A Subtle Flame

Part 2

CHAPTER ONE

"Ah, Cressida! Here you are at last!" As Cressida entered the small seminar room, a young man rose to greet her, his expansive grin revealing his gleaming white teeth. His formal attire - dark grey suit, dark red tie and black shoes - was designed to impress, but the effect was tarnished by the deep creases in his jacket and trousers, and the long blond ponytail which hung down his back.

"I'll introduce you to everybody. Professor Arthur Peebles, head of the History Department, I'm sure you already know." He indicated a rotund, silver-haired gentleman at the head of the table, who nodded in return. 

"Dr Martin Greatorex, who specializes in late-medieval government. "Dr Greatorex's voluminous beard twitched into what Cressida hope was a smile, and he reached forward to shake her hand. 

"And Dr Alison Lesley, Anglo-Saxon England isn't it?" Dr Lesley - a petite, severe-looking woman with a dark bob and sharp nose - seemed about to correct him, but he continued with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"And this is Cressida Phillips, my Ph.D. student," he concluded, extending a protective arm around Cressida's shoulders. "Now, Cressida, don't be intimidated by us. Even though you are only a student, if you have got something you would like to contribute, don't be afraid to speak out."

Get your arm off me, Christian, you patronising toad, Cressida demanded silently. Suppressing the urge to shrug his arm off with a disgusted shudder, Cressida stepped forward hurriedly and took the chair nearest the door. She then busied herself looking in her bag for a pen and notepad, hoping that none of the others had noticed the angry flush of her cheeks.

Dr Christian Stuart, lecturer in late medieval economic and social history, had a natural talent for setting Cressida's teeth on edge. So far, over the past two years that he had been supervising her Ph.D. research on medieval urban women, Cressida had never let her irritation show. She had bitten her tongue so many times that it should have worn away by now. But inside her head, Cressida could let forth a stream of invective insults which always included the words 'arrogant' and 'overbearing'.

Take this meeting for instance. Half an hour's notice he had given her, no more. She knew that the monthly meetings of the history department were arranged at least a couple of weeks in advance, so why wait until the last moment to ask - no, he had ordered her - to attend? She had never been invited before, and would not be surprised to hear that this was the first time that any student had attended a departmental meeting. She suspected that it would be concerned with Antiquus, the journal of ancient and medieval history produced by the History Department with Christian as editor-in-chief. Although that was a joke, Cressida smiled sardonically to herself, since Christian had been gradually off-loading his responsibilities onto her. Cressida looked up to examine the faces of those around the table. I wonder how many of them know that, for the last few months at least, the person who has been liasing with authors and organising proof-reading and publication has not been Christian, but me?

The room was silent, except for the occasional bored cough, or rustle of papers. From outside in the bright autumn sunshine the sound of young voices and laughter would occasionally penetrate the room. The afternoon was unusually warm and mild for an English October, and the green lawns of the university were busy with idling students. Cressida revised her plan to head to the library as soon as the meeting had finished. Instead she would find the shade of a tree – her pale, lightly freckled skin meant that she burnt easily – and read until it was time to head back to her hall of residence.

Christian flicked through a word-processed essay paper, alternately sighing and smirking at the student's mistakes, which he annotated with a bright red flourish. Then, with a pointed glance at his watch, he announced, "it's gone two. Let's get started shall we?"