‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ As he ran up to her, short of breath, Sylvain smiled disarmingly. ‘I had a last-minute meeting with Jerry that went on so long, I thought perhaps I would be there for the rest of my life.’ Running his fingers through his ruffled hair, he nodded towards the classroom wing. ‘I have an idea of where we can go, if you want to try it?’
He took the stairs two at a time; she followed him silently. (Sixty-six steps.) The second-floor hallway was dark as they walked through the shadows (sixteen steps) past empty classrooms. Their footsteps echoed hollowly.
‘In here.’ Opening a door near the end of the hall, he flipped the light switch and the fluorescent lights flickered on. The room was small (ten desks arranged in five rows of two, four windows …). Sylvain turned two desks so they faced each other then, directing her to one, slid into the other, giving a slight groan as he stretched his long legs out into the aisle.
‘This has been a long day,’ he said, reaching into his bag. ‘Jerry was really on my case today. He’s been in a terrible mood lately.’
Allie found it hard to imagine Jerry, the kindly science teacher, on anyone’s case. He’d always been patient with her.
Sylvain set a notebook in the middle of the desk in front of him and produced a slim, silver pen.
‘Listen,’ he began, a serious line dividing his azure eyes, ‘I must tell you again that I’m sorry they chose me for this.’ He stopped, studying her face for the first time. ‘Are you OK? You look terrible.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, but her words came out a whisper. Clearing her throat, she tried again. ‘Just … coming down with something, maybe.’
‘I want to say first that you can trust me.’
Colour rose in her cheeks, and she looked away.
Two breaths in, one breath out …
‘I mean …’ He was studying her closely and she got the feeling he’d observed her reaction. ‘I know you may never trust me, and I don’t blame you for that. But you can trust me not to tell anybody what you tell me today. I will only write it down and hand it in. OK?’
She had to force herself to meet his eyes, and she knew her cheeks were burning with the heat of all the unspoken words between them – how angry she’d been after the summer ball, and the confusion that had dominated her feelings towards him ever since; how he made her feel both safe and threatened.
‘OK,’ she said, her voice steady. ‘This wasn’t your idea, any more than it was mine. And I’m fine with it. I really am. I’d rather it were you than … well, a lot of people. So let’s just do this.’
I’m glad it’s you, she thought, and then wondered where the thought came from.
‘Good.’ With a relieved smile, he opened his notebook. ‘Let’s do it.’
His first few questions were the same ones she’d asked Carter. When he asked her grandparents’ names, she quickly reeled off the names of her father’s deceased parents. Then she paused.
He glanced up at her enquiringly. ‘And your mother’s parents?’
‘I … I’m afraid I don’t actually know my grandfather’s name on that side of the family,’ she said finally. ‘I’ve never been told.’
A puzzled frown crossed his face but he said nothing, making a note in his notebook. ‘And your grandmother?’
Rain pattered against the window in a staccato rhythm. It sounded like small pebbles being pelted against the glass.
‘My grandmother’s name is Lucinda Meldrum.’ Her voice was calm.
He’d started writing as soon as she began talking but now his pen froze, and he looked up at her. ‘Your grandmother has the same name as the chancellor?’
‘Lucinda Meldrum, the former chancellor, is my grandmother.’
Setting down his pen, he frowned in confusion. ‘Is this a joke, Allie? Because I don’t understand …’
‘No joke, Sylvain,’ she said. Now that she was talking about it, saying the words felt liberating. Another person was now in on the secret. Each person she told made it seem more real. ‘It’s completely true. I am Lucinda Meldrum’s granddaughter.’ She pointed at his notepad. ‘Write it down.’
‘I don’t understand.’ He still hadn’t picked up his pen. ‘If this is true, why doesn’t anyone know about it? I thought you weren’t a legacy student at all, but first generation.’
‘Yeah, I know that everyone has always wondered what that nobody Allie Sheridan is doing at super-amazing Cimmeria, the billionaire’s academy. Well, Sylvain, now you know.’ When he started to speak, she held up her hand. ‘Seriously. Just write down her name. And ask me the next question.’
After a long pause, he picked up his pen and wrote three words: ‘Grandmother: Lucinda Meldrum’.
The incident seemed to throw him off his game, and he referred to his notes distractedly.
‘Uh … OK, so my next question is … Who in your family attended Cimmeria?’ His expression quizzical, he glanced up at her. ‘But I’m not sure I need to ask …’
‘My mother attended Cimmeria.’ Allie’s cool words overrode his. ‘And my grandmother.’
As he made notes, it occurred to her that she was getting used to saying the word ‘grandmother’. It no longer felt so odd. But she found she said it in a commanding way, as if she were saying ‘the Queen’. Just talking about Lucinda conveyed power.