‘Doctor James?’
Carla had been about to give up and return to Patricia’s house to fire off an irate email. She’d arrived on campus and no one was expecting her. Albert Kantz had sent her a message the previous evening with the location of her office and promised that the department secretary was aware of her arrival. He’d catch up with her at the office once he’d got a meeting out of the way. He’d forgotten, however, that for her to even reach the Department of Archaeology, she needed a pass to access the campus and, in a moment of daring, she’d eventually slipstreamed behind a student who’d looked a little affronted at her presence close behind him as he opened the door.
She entered a wide, panelled corridor where muted voices could be heard behind closed doors. There was nothing to identify where the department secretary might reside, but each door had the letter A followed by a number nailed to it. Carla followed the trail to A15, the office identified for her by Albert, amused to note there was no number thirteen on any of the doors. When she tried the handle, she discovered the office was locked. So much for New England hospitality. She dug in her bag and tried to connect her mobile to the university’s Wi-Fi to send a message to her boss.
‘Max Hazen.’
Carla jumped at the voice so close to her ear and looked up. A tall man wearing a cream linen suit held out his hand to Carla. His curling grey hair was clipped close to his head with the rawness that suggested a recent cut. Relieved that someone was finally talking to her, she grasped his fingers, noting the calloused skin and faint outline of an old scab. Max, as if conscious of her scrutiny, rubbed his palms against his jacket.
‘Perils of the job – I spent the summer on a dig in Europe. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.’
Carla had looked up the academic staff before leaving England, trawling through the college’s website deliberately aimed at catching the eye of parents of wealthy New England freshmen who wanted an exclusive education for their offspring. There were around ten in the department, so she had no excuse for not getting to know the research interests of her new colleagues. Max had given little away about himself on the website, which was unusual. Your academic profile was a place to boast of your qualifications and publication history. Even a few words about your areas of study gave the department a more human face. Max’s began: ‘I am an archaeologist with an interest in Roman settlements.’ Hardly the most dynamic of statements and the link to his curriculum vitae hadn’t been working.
‘Call me Carla.’ She turned, looking down the emptying corridor. ‘I don’t suppose you know where I can get a key for my room. Professor Kantz sent me a message to get settled into the office.’
‘He’s put you in A15?’ Max stopped, a flush creeping across his face. ‘Well, that’s just typical of the lack of respect around here.’
‘Is there something wrong?’ asked Carla. ‘I’m pretty sure this is the office Albert told me to find.’
‘Sorry.’ Max folded his arms, not looking sorry at all. ‘Ignore me, I’m sure it is the right place. A spare key is kept with the programme administrator. Give me five minutes.’
He walked away without waiting for Carla’s reply. He wasn’t happy about her being in this room and she hoped this wasn’t the start of a feud over office space. The annual shuffle to accommodate new staff and changes in programmes often resulted in fallings out. As the newcomer, she should be bottom of the heap, but it looked like she’d been given a prestigious room away from the entrance. Great start. Carla leant against the door and watched the students file past her.
For the first two days it was newcomers only who looked as disorientated as her. Returning students would be allowed back the following week, allowing freshmen to familiarise themselves with the campus and register for classes. She watched as three students passed her wearing jackets and ties.
‘Business school,’ Max whispered to her as he returned, noticing her gaze. ‘They’re the only students who wear suits.’ He held out the key to her. ‘They were waiting for you to pick it up. I don’t suppose you got the message to go to the office?’
‘Professor Kantz didn’t—’
Max smiled. ‘Albert gets a little forgetful sometimes. Don’t worry. I’ll sort you out.’
He put the key in the door, an old-fashioned courtesy that set Carla’s teeth on edge. She wanted to assure him she was perfectly capable of opening a door herself. Taking a deep breath, she followed Max into the room and stopped. ‘Oh.’
Inside the high-ceilinged space, someone had either already settled in or never left. Carla dumped her shoulder bag on the chair and looked around. It was obviously a female space; she took in the pinned pictures of a desert dig showing a woman in khaki shorts, and the bottle of hairspray next to the oval mirror. The air was stuffy, overlaid with the aroma of rotting fruit. Carla bent down and pulled out the trash bin from beneath the desk. Empty.
‘I can’t believe it’s not been cleared out yet.’ Max’s voice was shaking with anger. ‘What the hell are they playing at? I’m really sorry about this.’
‘It’s fine. It’s not the first time this has happened.’ Carla, despite herself, glanced in the mirror. Her pale face still showed the traces of the jet lag she was finding it impossible to shrug off. ‘Whose office is it?’
‘Lauren’s. I mean Doctor Powers’s.’ Max went over to the window and forced it open, letting in a whisper of cooling air.
‘And is she coming back for her things?’
‘No.’ Max’s gaze met hers. ‘Lauren was unfortunately involved in an accident. She died this spring.’
‘Died?’ Carla’s heart sank as she looked round again at the room, taking in clues to the woman’s personality. Among the fieldwork papers was a Snoopy coffee mug and a pot of banana-flavoured lip balm. ‘That’s terrible. What happened?’ She stopped, aware of the abruptness of her question. ‘Sorry, you don’t need to tell me if it’s too painful. I find it hard to shrug off my perpetual curiosity.’
‘As we all do, I’m sure.’ Max paused. ‘She drowned while swimming. It was a shock to us all. Lauren was one of a kind and a highly respected member of this department. I offered to go through her effects after she died to send her personal stuff back to her family in Maine. No one came back to me, so I assumed it had been done.’
‘I’m so sorry. Please don’t worry about the office.’ Carla swung round the high-backed chair behind the desk, wondering if it would be tactless to sit down to take the edge off her exhaustion. She regarded the empty seat and noticed Max too had his eyes on it. ‘If someone can get me some cardboard boxes, I’ll clear the desk at least. I can work around the other stuff.’
Max, still unsettled, nodded. ‘I’ll send an email to the coordinator. She should have sorted all of this out for you.’ He made for the door but lingered at the entrance, reluctant to leave her in the room. ‘I’m really sorry about this.’
When he’d left, Carla flopped into the chair and closed her eyes. Max’s reaction had unsettled her more than she cared to admit. More death, this time of a well-liked colleague. This room was a reminder that it wasn’t just her who suffered from loss and grief. Her family must surely be waiting for Lauren’s effects. Among all the academic papers and knick-knacks there might be well-loved mementoes of field trips. Someone would want the photo of the smiling woman pinned to the cork board. Carla pushed her chair over to the photograph and scrutinised the woman who grinned down at her. She was around her age, maybe a little older, with an air of good-humoured competence. A woman Carla would have liked to have been meeting on her first day of semester. She wondered, not for the first time, whether it was better to die gradually as Dan had done, aware of his mortality but able to make his own decisions about his death, or suddenly like Lauren with no time to be disappointed in what life had dealt you.
Carla was reaching out to touch the image when the door opened and Albert Kantz stood at the entrance. Part of his seniority, thought Carla grumpily, was that he hadn’t felt the need to knock first. At the Zoom interview, she’d noticed that he had an unnerving resemblance to a young Hugh Grant, and this was confirmed in the flesh. She’d expected someone older, as Albert was a name she associated with those born in the early twentieth century. Her new boss was in his early forties, his dark brown hair turning grey at his temples and a network of creases radiating from his eyes.
‘Sorry I’m late. Problems at home. My wife was called away and I needed to take Zoe, my daughter, to her shift at the local bar.’
‘It’s no problem.’
Albert’s eyes widened as he took in the room. ‘Jeez, they haven’t even cleared this place. I don’t believe it… Look, give me a day, will you, to make a complaint. They’ll get the cleaners in, although I’m not sure given the amount of personal stuff…’
‘Max said he’d offered to collect her effects.’
‘You’ve met Max? That’s good. I haven’t completely left you stranded here.’ Albert picked up a paperweight. It was a piece of stone, its chiselled edges suggesting a worked tool. ‘Max knew Lauren well. He’d be ideal to supervise the packing. I’ll talk to him about it.’
‘I’m sorry for the loss of your colleague.’ Carla was intrigued by the reactions to the room. Of course, it was an administrative blip, but Max had shown anger and distress at the presence of his dead colleague’s possessions. Albert, despite his confidence that he would be able to get the room cleared, was looking in distaste at the object he was holding. Perhaps he had hoped the university would make a better impression on its newest member of staff.
‘Max said there was an accident…?’ Carla saw her question was unwelcome but was unable to stop herself. Part professional curiosity, part morbidity caused by the death of her young husband. The need to find companionship amongst the bereaved.
‘Yes, down by the river.’ Albert stopped. ‘I’m sorry, but can I leave you for the moment while I sort a few things out? It’s a difficult day for me. You’ll be contacted sometime this morning by your mentor.’
‘Mentor?’ Carla’s heart sank. ‘I don’t think I need a mentor.’
‘I’m afraid every new member of staff is assigned one. You’ll like Erin.’ Albert paused for dramatic effect. ‘She works in the mortuary.’