A Subtle Flame

Part 8

CHAPTER SEVEN

 A shadow fell over Christian's newspaper.  He flicked the pages irritably but he did not bother to look up.  If whoever it was wanted the armchair in the sun, they should have got to the staff room before him, he grumbled to himself.

             "Christian."  The voice was hard and abrupt.  "Let's talk."

             "I'm busy Davis," Christian replied, trying to disguise his sudden discomfort with a dismissive tone.  His gaze remained on the paper which crumpled in his clenched fists.

             "Now."

             Christian's head jerked up.  Davis towered above him, his arms crossed, like a statue of an avenging Greek god.  Christian's gaze turned beseechingly to Professor Peebles, who – until a moment ago – had been snoozing in his favourite armchair.  Now however he was already half-way to the door.  Bloody coward, Christian accused him silently.  Why should I get the grief over this?  Senile old fart, he hasn't been fit to be head of the department for years.  When I'm running the show ...

             "Fine, fine!"  Christian snapped as Davis continued to glower down at him.  He tossed the paper on the coffee table and led the way into the corridor.  Christian hunched his shoulders petulantly and shoved his hands into his creased trousers.

             "My office?" he asked curtly, to which Davis simply nodded.

             It took Christian a few moments to unlock his door, his hand fumbling with the key while Davis waited and whistled 'I'm Walking on Sunshine'.  It was a crass, juvenile way to disconcert him, Christian decided.  Well, Davis could try to intimidate his all he liked, damn! – Christian dropped his keys on the floor – but he would show him.

             As soon as he had the door open, Christian hurried in and collapsed into his office chair; a huge, black leather seat with full tilt and swivel capabilities.  Christian stretched out his legs and laid his hands on the puffed arm-rests.  Already he was feeling better.

             "Please take a seat," Christian offered graciously, indicating a low wooden chair which looked like it had been appropriated from a primary school.

             Davis ignored his suggestion and instead scanned the room, his mouth curled in disgust at the litter of papers covering both the table and the floor.  Some lecturers dismissed their untidiness as 'organized chaos' but this was just a mess.  "How on earth do you hold seminars in here?" Davis asked with a scornful grimace.

             "Why don't you just get to the point, Davis?  Let's get this over with quickly."

             Over with quickly? Davis thought with a wry smile.  Oh no, Christian, I'm having far too much fun.  I'm going to make you squirm for as long as possible.  You're an easy target.  Making you cower in an argument won't be a challenge, but I'll enjoy it anyway.  I need it after yesterday.

             Davis casually tucked his hands in his pockets and wandered over to the window, stepping over the piles of papers and books which made an obstacle course of the floor.  Behind him Christian gave an irritated, dramatic sigh and started to drum his fingers on his precious chair.  Let him wait, Davis thought dismissively.

             How could the argument with Cressida have gone so badly?  In the end it was Cressida who made the decision and Cressida who ended it and walked out.  For such a normally quiet and reticent woman, she seems to have a backbone of steel.  Dear god, why couldn't she have been more true to type?  Women are supposed to cry and plead while men remain cool and detached.  But then, if she was a typical female instead of such an intriguing blend of serenity and fire, I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place, would I?