John’s advice was to stonewall, although he urged Gabriel to coach Julianne on what not to say. Failing that, he had every intention of arguing that she was an unstable, impressionable student who had become fixated on Gabriel at a young age and had seduced him.
Hoping that his client would follow instructions, John didn’t bother to explain this strategy.
Soraya’s advice paralleled that of John. She told Julia to say nothing and if pressed, to blame Gabriel for everything. Soraya almost cackled with glee at the prospect of arguing that he was the older, rakish professor who had seduced an innocent young woman with promises of a long and happy future. When Julia declared that she wanted to tell the truth, Soraya told her that that was a very bad idea. She planned to bring up Gabriel’s promiscuous reputation and brushes with law enforcement.
Like John, she anticipated a cooperative client and thus didn’t bother articulating the details of her strategy.
The night before the hearing, Julia was awakened mid-dream by the sound of something tapping against her apartment window. At first, she thought she was still dreaming. When the sound repeated, this time more loudly, she exited her bed and pulled aside the curtain. There, standing with his nose almost pressed against the glass, was Gabriel. He looked slightly wild, eyes frantic, wearing his beret and his winter coat, standing knee-deep in a snowdrift.
She quickly unlocked the window and stood aside as a gust of frozen air whooshed past him with his entrance into the room. He closed the window soundly, locked it, and drew the curtain.
“Gabriel, what are you—”
She wasn’t given the chance to finish her question as he wrapped her in his arms. She smelled the Scotch before she tasted it, as he pressed his lips to hers. His lips were freezing, it was true, but his mouth and tongue were warm and inviting. And the heat of his kiss, which was deep and sensual, began to blossom across her skin.
“Are you drunk? What happened?”
He pulled away, but only for a moment, so he could divest himself of his hat and coat. Then he was embracing her once again, tracing icy fingers up and down her arms, unbuttoning her pajama top and slipping a hand inside to cradle her breast.
He moved her to the bed as he pulled his shirt out of his trousers, watching her slip off her pajamas as he carelessly dropped everything to the floor. Within an eye blink they were naked and he was pulling her into his arms, tugging her legs around his hips. They’d never been this quick to undress and to love.
As he walked her to the closed door and pressed her back against it, his movements grew frantic and desperate. His cold fingers teased her while his mouth trapped her breast, sucking and nipping.
She was crying out already, still shocked at his speechless fervor.
A few moments later she was distracted by the difference in temperature between their bodies: the taut, hard coldness of his chest pressing against her soft, warm curves. When he felt with thawing fingertips that she was ready, he thrust up into her, grunting into the crook of her neck in preliminary satisfaction, his upper body relaxing slightly at the feel of her. There was no space between their bodies or air between their skin.
Julia moaned appreciatively at the sensation of being one with her beloved. Her hands immediately slid from his shoulders to his hips, and she pulled at his lower back to encourage him forward. It was a cacophony of unembarrassed sounds and noises, made far more animalistic by its lack of language and of course, the rhythmic bumping of Julia’s back against the heavy wooden door.
Their coupling was loud and fast, perhaps the most intense physical connection they’d ever had, topping even their sex against the wall in Florence. Soon they were exploding jointly into bliss, hearts racing and blood pumping, clutching one another and crying out. Then finally, finally, they collapsed into a tangle of flesh and limb in limpid satisfaction on Julia’s narrow bed.
Gabriel was on top of her, but she would not let him move. He shifted slightly to distribute his weight to the mattress, but he too was unwilling to break the contact of skin against skin.
She petted his hair and told him how much she loved him as he buried his nose in the hollow of her throat, inhaling her scent. She told him that he didn’t need to drink, that he could talk to her, instead.
Gabriel sighed against her neck. “I am talking to you,” he whispered, pressing insistent kisses across her shoulder. “You aren’t listening.”
Before Julia could argue, he began exploring her mouth. Further discussion was silenced as he enticed her to join with his body once more.
When she awoke the next morning the apartment was quiet. In fact, there was no sign of her evening visitor apart from an unlocked window and the scent of Gabriel and sex that clung to her body and the bed.
She searched the studio expecting a note, a message, something. But there was nothing, not even an email. A creeping sense of dread spread over her.
* * *
Julia wore her hair long the next morning, following Soraya’s instructions, for it made her look sweet and innocent. At eleven o’ clock sharp she met her lawyer in the hallway outside the boardroom.
Gabriel and John were already there, huddled next to the wall and talking in low, hurried tones. They were both dressed in dark suits and white shirts. But the similarity ended there. Gabriel wore a bow tie. The green of his tie contrasted sharply with the blue of his eyes.
He made eye contact with her briefly, enough for her to notice that he looked worried. He didn’t smile or beckon to her. He seemed content to keep his distance.
She wanted to go to him, but Soraya pulled her to sit on a low bench just outside the door. Suddenly, the door swung open and a large, angry looking rugby player strode into the hallway.
“Paul?” Julia stood up.
He stopped, surprised.
“Julia? Are you all right? Tell me it isn’t—”
Mid-sentence and mid-stride Paul stopped as he saw the face of Soraya, who was now standing behind her. He stared at the two women, eyes wide and questioning at first, then narrowing. Muttering curses, he scowled and strode past both of them.
“Paul?” Julia called to him, but he disappeared down the stairs.
“Do you know him?” asked Soraya.
“He’s a friend.”
“Really?” Soraya seemed incredulous.
Julia turned to face her. “Why? Do you know him?”
“He filed a complaint last year against one of my clients. That’s when I made an enemy of the Dean.”
It took a moment for the import of Soraya’s revelation to sink into Julia’s brain. But when it did, she sat down slowly.
Soraya was Professor Singer’s attorney? What have I gotten myself into?
Her answer to that question was interrupted by the Dean’s assistant, Meagan, who announced that the hearing officers would prefer to interview Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson, together.
After a quick consultation with their lawyers, Gabriel and Julia entered the boardroom, followed by John and Soraya. As soon as they arranged themselves on opposite sides of the aisle, Dr. Aras spoke. As was his practice, he introduced himself and the other members of the committee, Professors Tara Chakravartty and Robert Mwangi.
“Dr. Tara Chakravartty, Vice-President of Diversity.” Professor Chakravartty was a beautiful and petite woman of Indian descent, with dark eyes and long, straight black hair. She was dressed in a black suit with a large persimmon-colored scarf swathed like a sari around her torso. She too, smiled at Julia, in between withering glances and the occasional scowl in David’s direction.
“Dr. Robert Mwangi, Vice-President of Student Affairs.” Professor Mwangi was a Kenyan Canadian who wore wire-rimmed spectacles and a button down shirt with no jacket and no tie. He was the most casually dressed of the four of them and the most obviously friendly. He smiled at Julia, and she smiled back.
The Dean proceeded with his opening remarks.
“Miss Mitchell, Professor Emerson, you have been notified by letter as to why your presence was required. Pursuant to our investigation of the allegation of academic misconduct against you, Miss Mitchell, we have talked to Professor Picton, Miss Peterson, Mrs. Jenkins, Professor Jeremy Martin, and Mr. Paul Norris.
“During the course of our investigation, several facts emerged, facts that have been corroborated by more than one witness.” The Dean stared at Gabriel, pursing his lips. “For this reason, the Provost’s office ordered this committee be formed to investigate matters further.
“The facts that have come to light so far are as follows: first, that a public argument with possible personal overtones took place between Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson during his graduate seminar on or about October twenty-eighth, two thousand and nine.
“Second, that on or about October thirty-first, Professor Picton agreed to supervise Miss Mitchell’s MA thesis at the urging of Professor Emerson, who later notified Professor Martin about the change. Professor Emerson claimed that the switch was necessary due to a conflict of interest, namely, that Miss Mitchell was a friend of his family. Paperwork was filed in the School of Graduate Studies in November to effect this change.
“Third, on December tenth, Professor Emerson gave a public lecture in Florence, Italy, to which he was accompanied by Miss Mitchell. Over the course of the evening, he introduced Miss Mitchell as his fiancée. These facts are substantiated in print and in photographs, and they have also been corroborated by a Professor Pacciani who was present at the event.” The Dean held up a piece of paper that appeared to be a hard copy of an email.