little window boxes filled with early summer blooms—people here obviously thought a lot of keeping their homes tidy. We went around a few more turns and down one more long street before we reached our destination.
“Here we are, 98 Liverpool Road,” Jane said, pausing before the last door at the end of a block of rowhouses in a cul-de-sac. The building was three stories, and narrow, virtuallyidentical to the other doors, but it was distinguished by a dark red doorway, outlined in white to match the window frames, and a row of pansies on the window ledge.
“We are lucky to have the last house on the end—much quieter than the others. Come in, I’ll show you to the bath right away.”
Jane gave me a spare key and then showed me to my room, a quiet space on the third floor, and then to the bath, on the second floor, which was narrow and a little old fashioned looking, but had a marvelous old white enameled tub.
“Take your time, fill it up, soak your cares away,” she said, almost jolly, now that she was away from the dig. “I’ll get to work on dinner and then we’ll tuck you into bed.”
“Sounds heavenly,” I said. And it was. The water almost reached my chin and I steeped for what felt like hours, but when I checked my watch, it had only been about twenty minutes. Still, it was a luxury to me and I felt worlds better, despite my stomach. Odd, I thought. I have the constitution of a particularly tough rhino; it was unusual for me to feelill.
The bath restored me in great part, and then I called Brian to let him know I’d made it all right. He sensed something was up immediately, and I finally told him about the missing student and the modern burial. I couldn’t help saying that I was feeling a little haunted.
“It’s nothing to do with you,” he said immediately. “You’re only there to dig and buy books and visit your friends, not necessarily in that order.”
And with that, the subject changed, by mutual agreement, until we reluctantly said good-bye. When I finally found my way to the basement kitchen—painted a warm cream with green and orange accents—I discovered that Jane had kicked it up into high gear. A pot of tomato sauce was bubbling, filled with mushrooms, if the scent was any indication. Pasta was boiling on the tiny stove, and Jane was picking leaves off plants that grew in a row of pots near the basement window.
At first I was taken aback by that sight; her plants looked suspiciously like the illicit little set-up Kam and Brian had in their graduate school apartment, but then I realized that Jane was picking fresh basil. Next to a large terrarium tank with a light, she had an herb garden in the kitchen, all trained up and orderly.
“Anything I can help you with?” I asked.
“Yes, thanks. That chair at the table desperately needs to be held down, and that glass of wine needs to be emptied right away,” Jane said. “Apart from that, I’m pretty well set: I’ve got the bread heating, a salad and dressing all done, Hildegard’s fed—the tortoise is Greg’s, the stupid thing—and there’s a batch of little cheesy nibbles just ready…now.” The instant she said “now,” the oven timer chimed.
Jane continued as she pulled the tray from the oven; the most delicious smell of herbed cheese struck me. She nodded toward the tank. “When he told me he wanted a tortoise, I thought, great, a tortoise won’t be any work at all. The perfect pet for the busy couple. When I ever found out how temperamental they are and how much care they need—diet, temperature, this, that, and the other—well, they’re much more bother than a cat. And yet I’ve rather got attached to the bumpy little thing, I must say.”
I sat obediently at a large oak farmhouse table and took a sip of my wine, overwhelmed by Jane’s energy. She was already clean, somehow, and flushed with the steam of cooking food.
“Here, eat up while they’re hot.” She slid the hot canapés into a plate in front
“Here we are, 98 Liverpool Road,” Jane said, pausing before the last door at the end of a block of rowhouses in a cul-de-sac. The building was three stories, and narrow, virtuallyidentical to the other doors, but it was distinguished by a dark red doorway, outlined in white to match the window frames, and a row of pansies on the window ledge.
“We are lucky to have the last house on the end—much quieter than the others. Come in, I’ll show you to the bath right away.”
Jane gave me a spare key and then showed me to my room, a quiet space on the third floor, and then to the bath, on the second floor, which was narrow and a little old fashioned looking, but had a marvelous old white enameled tub.
“Take your time, fill it up, soak your cares away,” she said, almost jolly, now that she was away from the dig. “I’ll get to work on dinner and then we’ll tuck you into bed.”
“Sounds heavenly,” I said. And it was. The water almost reached my chin and I steeped for what felt like hours, but when I checked my watch, it had only been about twenty minutes. Still, it was a luxury to me and I felt worlds better, despite my stomach. Odd, I thought. I have the constitution of a particularly tough rhino; it was unusual for me to feelill.
The bath restored me in great part, and then I called Brian to let him know I’d made it all right. He sensed something was up immediately, and I finally told him about the missing student and the modern burial. I couldn’t help saying that I was feeling a little haunted.
“It’s nothing to do with you,” he said immediately. “You’re only there to dig and buy books and visit your friends, not necessarily in that order.”
And with that, the subject changed, by mutual agreement, until we reluctantly said good-bye. When I finally found my way to the basement kitchen—painted a warm cream with green and orange accents—I discovered that Jane had kicked it up into high gear. A pot of tomato sauce was bubbling, filled with mushrooms, if the scent was any indication. Pasta was boiling on the tiny stove, and Jane was picking leaves off plants that grew in a row of pots near the basement window.
At first I was taken aback by that sight; her plants looked suspiciously like the illicit little set-up Kam and Brian had in their graduate school apartment, but then I realized that Jane was picking fresh basil. Next to a large terrarium tank with a light, she had an herb garden in the kitchen, all trained up and orderly.
“Anything I can help you with?” I asked.
“Yes, thanks. That chair at the table desperately needs to be held down, and that glass of wine needs to be emptied right away,” Jane said. “Apart from that, I’m pretty well set: I’ve got the bread heating, a salad and dressing all done, Hildegard’s fed—the tortoise is Greg’s, the stupid thing—and there’s a batch of little cheesy nibbles just ready…now.” The instant she said “now,” the oven timer chimed.
Jane continued as she pulled the tray from the oven; the most delicious smell of herbed cheese struck me. She nodded toward the tank. “When he told me he wanted a tortoise, I thought, great, a tortoise won’t be any work at all. The perfect pet for the busy couple. When I ever found out how temperamental they are and how much care they need—diet, temperature, this, that, and the other—well, they’re much more bother than a cat. And yet I’ve rather got attached to the bumpy little thing, I must say.”
I sat obediently at a large oak farmhouse table and took a sip of my wine, overwhelmed by Jane’s energy. She was already clean, somehow, and flushed with the steam of cooking food.
“Here, eat up while they’re hot.” She slid the hot canapés into a plate in front
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