There is a pause while Maddy listens to what her interlocutor has to say. A tinny buzz issues from the phone but from where Cullen is sitting no words are distinguishable. What he wouldn’t give to hear the other side of the conversation.

‘As I’m sure you know, since you seem to have spent considerable effort in digging up the past, I was in the law department before taking on this role and I happen to believe that people are innocent until they are proven guilty. You would hardly expect me to recall events from nearly two decades ago, but what I do remember very distinctly was that there was never any evidence that Professor Reynolds was in any way responsible. In fact, just the opposite. And yes, I am aware that times have changed. We have an extremely robust sexual harassment policy here at Avon, as you’d expect from a university whose Vice Chancellor is a woman. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m terribly busy.’

Maddy cuts the call and sits for a moment with her eyes closed, thumbs hooked under her cheekbones, fingers kneading her temples.

‘Shall I ask your assistant to fetch some coffee?’ Cullen says, trying to sound helpful.

Maddy looks out from between her hands and straightens herself upright, a look of mild surprise on her face, as if she had forgotten the presence of Cullen altogether.

‘No, no, it’s fine.’

‘I couldn’t help overhearing, I hope you don’t mind. Nevis Smith is one of mine.’

‘Oh yes, of course. Her mother is a terrible pest, one of those women who spends five minutes googling and thinks that makes her better equipped to do your job than you are. She’s been calling the student welfare department pleading for her daughter to get special treatment. She’s claiming we haven’t taken what happened to Satnam Mann and Jessica Easton seriously, which is nonsense, obviously. She really doesn’t know what she’s talking about.’

Cullen, who has been listening to this with mounting alarm, swallows hard and says, ‘What has this to do with Reynolds?’ The remnants of that scandal were still being whispered around Midland University when Cullen arrived, a few years after his own disgrace at St Olaf’s. He did not engage with it, afraid that to do so might contaminate his own, slowly healing, wounds.

‘As you might remember, Reynolds was my mentor and, incidentally, one of the most brilliant legal minds in academe. Whatever Professor Reynolds might or might not have done, his achievements in advancing legal thought deserve to be protected.’ She looks up and catches Cullen’s eye, giving a sorrowful sigh. ‘A great mind exists beyond trivial notions of morality. It’s our last defence against Planet Stupid.’