What Men Say by Joan Smith

with something.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    Janet shrugged. “Bridget’s not exactly
conventional.
All it needs is a word or two, a hint about her lovers—”
    â€œShe’s never made any secret of that. Anyway, it’s all in the past.”
    â€œYes, but. . . These are the same people who think a few overexcited kids celebrating in the High Street are a threat to civilization as we know it. It wouldn’t take much to persuade them they’re dealing with the Whore of Babylon.”
    â€œThe—” Loretta stared at Janet, astonished. “Whose side are you on?”
    Janet sighed. “It’s not a matter of sides. In some ways, Bridget’s never stopped living in the sixties—she’s exactly the kind of person to activate all their prejudices. I assume they’ve already got a file on her—wasn’t she arrested at some demonstration?”
    â€œOnly for obstruction. She sat in the road—they didn’t actually charge her. And she was fined for possession of cannabis, but that was
years
ago. Before I knew her.”
    â€œThere you are then.”
    Loretta gave a snort of contempt. “But that’s got nothing to do with . . . this business. They brought a picture round this morning and she didn’t even know the woman. So what if she’s had a few lovers?”
    â€œLoretta, I’m just telling you the kind of questions they’re asking and trying to make an intelligent guess about how their minds work. From the way he talked about her, the man who came round this morning, I got the impression she’s already put their backs up. She should be careful, that’s all.”
    â€œOh, well,” Loretta said, relieved, “I know what that’s about. They left a message here yesterday and she didn’t ring back, though it was as much their fault as hers. She was far more worried about Donald Cromer.”
    â€œDonald Cromer? Has he been on to her?”
    Loretta pulled a face. “He certainly has. He’s more or less banned her from going into college till this is over.”
    â€œYou see, Loretta, that proves my point. Ever since Cromer became warden she’s had to tread very carefully, he’s nowhere near as easy-going as Jim Pollock.” The latter, an economist who had advised Harold Wilson in the sixties, had been lured to Harvard and replaced by Cromer, who was rumored to be a crony not only of Princess Margaret, whom he regularly invited to dinner, but of Mrs. Thatcher. “Donald’s obsessed with scandal, he expects the fellows to behave like Caesar’s wife. Do you remember that business at St. Mark’s—no, you weren’t in Oxford then.”
    Loretta said nothing and Janet mistook her silence for curiosity. “One of the dons was found murdered in Paris—Hugh Puddephat, does the name mean anything to you? Possibly not, he was a structuralist and that’s all a bit passé now, isn’t it? Anyway, that’s the kind of thing Donald’s determined to avoid, especially as one of the other fellows was nearly charged with the murder. He only got off when the master’s wife went to the police and admitted they were having an affair . . . Loretta, are you all right?”
    â€œMmm,” she said, getting up and kneeling on the sofa next to Janet. “It gets a bit stuffy in here in the mornings”—she fiddled with the window lock—“especially now that the rain’s stopped.” The window catch was stiff, needing several attempts before she was able to swivel it round with her thumb, and the window moved only nine inches before jamming in the frame, but Loretta was grateful for the diversion. “That’s better,” she said, feeling able to face Janet again, and returned to her seat.
    Janet looked at her oddly, but said nothing. Instead she uncurled her long legs from the sofa, slipped on hersandals and got up to look at