Indy looked up to see Deirdre's hand again. He knew most teachers would love to have a dozen bright students like Deirdre in class, but she was getting out of hand.
"What about the controversy with the military authori ties?" she asked.
Even when she posed a question, she phrased it in a way that showed she already knew the answer.
What the hell was she doing, testing him for her mother? This time he was at a loss. In spite of all the time he spent preparing his lectures, he knew there were things he was missing, and this must be one of them.
"Sorry. I'm not sure what you mean."
"That's understandable," she said in a knowing voice. "You haven't been in England long, and I hear they don't report our British doings very thoroughly in your newspa pers. But it was quite a controversy here.
Near the end of the war, the authorities wanted to knock down Stonehenge, because they felt the stones might be dangerous to low flying airplanes."
"You're kidding."
"Not at all. It was quite a stink."
Indy noticed several heads bobbing in agreement. "Well, I'll have to look into it," he muttered and cleared his throat again. He was angry with Deirdre. She was acting as if this were her class. He needed to straighten her out, and quickly.
She must have sensed his unease, because she only spoke up a couple more times during the remainder of his lecture. As the class came to an end, Indy said the next time he would be talking about Stonehenge.
"We've al ready discussed menhirs and dolmens, and now you can add trilithons to your vocabulary. Your assignment is to
read all the articles entitled, 'Excavations at Stonehenge,' by Colonel William Hawley that have been published in the Antiquaries Journal since 1920. Hawley, as you should know, is the archaeologist in charge of the current digging at Stonehenge. We'll talk about what he's found so far and the implications.
By the way, does anyone know what he found under the so-called Slaughter Stone?"
After a few seconds, Deirdre raised her hand, but this time only to shoulder level. Indy waited a moment longer for other hands, but there were no others. "Go ahead, Deirdre."
"He's found some flint tools and pottery shards, and also stone mauls and deer-antler picks. But I think the item you're referring to is a bottle of port left by another archaeologist, Colt Hoare, a hundred years ago."
Everyone laughed.
"Very good. You stole my joke. See me after class, will you, Miss Campbell? Class dismissed."
As they filed out of the room, Indy gathered up his notes and thought about what he would say. When every one but Deirdre had left, he remained behind his podium as if he were about to continue his lecture for a class of one. She approached the podium with her hands folded in front of her over a notebook. She was a petite woman, an inch or two over five feet. Her long auburn hair had curls that twirled down over her shoulders. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were the violet of heather. She wore just a touch of makeup.
There was something contradictory about her appearance. She was frail, but savvy; innocent, but sophisticated. Looking at her for some reason made him think of an oxymoron his father used to quote when his mother was agitated about something trivial. 'O heavy lightness, serious vanity!'
"You're Scottish, aren't you, Deirdre?" he began.
"Yes, I am."
"So am I. Well, I mean my father is, or was. He was born in Scotland." Bad start.
She stared directly into his eyes, challenging him, a slight smile on her lips. "Is that why you asked me to stay after class, so we could discuss our ancestries?"
He cleared his throat. He was nervous. She was the one who should be, but wasn't. "I want to ask you if you. . ."
"Yes?"
He looked down at the podium. "... if you would mind... Deirdre, why you're taking this class? I mean you seem to know the material, and your mother is certainly more knowledgeable about British archaeology than I am."
"But you're the one teaching the class. She's not. I can't get credits through heredity."
He knew that if he angered her it might get back to her mother and it could be the end of his chances for being rehired for the fall, but he had to say something. "Deirdre, listen, I'd appreciate it if you would give the others in the class a chance to talk."
Her eyes blinked rapidly, "What do you mean?"
"I think you might be intimidating them."
"Oh? No reason for it. They're certainly free to say anything they like."
"Yeah." Indy looked down at the podium again as if his notes would give him an idea of what to say.
"Can I make an observation, Professor?"
Now what? "Go ahead."
"It seems to me that you are the one who is intimidated."
He shrugged. "Not intimidated, just a bit irritated."
"Why?"
"Look, this is my first teaching job. I've never been involved in any fieldwork here. I'm not English."
"You don't have to apologize to me for not being Eng lish. Remember, I'm not either."
Indy didn't join her laughter. "And your mother is my boss."
"You don't have to make an accusation out of that fact. If you want to know, I'm enjoying your class. I think you're doing a terrific job, and I've told Joanna, my mum."
"Why, thank you."
"She keeps teasing me about you." She smiled awkwardly, her face reddened. "I better go."
He watched her leave. He smiled to himself. A real oddball, that one. He liked her, he decided. But then he'd known that from the first day of class.
INDIANA JONES AND THE DANCE OF THE GIANTS will be available in May 1991 wherever Bantam Books are sold.