Gabriel's Rapture (Gabriel's Inferno #2)(54)
“I have no idea. It’s possible the university will conduct an investigation and dismiss both complaints. But don’t let her go in there without a lawyer, or this could turn around and bite both of you in the ass.”
“Thanks, John.” Gabriel’s voice was laced with sarcasm.
“In the meantime, I’d like you to make a list of everything—and I mean everything—that is relevant to the harassment complaint. Any kind of evidence she might present, such as emails, texts, messages, and photographs. Send everything to me, and I’ll start looking at it. And send me everything on your girlfriend too.
“I don’t like having to say, ‘I told you so,’ Gabriel. But I did. The university has a zero-tolerance policy with respect to fraternization, which means they can expel your girlfriend and fire you. Let’s hope the two complaints are not connected and that someone reported her for failing to return her library books.”
“It’s always a pleasure to speak with you,” said Gabriel icily.
“If you didn’t think with your dick, you wouldn’t be speaking with me. I just hope your girlfriend was worth it, because if the shit hits the fan, she’s going to turn out to be an extremely costly lay.”
Before John could say good-bye, Gabriel hurled the handset against the wall, watching it smash into several large pieces and falling to the hardwood floor below. Then he took several deep breaths so he could convince Julia they should simply enjoy their vacation.
* * *
That same afternoon, Dean David Aras sat in his office on St. George Street and looked at his telephone with surprise. Usually, his administrative assistant was much better at screening his calls. But Professor Katherine Picton was nothing if not persistent, and she usually received whatever she wanted. In this case, that was a conversation with the Dean of Graduate Studies at the University of Toronto.
He lifted the handset and pressed the button. “Hello, Professor Picton. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“There’s no pleasure at all, David. I demand to know why I received a letter from your office requiring me to be interviewed at one of your Stalinist proceedings.”
David pressed his lips together in order to avoid biting back. She was famous, she was old, and she was a woman. He wasn’t about to curse her out.
(Except in Lithuanian. Perhaps.)
“I need to ask you a few questions. It will take ten minutes, tops, and you’ll be on your way,” he replied smoothly.
“Nonsense. It takes me ten minutes to walk down the front steps of my house in the winter. It will take forever to walk over to your office. I demand to know what I am being summoned to and why, or I’m not coming. We can’t all spend our afternoons having assistants screen our calls and make us coffee so we can dream up ways of making other people’s lives miserable.”
The Dean cleared his throat.
“A complaint has been made against the graduate student you’re supervising.”
“Miss Mitchell? What sort of complaint?”
In a very understated way, he explained the nature of the complaint that he’d received.
“That’s outrageous! Have you even met her?”
“No.”
“This is a ridiculous complaint made against an innocent and hardworking female student. And need I remind you, David, that this is not the first time that a successful female graduate student has been slagged in a university proceeding.”
“I am quite aware of that. But there are related matters that I am not at liberty to discuss with you. I wish to interview you about your dealings with Miss Mitchell. That’s all.”
“I am not going to lend any credence whatsoever to a witch hunt that is targeting my graduate student.”
David frowned at her through the phone. “Without your testimony, it’s quite possible a grave injustice might occur. You might be exactly what we need to clear Miss Mitchell’s name.”
“Codswallop! It’s your responsibility to see that justice is served. I’m surprised that you have taken the complaint seriously. Quite surprised. And wipe that frown off your face, David. I can hear you sulking and I don’t appreciate it.”
The Dean suppressed a Lithuanian curse. “Professor Picton, are you refusing to answer my questions?”
“Are you hard of hearing? Or has your quest for administrative power made you intellectually lazy? I’ve said that I refuse to cooperate. I don’t work for the university anymore. I am retired. Furthermore, I will be bringing this matter up over dinner tonight at the President’s house. I’m sure he and his guests will be most interested in how the administration of his own university is operating.
“And by the way, the dinner party is being given in honor of Mary Asprey, the famous novelist. As an alumna, I know she takes an avid interest in the affairs of her alma mater, particularly the more patriarchal machinations. I wonder what she’ll make of this?”
And with that, Professor Picton hung up.
* * *
When Gabriel and Julia finally arrived at the Turtle Inn resort in Belize, it was late in the evening and the stars were already out. Julia explored their accommodations—a private hut on a secluded beach—while Gabriel ordered room service.
The walls of their hut were white, with the exception of a row of tall, teak panels that accordioned to open out onto the covered porch. The ceilings were a mixture of bamboo and thatch, and a large bed was centered in the room, shrouded in mosquito netting. Julia was particularly taken with the open air shower and bathtub that were located on a side veranda.