“Not a secret anymore,” Rhonda said. “The grant funding just came through, so I can uncross my fingers.”
Liesl knew about the grant funding. During the changeover, her email address hadn’t been removed from the funder’s notification system. One of a thousand little changes that had to be made, little mistakes that would be found over time. There had been a lot of zeroes on the grant notification.
“The press office has been in touch with me,” Garber said. “For a grant this size they’d like to put out a release.”
“We’re going to be using MRI technology to look at the internal construction of books,” Rhonda explained to the group.
“So that you can diagnose their herniated discs?” Percy said.
He waited for the appreciative rumble of laugher. There was none.
“A CT scan would do that more effectively,” Rhonda said.
“Well, for what then?”
“We’re looking at book construction technology in East Asia and Europe over a period of about five hundred years.”
“Your thesis,” Liesl said, “if I recall correctly, is that the development of European books was heavily influenced by East Asian technology. Isn’t that right?”
The event coordinator walked over and whispered something in Rhonda’s ear. She glanced at her watch and nodded. A moment later, the lights dimmed slightly.
“I need another drink,” said Percy.
“There’s some Scotch at the bar if we ask nicely,” Rhonda said. “Shall I walk you over?”
“I asked earlier, and they said it was just wine.”
“Well, I know the secret password.”
Rhonda led Percy to the bar, leaving Liesl alone with President Garber. In the past she might have used a drink for armor, but now she was glad her hands were free. Across the room, Rhonda walked to the podium and tapped the microphone.
“A nice event,” Liesl said. “You must be pleased.”
“They’re all nice events,” said Garber.
“Interesting research attracts interesting people,” she gestured to the full room. “Some of those people will be the moneyed sort. You must be happy about that.”
“Six months in and donations are already down,” Garber said. He looked at the same full room. Saw something different.
“She just won a million-dollar grant. Surely that offsets things.”
“You can’t form a warm and lasting relationship with a granting agency.”
“So your concern is that she’s not building relationships?”
“It’s part of the job, Liesl,” Garber said, whispering over Rhonda’s speech.
Liesl tilted her head, questioning, and then turned to look at Rhonda, holding the room at attention as if she were a snake charmer.
“Many of the people in this room are here because of their relationships with Rhonda or her work.”
“The wrong kinds of people,” Garber said.
“The wrong kinds?”
“You know what I mean,” Garber said, pursing his lips in frustration. “This has nothing to do with that, obviously. But we need people who will donate.”
Liesl looked around the crowded room. Younger and with fewer charcoal suits than a year earlier. “And ‘these people’ won’t?”
“They’ll donate to community programs. Build basketball courts all day long. But donate to the university? I don’t know. But I know that Percy’s kind will.”
“As long as he’s served the right type of Scotch.”
“And this business with the MRIs.” Garber waved his hand to get a server’s attention, mimed a bottle of water.
“You’re objecting to research now?”
“I’m objecting to her planned takedown of European history.”
“You mean her contribution to our understanding of book history?”
They both paused to turn and look again in Rhonda’s direction as the assembled group applauded lightly. The two joined in, congratulating her or the university or someone for some accomplishment or other before they turned back to their conversation.
“Is this what you wanted?” Garber asked. “When you insisted upon her? The ruin of this place?”
“The rebuilding,” Liesl said.
“To rebuild we’d have to knock it down first. Is that what you want to do?”
“That’s what was already done.” A server approached, handing Garber a small Perrier. Liesl smiled in thanks when Garber didn’t.