True Grey by Clea Simon Read Free Book Online Page B

down at the notes in front of her. ‘If I only had one more day in the Mildon, I think then I might have something. I think I’m on the brink of something big.’

NINE
    S he didn’t take the time to explain it to Lloyd – the whole dream thing would sound too weird – but he’d cheered her on anyway as she’d gathered her papers and left the office. She’d been so happy she’d barely noticed the tie-up at the new turnstile, as three of her colleagues kept trying to swipe their cards.
    Surfacing into the balmy afternoon, she made a mental list. Lucy would have an astral reason for all the elements coming together, and for once Dulcie was almost ready to agree with her. Her edge – her recognition of the handwriting – was as insubstantial as, well, a whisker. Still, her dreams had come through for her before.
    Plus, there were other positive notes: Lloyd had arranged for her to meet with this Melinda before the visiting scholar’s big talk. That was key, Dulcie had thought, for two reasons. The first was tactical: if she could find out what the visiting scholar was specializing in, then maybe she could safely claim the new book as her own turf. As much as she loved
The Ravages
, the idea of a previously unknown book excited her.
    Besides, it seemed possible – likely, even – that the visiting VIP already had some area of specialty within the larger scope of the author’s work. Trista’s general area of concentration, for example, had been Victorian fiction, but her thesis had homed in on ‘Architectural Details in the Later Victorian Novel’. Lloyd, who theoretically covered the exact same period, was toiling away at ‘The Mid-Victorian Epigraph: Wit Carved in Stone’. Nothing could be more different.
    Knowing what this Melinda’s specialty was before the big presentation would also serve as the intellectual equivalent of a leg-up. After the talk, when Thorpe came up to question her, as Dulcie knew he would, she could have her answer ready – and be prepared to defend her right to continue with her thesis. ‘Oh, Melinda isn’t dealing with the American years,’ she could say blithely. Or, ‘She’s not concerned with the possibility of a lost novel.’ Maybe it would even be true.
    The second reason for Dulcie’s renewed optimism was more personal – and, admittedly, less likely. As supportive as Trista and Lloyd tried to be, Dulcie worked alone, essentially, the outcast of Literature and Language. And although her friends in the department always trod carefully, she knew that the bias against the Gothics was still huge. The idea of meeting someone with whom she could share her passion was appealing. They would be colleagues. Who knew? They might even become friends.
    Her mind had raced with the possibilities – if she wanted to, Melinda would be in a position to do her a world of good. If Melinda introduced her, or even deigned to mention her as a scholar doing something,
anything
complementary to her own work, it would help legitimize Dulcie’s research. Perhaps she would invite Dulcie to that exclusive gathering before the talk. Perhaps they would publish together, farther down the postdoc road. As she strode across the Yard, Dulcie was positively optimistic.
    The final piece, she told herself as she trotted up the stairs of Widener, was that manuscript page. She should have time – more than twenty minutes till closing – to find it again. And this time, she’d make sure she kept a copy until her laptop had been able to process it.
    She was so busy picturing her progress – which page to pull from which box – that she was stunned to see Mr Griddlehaus standing at the front counter, shaking his head.
    â€˜I’m so sorry, Ms Schwartz,’ he said. ‘I thought you must have heard.’ He went on to tell her that as of midday, everything having to do with Gothic