The Oxford Murders

I turned the pages, looking for the obituaries. There was a long list of names after Mrs Eagleton’s obituary, including the British Scrabble Association and the Mathematical Institute, in which Emily Bronson and Seldom were both mentioned. I tore out the page and put it in a desk drawer. I poured another cup of coffee and immersed myself for a couple of hours in my Director of Studies’ papers. At one o’clock I went downstairs to her office and found her eating a sandwich, with a paper napkin laid out over her books. She gave a little cry of delight when I opened the door, as if I had just returned safely from a dangerous expedition. We talked about the murder for a few minutes and I told her what I could, but didn’t say anything about Seldom. She seemed dismayed and genuinely concerned about me. She hoped the police hadn’t bothered me too much. They could be very unpleasant with foreigners, she said. She seemed to be on the verge of apologising for suggesting that I rent a room at Mrs Eagleton’s. We talked for a little longer, while she finished her sandwich. She held it with both hands, pecking at it neatly like a little bird.

“I didn’t realise Arthur Seldom was in Oxford,” I said at one point.

“I don’t think he ever left!” said Emily with a smile. “Like me, Arthur believes that if one waits long enough, all mathematicians end up making a pilgrimage to Oxford. He has a permanent position at Merton. But he doesn’t show his face much. Where did you come across him?”

“I saw his name in the Institute’s death notice,” I said cautiously.

“I could arrange for you to meet him, if you’d like. I think he speaks very good Spanish. His first wife was Argentinian,” she told me. “She worked as a restorer at the Ashmolean, on the great Assyrian frieze.”

She broke off, as if she’d inadvertently been indiscreet.

“Did she…die?” I ventured.

“Yes,” said Emily. “Years ago. She was killed in the same accident as Beth’s parents. They were all four of them in the car. They were such close friends. They were on their way to Clovelly for the weekend. Arthur was the only one who survived.”

She folded the napkin and threw it into the wastepaper basket, taking care not to drop any crumbs. She took a sip from a little bottle of mineral water and adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“Well now,” she said, peering at me with eyes that were a faded, almost whitish blue. “Have you had time to read my papers?”

It was two o’clock by the time I left the Institute, carrying my te

Neither John’s nor Sammy’s car was in the car park, but Lorna’s red Volvo was parked on the grass beside the wire fence of one of the courts. I circled the changing room building and found her practising her backhand against the wall with intense concentration. Even from a distance I could appreciate the beautiful line of her firm, slim legs beneath the very short te

“I thought you weren’t coming,” she said. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and kissed me quickly on the cheek. She looked at me with an intrigued smile, as if she wanted to ask me something, or we were part of a conspiracy in which we were both on the same side but she didn’t know her role.

“What happened to John and Sammy?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, i

I went to the changing rooms and changed quickly, pleasantly surprised by this unexpected piece of luck. All the courts were empty. Lorna was waiting for me by the gate. I lifted the bolt and she went in ahead. In the short distance to the bench she turned to look at me again, hesitating. At last she said, as if she couldn’t help herself:

“I read about the murder in the paper.” Her eyes shone almost with enthusiasm. “My God, I knew her,” she said, as if she were still surprised, or as if it should have protected poor Mrs Eagleton. “I saw her granddaughter in hospital a couple of times too. Is it true you found the body?”

I nodded as I took the cover off my racket.

“Promise you’ll tell me all about it afterwards,” she said.

“I had to promise I wouldn’t say anything,” I said.

“Really? That makes it even more interesting. I knew there was something else!” she exclaimed. “It wasn’t her-the granddaughter-was it? I’m warning you,” she said, pressing her finger into my chest, “you’re not allowed to keep anything secret from your favourite doubles partner. You’ll have to tell me.”

I laughed, and handed her a ball over the net. In the silent, deserted club we started hitting shots from the back of the court. There’s only one thing better in te

We played aiming the ball just within reach, increasing the pace with every shot. Lorna put up a brave defence, leaving long skid marks as she scrambled from one side of the court to the other, her efforts growing increasingly frantic. After each point she went back to the middle, breathing hard, flicking her ponyta’il behind her shoulder with a charming movement. She was facing the sun and her long, ta

Worried, I ran to the net, but she wasn’t hurt, just exhausted. She was out of breath, arms outstretched, as if she simply didn’t have the strength to get up. I jumped over the net and crouched down beside her. She looked at me, her green eyes sparkling strangely in the sun, both mocking and expectant. I lifted her head and she raised herself up on one elbow, slipping her other arm around my neck. Her mouth was very close to mine and I felt her warm, still laboured breath. I kissed her and she fell back, taking me with her. We moved apart for a moment and looked at each other with the first deep, happy, slightly surprised look of lovers. I kissed her again and felt her breasts pressing against my chest. I slid my hand under her t-shirt and she let me stroke her nipple for a moment, but then she stopped me, alarmed, when I tried to slip my other hand under her skirt.