The Third Twin - Ken Follett [102]
“I mean you’re fired,” Berrington said. He smoothed his eyebrows with the tip of his right index finger, a sign that he was pleased with himself.
Jeannie felt as if she had been punched. I can’t be fired, she thought. I’ve only been here a few weeks. I was getting on so well, working so hard. I thought they all liked me, except Sophie Chapple. How did this happen so fast?
She tried to collect her thoughts. “You can’t fire me,” she said.
“We just did.”
“No.” As she got over the initial shock, she began to feel angry and defiant. “You’re not tribal chieftains here. There’s a procedure.” Universities usually could not fire faculty without some kind of hearing. It was mentioned in her contract, but she had never checked the details. Suddenly it was vitally important to her.
Maurice Obeli supplied the information. “There will be a hearing before the discipline committee of the university senate, of course,” he said. “Normally, four weeks’ notice is required; but in view of the bad publicity surrounding this case I, as president, have invoked the emergency procedure, and the hearing will be held tomorrow morning.”
Jeannie was bewildered by how fast they had acted. The discipline committee? Emergency procedure? Tomorrow morning? This was not a discussion. It was more like being arrested. She half expected Obeli to read her her rights.
He did something similar. He pushed a folder across his desk. “In there you will find the procedural rules of the committee. You may be represented by a lawyer or other advocate provided you notify the chair of the committee in advance.”
Jeannie at last managed a sensible question. “Who’s the chair?”
“Jack Budgen,” said Obeli.
Berrington looked up sharply. “Is that already settled?”
“The chair is appointed annually,” Obeli said. “Jack took over at the start of the semester.”
“I didn’t know that.” Berrington looked annoyed, and Jeannie knew why. Jack Budgen was her tennis partner. That was encouraging: he ought to be fair to her. All was not lost. She would have a chance to defend herself, and her research methods, in front of a group of academics. There would be a serious discussion, not the glib superficialities of the New York Times.
And she had the results of her FBI sweep. She began to see how she would defend herself. She would show the committee the FBI data. With luck there would be one or two pairs who did not know they were twins. That would be impressive. Then she would explain the precautions she took to protect individuals’ privacy.…
“I think that’s all,” said Maurice Obeli.
Jeannie was being dismissed. She stood up. “What a pity it’s come to this,” she said.
Berrington said quickly: “You brought it to this.”
He was like an argumentative child. She did not have the patience for pointless wrangling. She gave him a disdainful look and left the room.
As she crossed the campus she reflected ruefully that she had completely failed to achieve her aims. She had wanted a negotiated settlement, and she had got a gladiatorial contest. But Berrington and Obeli had made their decision before she walked into the room. The meeting had been a formality.
She returned to Nut House. As she approached her office she noticed with irritation that the cleaners had left a black plastic garbage bag right outside the door. She would call them immediately. But when she tried to open her door it seemed to be jammed. She swiped her card through the card reader several times, but the door did not open. She was about to walk to reception and call maintenance when a dreadful thought occurred to her.
She looked inside the black bag. It was not full of wastepaper and Styrofoam coffee cups. The first thing she saw was her canvas Lands’ End briefcase. Also in the sack was the Kleenex box from her drawer, a paperback copy of A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley, two framed photographs, and her hairbrush.
They had cleared out her desk and locked her out of her office.
She was