“Needs a good scrubbing,” Cleveland observes, hands propped up on his hip bones. “And the walls need painting.”
“I can do that tomorrow. Well, not the painting, but—thank you so much, this is—” I have to laugh out loud, I am so glad that he has bullied me into submission “—this is absolutely fabulous!”
“What it is—” he smiles “—now that it’s out of this office and in the hallway, is a fire hazard. If they don’t have it removed ASAP, they’ll get into trouble with the fire marshal. Does your phone take pictures?”
“Mine does,” Tessa offers when I hesitate.
“Mine does, too, but—”
“Tell maintenance to pick up the cart, and if they don’t, send a picture of it to Health and Safety, and to the Dean.”
“They’ll be here faster than you can say asbestos,” Tim adds.
“Whoa, hold your horses! I’m grateful for your help, sir, but I’m not going to bring out the big guns quite yet!”
“Why not?” Tim gingerly dusts off his pants. “I’m not coming up here every week to clean up after a crazy old man no one has the guts to fire, or after a newbie who hasn’t the guts to stand up to admin!”
“It isn’t a question of guts! But I don’t want to make a fuss, and—”
“You’re being too English about this.”
“W-What?”
Cleveland is gazing down at me with an expression on his face that under any other circumstance I would call—no. No, no.
“The waiting game might work with Brits; in fact, there it’s the done thing, and damnably inefficient it is, too. But it won’t wash here. If you allow them to walk roughshod over you now, they’ll never forget that you’re…a soft touch.”
“Well, I’m—I’m not,” I stutter, valiantly suppressing the fantasy contained in those two monosyllables.
“I know that.” He reaches across my desk for his tie and jacket, scooping up the old folder as if by the way. “But you have to make sure they know it, too.”
Stunned and mildly agoraphobic I sit in my empty office and try to decide whether to go downstairs to the car at once to fetch my cleaning utensils, or leave it till tomorrow. An almost inaudible knock on the door interrupts me—but it is only Tessa.
“Sorry, Dr. Lieberman—I just had to come and check that you’re all right.”
Her freckled face looks apprehensive, and I am flooded with a rush of affection for her.
“Only if you drop this Dr. Lieberman nonsense once and for all and call me Anna!”
She grins, pushes herself into the room and shuts the door behind herself.
“You’re not mad at Giles, are you?”
The tension drains out of my body, and I flop against the back of my chair, which gently rocks me on its springs.
“I was worried you’d think him a bully,” she rushes on. “Because he isn’t, really. That’s why I chose him as my advisor. Well, partly; it’s also that I wanted to work on Renaissance drama. I think he cares about you, that’s why—”
“He what?”
“No, I mean—” She blushes so fiercely that her freckles disappear. “He feels responsible, and he is right, you know. You could write emails till the cows come home, and Hornberger would make all sorts of promises if you approached him in person, but—it’s difficult, sorting out Professor Corvin, so he ignores it.”
“Cleveland might have asked first.”
“That’s what I thought. But he said you’d only…um…put us off.”
“What exactly did he say, Tessa?”
She grins. “He said, ‘She’ll only tell us to take a long jump off a short pier.’”
As Tessa and I are walking down the stairs, Madeline, the straight-laced girl from my Comedy class, approaches us from downstairs with two friends. The stairs aren’t broad enough for five, and we slow down to pass each other. She seems uncertain whether to acknowledge me or not, so I smile at her and say hi, when she suddenly glares at me, eyes narrow and nostrils wide.
“You are so in trouble!”
“Pardon me?”
“Wait for it!” she shouts down at me, halfway up to the second floor.
I am too stunned to react quickly, but when I recover, my first impulse is to run after her to confront her.
“No! Oh, sorry—” Tessa blushes furiously for having grabbed my sleeve to stop me.
“What? What is it?”
She points her thumb in the direction of the great hall, and we walk down. “That’s Madeline Harrison,” she whispers. “The Harrisons?”
“You say that like I would say the Corleones.”
“Well, not quite, but her uncle was governor a few years ago, and her father runs the family