Lies, Damned Lies, and History Read online

  He wasn’t listening. The tears were rolling down his face, which was red with emotion. He looked even younger than ever. ‘You’re so caught up in its value and prestige that you’ve forgotten what it means. And the purpose for which it was given. You had no right to take it. You have no right to keep it. You’re no better than looters.’

  The silence in the room congealed into something unpleasant.

  ‘Mr Roberts – you are dismissed.’

  To this day, I’m not sure what Dr Bairstow meant by that phrase. Did he keep it deliberately ambiguous? It didn’t matter because Roberts said, ‘No I’m not. I resign,’ spun on his heel and slammed the door shut behind him. Two seconds later, I heard Mrs Partridge’s door slam as well.

  Sands spoke into the silence. ‘I resign as well. My notice will be on your desk in thirty minutes.’

  He turned to us. ‘Max, Peterson, it’s been an honour and a privilege,’ and then he too left the room.

  The pain in my chest told me I’d forgotten to breathe again. My instinct was to fly after them, but neither of them would have thanked me. Roberts, I think, was too emotionally involved to think clearly, but Sands knew exactly what he was doing. Dr Bairstow could now legitimately say that two members of staff had been dismissed over this incident and that those remaining had been appropriately disciplined. It now remained for us to discover what form that discipline would take.

  He started with Peterson.

  ‘I see very little point in continuing to prepare you for the position of Deputy Director. I suppose I should be grateful that your unsuitability for the position has become apparent before either of us has wasted too much time on what has turned out to be a pointless exercise.’

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I turned my head to stare at Peterson. He’d never said anything about this and he must have known what would happen. Wisely, he did not attempt to reply, just staring over Dr Bairstow’s shoulder at the curtains behind him.

  On to Markham. He sighed heavily. ‘My fault, I suppose. I was aware of your criminal record when I employed you. I may as well tell you now that Major Guthrie is deeply disappointed by your behaviour. As am I. At his request, I have cancelled his recommendation that I regard you as his imminent successor as Head of Security.’

  I’d thought as much. Guthrie had been planning to leave. To be with Grey. And now he couldn’t. Someone else’s future ruined.

  Dr Bairstow paused. Because it was my turn now. I lifted my chin and thought furiously about not crying.

  ‘How could you do this, Max? After everything I said to you last year – how could you do this to St Mary’s?’

  I hoped to God that the question was rhetorical because I didn’t have an answer and, even if I did, my voice had fled. I fixed my eyes on him, felt a hot tear run down my face, and somehow croaked, ‘I apologise, sir. I’m truly sorry.’

  His face was cold. ‘I wish this repentance had occurred before you actually perpetrated the crime. Before you dragged the professional reputation of St Mary’s through the dirt. Before you jeopardised the future of an organisation to which I have devoted my life. Before you let down your colleagues and disappointed me.’

  I was unable to speak.

  ‘You are no longer my Chief Operations Officer. In fact, you are no longer an historian at all. All privileges are revoked. You may consider yourself grounded for life. You have made your last jump.’

  For one mad moment, the world swirled around me. Behind me, Peterson put his hand in the small of my back. Support and comfort.

  I swallowed so hard I hurt my throat and opened my mouth.

  ‘No,’ he said, as I made to speak. ‘You will not resign. You will remain here – partly because St Mary’s has invested a great deal of money and effort in you and I am reluctant to see it completely wasted – but mostly because you need to learn a lesson. There are consequences to each and every action. You will remain here and endure the consequences of yours. You will observe, at first hand, the unfortunate repercussions of your …’ he gritted his teeth, ‘… actions and their effects on others. Because of you, Dr Peterson is grounded until I deem otherwise. Mr Markham has lost all seniority and will be replaced as Major Guthrie’s second in command. Mr Roberts and Mr Sands have each lost their jobs.’

  He stopped again and began to align the files on his desk, his hands not quite steady.

  ‘You have jeopardised the future of your colleagues. You have irreparably damaged the hard-won reputation of my unit. You have no conception of the lengths to which I have had to go over the years to convince various bodies that History is not a resource to be plundered at will. Only to find my senior staff have broken into an academic establishment and stolen a priceless artefact.’

  He paused and I knew something horrible was coming. The only sound in the room was his ticking clock and my pounding heart.

  ‘You should know that the only thing standing between all of you and a very long prison sentence was the Chancellor.’

  Peterson said hoarsely, ‘Was, sir?’

  ‘Heads had to roll, obviously. Despite making her and her university look ridiculous, the Chancellor fought our corner. Long and hard. She was, to some extent, successful. I am still here. However, as you yourselves are so fond of saying, “There’s always a price to pay” and the Chancellor is the one who has paid it. They have forced her out. They are calling it retirement on the grounds of ill health, but she is out. To expect the new regime to regard St Mary’s in a positive light will be unrealistic. At the very best, there will be rigorous scrutiny at every level. I am expecting them to establish a permanent presence here. At worst they will close us down.’

  I could feel the sweat trickling down my back. Half of me was hot – the other half ice-cold. I would have given a very great deal to be able to sit down.

  He pulled himself together. He hadn’t finished with me.

  ‘Since your actions have almost certainly compromised our future funding, you will devote such time as you have remaining here to finding alternative methods of raising the money we will soon be desperately short of. An appropriate wage will be paid to you, along with all maternity benefits you have accrued, but you will not return to St Mary’s after the birth of your child. I leave it to you and Chief Farrell to determine your future. Furthermore, since your recent actions have demonstrated that you are not to be trusted in any way, you will ensure all work passes my desk. You will not, under any circumstances, initiate any action – any action at all – without written permission from me or a senior member of staff. Is that clearly understood?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I don’t care where you work, but it will not be anywhere near the History Department. You are no longer an historian. Obviously, there will be occasions when interaction is unavoidable, but you will keep these instances to a minimum. The same goes for all other departments. You will report to me and to me alone. Kindly indicate your understanding.’

  I nodded again.

  ‘Having said that, I would be grateful if you could ensure your new duties keep you out of my office as much as possible, Miss Maxwell.’

  And there it was. I was no longer a head of department. I’d lost my academic title. At St Mary’s, only chief officers retain the courtesy of their academic titles. I was back to being Miss Maxwell again.

  ‘In fact, I think it would be better for all concerned if I did not have to look at any of you for quite some considerable time. Dismissed.’

  He opened a file and began to read.

  I don’t think any of us drew breath until we were safely on the other side of the door.

  Mrs Partridge looked up. ‘There will be an all-staff briefing in one hour when these staff changes will be announced,’ she said. ‘I am instructed to inform you that your attendance will be required.’

  Shit. He was going to do it in public, in front of friends, colleagues … husbands …

  We nodded and left.

  Peterson led us to a quiet corner. I don’t think any of
us could face the world at that moment.

  Markham took my arm. ‘You all right, Max?’

  ‘Fine,’ I said, lying my head off.

  ‘What now?’

  I took a breath and tried to think. ‘I have to see Roberts.’

  ‘Best be quick, then. He won’t be hanging around.’

  He wasn’t. He was hurtling around his tiny room, slinging his belongings into a sports bag. A closed suitcase stood by the door. A bulging bin bag was filled with stuff he wasn’t taking with him. Posters had been ripped from the walls, bringing down lumps of plaster with them. They’d been savagely crumpled and most of them had been flung into the waste bin. Several of them had missed. He was crying with anger and frustration.

  I tapped on the open door.

  ‘Fuck off,’ he shouted, without even bothering to turn around.

  ‘Hey,’ I said softly, stepping into his room.

  ‘Max. Sorry. What happened? Did he sack you?’

  ‘Death by inches, I said, easing my way around the bin bag. ‘Replaced as head of department, grounded until the day I die, and not to bother coming back after maternity leave.’

  ‘Oh God,’ he said, sitting heavily on the bed. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Not your fault,’ I said. ‘We all agreed to it.’

  ‘Peterson?’

  ‘Still with us – just grounded.’ I didn’t mention he’d lost his chance at Deputy Director. The whole point was to calm Roberts down a little.

  ‘And Markham?’

  ‘Again, still with us. Reduced to the ranks, which won’t bother him in the slightest.’ I paused. ‘Sands resigned.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Voluntarily. There was no coercion. He’s doing the grand gesture thing.’

  ‘So who’s left?

  ‘Oh, he’s got plenty of historians. Clerk will be the new head of department, I expect, and there’s still Bashford and Prentiss. And Sykes, North and Atherton, as well. And Grey.’

  ‘Three of them are still Pathfinders. Grey’s not … well, we know what Grey is. He has only three historians. He can’t possibly operate with just three. He’ll have to reinstate you and Peterson.’

  Now did not seem the moment to tell him I’d be extremely surprised if the History Department was allowed to operate at all, let alone with only three historians.

  I tried to get him to wait at least an hour or two. Maybe to have something to eat and calm down a little before roaring off into the night, but he couldn’t wait to get out. I made him promise to drive carefully. ‘Please, Gareth. I can’t take any more grief today.’

  He stopped, took a deep breath, and threw me a wobbly smile. ‘I will. I promise.’

  ‘I mean it. I don’t want you being the next piece of bad news.’

  He shook his head. ‘The sword’s back where it belongs. That’s all ended now. You wait and see.’

  I hoped to God that his quiet confidence wasn’t misplaced. If we’d done all this for nothing … I shook myself and said briskly, ‘Very possibly, but it doesn’t mean you’re bloody immortal. Just go carefully is all I ask.’

  He nodded, and at that moment, someone said, ‘Knock-knock,’ and Sands came in, followed by Markham and Peterson.

  I said, ‘David, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got one or two ideas. Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘But I will.’

  ‘You haven’t heard the last of me, I promise you. And Rosie will keep you in touch.’ I’d forgotten about him and Rosie Lee. Was this the end for them as well? How much damage had we done today?

  ‘We’ll walk you out,’ said Peterson, and we did.

  We walked them down the stairs, striding through the Hall, where people were beginning to gather for the meeting. Silence fell whenever people saw us. There was no sign of Clerk or Prentiss, both of them tactfully absent. People stood back from us, unsure of what was happening.

  Markham stiffened.

  ‘Not their fault,’ muttered Peterson. ‘Keep walking.’

  We stood outside on the steps. The night was cold and there was rain in the air.

  ‘Why have we come out of the front door?’ I said. ‘The car park’s round the back.’

  Sands let his bag drop. ‘An act of defiance,’ he said. You never creep about when you’re in deep disgrace. Heads up. Look them in the eye. Leave by the front door.’ He turned to us. ‘You should go back inside. You don’t want to be late.’

  ‘It makes very little difference now,’ I said quietly, and for a moment, his mouth twisted. I put my hand on his forearm and he turned away.

  Roberts brought his car around. We stowed their gear and then stood awkwardly.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘since Dr Bairstow wouldn’t say it, I hope you will accept it from me. Mr Sands, Mr Roberts, St Mary’s thanks you for your service.’

  ‘Very acceptable,’ said Sands. He shook my hand. ‘It’s been an honour and a privilege.’

  I nodded, too choked to speak, suddenly realising I’d never hear another ‘knock-knock’ joke from him again. Never again would I tease Roberts about his bum-fluff.

  Roberts shook my hand, tried to smile, failed, and climbed into the car.

  We watched them drive away. Roberts spraying gravel and crashing the gears in his haste to get out of the gates.

  ‘Sands will pull him over in the village,’ said Markham, confidently. ‘He’s just letting him have his big exit.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Well, that’s what I told him to do.’

  I tried not to think about what an excellent head of Security he would have made had he ever been given the chance.

  The three of us looked at each other.

  ‘Well,’ said Peterson. ‘We’d better go and face the music, I suppose.’

  We had the sense to sit at the back and St Mary’s had the manners not to turn around and stare at us as the announcement was made. I could see the back of Leon’s head as he sat next to Guthrie in the front row. Clerk sat on his other side. Where I used to sit. I wondered what he was going to say to me. Leon, I mean.

  The briefing finished and we left as soon as we could.

  ‘Right,’ said Peterson. ‘I don’t know about anyone else, but I could really do with a drink.’

  ‘Give me a moment,’ I said. ‘I want to shower and change.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Markham. ‘We’ll meet in the bar in twenty minutes to discuss things.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Survival strategy. The coming weeks are not going to be pleasant.’

  He was right. They weren’t, and it was starting now, because Leon was waiting for me.

  ‘It’s your own fault,’ scolded my inner voice, not so active these last few years, but now back with a vengeance. ‘To put yourself in a position where the good opinion of one person is so important to you. What were you thinking? How could you be so stupid? To leave yourself vulnerable to the opinions of others. Of one person in particular. And now look what’s come of it. He’s unhappy, so you’re unhappy he’s unhappy. What sort of idiot are you?’

  A very good question.

  ‘Before we start throwing the furniture around,’ he said, ‘I have something to say.’

  I folded my arms. ‘Go on.’

  ‘As Chief Technical Officer I am angrier than I can possibly say. That you could do such a thing beggars belief.’

  I unfolded my arms and prepared to disembowel him.

  He continued. ‘As your husband, I am mildly exasperated at your inability to stay out of trouble. At this particular moment, I am this unit’s CTO. Later tonight I will be your husband. All right?’

  Somewhat deflated, I nodded.

  His first question was mild enough. ‘So, what’s this all about?’

  I remembered what Sands had said about never creeping about when you’re in disgrace and came out swinging.

  ‘You know what it’s all about. Don’t tell me you and Dr Bairstow haven’t spent hours discussing this an
d agreeing on appropriate punishments.’

  He said quietly, ‘I think you sometimes forget that until Peterson takes over as Deputy Director, I am second in command of this unit.’

  ‘Well, that’s not going to happen now, is it?’

  He stiffened. ‘Are you suggesting I’ve been personally motivated in all this?’

  I don’t know if this happens to anyone else, but when I’m hurt and angry and ashamed and guilty I feel the need to lash out and damage someone else.

  ‘Well, of course you are. You have exactly what you wanted. I’m out of St Mary’s without you even lifting a finger. And Peterson won’t be superseding you as second in charge. You’ll have the little wife at home doing little wife things in the house with her baby and you’ll be a proper number two, won’t you?’

  ‘I’m making allowances for you at the moment because you’re upset and when you’re calmer you’ll know that none of that is true.’

  ‘Really? Well, I’m sure you think you’re right.’

  ‘What’s got into you?’

  I whirled around. ‘I’ve broken the law, lost my job, lost others their jobs too, ruined the career prospects of my two best friends, and wrecked our funding opportunities for the foreseeable future. What the hell do you think has got into me?’

  There was a ringing silence and then I slammed into the bathroom. I threw my clothes around the room and climbed into the shower. After two minutes, an arm appeared around the curtain with a mug of tea. Drinking tea in the shower isn’t easy, but I appreciated the thought and gave it a bloody good go.

  He was gone when I came out.

  Fifteen minutes later, I strode into the bar full of wrath and rebellion, fully intending to break a few more rules – mostly the ones concerning pregnant women and the levels of alcohol deemed appropriate by those who take it upon themselves to deem such things. Typically, once I got there, I found I’d lost the taste and had to make do with a rebellious tonic water instead.

  I wondered if I would ever grow accustomed to people falling silent whenever I walked past.

  Peterson and Markham had already bagged a table and I joined them. Judging by the number of glasses on the table, they’d been there for some time. I raised my glass.