Page 18 of A Noble Affair
“Of course,” the director replied in a placating voice. “I have his number, and I’ll give him a call.”
As Charles headedtowards the main entrance, he had a moment’s appreciation for how lucky he was to be able to orchestrate the parts of the museum committee he enjoyed—namely the art selection—but not get mired down in paperwork. He was the one, however, who had had to fire Anne. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t delegate that responsibility to anyone else. Between the school and the museum, they’d had a warm working relationship. In fact, with time and under different circumstances, it might have grown into something else.
He rememberedthe day it had come to his attention that she was not who she said she was. The information had come to him anonymously, but there was too much proof of its veracity to ignore. He asked his manager to check into a few details, and sure enough, she had none of the degrees her resumé claimed she did.
She’d come into the conference room that day, wreathed in smiles, ignorant of the hard blow her life was about to receive. Charles couldn’t hide the strain in his greeting, and she sensed it immediately.
“What’s wrong?” She had seemed concerned, as if he were the one who was suffering.
“Anne…” When he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he silently handed her the letter he had received. As soon as she read the first couple of lines, she reached for the table with a trembling hand, before her feet gave way and she fell into the chair. Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry.”
“How did it happen?” Charles asked her. “How did you get mixed up in all this?” When she didn’t answer, he pressed her. “How did you even pull it off?”
Anne began to weep silently, and he was grateful for the lack of windows in the conference room that would keep her humiliation private. She dug through her purse and pulled out a Kleenex, and when she had a reasonable control over her voice, said, “I was young when I needed that first job, and they didn’t seem to have their act together so I took a risk and applied. I lied about the schooling. They took me in on a temporary basis and were pleased with my work, so they kept me. One thing led to another and I got the job at the school, and this one at the museum. And—it was too late to go and get the degree my CV claimed I had. It would’ve gotten out somehow. All these years, and I’ve been waiting for the ball to drop.”
Her lips trembled, and she held the Kleenex up to them as more tears fell on to her splotched face. Charles took a breath and dealt the unpleasant blow. “We have to let you go. You know that. I’ll talk to Elizabeth at the school and spare you from having to deal with her directly if you wish.” She nodded.
“I’ve appreciated working with you.” He allowed a moment for that to sink in. “As I’m sure you know, there’re a couple of universities in the South of France that offer art degrees. Why not try to get a degree now? You already have the experience, and I’m willing to give you a recommendation.” She shot her head up in surprise, which made him smile.
“I don’t deserve—” she began.
“It’s nothing.” He cut her off before she could show her gratitude. “I’ll ask Elizabeth to keep this between the three of us so you’ll have a chance at a fresh beginning.” He reached out to shake her hand, but she showed him the mangled tissue by way of protest and gave that wry smile he had come to appreciate. He hadn’t had news from her since.
When the meetingwith the art committee was over, he pushed open the heavy iron doors, and the bright, cold sunlight shook his thoughts back to the present. As he jogged down the stairs, he heard his phone ring. It was the school.
“Oui, allô?”
“Charles, this is Elizabeth Mercer. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m on my way to work. What can I help you with?” He walked towards his car and pressed the alarm. His tan Mini Cooper chirped.
“I’m here with Louis’s English teacher, Chastity Whitmore,” she began. Charles inwardly groaned.What does she want now?“I’m afraid we need to talk to you as soon as possible about Louis. When might you be able to come in?”
Charles glanced at his watch, and thought for a second before replying. “If we can have a short meeting now, I can come in right away. I won’t be able to stay longer than fifteen minutes. Is that possible?”
“That sounds fine.”
Charles climbed into his car and slammed the door shut. He put his car in reverse and pulled out of the parking spot, going in the opposite direction from where he had intended, and in a dark mood.
The doorbell to the front gate rang, and Elizabeth peeked out the window before ringing Charles in. She went to the front door to meet him and shook his hand.
Students bustled past them in the passageway, as the principal led him to her office. When he entered, the English teacher fixed her light green eyes on him then stood to grasp his hand before motioning towards the other seat. He couldn’t shake the ridiculous feeling he was in trouble.
“I think Louis was on drugs during Tuesday’s class,” she said, getting right to the point. “In fact, I’m almost sure of it.” She frowned, waiting for his response.
Good grief, woman. Lighten up a little. Or do you just have it out for me in particular?He couldn’t explain to himself why he reacted so irrationally when he was around her or why she irritated him so much.
Charles knew he should have postponed this discussion. Now he was sure he’d be late for the staff meeting.Maybe she’s attracted to me and that’s why she puts in all these parent-teacher requests. He checked himself.I’m too old for that.I’m losing it.He inhaled deeply and caught the scent of lavender.
After what seemed to him an interminable amount of time, he found his words. “What makes you think so?”
Chastity seemed to consider before speaking. “At times I suspect he’s on marijuana because his clothes sometimes smell like that. Although it’s subtle, and that makes me wonder whether I’ve imagined it. He’s often laid back to the point of being almost. . .comatose.” She laughed self-consciously, and without humor. “Again, I’m not sure because that could be his personality. I don’t know him well enough.” Frowning, she added, “I’ve told you this already in our last meeting.”
“Some of it,” he acquiesced, remembering how he had practically stormed out because it was more than he wanted to hear. A curl from her chignon fell onto her collarbone and his eyes gravitated towards it.
“Well, this last class was different,” she said. “He came in late and was so talkative. He actually had some good ideas, and it seemed as if he’d read the book, which was different from any other class discussion he’s participated in.”
She shook her head. “I can’t put my finger on it. I might be wrong. There were no outward signs, like red eyes or the smell of drugs. Something was. . .off. It was like he was a different person.”
