Backdrop

Professor Atkins sat heavily in the ageing armchair in his office and sighed heavily.  He had acquired this chair in his first year as a fellow at the university, and like its owner the chair was now showing signs of wear.  The springs, while not visible from the outside, made their presence felt when he sat down, which to the good professor felt like the equivalent of wearing a hair shirt to remind him of his modest sins.

The office was not untypical of the accommodation allotted to senior academics in the brutalist 60s tower block used by the university to house.  Shorn of contents it would appear sizeable, though once the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were occupied, a white melamine-topped desk stacked with papers and a computer, plus chair, and a sprinkling of assorted furniture compatible with tutorials populated its floorspace, the office appeared distinctly poky.

The professor sat in one of the assorted chairs, each in its own unique style, in full knowledge that anyone attempting to open the door would probably cause him a minor injury, but in the circumstances that was a risk worth taking.  

“Tell me again,” he said wearily, “but one at a time.  Each of you can have five minutes to outline your case without interruption.  If either of you do interrupt, this conference will be terminated and I will rule against you.  Is that perfectly clear?”

Across the table, two people grudgingly nod. They have selected chairs at points that would made the three the outline of an equilateral triangle, as far from one another as the geography of the room permitted. 

“Miss Mathieson, as the original complainant, I will offer you the first call.”

Clumsily, he adjusted his iPad and set it to record the words spoken.  “Are you ready?”

“Yes professor, I won’t need five minutes,” said Julia Mathieson, her jaw set at a resolute angle and her shoulders hunched in a pugnacious profile.  

As Dean of the Faculty, the professor was responsible in his pastoral role for resolving many conflicts, but the soft-spoken Miss Mathieson did not fit the usual mould of appellant. Indeed, she was a woman of few words, a research fellow who was good at her job but attracted attention precisely because she avoided browbeating her colleagues with opinions.  Some thought of her as an enigma, others as lacking the sophistication to break through the many glass ceilings of academia, in spite of her excellent academic credentials and impressive insights.  She was, in fact, neither a mystery nor an innocent, but delighted in being underestimated by male members of the faculty and pitied by the female cohort.  Her usual inscrutability made the complaint all the more difficult to understand.

“Mr Agrawal has become increasingly jealous of my research over the past year and has been conducting a whispering campaign against me to discredit me.  In the past two weeks he changed tactics and became much friendlier, which I took to be an attempt to win my trust.  This began with a chat over coffee, where I was suspicious about his motives, but he behaved impeccably.  I did not feel positively towards him but accepted his polite conversation with courtesy.

“A few days later Mr Agrawal invited me for a drink at the Nags Head pub after work.  He began asking me about my family and my personal life, which questions I pushed back by suggesting we should talk about work and stay professional.  He agreed and backed off, though my contention is that had I not intervened he would have made a pass at me and tried to lure me into bed.  

“At this point I excused myself and went to the toilet. I took my handbag with me but left the leather satchel in which I carry my work materials.  Upon my return I could tell immediately that the satchel was not in the same place I had left it, though Mr Agrawal affected a relaxed pose as if he knew nothing about it.  I felt uneasy but said nothing at the time.

“Later on I went home and looked carefully through my satchel.  Only then did I realise that all my papers had been rifled, but that was not what concerned me most.  I was shocked when I found out that a copy of my draft research paper had vanished.  I respectfully submit this amounts to academic espionage and that Mr Agrawal has stolen my ideas with a view to publishing them himself.”

The professor could see Dev Agrawal itching to intervene during this speech but warned the younger man off with a stern look over the top of his gold-framed half-moon glasses. Agrawal had been a member of the faculty for maybe 18 months longer and had not made the strides expected of him. This was not to say he was not capable, but the professor’s view is that he was daunted when surrounded with great minds, perhaps understandable for a young academic from a humble background. It was quite understandable that he wanted to find shortcuts and to bring himself forward in the race for promotion by publishing a well-received paper, but the university took seriously accusations of this kind.  It could not be swept under any carpet, and certainly not under the feeble excuse for a rug on the floor in the professor’s office, he thought to himself.

“I need hardly remind you of the gravity of these allegations.  They cannot be taken lightly and must be investigated in full. But first I need to hear and record Mr Agrawal’s version of events.  I will permit questions when we have completed this stage, but I will not tolerate interruptions or ad hominemsof any kind.  Mr Agrawal.”

Dev Agrawal leaned down in his chair, all the better to speak directly into the microphone.

“I utterly refute this wild and unfounded allegation, for which not one jot of evidence has been produced. I submit that Miss Mathieson may have mislaid her paper, but that she has no grounds whatever to accuse me of taking this paper.  She will recall that I did not bring any form of bag in which to hold such a document, even if I had purloined it.

“I readily admit have always admired Miss Mathieson and did indeed encourage her friendship, which was meant sincerely.  I did indeed invite her for a drink and I thought we were getting along very well. I did not intend to sound intrusive but asking questions about one another’s lives is what friends do.  I make no apology for asking in a friendly way about her life, for sharing information.

“She did indeed go to the toilet, but as she went her bag fell to the floor.  All I did was to pick it up and put it back on the seat where she left it. I did not open the bag nor touch its contents, and I repudiate any such indictment.  As for her belief that I intend to publish her work under my name, this is a scurrilous rumour.  If it is repeated I intend to sue for slander.  That is my story and I stick by it.  I am an honest man and I will not have my reputation dragged through the mud.  I expect an apology for this slur.”

With this, he sat back and folded his arms with definitive intent.  Once more the professor sighed.  

“I think we can rule out that possibility.  Miss Mathieson, unless you have proof that Mr Agrawal is writing any such paper we will confine ourselves to the alleged theft.  The crux of your claim is that a draft of a document was taken in your absence, Miss Mathieson and without your permission.  Is this correct?”

“It is,” said Miss Mathieson resolutely. 

“Do you have any incontrovertible proof to support your assertion?  I mean,” he uttered with an unintended pomposity, “is it at all possible that you might have made a mistake?”

“Indeed I do and no it isn’t. The document was there before I met Mr Agrawal; afterwards it was gone.  He may not have had a bag but he could easily have stuffed my document beneath his shirt or in the top of his trousers.”

“Of course we only have your word for that.  Were there any witnesses in the bar to this purported – er – occurrence?”

“It was a quiet evening in a pub chosen for that reason since we could then have a conversation without the intervention of music or football on TV.  There was nobody in the area we were sitting, and I am certain none of the bar staff were looking in my direction,” said Dev Agrawal assuredly.  “But then, there was nothing to see.  I sat at the table and drank my coke quietly in the absence of Miss Agrawal.” 

If he had any doubts, they did not come across in his voice or body language.

“I see,” said the professor uncomfortably.  “So there would appear to be no direct evidence on either side to support or refute the allegation, nor any common ground on which you can agree.  Miss Mathieson, without any means of substantiating your claim, I have no choice but to dismiss the charge, do you understand?”

Julia Mathieson looked troubled but in no mood to back down.  “And If I don’t accept your ruling?”

“We could go for a formal hearing by the Council, but I’d strongly recommend we avoid any form of escalation unless there is truly no alternative.  The Council will take the same view as me and you it will not reflect well on your performance record, Miss Mathieson.  If you have anything further to support your statement, I will listen to it now.  If not, can I urge you to withdraw it now, for your own good.”

For a moment the claimant fumed in apparent frustration.  Then she took action:  she picked up her polished leather satchel from the floor.  Only at that moment did the professor notice that she was wearing fine cotton gloves.  

“I can always go to the police and report a crime, professor.  Their experts can dust it and pick up fingerprints.  They can request Mr Agrawal to provide his prints and if he does then they can be compared.  If he refuses, they will draw their own conclusions.  Are you sure you want to risk the reputation of the university, if it came out that you had been protecting an employee who was then convicted of a felony.”

The professor removed his glasses slowly and placed them on the table with no little care. 

“Just a moment…” he began but got no further.  Dev Agrawal was rocking in his chair in fury, his hands gripping the arms with great force.

And then he could take it no more.  He flung himself to his feet and faced his opponent, shaking with rage.

“How dare you!” he screamed, “That is baseless, entirely without foundation.”  He turned towards the professor and continued in a low and threatening tone.  “Sir. Are you going to stand for this outrageous smear? I’ve admitted touching the bag and I’ve explained why.  Even I hadn’t touched it, I would not be surprised if she had deliberately obtained my fingerprints and had them transferred to this briefcase to frame me.  This is a total disgrace!  If this process continues I shall consult my lawyers and sue the university.” 

He moved to leave the room, before realising that his way was barred by Miss Mathieson.  “Excuse me…” he said with sullen intensity, his eyes fixed upon the professor.  

Julia Mathieson refused to budge. “We need to resolve this now!” she said to the professor with an air of excessive patience, as if this kind of behaviour is what she expected from men.  “We need to stay here until there is a clear judgement and my complaint is taken seriously. Can you please ensure he does not leave this room and start making accusations against me and the university?”

“Now hold on a minute there,” said the professor, standing up rapidly to block the way in the event the incensed fellow vaulted the table and made for the door, concerned though he was of the risk of physical conflict and the effect on his already injured back. “I’m not saying Miss Mathieson is right or wrong, but I do feel that we should all stay… calm.  Take a breath and cool down.  Let’s talk about this like adults.  No need to behave like infants. Am I right?”

Dev Agrawal took several deep breaths.  He might well have been counting to a virtual twenty but when he spoke his voice was becalmed.

“Yes, you are right, I should not rise to the bait.  I’m sorry, but I will defend myself of this ridiculous trumped-up accusation in every way possible.  I am totally innocent and demand this whole farrago is ended by Miss Mathieson without delay.  I hope this is understood.”

He sat down and crossed his legs. The professor could feel his heart beating from across the table.

“Miss Mathieson?” asked the professor.

“Yes, professor?” 

“Will you kindly withdraw your threat to involve the police so that we might discuss the issue… without any conflicts?”

Julia looked demurely back and spoke with an icy calm.

“I have not raised my voice once. I am not going to withdraw my accusation because it is founded on the truth.  I will not be shut up and shamed just to preserve the reputation of your faculty, professor.  My integrity is more important than my career, but I will defend both with every means at my disposal.  Can you see that?”

The inference that this might be a feminist issue was not lost on the professor.  He made every attempt to promote capable women and would certainly have scoffed at any suggestion that he used misogyny as a weapon to intimidate those women. This was, in his view, a free academic environment and a meritocracy, but he had to protect himself from unbecoming accusations, as well as the faculty and the university. 

“Oh dear,” said the professor under his breath.  “I’d better call out for some refreshments.  We could be here for a long time.  Shall we have a short comfort break?  Then maybe we can start again with the core facts and explore opportunities for compromise, maybe?”

***

A little over two hours later, no progress had been made.   In this time the sun had descended over the horizon in a graceful ark and darkness had enveloped the university.  The florescent strip lighting in the professor’s dingy office had flickered on and the three participants in this gruelling contest were bathed in bright white light.  

Jackets and ties had been discarded as the room became increasingly hot and airless.  Windows were opened to release the stale atmosphere but let in a cold draught.  Jackets went back on.  

The professor’s PA had donned her coat and headed home, having provided drinks.  Coffees, teas, glasses of water and cheap bourbon biscuits had been consumed, but concessions had been made: a steadfast attack met a staunch defence, and neither would give an inch.

Every aspect of the circumstances had been explored in huge detail.  With his academic hat on, the professor had used every tool in his armoury, but no breakthrough followed.

“Hypothetically,” he said, using his favourite method for dealing with dilemmas, “is there anywhere else the document might have gone?  I mean, did you take it out anywhere else?  Might you have shown it to somebody?  Maybe it fell on the floor it the case dropped and Mr Agrawal…”

“I’m sorry professor, but the case was firmly closed, and I swear on the lives of my ancestors that I did not undo the straps,” said Dev, neatly removing all room for ambiguity.

The professor wondered if that was a moment when it would have been easier for Mr Agrawal to admit that, but instead he chose the more difficult path, maybe something a man would do only if he were telling the truth, not that Miss Mathieson would accept that.  For her it was so black and white: the document was in her bag, then it was not. 

“This is true,” agreed Julia. It was fully strapped and I did not open it until I got home.”

“So that would not have given me much time to open the bag, remove and hide the document, then buckle it up again before you returned, would it?” asked Dev, kindly. 

“I don’t think that would take a moment, in the hands of someone who knew what he wanted.”

“Though, with respect, I had no idea what research paper you were writing, nor that I would find it in your case. That is, if you don’t mind my saying, an improbable contingency.”

Miss Mathieson rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“I am quite certain that the paper was in my bag, I remember putting it there.  And I am equally sure it was not there when I got home.  That was the only time the bag was out of my possession.  QED.”

“I’m presuming,” said the professor hesitatingly, “that this was not your only copy of the paper?  It is saved for posterity on your computer?”

“That’s hardly the point,” said Julia with a frown.

“No, I see that.  I’m just wondering whether we might need to reconvene tomorrow evening, though I have a very full day scheduled.  I realise that this – er – affair is very important to you both, but university business will not wait.  And besides, my wife will have made me dinner.”

Messrs Mathieson and Agrawal exchanged a look, then stared curiously at the professor, thinking separately that the reputation of a human being is more important than a domestic dinner date, and fearing what deal might be stitched up if either of them chickened out and left first.  

“Very well,” said the professor. “Would you mind if I gave my wife a call?  Please excuse me.”

With that he looked towards the phone on his desk then took the mobile from his inside pocket and departed for the corridor to stay out of earshot.

The two antagonists lowered their eyes, but then gave way to inquisitiveness.  Each regarded the other with a welter of mixed emotions.  

“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” said Dev.  “I meant no disrespect, but I have to speak the truth.”

“Of course, and I’m quite sure you know it’s nothing personal.  I couldn’t just lie down and say nothing.  It’s a matter of principle.”

“And principles are worth fighting for, yes of course,” said Julia with a shy glance towards her opponent. 

“Of course, this is supposed to be a mediation process,” continued Dev

“It’s pretty crap when the mediator cares most about avoiding rocking the boat, don’t you think?”

“Yes I do.  We could have done a better job ourselves,” laughed Dev.

Each looked away for a moment.

“We could just go back to the pub,” said Dev earnestly.  “Maybe the paper will show up.  We might have left it on the seat.”

“I don’t think so, but… it’s worth a try.”

“I didn’t steal it, you know. I was brought up to be a good Hindu boy. My family had a very strict moral code. Honesty, warts and all, that was the policy,” says Dev with feeling.

“Mine too.  My family was Catholic but they were just as strict.  Except they were hypocrites. They didn’t practice what they preached,” replied Julia meaningfully.

“Oh yes, I know that view. To be honest, I hated my childhood. My family had such fixed views, there was never any light or shade.  I hated it because they never allowed me any freedom or the right to decide my own future.” Pausing with a rueful look, Dev continued.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bore you like that.  You don’t care about me or my family.”

Julia turned towards the man she recently detested, nodding enthusiastically.

“I totally appreciate what you’re saying; my family were just the same.  I couldn’t wait to escape.  It’s so funny that in our bid to escape we both ended up in academia, don’t you think?”

A short pause followed.  A fly on the wall might have observed both parties felt a thread of common understanding, a rapport that supplanted previous layers of mutual suspicion and hostility.  

Julia finally took the next step. “We don’t need to go to the pub, you know.  We could just go back to my place and have a drink and chat.”

Dev looked up with surprise. “Oh, well, that’s a great idea, if you’re sure.  I mean, I wouldn’t want to intrude, Miss Mathieson…”

“Julia.  You wouldn’t be intruding.  I’m inviting you.”

Dev looked in Julia’s eyes. “Just to be clear, this kind invitation is nothing to do with the case we are here to discuss, is it?”

“No, no, of course not. No, it’s a personal invitation because, well, because you’re good company, that’s why.”

Dev looks puzzled but continues regardless.  “I must admit I always thought highly of you, but in the circumstances, I didn’t think… you know.”

“Perhaps we should just keep talking and see where it leads,” said Julia brightly.  

Dev inferred this to mean they were not forgetting the issue at hand, just putting it to one side temporarily, all the better to get to know one another, and that despite all her previous comments perhaps they had each earned a little respect by virtue of standing on principle.

“That sounds good, thank you. But what shall we tell the professor?”

Julia turned towards the door, just as the professor re-entered bearing a warm smile he did not feel.

“Sorry about that,” he crowed. “My wife had a shopping list she wants me to pick up on the way home.  Now, where were we?”

“We are leaving, professor,” said Dev. 

“Yes,” added Julia.  “We have decided that we have no faith in this process since it does not act in our interests, it exists purely to contain the issue and protect the university.”

“Right,” said Dev.  

The professor was momentarily floored, but replied with what he considered due gravitas.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but it’s in your interests to see this process through and agree a common position.  It’s in nobody’s interests for the issue to fester.  What we must avoid is the poisoning of the productive culture of the university and detrimental impact on students in our care.”

“Thank you,” replied Julia, a touch more gaily that she intended, “but we feel we are better able to achieve the right result without your intervention, and for the right reasons.”

The professor drew himself to his full five feet eight inches and spoke with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Oh, well if you feel that way, I can’t stop you leaving, but let it be fully noted that I warned you of the consequences if this matter gets out of hand.” He added in an undertone, “And I wish we had agreed to differ much earlier on in the evening.”

Dev and Julia departed forthwith in the direction of her tiny flat, while the professor gathered his things and headed for the supermarket specified by his wife.  

Some while later he was eating an ossified dinner and Dev and Julia were engaged in ecstatic coupling.

The recording of the conversation was played back by the professor the following day, a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

The paper remained where it had started, trapped between the pages of another document within Julia’s case, this was exactly where Dev had hurriedly stuffed it. It would be discovered on another day.