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The It Girl(81)

Author:Ruth Ware

“Oh my God.” Emily stood up, as if her anger was too much to be contained while still seated. “Hannah—this is. I don’t know what to say. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I felt—” Hannah stopped, she swallowed. “I felt—I didn’t—”

But Emily was shaking her head, and Hannah knew that she didn’t have to finish the sentence, that somehow Emily, like all women who’d ever been alone and afraid at night, understood the strange mix of guilt, disgust, and self-hatred she was experiencing, and knew exactly how she was feeling.

Hugh’s face, by contrast, was a mixture of alarmed and bewildered, and he looked first at Emily, then Hannah, then back at Emily as if seeking guidance.

“What—I mean, gosh. Do you—can we do something?” he forced out at last. His cheeks were flushed, though Hannah was not sure if it was with anger or embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, Hugh,” Emily said grimly. “I’ve got this. You get to your exam. Hannah, we’re going to report this.”

“I will,” Hannah said firmly, trying to claw back some control over the situation. But Emily shook her head.

“Not I will; do it now, while you’ve still got the bruises, while they can’t shake this off. We’ll go to the Master.”

“No.” Hannah’s voice was sharp, and now people really were looking. She lowered it, forcing herself to speak more calmly. “No, honestly, I think that’s too drastic. I was thinking about it in the shower this morning. I want to take it to Dr. Myers. He’s my professor and it says in the handbook that he’s first port of call for any pastoral issues.”

“Dr. Myers?” Emily looked doubtful. “Isn’t he that creepy one? The guy who’s always inviting students up to his room?”

“He’s had a couple of parties,” Hannah said wearily. “April and I went to one. It wasn’t exactly Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“Okay. So we’ll go to him. Ready?”

Hannah opened her mouth, and then stopped.

She wasn’t ready. She probably wouldn’t ever be ready. But she could see that Emily wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

* * *

SOME FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER THEY were standing outside Dr. Myers’s office door, listening to noises from within.

“He’s with someone,” Hannah whispered. “We should come back.”

But before Emily could answer, the door opened, and a girl Hannah recognized from Dr. Myers’s party came out, swishing her long dark hair over one shoulder as she passed them in the hall.

“Have a good break, Dr. M,” she said over her shoulder.

“Au revoir, Rubye,” Dr. Myers called after her. “Until next year. Ah, Hannah,” he said in slight surprise. “We don’t have a tutorial this week due to exams—had you forgotten?”

“No,” Hannah said reluctantly. “I hadn’t forgotten. And if now isn’t a good time—”

“Hannah wanted to speak to you about something,” Emily cut in. “Something important. Do you have ten minutes, Dr. Myers?”

“Ten minutes?” Dr. Myers looked at his watch, and then nodded. “Yes, ten minutes I can do. Come in.”

He stood back, and Hannah and Emily edged past him into the little office. The blinds were drawn against the summer sun, casting the room into pools of light and shadow. Hannah perched, rather nervously, on the edge of the chair she used in tutorials, letting her hair fall around her face, while Emily took the armchair in the corner and folded her arms with a grim expression.

“What can I help you with, Hannah?” Dr. Myers said pleasantly. Hannah felt a flutter in her gut at the thought of what she might be about to set in motion, but then steeled herself. John Neville had gone too far this time. She had to say something.

“It’s about one of the porters,” she said. Her throat was dry and she swallowed, wishing she’d had something to drink at breakfast other than strong coffee. “John Neville. He’s the very tall one.”

“Yes, I know Mr. Neville,” Dr. Myers said, frowning, as if he didn’t understand quite where all this was leading.

“He caught me last night climbing over the wall behind Cloade’s,” Hannah said. Her heart was beating fast. “And he—well, he rugby-tackled me. To the ground. He—” She swallowed again. It felt like something was blocking her throat, making it hard to breathe. “He threw himself on top of me. I couldn’t move. It was—” She stopped, unable to think how to go on. “It was—” she managed again, and then shut her eyes.

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