dean’s secretary to usher them
in to his office. In her satchel were her sketchbooks, her only
proof she had been in the class. In a separate folder were
photocopies because she didn’t want the originals lost in
bureaucracy.
The door opened. Nik squeezed her hand, and
then she went in alone. Nik was here as backup in case the dean
didn’t take her seriously and placed his faith in Mr. Gardner. She
hoped whispers of Mr. Gardner’s activities had reached the dean’s
ears, that he would believe her and this would be easy, but she
knew the odds were against her. The dean would back his staff. He
had to.
She perched on the edge of the chair,
opposite a man in his fifties who looked like he’d spent his whole
life at college cushioned from the real world. None of his lines
were hard etched; they were more like scratches from accidental
brushes with hardship.
The dean smiled and folded his hands. “How
can I help you today, Ms. Williams?” He glanced at his notes. “You
are enjoying your course?”
Isla’s lips pulled back, tight over her
teeth. Anxiety crowding her chest, pushing down on her heart and
lungs. “Yes, it’s perfect. Everything I wanted.” More than she ever
thought she’d get.
“Yet you’re here.”
She gave the books in her lap a reassuring
squeeze, like they would be snatched away if she complained. “One
class is giving me problems.”
His face shifted from happy to concerned.
“What kind of problems?”
She swallowed and for a fleeting moment
considered staying silent. If she did, Mr. Gardner would win and
her future would die. So she forced the words out. “I’ve attended
every class, but I’ve been marked absent.”
“Practical?” The dean wrote something
down.
Was the conversation going in her file? Was
she being marked as a troublemaker already? It was too late to stop
now. “Life drawing.”
He paused before writing something else. “I’m
sure it’s just an error. Have you spoken to the teacher?”
Isla drew in a breath—this was it. She lifted
her chin and met her fate head-on. “He told me…he said if I didn’t
stay after classes for private tuition, he’d mark me absent.” Just
saying Mr. Gardner’s threats out loud made them less harmful.
The dean’s face hardened, freezing her in
place. She was helpless to do anything but wait for him to speak
and issue judgment. “You have Zachary Gardner.”
She wanted to speak, but her voice had dried
up. She managed weak nod.
“This is a serious accusation.”
The sketchbooks moved, forcing her hands to
rise with them. “I was there. The poses of the models and the play
of the light will match the other students’ sketches. The male
model will back me. He overheard.”
The dean flicked through the pages of both
books, his face a portrait of distaste. Was it her drawings or her
accusations that made him grimace? Maybe the dean was already
aware. Maybe Mr. Garner had even had a warning. Isla grew hopeful.
A splinter of sunlight broke through the storm clouds that had
surrounded her since Mr. Gardner had first singled her out.
The dean handed back her books. “Alone, these
sketches prove nothing.”
The sunlight vanished, and Isla’s world began
to sink. The dean went on, oblivious to her despair. “I will need
copies and statements if I’m going to launch an investigation into
improper behavior. Are you sure this is the path you want to
take?”
For a reply, Isla handed the dean the folder
of copies she’d prepared.
“Very well, I’ll look in to it. In the
meantime I suggest you attend his classes and refuse the extra tuition .” He spat out the last word like it burned his
tongue.
“What is the model’s name?”
“Nik.”
The dean raised his eyebrows, and Isla shrank
to the size of a minnow. She didn’t know Nik’s last name, and she
was sure the dean knew there was something going on. What kind of a
woman slept with a man without knowing his surname? The kind of
woman who didn’t want
in to his office. In her satchel were her sketchbooks, her only
proof she had been in the class. In a separate folder were
photocopies because she didn’t want the originals lost in
bureaucracy.
The door opened. Nik squeezed her hand, and
then she went in alone. Nik was here as backup in case the dean
didn’t take her seriously and placed his faith in Mr. Gardner. She
hoped whispers of Mr. Gardner’s activities had reached the dean’s
ears, that he would believe her and this would be easy, but she
knew the odds were against her. The dean would back his staff. He
had to.
She perched on the edge of the chair,
opposite a man in his fifties who looked like he’d spent his whole
life at college cushioned from the real world. None of his lines
were hard etched; they were more like scratches from accidental
brushes with hardship.
The dean smiled and folded his hands. “How
can I help you today, Ms. Williams?” He glanced at his notes. “You
are enjoying your course?”
Isla’s lips pulled back, tight over her
teeth. Anxiety crowding her chest, pushing down on her heart and
lungs. “Yes, it’s perfect. Everything I wanted.” More than she ever
thought she’d get.
“Yet you’re here.”
She gave the books in her lap a reassuring
squeeze, like they would be snatched away if she complained. “One
class is giving me problems.”
His face shifted from happy to concerned.
“What kind of problems?”
She swallowed and for a fleeting moment
considered staying silent. If she did, Mr. Gardner would win and
her future would die. So she forced the words out. “I’ve attended
every class, but I’ve been marked absent.”
“Practical?” The dean wrote something
down.
Was the conversation going in her file? Was
she being marked as a troublemaker already? It was too late to stop
now. “Life drawing.”
He paused before writing something else. “I’m
sure it’s just an error. Have you spoken to the teacher?”
Isla drew in a breath—this was it. She lifted
her chin and met her fate head-on. “He told me…he said if I didn’t
stay after classes for private tuition, he’d mark me absent.” Just
saying Mr. Gardner’s threats out loud made them less harmful.
The dean’s face hardened, freezing her in
place. She was helpless to do anything but wait for him to speak
and issue judgment. “You have Zachary Gardner.”
She wanted to speak, but her voice had dried
up. She managed weak nod.
“This is a serious accusation.”
The sketchbooks moved, forcing her hands to
rise with them. “I was there. The poses of the models and the play
of the light will match the other students’ sketches. The male
model will back me. He overheard.”
The dean flicked through the pages of both
books, his face a portrait of distaste. Was it her drawings or her
accusations that made him grimace? Maybe the dean was already
aware. Maybe Mr. Garner had even had a warning. Isla grew hopeful.
A splinter of sunlight broke through the storm clouds that had
surrounded her since Mr. Gardner had first singled her out.
The dean handed back her books. “Alone, these
sketches prove nothing.”
The sunlight vanished, and Isla’s world began
to sink. The dean went on, oblivious to her despair. “I will need
copies and statements if I’m going to launch an investigation into
improper behavior. Are you sure this is the path you want to
take?”
For a reply, Isla handed the dean the folder
of copies she’d prepared.
“Very well, I’ll look in to it. In the
meantime I suggest you attend his classes and refuse the extra tuition .” He spat out the last word like it burned his
tongue.
“What is the model’s name?”
“Nik.”
The dean raised his eyebrows, and Isla shrank
to the size of a minnow. She didn’t know Nik’s last name, and she
was sure the dean knew there was something going on. What kind of a
woman slept with a man without knowing his surname? The kind of
woman who didn’t want
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