A boy, a motorcycle on a deserted road, a hot weekend in summertime…
Once more she tried to tell herself it couldn’t possibly be the same person.
That all happened twenty years ago, and far away from here. This was a different world.
But Camilla knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jon Campbell was the man she remembered. Somehow he’d managed to find her again. And his presence here on this campus spelled terrible danger. It could mean an end to the whole careful life she’d struggled for twenty years to build.
CAMILLA FINALLY LEFT her cats and her apartment, feeling a little comforted but still worried and tense. She locked the door, hurried down the hall and entered the elevator. Three other people stood inside the little enclosure, a couple of graduate assistants and a young janitor with a mop and pail. Camilla greeted him with a smile.
The elevator doors opened as they reached the lobby. Camilla walked down a shady path to one of the buildings in the English department, then made her way through a maze of corridors to a suite of cramped, book-filled offices where she shared a secretary with three other professors.
“Hi, Camilla.” The secretary looked up from her computer keyboard with a bright smile. “Did you have a nice summer?”
“Very nice, Joyce.” Camilla took a bundle of files from one of the compartments. “How about you?”
Joyce shrugged. “I’m glad to be back at work. My kids were really driving me crazy.”
“Didn’t you manage to get away for that vacation in Banff? I remember how much you were all looking forward to it.”
“Oh, that was fun, all right, but it only lasted two weeks. The kids always get so bored by the end of August.”
“How old are they now?” Camilla paused, then shook her head. “My goodness, Jamie must be ten already. I can hardly believe it.”
“He sure is. And Susan’s eight. Little monsters,” Joyce said darkly, but her smile was fond.
Camilla tried to imagine what it would be like to spend a whole summer with children that age.
Most of her experience with younger children involved the primary-school study group at the university. This class was made up of about fifteen gifted children aged six to ten years. The children came from all the western provinces to receive an accelerated education. They were also tested and observed by some of the senior professors who were doing research into intelligence.
“So, did you go home for the summer?” Joyce was asking.
“No,” Camilla said after a brief hesitation. “I had a couple of papers to get ready for publication, so I stayed here and worked.”
“What a pity. It must be beautiful in New England at this time of year,” the secretary said wistfully.
“New England?” Camilla asked.
“Barry says your people have a summer home out there, near the Kennedy compound.”
Camilla shifted the stack of books to her other arm, putting the files on top. “Well, I haven’t been to New England in a long time,” she said.
“Okay.” Joyce gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Whatever you say.”
Camilla hesitated for a moment, wondering what to say, then nodded and let herself into her little office. She dumped the books and files onto her desk, troubled by the secretary’s words.
These rumors about Camilla’s family had started circulating around campus a few years ago, and grew more outlandish all the time. By now, her half-hearted denials only served to make people more convinced that she came from a lavishly privileged, aristocratic background and chose for some reason to keep her private life a secret.
Although Camilla was sometimes dismayed by the exaggerated stories, she was grateful that they served to keep her colleagues a little intimidated. People seldom invited her to functions like staff parties and backyard barbecues, assuming that she wouldn’t want to attend. As a result, she wasn’t forced to get close to people, or form any relationships that required an uncomfortable level of disclosure about her personal life.
She was almost always lonely, but she was safe at home with her plants and books, her cats and her research work. And safety was more important to Camilla Pritchard than anything else.
Much more important…
She crossed the room and stood for a moment looking out the window at the throngs of students, wondering what her colleagues would think if they ever discovered the truth.
But, of course, none of these people could possibly learn the truth about Camilla Pritchard. As long as she kept everybody at arm’s length, there was no danger.
She pushed aside the fears, sat down at her desk and began to work.
A knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” she called.
The door opened and Gwen Klassen appeared, looking brisk and cheerful. She was one of the professors who shared their suite of offices and taught the class of gifted primary children in their bright, toy-filled study center down the hall.
“Hi, Camilla,” she said, coming into the room. “I need to borrow a couple of your books on cognitive processes. Are you all ready for the new term?”
Camilla moved some papers so her colleague could sit on the corner of the desk. “Actually, I’m even less ready than usual.”
“You?” Gwen asked. “Go on. You’re so superorganized, I thought you always prepared about three years ahead,” she said as she perched on the desk, swinging her feet in their white running shoes.
Gwen was about fifty, with a slim figure, a shock of gray hair and a manner so sunny and engaging that even Camilla’s shyness and reserve tended to melt under its warmth. A born teacher, Gwen Klassen treated her scholarly colleagues exactly the way she did her little students, with a humorous, gentle indulgence that endeared her to everybody.
Camilla examined the file on her desk, containing class lists and an outline of her teaching schedule for the fall term. “I mean, I’m not emotionally prepared. I feel less ready every term,” she said in a rare display of her personal feelings. “I love teaching, but I keep thinking maybe I’m missing something. Like there should be…I don’t know.” She moved books around restlessly on her desk, trying to smile. “Maybe I’m just getting old.”
Gwen looked down at her with surprise and sympathy. “It sounds more like you’re getting burned out, honey. Why don’t you consider applying for a sabbatical? You know they’d give it to you in a minute, because there’s nobody on staff who deserves it more. You could spend a whole year doing research and writing, and come back feeling like a brand-new woman.”
“I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I took a sabbatical,” Camilla said. “A year off from teaching would be too long. I just need…some kind of change, I guess.”
“Like what?”
Camilla shrugged and leafed through some papers, embarrassed at having revealed so much of herself.
“Why don’t you come over to my place on Friday night?” Gwen said casually. “Dan and I are having a few people over. Barry and his wife, and Gail and Joe from the administration office, and one of the new professors who’s a whiz on the electric guitar. It should be a good time.”
“I don’t think so, thanks.” Camilla smiled regretfully at the other woman. “It sounds like fun, but I have…I have a prior commitment.”
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