The hall was brightly lit, and people would come and go. Rosemary was busy speaking to some guests, a research team that had come all the way down from the States for the event. Ashley looked at her while she gave directions to the group. Yes, Professor Smith’s talk would be at half past ten, but they had to take their badges with them. She sounded competent and self-assured. She was the perfect cultured secretary, who could raise money at need. Please, would you make a small donation to support Manx studies about folk-dance and leave your contact details: that way you’ll subscribe to our free newsletter, she would tell some Japanese visitors, who had come across the event, God knows how. Her smile was the seal of the bargain. At that point, she turned around and saw Ashley.
“You have come in the end! I’ll be with you in five minutes. I need to make a phone call. Grab a seat in the second row.”
Ashley complied and ended up sitting next to an over-perfumed old lady, who nodded approvingly at all passers-by.
Ten minutes later Rosemary came around:
“The President of Manx National Heritage is opening the event. Here he comes, I’ll introduce you later.”
Ashley looked up and saw a tall, distinguished man with intense green eyes and an elegant kaki suit. He strode to the podium with assurance and illustrated the main purpose of the event hosted by the Foundation: “to preserve, disseminate and research Manx folklore.”
He must be sixty or so, a fascinating presence lingering in the hall, long after he had introduced the first speaking guest, somebody who had researched Manx fishermen’s superstitions. For some unknown reason, Ashley was so engrossed in observing the President, that his gaze remained unflinching even when the President stared at him. He fascinated him. Not that Ashley knew or cared so much about Manx folklore, but there was something about the man he was curious about. Thus, he only heard a few unconnected phrases, references to other researchers and folklorists. He paid attention only when a fair-haired, freckled Professor spoke about the contribution of a local woman poet, Mona Douglas, to the preservation of many ballads, just because he had read a few of her poems last summer: nice nature descriptions, he remembered, like a picture’s.
At lunchbreak, finally, he had the chance to talk to the President. Rosemary approached him with admiring confidence:
“Count Stanley, I would like to introduce a family friend, an excellent photographer, Ashley Seymour.”
The Count, who was talking to a guest, turned slowly and said in an open, friendly manner: “Indeed, you are both welcome, dear Rosemary and Mr. Seymour. I was talking about the next issue of our magazine with Professor Davies here,” – he pointed to the man next to him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Ashley, while shaking hands.
Rosemary was somewhat surprised by his sincerity.
“You know, Professor Davies of Sheffield University is a faithful and beloved speaker at our annual conference,” she said.
Ashley showed genuine interest, when he heard the Professor talk about the traditional Manx sword dance, he had been working on in his last research.
“Well,” said the Count, “how do you feel about moving to the café, so that we can talk over a warm coffee and Mr. Seymour can tell us more about himself and what brought him here. I would be sorry if he thought that Manx people are not hospitable.”
They spent the remaining time, before the beginning of the second part of the symposium, enjoying some local seafood and finishing with white coffee.
“So, you are a photographer for National Geographic,” Professor Davies said with a sharp glance despite his glasses, “maybe it’s not a chance that you are here.”
The Count stopped sipping his coffee:
“You may be interested in joining our documentation project. Our last photographer moved down South, and he is a loss to us. But here you are.”
Ashley, who only the evening before had thought it was crazy of Rosemary to think he would join the project, said:
“I believe it would be a rewarding experience; I will show you my portfolio soon.”
Rosemary was even more surprised. Later, when they went home, she asked him:
“What made you accept the offer? I thought you wanted nothing to do with us islanders.”
After reflecting for a while, Ashley said:
“Count Stanley, he has something I am interested in. What it is, I cannot say yet.”