It looked like a doctor’s surgery not a university. There were even chairs and sofas in front of the reception desk. Clearly there was a far more formal process these days for seeing a lecturer than she remembered. “I’m here to see Dr Priestley,” she said to the receptionist, “I have an appointment at ten.” “Okay,” said the receptionist, “That’s fine. I’ll let him know you’re here. Please take a seat.” She sat down as the receptionist rang through to Dr Priestley. She looked around. There were all sorts of posters and notices on the walls – lecture timetables, essay deadlines, seminars and clubs. Suddenly there was a figure standing before her – Dr Priestley. He had his hand outstretched. She stood up and they shook hands. “Come with me, Christine,” he said. He led her down the corridor to his office. His room was rather bare. Not what she was expecting. His desk was positioned by a window looking out over the main road. She could see just where the taxi driver had dropped her off.
