One Hundred Names (Special Edition)

to her anger, but that had been another day’s argument. Whether she would bite the bullet and attend the conference was unknown at this point but Eugene wasn’t giving up on her.
    ‘So you told her deliberately,’ she snapped, face hot, eyes bright, one green and burning bright, the other as fearsome though dull brown, ‘to force me to do it. If she writes about it then I have to do it, is that your plan?’
    ‘I think your work is something to tell the world about,’ he said firmly, trying to keep the stammer out of his voice. ‘I doubt anybody else in the world has studied the Peacock butterfly as closely as you have. You have the data, the experience to prove it. Why spend five years studying and writing a report if you’re not going to show it to anybody?’ He realised his voice had risen louder and louder. Ambrose seemed surprised. Amused, even.
    ‘You told her I was going to Cork and now she wants to come with us,’ she said, frustrated.
    ‘Correction. She wants
us
to go with
her
.’
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    ‘You will soon. She’ll be here soon to talk to you. She wants to spend the afternoon with you.’
    The doorbell rang.
    ‘That will be her,’ Eugene said. Shaking from his confrontation he left an open-mouthed Ambrose quickly pulling down her hair from its clip, covering her face in a panic.
    He took a deep breath and smiled before opening the door. ‘Ah. Ms Logan, how lovely to see you. Please do come in.’
    ‘She ties her hair back when she’s around you,’ Kitty said to Eugene after her interview session with the increasingly intriguing Ambrose was finished.
    Eugene looked up in surprise from his paperwork where he was sitting in a small cubbyhole office. ‘She told you that?’
    ‘No, I saw you two talking through the window before I rang the doorbell.’ Which translated to: ‘I was snooping before I rang the doorbell.’
    ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Well then, I’ve nothing further to add to that.’
    ‘I’m not going to write about that,’ Kitty said, leaning against the doorframe, making him feel trapped. ‘It just must be nice for you to know that.’
    ‘Nice? Why would it be nice?’ He fidgeted with papers. His cheeks flushed and the colour ran down his neck and stopped at his bow tie.
    ‘Because she obviously feels very comfortable around you,’ Kitty smiled and watched the corners of his mouth twitch as he thought about it.
    ‘Well, I’ve never considered it. I mean, that’s no reason to … It’s not … She’s not, we’re not …’ he stammered, unable to finish a single sentence he’d started.
    ‘So I’ll see you both tomorrow afternoon,’ Kitty said.
    ‘She said she’d go?’
    ‘No, but I’ll leave it up to you to convince her. I have a feeling she listens to what you say.’ She winked at him and left the museum.
    Ashford Private College was situated on Parnell Square beside the Irish Writers’ Centre, which faced the Garden of Remembrance and other such important venues as the Gate Theatre and Rotunda Maternity Hospital. It was a Georgian square and the college filled four floors of classrooms, advertising subjects from cookery to technology, interior design, business studies, marketing and media. Part of that media course was a television presentation class that taught the student how to speak properly and slowly, how to speak to the camera, getting rid of any habits or tics they unknowingly had and becoming comfortable with presentation and the sound of their own voice. Kitty had taken the class five years ago and was now attending an interview to teach it. It didn’t escape her that she had no teaching credentials but she had gained plenty of experience actually working in the field, and in addition to being keen to share her knowledge, she really needed the money. Pay for two and a half hours a week would go a long way in her current situation.
    She sat before Daniel Meara, the captain of the ship, former principal-turned-businessman, who had opened up the college to teach part-time and night courses, making money on handing out diplomas and certificates for employment opportunities that no longer existed.
    ‘Katherine,’ he looked down at her résumé and back up at her with a smile. It was an awkward smile, one that immediately had Kitty questioning why on earth she had come at all. If she didn’t believe in herself, how on earth was she going to convince this man that she was good enough for the job? She braced herself.
    ‘I