The Past and Other Lies Read Online Free Page A

Monday morning departmental meeting, filling Tom’s stale office with a brisk New World breeze, a squeak of new leather, and the sort of teeth of which the average British person could only dream. The staff had exchanged curious sideways glances, Dave had sat up straighter and smoothed back his hair and Charlotte had looked over at Tom. Tom had started guiltily in his chair and dived into a large pile of papers on his desk and Charlotte had experienced a moment of doomed despair.
    ‘Not the same Ashley Lempriere who wrote The Author and the Death of Death ?’ Bert Humphries, senior lecturer in Cultural Studies, had inquired, leaning forward, his bushy eyebrows twitching.
    And Tom had smiled and shrugged sheepishly to indicate that, sadly, things were out of his hands—and even though you knew that was bullshit, what could you do?
    Charlotte had begun scanning job ads.
    And now Dr Lempriere—Ashley—was rapping on her window with her reindeer-skin mittens and some kind of interaction appeared unavoidable.
    Charlotte fumbled for the button that made the window go down and not up. She found it at last and a shot of freezing air leapt into the warm car with her.
    ‘Dr Denzel,’ Ashley said. ‘What a surprise! Who you hiding from?’
    Charlotte smiled tightly back. ‘I’m returning a book,’ she said. They were outside the library, weren’t they?
    ‘That so?’ Ashley raised one eyebrow significantly higher than the other as though returning books to the library was the last thing she would have expected of a colleague. She gave a long and meaningful look at the pile of books that was stacked on the Fiesta’s passenger seat. ‘Any of those mine?’
    Dr Ashley Lempriere had written five academic texts, all of which were on various university course reading lists.
    ‘I hardly need to visit the library for that, do I? You gave us all signed copies when you arrived,’ Charlotte reminded her.
    ‘I did too. Well, come on then. Can’t spend all day skulking about round here, can we?’
    Charlotte reluctantly unclicked her seatbelt and gathered her stuff together.
    ‘So why’re you parked way out here? Trying to avoid everyone, huh?’ Ashley inquired, displaying the sort of bluntness British people did not need or appreciate, then she put an arm through Charlotte’s, breaking another taboo, and steered her towards the library where Charlotte really didn’t want to go. ‘Y’know, everybody’s talking ’bout nothing else but your sister’s TV show,’ she added.
    ‘Are they? Well that’s just great,’ replied Charlotte coldly. ‘And what do you suggest I do? Call a press conference?’
    That sounded bitter. She didn’t want to sound bitter, didn’t want to sound like it was a big deal. On the other hand it was a big deal and she didn’t want to appear too flippant either.
    Ashley appeared to give the press conference suggestion serious consideration.
    ‘I wouldn’t advise it. Colleague of mine at UCO made a media statement after a rape accusation. No one even knew about it till that media statement came out. ‘Course, he was finished after that. I took over most of his classes.’
    I’ll bet you did, thought Charlotte, mentally running through her own meagre class workload and wondering whether Ashley had designs on any of it.
    ‘Still, I guess it might not be a bad idea,’ mused Ashley. ‘I’ll even write you a media statement if you like: Dr Denzel wishes to make it known that the allegations levelled against her yesterday by her sister are totally unfounded and absolutely without substance. Or so she claims. ..’
    She turned a frankly inquisitive look in Charlotte’s direction but Charlotte refused to be drawn.
    An earnest woolly-hatted early-morning group of undergraduates milled around the library foyer handing out pamphlets and copies of the Socialist Worker . Charlotte had handed out pamphlets too, once—anti-apartheid stuff probably—but that seemed a long time ago. She felt suddenly