Scandalous

by Tilly Bagshawe

  “You need to come to London as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if you can swing it. I’ll get you in front of our intellectual property lawyers.”

  “Lawyers?” For the first time since they sat down Theo’s shit-eating grin began to fade. “Is that really necessary?”

  “It’s a formality,” slurped Ed, garlicky clam juice dribbling down his receding chin. “But yeah, it is necessary, especially in this case. You know what it’s like with ideas. Some people only have to read them once to think that they came up with them in the first place.” He laughed. “This is your theory, Theo. We need to make that ironclad from the get-go.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  Theo felt a momentary stab of guilt but quickly banished it from his mind. In the two weeks since Sasha had first shown him her theory, he’d worked on it so tirelessly and with such all-consuming passion, correcting even the tiniest errors, improving and polishing the text until it flowed like molten gold, that he’d almost come to believe it really was his work. Yes, Sasha had produced the original spark that inspired him—a spark that his teaching had so patiently nurtured and encouraged in her. But it was he, Theo Dexter, who had transformed that spark into this: a volcanic eruption of genius that had Ed Gilliam sitting across the table, eating out of his hands.

  This is your theory, Theo. We need to make that ironclad. And they would. Ed Gilliam’s fleet of top lawyers would protect him. They’d know what to do if Sasha got nasty. But she wouldn’t, would she?

  Just at that moment, Theo’s phone buzzed to life on the table. He grabbed it, read the text, and quickly deleted it.

  “Nothing important, I hope?” slurped Ed.

  “No. Go on.”

  Ed did, but Theo was beginning to find it hard to concentrate. The text was from Sasha, her third today. Even without the added pressure of the theory (mentally Theo had stopped referring to it as Sasha’s theory), strains in the affair were starting to show. In the beginning Sasha had been wonderful, adoring in the way that only very young women ever were. The sex had been incredible too. That combination of innocence, desire, and total malleability were a huge aphrodisiac, especially for an ego as rampant but fragile as Theo’s. But as time wore on, the dynamic between them inevitably shifted. Sasha might be young, but she was far from stupid. Recently she’d started to question him more and more about Theresa, the state of his marriage, and the future—their future. It had reached the point where Theo had been actively looking forward to the summer break. Not that he wanted to end things with Sasha. At least, not until a more attractive prospect came along. But the last thing he needed in his life was a second “marriage,” the sort of complicated, emotional relationship he had with Theresa.

  Oddly, things were better with Theresa sexually than they had been in years. Perhaps it was his affair with Sasha that had given him a new lease of life? Or perhaps agreeing to IVF had unleashed a passionate gratitude in Theresa that translated to a whole lot more fun between the sheets? Either way, Theo found himself irritated by Sasha’s endless, needy phone calls from Sussex, and actively looking forward to going home tonight and sharing today’s triumph with Ed Gilliam with his wife. Theresa’s body might not have the youthful perfection of Sasha’s, but she knew what turned him on. Sometimes it was a relief not to have to be the teacher.

  “So you can make it? Tomorrow afternoon, Berkeley Square? To meet with the lawyers? The press release?”

  With a jolt Theo realized that Ed Gilliam was still talking.

  “Oh, yes, yes. Of course.” He smiled. “I’ll write something up tonight.”

  I’ve waited so long for this. My entire career. It’s time to get this show on the road.

  A week later, Sasha was sitting on the sofa in her parents’ living room flipping through yesterday’s copy of the Sunday Times’s style magazine.

  Mrs. Mills answers your problems

  Dear Mrs. Mills,

  I’ve been seeing a married, older man for over a year now. He claims he loves me, but during a recent separation he’s barely returned my calls. What should I do?

  Yours,

  Desperate of Frant

  Dear Desperate,

  If he loved you he’d call you back. Or even visit. Why are you being such a moron? Why are you letting this man take over your life? If he cheats on his wife he’ll cheat on you. Once a liar, always a liar…

  As hard as she tried to shake them, the voices in Sasha’s head would not go away. Something was wrong. She’d dreaded the long summer holiday for ages, but not even in her worst nightmares had she pictured such a rapid unraveling of whatever it was that she and Theo had together. They used to talk at Cambridge, about everything. Life. The universe. She could live without the lovemaking. But the lack of communication was killing her.

  “Are you sure you won’t try the blue one? It’s a perfect color on you, Sash.” Her mother had tried vainly to interest her in a shopping expedition in Tunbridge Wells that afternoon. They were in Hooper’s department store, looking for a dress for Sasha’s cousin’s wedding. A wedding. That’s all I bloody need.

  “Sure, I’ll try it. But you pick, OK, Mum? You know I’ve got no head for fashion.”

  In the changing room, she jumped for joy when she got a new text from Theo. But as soon as she read it: “Cnt tlk now. 2mr, OK?” she was plunged back into depths of despair she hadn’t known she was capable of. She’d tried everything to put him out of her mind: going riding, spending time with school friends who knew nothing about her Cambridge life, even sorting out her bedroom, alphabetizing her CD collection and color coding her underwear drawer in an attempt to create some feeling of order and control over her own life. But I’m not in control. I’m out of control. I’m turning into a stalker!

  Just before supper that night—her favorite Moroccan lamb and homemade strawberry ice cream; Mum was pulling all the stops out to try and cheer her up—Sasha called Georgia.

  “The summer’s so long. I’m missing St. Michael’s more than I thought I would,” she admitted. Not able to tell her friend about Theo, she hoped Georgia would read between the lines and offer some sympathy. “Do you find that?”

  “Not really.” Sasha could hear the sound of laughter in the background. A student party. How long was it since she’d been to one of those? Let her hair down with people her own age? “A lot of the gang from college were in Turkey two weeks ago. You should have come.”

  Maybe I should have.

  “Josie and Danny are here now. D’you want to say hi?”

  Sasha said hi, but she hung up the phone feeling even more lonely than she had before. We’ve grown apart. Even me and Georgia. We used to be so close.

  Seeing his daughter on the couch, lost in thought, Don Miller turned on the TV. He could see she was upset, but long experience had taught him that distraction was a safer bet than the dreaded “talking” when it came to women’s problems.

  “Only Fools and Horses, Gardeners’ World, or Law & Order?” he asked cheerfully.

  “Hmmm? Oh I don’t mind, Dad. Whatever.”

  Don opted for Law & Order. Sasha tried to focus on the twisting plot and the labored tension of the detectives’ banter, but it was a losing battle. She didn’t even notice when Don switched over to the ten o’clock BBC news until her mother walked in and asked her a question about the Middle East. A few seconds later, however, and the TV had Sasha’s full attention.

  “Isn’t that your professor, love? The fellow from St. Michael’s?”

  Sasha felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. Theo’s face on screen looked even more handsome than it did in her dreams, if that were possible. He was doing that half frown, half smile thing that he did when he concentrated. It was the same face he pulled when he made love, right before he came.

  “What’s he doing on the news?”

  It was a good ten seconds before the pounding of Sasha’s heart quieted enough for her to hear what Theo was saying. He was talking about some sort of breakthrough. Something that
would change the face of physics and astronomy. Odd words and phrases leapt out at her…Einstein’s field equation, but seen through a mirror…changing our perceptions of existence…space-time continuum reimagined…

  Sasha felt a momentary swelling of pride. Those are my words. I wrote that.

  The report then cut to a ludicrously simplified CGI of the Big Bang and the formation of Earth. Above the graphic of the spinning planet was an equation. And that’s when it hit Sasha: It’s my theory. He’s gone public with my theory. It’s on the news.

  Her hands and feet began to tingle with excitement, as if someone were passing an electric current through her body. Wordlessly she grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned up the volume, waiting to hear Theo mention her name.

  Is this why he’s been so distant? He wanted to surprise me.

  Theo was talking. “Sometimes an idea is so profound, but so simple, you can’t quite believe it yourself…”

  He knows how to handle these things better than I do. He didn’t want me to screw it up.

  “…culmination of years of work…”

  Only six months actually.

  “…grateful to all those who have supported me. Especially my wonderful wife, Theresa.”

  Excuse me?

  “Science can be a lonely profession, but Theresa has been there for me through thick and thin. It’s easy to get caught up in competition with one’s peers. But clearly this is not about me, personally. This isn’t Theo Dexter’s triumph. It’s a triumph for the whole physics community. For the human race, in a way.”

  Cut to various eminent physicists from around the globe. Sasha watched their mouths move, but her ears were ringing. Slowly, hideously, the truth began to dawn.

  Oh my God.

  “I’m just the lucky man who happened to be sitting in the right place when inspiration struck.”

  Yeah you were in the right place! Naked in a field with me. You stole my idea!

  “Bastard,” Sasha muttered, getting unsteadily to her feet.

  The report was finished. Huw Edwards was saying something about the Special Olympics. Sasha grabbed the arm of the sofa for support. The room was starting to spin.

  “Are you all right, darling? Sasha?” Don gave her a worried glance.

  “I need some air.”

  Outside in the garden, warm summer scents of jasmine and freshly mown grass assailed Sasha’s senses. The world looked and smelled and sounded familiar, but everything had changed. Her hand shook as she dialed Theo’s number.

  He won’t answer. He’ll see it’s from me and he won’t answer. He…

  “Sasha. How are you, angel? Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back earlier. It’s been a manic day.” He sounded so calm, so normal, for a moment Sasha wondered if she’d imagined the news report. There was no hint of guilt or apology in his voice.

  “I saw you. On the news. Five minutes ago.”

  “Oh.” There was a long pause. Irrationally, Sasha’s spirits soared. This is where he’s going to explain everything. It’s all some sort of ghastly mistake and he’s going to put it right. “Listen, all that stuff about Theresa…I had to say it. She’s been so low recently, and she was desperate to be a part of all the excitement. You understand, don’t you?”

  Sasha shook her head in disbelief. This was getting more surreal by the second.

  “Theresa? What are you talking about, Theo? You stole my theory! I just saw you on the BBC bloody news, telling people my thesis was your idea.”

  “I think you’re a wee bit confused, sweetheart.” There was an edge to Theo’s voice that hadn’t been there before. “I’ve been working on this theory for years. Long, long before I met you. Now, granted, you developed a couple of my ideas further than I had. Your paper really got me thinking…”

  “Liar!” Sasha exploded. “I didn’t develop your ideas! They were my ideas and you know it.”

  “Come on, Sash. This is nonsense. I don’t know anything of the kind. Listen, I’m jumping into a cab now. Can we talk about this tomorrow, when you’ve calmed down?”

  Sasha hung up on him.

  When Don Miller walked into the garden ten minutes later, he found his daughter pacing the stone path, mumbling to herself like a lunatic.

  “Sash, love? What is it? Your mum and I are worried about you. Won’t you tell us what’s happened?”

  Sasha stopped mumbling, stared at him, and burst into tears.

  When she finally stopped crying, she told him everything. Her affair with Theo, how it had started, his marital problems, the secrecy, and how it had alienated her from her friends and family. Finally she told him about her theory, a simplified version, but Don got the gist. How she had trusted Theo to advise her on it and he had stolen it and was trying to pass it off as his own work.

  Don Miller listened in silence. When Sasha finally finished talking, he said gently, “I see. So what are you going to do?”

  “Do?” Sasha looked at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean what are you going to do? I hope you’re not thinking of letting this wanker get away with it. Are you?”

  “But, Dad, it’ll be his word against mine.”

  “So?”

  “He’s a fellow, a respected, professional scientist. I’m a second-year student.”

  “So?”

  “So no one will believe me.”

  Don Miller took his daughter’s hand. “I believe you, Sasha. You’ve got right on your side. The truth will come to light in the end, but not if you don’t fight for it. Mum and I will be behind you all the way. We’ll get you a lawyer. We’ll sell the house if we have to.”

  Sasha was so touched she started to cry again.

  “I loved him, Dad.”

  “No, love. You just thought you did.”

  Her dad was right. She couldn’t just sit back and let Dexter get away with this.

  I’ll take him to court. I’ll win back my theory and expose him as a liar and a fraud.

  Theo Dexter was going to curse the day he underestimated Sasha Miller.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SASHA SQUEEZED BOTH her parents’ hands as the members of the Regent House filed back into the room. The Regent House was the official governing body of the University of Cambridge. Usually it only ever met in the grand neoclassical Senate House on King’s Parade to award degrees, or to elect a new chancellor. But today, sensationally, the master of St. Michael’s had summoned a special congregation—Cambridge’s equivalent of a court martial—to settle the increasingly embarrassing and bitter dispute between Professor Theo Dexter and his second-year pupil, Sasha Miller.

  Of course, today was only the university’s decision. Theoretically, Sasha could still pursue Theo in the British courts. But the six-hundred-pounds-an-hour lawyer Don Miller had engaged was blunt about her chances.

  “If the university goes against you, it will be very difficult to win a civil case. I hesitate to say impossible. But if you pursue Dexter and you lose, the court will most likely award him damages and costs. Add that to your own legal fees and you could be looking at a bill running into millions of pounds.”

  “We’ll do whatever it takes,” Don said defiantly. But they all knew it wasn’t an option. Everything rested on today’s decision. Up until a couple of hours ago, Sasha had been sure she was going to lose. In the last two months, since the British press had got hold of the juicy story about the hunky Cambridge professor and his teenage undergraduate lover, Sasha had seen her good name raked through the mud. Like flies swarming around a turd, the university establishment had rallied around Theo Dexter. No one, other than Sasha’s student friends, had agreed to speak up for her.

  Until this afternoon.

  Harold Grier, a senior American physicist on exchange from Harvard, had been one of Sasha’s lab partners at the Cavendish. Grier had witnessed much of Sasha’s early research work on what was already now being referred to as “Dexter’s Law.” If he spoke up for her, she had a shot. Unfortunat
ely for Sasha, Harold Grier was also a pathologically private man and so shy he was borderline autistic. He had refused all her entreaties to testify at the Senate House. “I can’t be dragged into a s…scandal. I’m sorry. My work is too important.”

  Sasha had given up trying to change Harold’s mind weeks ago. But today, after the lunchtime recess, a miracle had occurred. Walking out of the bathroom, she saw Harold Grier standing alone in the grand foyer of the Senate House with a sheaf of papers in his hand. Harold saw her too and smiled.

  “Who’s that?” Sasha’s dad asked her, watching Harold take his seat. Don noticed the way that the Dexter camp’s eyes had all turned to follow him as he made his way to the front of the court.

  “I very much hope that’s my knight in shining armor,” whispered Sasha.

  The master of St. Michael’s took his seat. “Silentium Commodo. Villa est in sessium. Existo Sessio.”

  This is it.

  Theresa Dexter held her husband’s hand and kept her eyes fixed firmly on the robed figures in front of her. Sometimes the urge to turn around and look at Sasha Miller was so strong it made her neck hurt. But she knew that if she made eye contact she wouldn’t be able to restrain herself from running over and strangling the girl with her bare hands. Better to be here than down the road in the Crown Court, on trial for murder, Theresa told herself. In an hour this nightmare will be over.

  The last two months had been the worst of Theresa Dexter’s life. It was August when Theo had come home, ashen-faced, and told her that he was afraid one of his undergraduates was going to try to lay claim to his theory.

  “But why? I mean, that’s ridiculous. How could she possibly lay claim to it?”

  “We worked together.” Theo shrugged. “I trusted her. You know, she’s a bright girl, she showed a lot of promise. I thought it would be exciting for her to be involved with something like this. Something groundbreaking.” He shook his head sadly. “I suppose I was naive.”