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Chapter 1
Oxford, present day
‘Anna, I’m leaving.’
Becca’s words filtered into my Monday morning brain fog, but I didn’t fully comprehend their meaning. I sipped my coffee, unconcerned. ‘I’m not sure why I need to know you’re going to the loo. But thanks for telling me.’
There was a silence, and I glanced over to the adjoining desk. Becca’s face had taken on a patient expression, as a mother’s might when dealing with a small child. Oh, OK, that wasn’t what she meant. Despite being a senior researcher with a doctoral in history who could rattle off all sorts of facts and figures, sometimes I failed to understand basic communication.
My stomach dropped as her real meaning sunk in. ‘What? But you can’t leave. I need you, and I’ve just gotten used to you!’
Becca had been hired fresh out of her master’s degree six months ago as my research assistant for Professor Jeremy Trelawny’s book The Impact of Smallpox on Eighteenth-Century England.
Despite a three-year age gap, we’d bonded over endless cups of tea and a shared fascination with endemic diseases. Becca’s caustic wit reminded me of my twin sister, Beth. Plus she had the same first initial and our long dark hair, slim build, and green eyes. Not that I’d seen Beth for two years. She might have shaved her head, put on 100 pounds, and now wear coloured contacts for all I knew ...
Becca hitched a shoulder and looked sheepish. ‘As much as I like working with you, I’ve had a great offer—a three-month research post in Africa.’
‘Africa!’ I screeched a touch too loud, and Becca winced.
‘Wow,’ I said in a softer tone. ‘Doing what?’
‘Collecting oral histories from people affected by malaria and documenting their personal experiences related to the disease,’ she explained. ‘It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. And my time working on the pox project boosted my application to the top of the pile.’
I folded my arms, frowning at her. ‘Does Jeremy know about this?’
‘Yes, he was the one who acted as my referee. I didn’t want to say anything to you until I was sure, but I got confirmation over the weekend.’
Jeremy hadn’t mentioned anything to me about Becca leaving. But then again, there was a hierarchy in the faculty—one I was duly aware of at times like this. Information tended to flow upwards or sideways and only down the chain when strictly necessary. But still ... Becca was my assistant, and I’d miss her.
A thought struck. What if Jeremy hired someone unbearable to replace her? We shared a small office, and I wasn’t great with other people in my personal space. I needed quiet and calm to do my job. A foot tapper, gum chewer, or loud headphones-music player would irritate the heck out of me. There was also the worry he’d hire a woman I couldn’t compete with. Becca, once I’d gotten used to her little quirks, was safe as she was ensconced in a long-term relationship. And as far as I knew, she didn’t find Jeremy remotely attractive; she’d never said anything to me anyway.
‘Has he ...’ I started, and Becca knew instantly where my mind was headed.
‘Begun advertising? Yes, since I’m on my notice period starting today.’ She moved her mouse, clicked on a link, and brought up the history faculty vacancies page in case I was still in denial. ‘See?’
I leaned over and saw the listing: ‘Assistant Required for Senior Researcher on Smallpox Project’. Below it was a brief paragraph about the role, qualifications required, along with salary and start date.
This was turning out to be a bad day. I should have stayed in bed and skipped Monday altogether.
‘Maybe you should leave too,’ said Becca casually. I almost choked on a mouthful of lukewarm coffee.
‘Me? Why would I leave? I’m doing important work.’
‘Yes, but you’ve been doing it for two years. Don’t you want to branch out and do something else? There are lots of interesting positions on here. You should take a look.’
I shook my head emphatically. ‘Jeremy’s book requires meticulous research, and I wouldn’t want to leave him in the lurch, especially as he’s about to start writing. He needs me for editing, cross-referencing, and footnotes.’
What was she even thinking suggesting I leave?
Becca was looking at me with a curious, almost-knowing glint in her eye. ‘Are you sure it’s the book you’re focused on?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ I averted my gaze and concentrated on the document displayed on my computer screen. I was combing through church records in south-east England from 1749 to 1779. They were proving vital because some months had disturbingly high deaths from smallpox. It was fascinating stuff (well, to me).
‘Come on, Anna. I’ve seen the way you go all moony whenever you’re around him,’ said Becca in a strange voice.
I glanced sideways and saw that she’d puckered her lips and was fluttering her eyelashes. She looked ridiculous. I threw a paper clip at her. ‘I don’t do that!’
But inside, I quailed. God, if Becca had noticed, who else had? Jeremy himself? I shuddered to think of it. I thought I’d been pretty discreet at keeping my feelings to myself. Obviously, I had a bad poker face.
