“Simon?” I ask, incredulous. Who is this lad, standing in my room? Watching my half-naked snivelling? “I'm Patrick's son,” says the head, runn...ng a nervous hand through his unruly, pale ginger hair. “He used to work with, um...” he trails off. It is as if he sensed what I was thinking. Or maybe my questioning glare gives it away. “My dad,” I manage to blurt out, before completely dissolving into great, heaving sobs. “Crap. I didn't mean to upset you,” he says. He seems genuinely worried. “It's. ’ We exchanged a couple more pleasantries about the previous evening then Della left the restaurant, still with that winning smile on her face. Well, I didn’t see Della to speak to for a year or so after that. We often clapped eyes on each other at trade shows and things. But besides acknowledging the other’s presence by politely nodding or saying good morning as we passed each other, we didn’t actually talk. The war between us was back on with a vengeance. To be honest, looking back it didn’t. “What’s your name?” she asked, looking even more dangerous.“Seth,” I said. “What’s yours? Who are you?”“My name is Valory Rosenbaum,” she said, taking a step closer. “And I’m a lecturer for the School of Architecture here.”“Okay,” I said. Some of my anger diminished but only because I didn’t understand what was really going on. “So, why did you drag me in here? I didn’t do anything wrong. I wasn’t even close to the model.”She shook her head slightly, and took another step closer. “I’m not. At lunchtime June came into the dining room with a clipboard and asked those who wished to speak at the inquiry, to sign the sheet. She emphasised that Paul would not be attending when they gave their evidence and it would all be confidential between the principal and her; Paul would not know what they said and would not be able to take reprisals against them. So many signed the form, that instead of taking an hour like they anticipated, it went on until 7:30. In all fairness, David allowed.
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