“Do you have a copy of your contract?” Steve asked.
“Sure.” Jeannie went to a small desk in the corner and opened a file drawer. “Here it is.”
Steve read it quickly. In clause twelve she agreed to be bound by the decisions of the university’s senate. That would make it difficult for her to legally challenge the final decision.
He returned to the discipline committee rules. “It says you have to notify the chair in advance if you wish to be represented by a lawyer or other person,” he said.
“I’ll call Jack Budgen right away,” Jeannie said. “It’s eight o’clock—he’ll be at home.” She picked up the phone.
“Wait,” Steve said. “Let’s think about the conversation first.”
“You’re so right. You’re thinking strategically, and I’m not.”
Steve felt pleased. The first piece of advice he had given as her lawyer had been good. “This man holds your fate in his hands. What’s he like?”
“He’s chief librarian, and my tennis opponent.”
“The guy you were playing on Sunday?”
“Yes. An administrator rather than an academic. A good tactical player, but my guess is he never had the killer instinct to make it to the top in tennis.”
“Okay, so he has a somewhat competitive relationship with you.”
“I guess so.”
“Now, what impression do we want to give him?” He ticked points on his fingers. “One: We want to appear upbeat and confident of success. You’re looking forward eagerly to the hearing. You’re innocent, you’re glad of the opportunity to prove it, and you have faith that the committee will see the truth of the matter, under Budgen’s wise direction.”
“Okay.”
“Two: You’re the underdog. You’re a weak, helpless girl—”
“Are you kidding?”
He grinned. “Scratch that. You’re a very junior academic and you’re up against Berrington and Obeli, two wily old operators who are used to getting their own way at JFU. Hell, you can’t even afford a real lawyer. Is Budgen Jewish?”
“I don’t know. He might be.”
“I hope so. Minorities are more likely to turn against the Establishment. Three: The story of why Berrington is persecuting you like this has to come out. It’s a shocking story, but it must be told.”
“How does it help me to say that?”
“It plants the idea that Berrington might have something to hide.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“I don’t think so.”
Jeannie dialed the number and handed him the phone.
Steve took it with trepidation. This was the first call he had ever made as someone’s lawyer.
As he listened to the ringing tone, he tried to recall how Jack Budgen played tennis. Steve had been concentrating on Jeannie, of course, but he remembered a fit, bald man of about fifty, playing a well-paced, wily game. Budgen had defeated Jeannie even though she was younger and stronger. Steve vowed not to underestimate him.
The phone was answered in a quiet, cultured voice. “Hello?”
“Professor Budgen, my name is Steven Logan.”
There was a short pause. “Do I know you, Mr. Logan?”
“No, sir. I’m calling you in your capacity as chair of the discipline committee of Jones Falls University, to let you know that I’ll be accompanying Dr. Ferrami tomorrow. She’s looking forward to the hearing and she’s eager to lay these charges to rest.”
Budgen’s tone was cool. “Are you a lawyer?”
Steve found his breath coming fast, as if he had been running, and he made an effort to stay calm. “I’m at law school. Dr. Ferrami can’t afford a lawyer. However, I’m going to do my best to help her present her case clearly, and if I go wrong I’ll have to throw myself on your mercy.” He paused, giving Budgen the chance to make a friendly remark or even just a sympathetic grunt; but there was a cold silence. Steve plowed on. “May I ask who will be representing the college?”
“I understand they’ve hired Henry Quinn, from Harvey Horrocks Quinn.”
Steve was awestruck. It was one of the oldest firms in Washington. He tried to sound relaxed. “A deeply respectable WASP law firm,” he remarked with a small chuckle.
“Indeed?”
Steve’s charm was not working on this man. It was time to sound tough. “One thing I should perhaps mention. We must now tell the true story of why Berrington Jones has acted against Dr. Ferrami in this way. We will not accept any cancellation of the hearing, on any terms. That would leave a cloud over her head. The truth must come out, I’m afraid.”
“I know of no proposal to cancel the hearing.”
Of course not. There was no such proposal. Steve carried on with his bravado. “But if there should be one, please be advised that it would be unacceptable to Dr Ferrami.” He decided to wind this up before he got himself in too deep. “Professor, I thank you for your courtesy and I look forward to seeing you in the morning.”
“Good-bye.”
Steve hung up. “Wow, what an iceberg.”
Jeannie looked puzzled. “He’s not normally like that. Maybe he was just being formal.”
Steve was pretty sure Budgen had already made up his mind and was hostile to Jeannie, but he did not tell her that. “Anyway, I got our three points across. And I discovered that JFU has hired Henry Quinn.”
“Is he good?”
He was legendary. It made Steve go cold to think he was going to go up against Henry Quinn. But he did not want to depress Jeannie. “Quinn used to be very good, but he may be past his prime.”
She accepted that. “What should we do now?”
Steve looked at her. The pink bathrobe had gaped open at the front, and he could see one neat breast nestling in the folds of soft terrycloth. “We should go over the questions you’ll be asked at the hearing,” he said regretfully. “We’ve got a lot of work to do tonight.”
37
JANE EDELSBOROUGH LOOKED A LOT BETTER NAKED THAN she did dressed.
She lay on a pale pink sheet, lit by the flame of a scented candle. Her clear, soft skin was more attractive than the muddy earth colors she always wore. The loose clothes she favored tended to hide her body; she was something of an amazon, with a deep bosom and broad hips. She was heavy, but it suited her.
Lying on the bed, she smiled languidly at Berrington as he pulled on his blue boxer shorts. “Wow, that was better than I expected,” she said.
Berrington felt the same, although he was not crass enough to say so. Jane knew things that he normally had to teach to the younger women he usually took to bed. He wondered idly where she had learned to be such a good lay. She had been married once; her husband, a cigarette smoker, had died of lung cancer ten years ago. They must have had a great sex life together.
He had enjoyed it so much that he had not needed his usual fantasy, in which he had just made love to a famous beauty, Cindy Crawford or Bridget Fonda or Princess Diana, and she was lying beside him, murmuring in his ear, “Thank you, Berry, that was the best it’s ever been for me, you’re so great, thank you.”
“I feel so guilty,” Jane said. “I haven’t done anything this wicked for a long time.”
“Wicked?” he said, tying his shoelaces. “I don’t see why. You’re free, white and twenty-one, as we used to say.” He noticed her wince: the phrase “free, white and twenty-one” was now politically incorrect. “You’re single, anyway,” he added hastily.
