drunk between her bewildered parents.
‘Are you going to make any statement, Sasha?’
‘Will you be going back to St Michael’s?’
‘The university has asked for a formal retraction. Any comment on that?’
‘No comment!’ Don Miller roared. It was like walking through a pack of wolves. ‘Get the hell away from my daughter.’
‘Are you sorry, Sasha?’
Sasha looked up. Am I sorry? Yes, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ever laid eyes on Theo Dexter. I’m sorry I put my family through this. I’m sorry that none of you can open your eyes and see the truth.
The mob followed her to the car. Cameras clattered against the sides of Don’s tatty Volvo as the family drove away. Sasha stared out of the window at the colleges, their towers and steeples and portcullises bathed in late afternoon light. She remembered the day she had first arrived at St Michael’s, full of hope and promise and excitement, her head full of thoughts of Will Temple, the boy she’d left back home. It was only a year ago. But it felt like a lifetime.
That girl is gone forever, thought Sasha.
She knew she would never return to Cambridge again.
It was almost midnight before Theo had a chance to call Ed Gilliam. What with all the press to deal with, and the celebratory drinks party at the Master’s lodge, followed by a romantic, thank-you-for-standing-by-me supper with Theresa, he hadn’t had a second alone since the verdict.
‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’
Gilliam laughed. ‘Not likely. I’m so wired I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again.’
‘So come on, put me out of my misery. How did you do it?’
‘Harold Grier, you mean?’
‘When I saw him after recess I thought we were sunk. How did you get him to change his mind?’
‘The same way you get anyone to change their mind. I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.’
‘Money?’
‘Better than that. I told him I’d get him a book deal for his new thesis. That and a sponsor for his next five years of research.’
‘But Grier’s research is impenetrable. Not even physicists can understand it.’
‘Hey, I didn’t say the book would sell. I told him we’d publish it.’
‘Who’s going to sponsor him?’
‘You are, Theo. Or rather, your TV production company. Once your show gets syndicated globally, believe me, the payments to dear old Harold will be a drop in the ocean.’
‘My show? What show?’
Ed Gilliam laughed out loud. ‘Get some sleep, Theo. You’re about to become a very, very busy man.’
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