NESSHEIM KNOCKED FIRMLY, just made out a muttered come in¸ and opened the door. Professor Fielding had been Dean of the School before his retirement, and since his successor occupied his old quarters, Fielding had been given this large office on the third floor of Stuart Hall, overlooking the Quadrangle. Oak panelling, a mahogany cabinet bookcase, walls plastered with a slight handmade warp, and mullioned windows with black iron handles – like the outside campus, the interiors of its perimeter buildings were designed to mimic medieval Oxford rather than the Midwest prairie on which they were set.
Fielding was working at his rolltop desk at the far end of the room. ‘Yes,’ he said wearily from his books, without looking up.
Nessheim explained that he’d missed the class when exams had been returned. Still writing, Fielding reached blindly with his other hand for the small stack of blue books on a corner of the desk. ‘Name?’ he asked curtly.
‘Nessheim.’
Fielding put down his pen and went through the blue books. ‘Burgess, Merrick, Symonds, and here we are – Nessheim.’ He studied the exam book, which had the grade on the cover, then looked up. He seemed surprised. ‘You’re Mr Nessheim? Or are you collecting it on his behalf?’
‘No, I’m Nessheim all right.’
‘I see.’ Fielding didn’t sound convinced. ‘Tell me, have you been in law school somewhere else?’
‘No. This is my first year.’
‘Hmm. Where did you take your BA?’
‘I didn’t. I left Northwestern before graduating.’
‘What have you been doing since then?’
‘I was with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.’
‘Is that what they’re calling it now?’
‘Yes.’
‘I take it you’re exempt from military service?’ It was clear both that the question was rhetorical and what he already thought of the answer. ‘So now?’
‘I’m in law school,’ said Nessheim mildly. He did not want to be drawn into the subject of his deferment.
Picking up the blue book, Fielding waved it as if in reprimand. ‘Well, I have to say this is outstanding work.’
‘Thank you.’ He felt almost childishly pleased by Fielding’s praise.
‘It’s the best exam I’ve had this year. If it hadn’t been taken under supervision, I’d be suspicious you’d had assistance.’ He gave a thin malicious laugh as he handed back the exam.
Nessheim said, ‘I’m as surprised as you. I don’t find Torts easy.’ This seemed to allay Fielding’s scepticism. Had Fielding really thought he was a cheat, and too stupid to do well legitimately? Nessheim was about to leave, but Fielding wasn’t through. ‘I’ve seen you in class, Mr Nessheim.’
‘I hope so, Professor. This was my first absence,’ he said drily.
‘You sit with Miss Madison. Is she a friend of yours?’
Nessheim was too old to be coy. ‘Yes. A good friend.’
‘Ah.’ Was this a check to the old boy’s hopes? Fielding said, ‘I don’t know if she’s mentioned it, but I was an acquaintance of her late father’s.’
‘I see,’ said Nessheim neutrally.
Fielding brought a hand to his mouth and coughed. He cleared his throat and said, ‘That girl is trouble.’
‘Trouble?’ asked Nessheim, surprised.
‘I said troubled.’
‘She makes a lot of people happy.’
‘I’m sure she does,’ Fielding said, staring at Nessheim. ‘I hope they make her happy too.’ He sighed, then said, ‘People think money solves everything. But she’s not had an easy life. Her father was a very busy man. Businessmen tend to be. Successful ones, anyway.’
‘I never met him.’
‘He’s been dead some years. He was devoted to Stacey. If he’d lived I doubt she’d have gone off the rails.’
‘Did she?’ said Nessheim coolly.
Fielding nodded, undeterred. ‘Too much money, too little direction. If something could be counted on to shock the staid ladies of Lake Forest, then you name it – Miss Madison did it. She was just plain wild all around. She drank – though she came by that honestly from her mother. She smoked – I wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t some dope-taking too. She travelled the world like an heiress in a novel by Edith Wharton – Paris one year, Rome the next, then even Mexico. She was rarely alone – she always had men in her sway – and she’s a beautiful girl. You can’t deny that.’
Nessheim wasn’t about to try, but Fielding was in any case now in full flow. ‘For a while she was pink in her politics. More than pink, in fact – she was positively vermilion. Fortunately she seems to have had most of that political nonsense knocked out of her by her time in Mexico. As I say, her father was devoted to her. Her mother …’ and he sighed to show both that it was sad and that he was being fair, ‘is not a happy woman, but she has always tried her best. She came to see me when her daughter wanted to enrol. I was happy to help, even though it was a late application – very late. I have to say that I don’t think her new-found interest in the law runs very deep.’ He looked at Nessheim, as if he could count on his understanding. ‘Fortunately, she’s a smart girl, even if her previous record here was not what anyone would call outstanding. Still, it seems better for her to be occupied and out of harm’s way than hanging around with a bunch of Jewish Communists in Hollywood. Nice to see you, Mr Nessheim.’
Nessheim collected his blue book, thanking Fielding. The buoyancy of doing so well in the exam had been punctured by Fielding’s account of Stacey. Leaving the office, Nessheim felt he was the troubled one now.