The Campus Trilogy (3 page)

When I arrived home, I told Victoria what had happened. She was dismayed. “Are the students really like that?” she asked in amazement.

“It's never happened before.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear it. What a horrid, spoiled girl!”

“But what if she wants to make trouble? The last thing I want is a student complaint.”

“But you didn't do anything wrong. You just warned her of the consequences of plagiarism. And anyway, your colleagues will support you. Magnus would.”

“But he doesn't have any influence. If anything, his support will just make matters worse. If there's a hint of a complaint, Pilks will want to set up an official inquiry. Bossyboots will be frightful. She'll take the matter through formal proceedings. She loves that sort of thing.”

Victoria giggled. She put on her special Catnip manner, “Now Harry, this is a very serious matter …” She reverted to
her usual tone. “I don't see what the girl has to complain about. You rejected her advances and told her not to copy her work off the internet. That's exactly what you're supposed to do.”

“The VC would love a complaint, however ridiculous. He's only concerned about money and he's longing to get rid of anyone who's over fifty and expensive. He'll make any excuse to suggest early retirement again.”

Throughout dinner, we continued to discuss the incident. Our cat, Cleo, sat on my lap and tried to lick cream from the silver cream jug.

“Look,” I said, “I think we just have to wait and see. So far nothing's happened. This girl, Lisa, fled from my office, and hopefully she won't come back to class. She doesn't want a fight. What would be the point? She won't gain anything by making a fuss.” Eventually I let Cleo finish the cream. She then jumped down and was instantly sick over our Heriz carpet.

The next day I arrived early for class. On the way to my office, I stopped in the Porter's Lodge to collect my post. One of the letters was marked Private and Confidential. It was from the Head of the Department. This was bad. When I got to my office, I opened it. It read:

A formal disciplinary case! I had never faced such a thing! I sat looking out of my window at the trees which were now shedding their leaves. Why didn't Pilkington come to see me? Surely he could have informally discussed such an accusation before proceeding. John Pilkington and his wife had entertained us at his house at Christmas, and we asked them to our annual drinks party. We had not been on bad terms, even though we were not particularly friendly. It was true that Victoria was patronizing about their bungalow in private. She thought his wife was suburban; she made fun of their neat lawn and tidy hedges. But these comments were made only to me. Could the Pilkingtons have found out what she thought?

What would be the implications of such a formal complaint? Pilkington had already told Wanda because she was going to be present at the meeting. Could they really believe I had been so foolish? And what about Barraclough? Had he been informed too? Probably everybody would soon know. I looked at the envelope marked ‘Private and Confidential'. This was to be a private and confidential matter. But it wouldn't be. Everyone would soon know. The Professor of Christian Ethics accused of sexual harassment. What a story! What humiliation! What disgrace!

After my classes I went to the Senior Common Room for lunch. Pilkington was standing in the queue ahead of me talking with Wanda. When they saw me, they smiled. Surely they must have discussed Lisa's complaint, but they gave no indication. They were engrossed in a conversation about the RAE. I ordered a tuna sandwich, coffee and a packet of shortbread biscuits and sat down in an armchair next to Magnus who was deeply engrossed in
The Times
. He was reading the obituary column. “Look at this,” he said. “My supervisor, Rupert Berry, just died. He was a fossil thirty years ago. I had no idea he was still alive.”

“Magnus,” I whispered. “I just got a note from Pilks. That girl put in a formal complaint. She said I harassed her sexually and they're going to investigate it.”

Magnus looked up. “Really,” he said. “She is a tough little
so-and
-so. Perhaps you should have been more accommodating!”

“Come on Magnus!”

“Just a suggestion. By the way, what did Victoria say?”

“She was very cross … not with me, but with the girl.”

“You know,” Magnus said turning over the pages of
The
Times
, “Berry never wrote much. I think he only published his PhD thesis and then he got a Chair.”

Exasperated, I spluttered: “Magnus, you're not taking this very seriously. I'm in trouble. Real trouble. Pilkington wants to investigate this affair under some University Statute.”

“Probably Provision 24. That's Discipline leading to
Dismissal
. I looked it up when Pilks sent me a note about not getting my essays marked on time. He actually mentioned it in his letter?”

“You think I might get a warning?”

“Could be worse than that. Sexual harassment is gross
misconduct
. You could be fired on the spot … but there's no proof. It's just that girl's word against yours. Do you think she's done this before?”

“Don't know. She's new here. Maybe she did the same thing at her previous university and that's why she transferred. Perhaps she's a nymphomaniac.”

“Lucky you,” Magnus grinned. “Sorry, couldn't resist.
Really
, I am sorry. This is unlucky. But not a tragedy.”

“No? …”

“Well, there's no evidence. So there's not much the university can do about it. There's no proof unless you recorded the whole thing. You didn't did you?”

“Of course not.”

“What a pity. I would have enjoyed hearing it. No doubt Victoria would have been interested too. Oh well. I wouldn't worry about it too much. You'll just have an unpleasant
interview
, and that'll be it.” Magnus paused. “Maybe in future, you ought to have someone in the room with you if you're talking to an attractive girl. You can't be too careful around here,” Magnus sighed as he began the
Times
crossword. “You don't know a synonym for crooked?” he asked.

“Try Barraclough,” I replied.

When I got back to my room, I looked up Provision 24 in the Staff Handbook. Magnus was right. Pilkington was referring to the formal disciplinary procedure. Any complaint, it read, should first be investigated informally by the Head of Department. If there is a prima facie case, then there should be a meeting with the person against whom the complaint has been made. He or she has the right to bring either a union representative or a friend.

Pilkington had clearly skipped the first stage. For years I had been a member of the UCU (the University and College Union). Hesitantly I rang the local president, a Senior Lecturer in Women's Studies. She wasn't in, but I left a message on her answerphone. Later in the afternoon, she called back. I asked if I could come and see her.

Penelope Ransome's room was on the ground floor of the Humanities building. Her door was covered with posters defending gay and lesbian rights. I knocked, but there was no answer. Down the hall I heard Penelope talking to her
department
administrator. Several minutes later she emerged wearing jeans and a multicoloured jumper. Her hair had been streaked green since I last saw her. She wore dangling silver earrings with a cross.

We sat in her small office. Essays and papers were piled high on the floor. The air was thick with cigarette smoke. I explained what had happened and showed her Pilkington's letter. “Look,” she said. “I've had a lot of experience with these cases. It's her word against yours. She won't be able to prove a thing. But you did say she would make bending the rules worth your while?”

“Yes, but I firmly ignored that part of the conversation,” I said sheepishly. “I just warned her of the dangers of plagiarism, and she flounced out of the room.”

“You didn't kiss her?”

“Certainly not!”

Penelope took out a packet of cigarettes and offered me one. I refused. She lit up and took several puffs. “Well,” she reflected, “you'll simply have to explain and in the end, nothing will come of it.”

“Are you sure?”

“You're a professor. The university may want to get rid of you, but they don't want a scandal. You won't enjoy the interview, that's for certain. You say Pilkington isn't much of a friend?”

“I don't think he's an enemy.”

Penelope stood up. “I'll be there on Monday.”

“Thanks,” I said. I got up and left. On the way out, I saw a group of students huddled together talking in hushed tones. When they saw me, they looked away. I wondered if they had already heard about the complaint against me.

On Monday I put on my best suit. I found that the waist was even tighter than when I had last worn it and resolved for the hundredth time that I really had to do something about my weight. I arrived at the university a few minutes before the meeting with Pilkington. Penelope came up looking agitated. Over the weekend, she told me, there had been a union rally about part-time employment in London; she was one of the speakers and was exhausted. I was a bit disappointed to see that she had made no special efforts to dress for the occasion: she was wearing an old leather jacket with a hole in one sleeve and a bright green jumper. Her earrings were pink and black with dangling silver bells. Surprisingly, she had the latest sleek mobile telephone which she placed on the table. “Just in case I get a call,” she announced. Pilkington was late. He was wearing a brown suit with a wide polyester striped blue tie. I noticed that his socks were sludge green. He was accompanied by Wanda who was wearing a mauve two piece suit and a cream blouse, offset by a paisley silk scarf. Her lipstick was a strange shade of mauve which made her seem paler than normal. Neither looked friendly.

Before we began the meeting, Pilkington announced that he had spoken to the Vice-Chancellor about the accusation we were to discuss; he had been instructed to tell us that the university was taking the matter very seriously and that the Student Union would be informed of the outcome. Wanda took some papers out of her black leather briefcase as Pilkington continued. The meeting was to be an informal discussion, he explained. Although Provision 24 was being invoked, this did not mean that disciplinary action would necessarily follow. On
the contrary, he went on, it was his intention to see if the matter could be resolved without recourse to formal action.

He then read out a statement from Lisa in which she alleged that I had fondled her breasts and kissed her. This, she stated, was clearly sexual harassment which, according to university regulations, was a grave offence and should result in dismissal. Pilkington then turned to Wanda.

“I am most perturbed by this situation,” she announced. “As Dean, it is my responsibility to ensure that students are not subjected to irresponsible action on the part of staff.” So, she said, she felt it necessary to sit in as the Head of Department's representative. Although she did not intend to contribute very much to the discussion, she wished to make notes of what was said.

I hoped that Penelope would respond, but she remained silent. I realized I would need to defend myself.

“So Harry,” Pilkington began, “can you tell us what you think happened?”

This was all most embarrassing, but I tried to respond calmly. “Nothing happened,” I said. “The whole thing is a pack of lies. She asked if she could see me about the course I am teaching. She wanted to get credit for it on the basis of a single essay she wrote at her previous university. Then she said, whatever that meant, that she would make it worth my while.”

“What do you think she meant?” asked Wanda.

“I didn't know, and I didn't want to know. I told her I would read the essay and see her about it later. When I examined it, I realized that she had almost certainly copied it off the internet. So when I saw her again I told her she would have to fulfil the obligations of this university to get credit for the course, and I warned her of the dangers of plagiarism. She stamped out of the room slamming the door and that was the end of it. I in no way harassed her sexually. If anything, she harassed me.”

“So it's not true that you kissed her and touched her breasts?” Pilkington asked.

“Certainly not!” I said

“Then why did she say she would make it worth your while?”

“I have no idea!”

“You don't think you encouraged her to think you were attracted to her?” Pilkington could be very persistent.

I felt myself go red, but I was determined to give no quarter. “Certainly not!” I said again.

“So,” Pilkington continued, “This whole thing is a complete fantasy on Miss Gold's part?”

“That,” I said, “or a malicious lie!”

At this point Penelope interceded. “Look,” she said. “I think my colleague has made it clear that he had no intention of trying to seduce this undergraduate. It's her word against his. And since there's no evidence one way or another, you'll have to leave it. Natural justice demands that Harry is deemed innocent of these charges. That is, unless the girl has got concrete evidence which demonstrates Harry's guilt.”