The Lost Swimmer Read Online Free Page B

took a student tour to Greece in January last year in semester break to study pre-historic Hellenic culture. We had a lot of older students sign up and we hoped it would be a money-spinner. In the end we only broke even, but people had a great time – and who knows, we still might get some endowments or donations from the happy alumni.’
    â€˜Imbibing a lot of Greek wine, by the looks of it.’ Alison’s voice dripped with disapproval.
    â€˜Anyway, Josie went with Pam to help wrangle the students, and she was also interested in the itinerary.’
    â€˜I’m not surprised.’
    â€˜Okay, so they, we – I – made a mistake. This separate account shouldn’t have been opened, should it?’
    â€˜Absolutely not! What were you thinking, Rebecca? You know all finances have to go through the central system.’ Alison’s flesh was now as red as a tomato.
    â€˜I’m sorry, I do recall now. Pam told me she’d set it up in the way it had been done before and I didn’t check what that meant. I just approved it. Which means there must have been other accounts like it in the past.’
    â€˜Not my problem. I’m only going back one financial year, thank the Lord.’ The last muttered under her breath.
    â€˜Do we really have to report this? Can’t we just clean it up? It wasn’t fraud, just an innocent mistake. No one was hurt.’
    â€˜I’ll think about it.’ Alison scooped up the papers and flew out.
    Her dangerously noncommittal answer showed me that Alison’s allegiance was not as strong as I’d thought. No doubt she’d run to Faculty to ensure she wasn’t implicated in any manner.
    I felt a wave of fear as I imagined Priscilla’s response.

4
    I t was mid-afternoon and the tide was out as I ran on the hard sand, Big Boy lolloping beside me, salty, misty droplets swirling off the crashing sea. I tried to force thoughts of Alison and Priscilla from my mind; I needed to focus on the surprise party I was holding tonight for Stephen’s fiftieth birthday – but that only made me more apprehensive, because when I’d sent the invitations ages ago, I’d included the Vice-Chancellor.
    All morning I’d been cooped up. After reading the Saturday newspapers Stephen and I had each gone into our study to write. He thought the evening’s activity was going to entail chasing a comet, due to be visible in the dusk sky, and then dinner with the kids. He had no idea what really lay in wait, especially because his actual birthday wasn’t until next week.
    The wind was buffeting as I ran towards the bluff, over slimy reef rocks that smelled deliciously of ocean tides. A young woman dressed in a vivid orange sari stood waist-high in the churning water beside a man stripped to his Y-fronts, a formal three-piece-suit on top. Laughing and hugging as a grey wall of waves rose behind, the orange cloth stood out boldly like a beacon as another be-suited man photographed them. He chuckled as he took the shot – two frail, loving humans about to be engulfed by the sea, captured forever in their hope.
    Be careful! It’s dangerous! I wanted to call. Just last month, two Indian students had drowned a little further up the coast. But the trio was engrossed, another photo underway, the photographer now wading into the turbulent water. They were wildly happy. I stopped and hung my body down towards the sand, taking a breather until they finally came out safely onto the beach.
    I resumed my run, bounding through leathery piles of kelp to the bay side of the bluff. The sea here was much more placid, friendly waves capped with white tips of salty froth, small sailing craft bobbing as though viewed in a painting. Children in wetsuits frolicked in the shallows; surfers further out rode the swell.
    A kite-boarder took off, his rainbow-coloured sail catching the wind, filling up, and he was away, surfing over the waves, roaring