The Campus Trilogy (24 page)

I explained that the course would be about Christian ethics, and handed out a syllabus. Everyone was very attentive.
Susie-Beth
was sitting in the front row with her uncle and gazed at me throughout the lecture. She did not take notes. When I had finished, there was very gratifying applause, and the class filed out. Susie-Beth stayed behind and together we set off for my room. She seemed shy, but I did manage to get her to tell me that she came from South Carolina, that she had been
educated in a small Christian private school and that she was the eldest of three sisters. She had found the University of Virginia overwhelming and several of the professors had been, in her own words, ‘gross'. I thought it better to enquire no further.

When we arrived at my office I unlocked the door and asked her to wait for a moment. I was just going to collect my mail from the faculty office before it closed for lunch. I returned several minutes later, but she was no longer waiting in the corridor. I pushed open the door of my room. The first thing I noticed was her cardigan folded neatly on the floor with the baseball hat on top of it.

Then I saw her. She had draped herself over my sofa, her flowery dress riding high to reveal shapely, tanned thighs. “Professor,” she said, in a soft little voice, “I'm so glad we can have some time alone. I want to talk to you about my credits. I'm sure you can help me, can't you? I can make it worth your while.”

The leaves were just beginning to turn when I arrived in Washington DC for the annual conference of the International Academy of Philosophy. It was the start of the autumn term – or the fall semester as our American colleagues have it – but in the lobby of the Hilton Plaza Hotel, teaching and students were
forgotten
. There were thousands of delegates from all over the world and they were all only interested in each other. The lobby was a veritable babel of talk. Who was going up; who was going down; who had reached the heights of an established Chair at Harvard, Oxford or Berlin, and who had been cast into the outer darkeness of yet another temporary post in South Dakota, Salford or Minsk.

I was due to give a short paper on the third day dealing with Immanuel Kant's metaphysics and was listed in the programme as Dr Felix Gass of St Sebastian's University, England. Unfortunately it was too late to get this corrected to ‘Glass'. Whilst in Washington I had arranged to visit my old colleague Harry Gilbert and his aristocratic wife Victoria. Harry and I had worked together for ten years at St Sebastian's University in
England. We had not known each other particularly well, since we had been in different departments, but we had always shared common interests. I was still teaching there, but a year ago Harry had moved to Virginia and was now in his second year as the Thomas Jefferson Porpoise Distinguished Professor of Theology at Sweetpea College. He had contacted me when he heard that the Academy of Philosophy was meeting in Washington. He said he was anxious to hear the news from St Sebastian's, and that he would pick me up from the hotel at two o'clock on my first afternoon.

I was not confident that Harry would find me. The lobby seemed to be permanently heaving with shabby-looking
academics
clutching folders, looking lost, asking for further
clarification
from the harassed hotel staff and bumping into old friends. There was a constant clatter as old acquaintances were greeted and new deals were proposed. Bearded, distinguished-looking scholars with their breakfast egg still on their ties mingled with learned ladies in spectacles and sensible shoes.

However, as I made my way through the throng, I caught sight of Harry immediately. He was standing near a large potted plant at the entrance reading the conference programme. A plump, greyhaired, somewhat dishevelled figure, he had gone native. He was wearing an American button-down blue shirt, khaki trousers and ox-blood loafers without socks. He seemed pleased to see me and he led me outside where a large red Rolls-Royce was parked just outside the entrance.

‘Is that really yours?' I asked increduously. Clearly American salaries were on a more generous scale than British ones.

‘Got it when I came, Felix. I knew the brother of the local car distributor in England and he gave me a special deal. Victoria's very scornful of it. She thinks it's vulgar.'

‘I think it's great,' I said as we set off. ‘I've never been in a Rolls-Royce before!'

As we drove to Sweetpea, Harry told me about the College. I knew that he had had considerable difficulties in his final year at St Sebastian's; the Vice-Chancellor was anxious to retire all senior professors to save money and the word was that there had been an acrimonious fight which ended in Harry's resignation. In fact the debacle at St Sebastian's had been a blessing in disguise.
He and Victoria were enjoying Sweetpea and found the American way of life very congenial. As a Distinguished Professor, there were few teaching responsibilities and most of his new colleagues were pleasant. Victoria had a good job too, she wrote about antiques for the
Washington Post
. I was
interested
in this because my wife was also a journalist, albeit for the radio.

Harry had been persuaded to undertake one surprising duty. The President of the College had asked him to give talks to alumni groups in all the major American cities. This year his
itinerary
had included Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Denver, Los Angeles and San Francisco. Apparently this was nothing to do with philosophy or ethics, Harry's academic speciality. I was astonished to learn that the President insisted that he tell the alumni about the ceremony at Buckingham Palace when the Queen had awarded him the Order of the British Empire for his ‘Services to Christian Ethics'.

‘It's most embarrassing,' he said. ‘I have to show them a video of the ritual and wear my medal and then they all ask silly
questions
which I can't answer about Princess Diana and the
erstwhile
Mrs Parker-Bowles.'

I was mystified. ‘Why does the President want you to do it?'

‘Oh it's fundraising. For some reason Americans are transfixed by the royal family and I have taken on mystical significance because I have actually shaken the royal hand. I have to say the gatherings are very successful. The alumni are always attentive and afterwards they write enormous cheques. To date I have raised more than four million dollars in pledges for the college, so there isn't a hope that I'm going to be let off this in the future. Still, the supply of American cities must come to an end sometime….'

After a pleasant journey through the lush Virginia
countryside
, we arrived at Sweetpea. The college buildings, clad in ivy, were designed in a mock Gothic style. In the centre of the town, overlooking the college green, was a handsome colonial church built in the early nineteenth century. There were students
everywhere
. Some were jogging; others were sunbathing on the lawn. Harry pointed out the various college buildings as we passed them. A mile distant from the green was a large mansion owned by one Thomas Jefferson Porpoise VI who was the chief patron
of the college and who had endowed Harry's Chair. Harry and Victoria's small, colonial clapboard house, which had been lent to them fully-furnished during his tenure as professor, was just inside the estate gates.

Harry led me into the drawing room which was full of
beautiful
examples of early American furniture. Over the fireplace was a large portrait of Victoria. She was bedecked with diamonds. Apparently it was painted by Julian Bosie, one of Virginia's most fashionable portrait painters who was another protegé of Thomas Jefferson Porpoise. The diamonds, which I have to say were most impressive, were a family heirloom and had been lent to Victoria by her elder brother. I asked if they were still in the house, but Harry laughed and said that he could not afford the insurance. They had been restored to the safe in the family's draughty old castle on the Welsh borders.

‘Victoria's due back any time now.' Harry said as he poured me a glass of sherry from a sparkling ship's decanter. ‘She's been in New York at the Metropolitan Fall Antique Fair. She's writing an article on New England bureaux… Now, tell me about the conference.' Two sleek Siamese cats sauntered about as we chatted, both eventually settling themselves next to Harry on the sofa.

Harry politely asked about my presentation. I told him it was based on a new book which was due to come out before Christmas:
Kant's Critiques Revisited
. ‘Probably not many will come to my lecture. Only about a dozen, I expect. But at least St Sebastian's will pay my fare since I'm giving a paper.'

After a quarter of an hour, a taxi pulled up outside. Slim with dark hair, Victoria looked as attractive as I remembered her. The daughter of a baronet, she was unlike any of the other faculty wives at St Sebastian's, her grand pedigree and Harry's inherited wealth had caused considerable resentment among the academic
community
. I wondered if they were having the same trouble at Sweetpea. We greeted each other, and she went into the kitchen to fetch a fruit cake for tea. ‘How was New York?' Harry called after her.

‘Wonderful! And I wrote the article on the train.' She returned carrying a butler's tray with pretty cups and saucers and a highly polished Georgian silver teapot. As she began to pour out there was a loud rat-tat on the front door. Victoria ran to open it and
kissed the newcomer. He was a tall, craggy gentleman, very upright, but probably in his mid-eighties. Victoria brought him over to be introduced. He was Sir William Dormouse, her father. He was staying at the Porpoise mansion as a guest of Thomas Jefferson, with whom he had become bosom friends. Dressed in an old tweed suit, he walked with a very slight limp and was
carrying
a walking stick with a carved silver dormouse handle.

He was sat down in the largest armchair and immediately began to talk. He had a grievance and was not going to lose the chance of telling someone new about it. ‘I don't know if she told you,' he began, ‘But Victoria and I got back from Las Vegas last week. It's my second time there. We stayed at Cleopatra's Palace again. Damned good hotel! They have a champagne fountain in the hall. You just help yourself. And there are plenty of helpful girls around. None of them seemed to be wearing many clothes. It was most refreshing. But this time I got tossed out from the casino.'

‘Daddy kept winning,' Victoria explained. ‘He's always been good at games and he won enough last time to pay for his trip, but this time it really looked as if he was going to clean them out …'

‘Well I like cards and I learnt to play blackjack when I was a boy at school. Nothing else to do all day! Harry very kindly gave me a book last Christmas about strategy and card-counting. It explained scientifically how to win. I've been studying it since January.'

Victoria took up the story. ‘Daddy hoped he would win so much this time that he would be able to reroof all his tenants'
cottages
back in Shropshire …'

‘Damn silly buggers at the casino!' Sir William interjected. ‘They thought I was just a senile old fool and they kept betting against me. But I won every time … I can tell you, I was making a packet …'

‘The management got concerned.' Victoria was amused. ‘Daddy's stack of chips got higher and higher and apparently they were watching him through their security cameras. Then they sent over a couple of very sinister characters. Honestly they were terrifying. They could have been extras from
The
Godfather
films.'

‘Probably were in their spare time,' said Harry. He was enjoying the story even though he had obviously heard it several times before.

‘Well,' said Sir William indignantly. ‘They practically
frogmarched
me into a backroom. I might have been on court-
martial
. There was some sort of Mr Big sitting there, a most distasteful fellow; I certainly would not have employed him on the farm. He gave me a glass of disgusting whisky, bourbon or something they called it. The two thugs stood behind his chair like bodyguards while this gangster said he knew I was
card-counting
. I didn't deny it. I was pleased with myself. I told him that my son-in-law had given me a book about it for Christmas and it seemed a jolly good system. Then they had the impudence to say that card-counting wasn't allowed. Well I can see that they don't want to lose money, but it's still damned unsporting of them. If I want to count cards, it's my right as a British citizen. Bloody Yanks! Anyway, that's what I told them. But they weren't going to listen to reason. This slick mobster gave me my marching orders. Banned from the casino! I've a good mind to write to the White House. This country's meant to be the Land of the Free – I can't understand Americans at all. Rotten bad
soldiers
! They mess up their wars! And, they don't play fair in their casinos!'

‘Well that's the end of the plan for the new roofs,' sighed Victoria. ‘I thought we might even be able to afford central
heating
in the castle.' She handed round more fruit cake. Then she smiled at me. ‘So Felix, tell us about St Sebastian's.'

‘Well,' I began. ‘you probably know we're going to have a new Vice-Chancellor. The old one, Barraclough, has just left. He got himself some sort of job in charge of a government think-tank. He's now responsible for standards in higher education.'

Victoria looked dismayed. ‘But he has no standards! Everyone knows he'd do anything for money.'

‘I think they were rather desperate and whatever else you say about Barraclough, he was always good at sounding impressive. Anyway, we're all a bit anxious about his successor. He's
supposed
to start this term. His name's Flanagan and he was brought up in an orphanage in Liverpool. At the age of ten he was shipped
off to Australia. Apparently the Australian government was anxious to keep the hoardes of South-East Asians away and were very ready to take on British orphans to swell the European
population
. So he grew up in some Australian institution run by an order of monks called the Brothers of Gentleness.'

‘Good God!' Victoria was horrified. ‘Have you any idea what went on in those Brothers of Gentleness orphanages? There have been loads of newspaper reports recently. I believe some of the ex-orphans are even demanding compensation. It's said that the children were starved and sexually abused by the monks and brutally beaten. They were put to work more or less as slaves on the farms and were treated appallingly. How on earth did this man get the kind of education that enabled him to be a
Vice-Chancellor
?'

‘Not all the orphanages can have been like that,' observed Harry mildly.

‘Well somehow Flanagan survived,' I pointed out. ‘The word is he was semi-adopted by a neighbouring Catholic priest.'

‘The story gets worse and worse,' said Victoria. ‘And what exactly was this priest's motivation in befriending a Liverpudlian orphan?

‘Who knows? But the upshot of it all was that he did pick up some sort of an education, and eventually he got a BA from the University of Sydney. Then he managed to return to Liverpool where he did his PhD in economics. He was appointed to an assistant lectureship there, and worked his way up the system. After he got his Chair, he went to Ireland where he became Pro Vice-Chancellor at the University of Fandonegal.'