A Kiss Remembered by Sandra Brown

purposely drafted to lead him into a discussion of Missy Lancaster and her suicide. Deftly he managed to detour them to other topics.
    The men in the room discussed the afternoon’s football game, the season in general and the team’s chances for a bowl game. Grant introduced Shelley without explaining who she was, but one of her former professors remembered her just the same. Shelley was sure that news of their student-teacher relationship was spreading through the room.
    A half hour later Shelley and Grant found themselves in Chancellor Martin’s den. They were discussing the merits of backgammon over chess when the chancellor himself walked in.
    “Ah, there you are, Mr. Chapman. I was hoping for a word with you.” He sounded friendly enough, but the way he closed the double doors to the room behind him filled Shelley with foreboding.
    “We were just admiring this room,” Grant said congenially. “It’s beautiful, as is the rest of the house.”
    “Yes, well,” he said, coughing unnecessarily, “as you know the university owns the house, but when I was appointed chancellor and we moved in, Marjorie redecorated it.”
    Moving to the bookcase-lined wall, he clasped his hands behind him and rocked back on his heels. “Mr. Chapman—”
    “Excuse me,” Shelley said, edging her way toward the door.
    “No, Mrs. Robins, as this concerns you, I’ll ask you to stay.”
    She cast a furtive glance in Grant’s direction, then said, “All right.”
    “Now,” the chancellor said ponderously, “as you know, this university maintains high standards both academically and morally. We, meaning the board of directors, care about the reputation of this school, both as an institute of higher learning and as a community unto itself. Because we are a church-sponsored university, we must safeguard that reputation. Therefore,” he said, swiveling his head around and glaring at them in a gesture guaranteed to strike terror into the heart of any miscreant, “the members of the faculty must have sterling reputations on campus and off.”
    A deathly quiet had descended over the room. Neither Grant nor Shelley spoke or moved, but out of the corner of her eye she saw that Grant’s fists were clenched at his sides.
    “We took a chance in hiring you to teach at this university, Mr. Chapman. The board reviewed your application carefully. They felt that you were unfairly exploited by the press in Washington. They benevolently gave you the benefit of the doubt.
    “Your credentials are excellent. When you publish, as you’ve expressed a desire to do, that will lend further distinction to the university. But your keeping company with a student, albeit an older one, leaves you vulnerable to criticism and puts the university in an unfavorable light. Especially after the unfortunate affair so recently publicized. I must request that you and Mrs. Robins, whose status as a divorcée only adds another questionable element to the situation, stop seeing each other on a social basis.”
    Grant wasn’t impressed by either the chancellor’s edict or his piety. “Or else what?” he asked calmly. The controlled tone wasn’t in keeping with the fierce expression on his face.
    “Or else we might have to review your contract at the end of the semester,” Chancellor Martin said.
    Grant crossed to Shelley and took her arm. “You have not only insulted me and questioned my morality, which I’m sure is in keeping with that of the university, but you have maligned Mrs. Robins—”
    “Grant—”
    “—whose reputation is spotless.”
    She had tried to interrupt, afraid that he’d say something in her defense that would further antagonize the chancellor. For judging by the pallor of his face, few, if any, had ever ignored his warnings.
    “Thank you for your hospitality,” Grant was saying as he dragged her toward the door. “And thank Mrs. Martin for us.”
    He flung the door open wide, strode through it proudly and wended his way through