James jumped then turned his attention from Ben and observed the heated discussion in front of him.
‘The Commentary on Daniel isn’t from the fifteenth century. The initiums are clearly twelfth-century style.’ Liam’s face turned a slight crimson. ‘Its pages are vellum, widely used before the mid-twelfth century. By the time the fifteenth century came around, they had imported paper from China.’
Manesh smirked. ‘Vellum was still around in the fifteenth century, and poorer monasteries would have used it. But of course, you can’t know for sure without resorting to carbon dating.’
Liam took a deep breath. ‘Come off the grass. The monasteries weren’t poor. They were practically supporting the poorer people in the towns surrounding them. They would have used the latest paper. The Commentary was created extravagantly, so they would have used the best resources.’ Liam’s jaw clenched.
As the two men continued their verbal smackdown, James hung his head and crept away, clutching his glass of wine. He joined Owen and Ben, who were silently smiling. Ben nodded to James then trekked to the door as Liam stormed across the room and followed him into the kitchen.
‘I see you’re up to your old tricks.’ James made a stirring gesture with his wineglass.
Owen smirked. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Of course he doesn’t. That’s the point of reunions—to attend and see who hasn’t changed after all these years. At least he doesn’t disappoint.
Owen shook his head. ‘Fine. I swapped a few place tags around on the table. Let’s just say Ben is now sitting next to Manesh.’
Merde.
James rolled his eyes. ‘Does Ben know?’
‘Maybe I led him to believe I put Manesh next to Liam.’ Owen shrugged.
James shook his head. ‘Still have that whip-sound-effect app?’
‘Lalonde, you surprise me.’ Owen narrowed his eyes. ‘I thought about it after realising that Liam had prepared all of this.’
The doorbell chimed, and the kitchen door slammed against the stairs, shaking the trays of food on the buffet table. Liam shot through the sitting room and to the entryway. After peering through the spyhole, he unlocked the dead bolt, slid the chain off its tracks, and flung open the Victorian-style door. Before him stood a tall, thin woman with curly brown hair—Amber Cooper.
She smiled. ‘Sorry to interrupt. I need to deliver this to Manesh.’
Liam guided Amber into the house. She blushed as her eyes fixed on Manesh, leaning against the fireplace and scrolling through his phone. Ambling across the polished wooden floor, she held a red-and-black USB drive in her palm.
She hasn’t aged.
Owen nudged him. ‘She’s barking up the wrong tree if you know what I mean.
James rolled his eyes. ‘She’s just shy.’
‘And too old,’ Owen whispered.
James leaned away from Owen. ‘She’s twenty-six.’
‘And too smart for him.’ Owen chuckled.
James placed his empty wineglass on the dark-stained bookshelves and listened to the conversation.
‘I insist you join us. There’s room for one more,’ Liam said as Manesh groaned while twirling the USB drive between his thumb and index finger.
Owen whispered into James’s ear, ‘Where’s he disappearing to?’ Owen angled his head towards the steps.
After a quick glance over his shoulder, Tom continued to glide up the staircase. Soon after he left, Manesh snuck away from Liam and Amber. He sat next to the voluptuous dark-haired woman Tom had kept to himself since the evening began. Leaning in, Manesh caressed her cheek. Georgiana blushed as she pulled away.
As Manesh made his obvious but passive-aggressive point, his smartphone lit up. Two messages had come through. Sure, it was poor form to view someone’s phone, but James couldn’t help himself. The first message, James recognised. It was from his favourite member of the All Saints faculty, Professor Xavier Watson. Underneath the first notification was a second text, sent two hours ago, from Stanley Whittaker, bearing the simple message:
We need to talk.
James wondered why that name sounded familiar.
Three
After ten minutes of listening to Owen’s sarcastic remarks and the odd chuckle from Ben, James meandered into the kitchen. The sweet aroma of beef bourguignon and potato mash brought a smile to his face. Hunched over a sage-green cast-iron casserole pot, Liam lifted the lid, stirred the contents, then placed the large spoon on the countertop. Is that Le Creuset? My grandmother would lose her mind if she saw that pot. Everything in her kitchen was pale-pink Le Creuset. It was that pink colour reserved for ballet costumes and little girls’ bedrooms.
Behind Liam, high in the sink, were saucepans, frying pans, and other dishes. Liam was actually cooking. No cheating and buying a Gastropub meal from the refrigerated section in Marks and Spencer but instead cooking from scratch. What’s next? A veggie patch in the garden? Should I check? That man burnt milk and porridge but now cooked a complex and often needy meal that required monitoring and stirring. It wasn’t a typical stew that could be left to simmer. James was impressed.
Liam lunged and grabbed a purple bottle of eco-friendly surface spray off the windowsill. James sauntered through the kitchen and propped himself against the breakfast bar as Liam tugged at the paper towel holder. With a torn paper towel in his hand, Liam sprayed the sheet. After placing the surface spray on the countertop, he dashed to the stovetop and mopped up the splattering of sauce off the dark-green-porcelain splashback tiles.
James slid his empty wineglass across the dark-granite kitchen counter. ‘Smells great.’
‘Thank God. I’ve been obsessing over this for the last two days between meal prep, planning, and now cooking.’ Liam glanced up then shrugged.
James smiled.
‘Things are tense out there.’ James pointed across the room towards the closed door.
Liam closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Frenchy, I’m not sure if we’re all going to meet like this again. Everyone is on bad terms with someone else.’
‘Maybe I can try to smooth things out between people while I’m here.’ James hung his head and slipped his hands into his pockets. ‘Or we could deliberately not invite Manesh or whoever seems to cause the most trouble.’
Liam sighed. ‘If we don’t invite Manesh and Owen, then that’s half the group gone. And it feels mean. I don’t want to be that guy.’
The simplest solution was often the best. James nodded as he stared at the simmering casserole pot. ‘When did you learn to cook?’
‘Don’t you dare start.’
James held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘I was just curious because you’re quite good.’
Liam sighed. ‘I got Kate some lessons because I thought she would enjoy the experience. She took offence at the gift, so I took the lessons to prove a point.’ Liam placed the scrunched-up dirty paper towel on the bench next to the stovetop. ‘And I was right. It was fun. Not that she’ll admit it, but she was a little jealous of the fun I was having.’
James shook his head. ‘Kate has turned you into her own personal chef. You realise that, right?’
‘I enjoy cooking. And I’m not her chef.’ Liam furrowed his brow. ‘Kate cooks too.’
Sure, she does.
Glancing up through the kitchen skylight above the table where he sat, James snorted at the faded ketchup stain from 2006, for which he was entirely responsible. It was summer. Liam and Kate had introduced James to the typical British summer barbecue, and the ketchup was stuck at the bottom of the glass bottle. Like an idiot, he shook the bottle with the lid off. He would never forget the sight of the bright-red trail of sauce on the ceiling and down the light-green walls of the breakfast room. Thankfully, Liam and Kate had thought it hilarious.
Liam jumped up as a robotic quack screamed out through the tiny speaker of his smartphone. ‘Dinner is ready.’
He sped into the kitchen and prepared the main meal. It had been twenty minutes since Liam served the summer salad entrée, and the light beefy fragrance made James’s mouth water.
A warm, petite hand brushed his forearm, causing him to jerk back in his chair.
‘Sorry to startle you, but I’ve just noticed that Tom and the other fellow are missing,’ Georgiana said with an awkward smile.
James leaned back in his chair and looked out the French doors into the partially lit back garden. No one was outside, and he wondered where they had gotten to. He didn’t recall seeing them slip away after the entrée. While waiting for the main meal to finish cooking, Owen had made use of his whip-sound-effect app after noticing Liam jumping up and checking on the beef bourguignon every five minutes. James blamed himself for that app.
