The Campus Trilogy (64 page)

After shaking hands, Victoria led them upstairs into the
drawing
room and urged them to warm themselves by the fire. Everyone was introduced. We were served drinks by two
good-looking
student waiters who also passed around the most
delicious
home-made canapés. Yet again, Flanagan had been right. Good food and drink does make a difference and very quickly everyone relaxed.

Professor Ewing sat on the sofa with Dr Fairweather beside him. She downed her drink in a couple of gulps and had no
hesitation
in demanding another. ‘Ghastly journey,’ she said. ‘It took two-and-a-half hours from London. The excuse was snow on the line. I ask you! What do they expect in weather like this?’ She reached in her handbag and took out an ebony cigarette holder and a packet of Camel cigarettes. ‘Mind if I have a smoke?’ she asked. I did, but did not feel it would be polite to say so. One of the waiters quickly produced an ash tray and a lighter. Engulfed in cigarette smoke she told us that she was half way through a book on Voltaire, but that her duties as an inspector had
interrupted
her research. I asked if she had seen Leonard Bernstein’s opera
Candide
. She smirked and said she thought it was a
pointless
frivolous work. Then she embarked on a long denunciation of the modern musical theatre.

Brian Senior sat on the opposite side of the room. He had been monopolised by ex-Registrar Sloth who was explaining the problems of modern university administration. I noticed,
however
, that although he smiled and nodded in the right places, he was far more interested in the handsome young serving staff. His eyes followed them around the room and he summoned one in particular more often than was strictly necessary. Meanwhile, the fourth of our visitors was chatting to Felix Glass and Jenny Sloth. Dorothy Upton was a compact little woman in her late fifties. Her hair was grey and looked as if it had been cut round a pudding-basin. She had a high-pitched giggle, very dark eyes and delightful dimples in her cheeks. I thought how pleasant she looked until Felix showed her the coming menu. She balanced her glasses on the end of her nose and read it with the most intense attention. I realised that underneath the frivolous
exterior
, she was formidable.

At eight o’clock exactly, one of the waiters struck a gong and announced ‘Dinner is Served!’ We all got to our feet and clattered downstairs to the dining room.

Victoria indicated where everyone was to sit. She took one end of the table and I the other. Once we had found our places, I said a short Latin grace. I sat between Dr Fairweather and Miss Upton. Victoria had Professor Ewing and Brian Senior. The Sloths and the Glasses fitted in-between. The first course was a
marvellous parsnip concoction, more purée than soup. It was feathered with cream and was accompanied by tiny twists of hot French bread and a very dry sherry.

Throughout, Hermione Fairweather told me about the
conference
she had attended in Paris during the winter vacation. She had given a paper on the influence of Voltaire on Foucault (or it could have been the other way round). This was to be published in an avant-garde journal of linguistics. I then asked her about her current research. She moaned and said she had just applied for a grant from the Arts and Humanities Research Council. If she were awarded it, she could spend six months in France and escape from her present ‘crushing teaching load’. I felt it more tactful not to ask precisely how many hours a week she did in fact devote to her students.

While she droned on, I could hear at the other end of the table Sloth telling Professor Ewing about the recent changes at St Sebastian’s. He explained that Flanagan had just been elevated to the House of Lords and that he was currently taking his place as Acting Vice-Chancellor. ‘I’m afraid you may find us rather at sixes and sevens, but I hope everything will be satisfactory.’

‘Well you’ve certainly sent us plenty of literature to look at!’ said Harold Ewing as he took another sip of his Tio Pépé.

The main course consisted of a succulent Boeuf Daube which was accompanied by a magnificent selection of vegetables and potatoes. It was unbelievably rich and winey and French. Victoria’s brother Billy had sent a case of Mouton Rothschild for Christmas, and earlier I had opened several bottles. This was poured from a couple of wine decanters that I had been given as a leaving gift from Sweetpea College. When there was a break in Ms Fairweather’s disquisition, I turned my attention to Miss Upton.

She was enjoying herself. She ate the food with relish and she started telling me about her time at the university press. She was very amusing about the personalities involved. However, we were interrupted by Harold Ewing asking me how St Sebastian’s University had changed since my retirement.

Before I could speak, Sloth intervened. ‘Harry’s only been gone three years, but the university has altered enormously. We’ve modernised. I think I can say with confidence that we’re
now the most progressive liberal arts institution in the British Isles.’ I looked at Felix who took a deep breath. Sloth was not to be hushed. ‘We offer a whole array of new subjects which are all proving very popular. You’ll find all the information in the papers we sent you.’

Harold Ewing turned to Felix. He looked puzzled. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I saw that you are the Head of the Entertainment Faculty and that you have an established Chair. Is it true that you are the Immanuel Kant Professor of Entertainment? I thought it might be a misprint.’

Felix was embarrassed. ‘I wish it were. As it happens I am a philosopher and I’d like to be able to say that I am the Immanuel Kant Professor of Epistemology. But alas, although I am allowed to teach Philosophy, it’s the entertainment subjects that I administer.’

Victoria giggled as Felix went on to explain how he had acquired such an incongruous title. He turned it into a joke, but nonetheless it was obvious that he found the situation galling.

Dr Fairweather shook her head. ‘Quite unbelievable,’ she said ‘But times change, and I suppose we must change with them.’ She looked across at Professor Ewing who nodded. The waiter refilled her glass as she told us about their last inspection. They had to interview film students who were doing a joint project about the history of European pornography. ‘Quite revolting, wasn’t it?’ she said to Professor Ewing.

‘Quite,’ he replied. ‘But an inspector has to do what an
inspector
has to do!’

There was a short pause after the beef for everyone to digest. To my fury Dr Fairweather insisted on smoking between courses, but at least conversation was lively and animated. Then it was time for the pudding. One of the waiters brought in an exquisite tarte aux poires. Ten halved pears lay downwards in a beautiful yellow custardy syrup, the whole encased in a golden French
pastry
circle. It was served with thick crème fraîche and the young attendants poured sweet sauterne wine into the waiting dessert glasses. It was a confection fit for angels.

As if this were not enough, the tarte was followed by a
selection
of French cheeses with celery and grapes. I have always had
the inclination to be tubby and I knew that this dinner was not doing me any good, but it was irresistible. The vintage port which accompanied the cheese had come from the Castle Dormouse cellars. I understood why my father-in-law would only bring it out if he particularly liked the company.

As we all dallied with the last crumbs, I looked round the table. There was no doubt that every one was having a good time. When I caught Emma Glass’s eye, I slightly raised my glass to her. She was a real artist.

Then just as we were ready to go back to the drawing room for coffee, Robert Sloth rose unsteadily to his feet. When all was said and done, he was the Acting Vice-Chancellor and he was
determined
to assert himself in front of our visitors. The candle-light reflected on his bald head. With a slightly drunken expression on his flushed face, he raised his glass.

‘You are all very welcome here in St Sebastian’s,’ he said. ‘Very welcome indeed! May our partnership together be as happy and harmonious as this delicious dinner has been! Happy and
harmonious
!’ he repeated. Professor Ewing bowed across the table in silent acknowledgement.

Bloated and content, the company made its way upstairs. All signs of the previous drinks had been cleared away. The fire had been banked up and our two cats were toasting themselves, curled up together on the chaise-longue. Hermione Fairweather recognised the best seat when she saw it. With an imperious movement, she swept poor Cleo and Brutus onto the floor and settled herself in the posture of Madame Récamier. With slightly more restraint, our other guests assembled themselves on the other chairs. Meanwhile coffee was poured from a Queen Anne silver coffee pot which Victoria had inherited from her maternal grandmother. Everyone was offered sugar and cream. Then the good-looking young waiter distributed Emma’s own-recipe chocolate truffles. I noticed that Brian Senior summoned him back three times.

As the cathedral clock struck half past eleven, Professor Ewing looked at his watch. He announced that he had ordered a taxi to take them all back to the White Hart. With difficulty, the other members of the inspection team extricated themselves from their seats and followed their leader downstairs. Many
appreciative remarks were made and we all shook hands at the door. Snow was still falling and the cathedral looked magical under the floodlighting; luminous gold against the icy white. I was glad I had won that particular battle with Blenkensop. The taxi was waiting and, once they were all aboard, it skidded away round the Green Court and through the Monks’ Gate.

After they had gone, Sloth put his arm around my shoulder. ‘Jolly good of you to do this, Harry!’ He sounded more than a
little
tipsy. ‘Wonderful start to the proceedings! Now we just have to hope that our good friend John Pilkington has done his work thoroughly We can only pray they won’t look too carefully at all the documents. We’ve certainly provided enough paper to sink a battleship …’ I thought of the dimpled Miss Upton who seemed so delightful. Somehow, with her glasses perched on the end of her nose, she looked more than a match for my erstwhile head of department. I wondered if St Sebastian’s really was going to get away with it all.

The snow showed no sign of abating. There were flurries on both the Monday and the Tuesday. By the time Wednesday dawned, the roof of the cathedral was covered with nearly a foot of white powder. The temperature hovered just around the freezing mark, so when the sun broke through there were tiny unpredictable avalanches down into the Green Court.

I had promised to meet the inspectors at eleven o’clock. So I wrapped myself up in my old tweed overcoat and dug out my wellington boots. As the cathedral clock struck the half hour, I was trudging across the Green Court leaving a splendid set of footprints behind me. The town was very quiet and I met almost no one I knew, but the university was conducting business as usual.

The inspectors had established their headquarters in the Registrar’s old office. When I arrived, all four members of the team, together with Sloth, were all seated around a table. Miss Upton was pouring out cups of coffee. Both the table and Sloth’s old desk were covered with untidy piles of paper. While we sipped at our hot drinks, there was general chatter. Then Professor Ewing made a very polite little speech about the
exceptional
hospitality they had received at the Provost’s House.

Just before we were due to begin, Robert Sloth took me
outside
and shut the door. He was positively gleeful. ‘It’s all going terribly well, Harry,’ he said. ‘Yesterday they interviewed a
selection
of students from the new degree programmes. Of course we were careful which undergraduates we asked, but they did us proud. Without exception, they were all highly complimentary about their chosen subjects. Senior, that accountant chap, who spent the longest with them, told me he was very impressed. I think it’s going to be all right, Harry! I really do!’

I smiled. When I was a member of the university staff, Sloth and I had crossed swords on several occasions. But now it seemed we were playing for the same team. ‘That’s good to hear,’ I said.

‘I asked them what they wanted to talk to you about.’ The Acting Vice-Chancellor was anxious to be helpful. ‘They were interested in the idea of a Visitor. I think they want to know how you see the role. They’ll need to know about the grievance
procedure
, disciplinary cases, general appeals and all that.’

‘Don’t worry, Robert,’ I said. ‘I’m familiar with the
regulations
.’ I remembered back to the time when I myself had to face grievances from my colleagues. Despite the obvious injustice of the proceedings, the Visitor then had been completely useless. It was only when I threatened to bring in the Archbishop that he decided things had gone far enough.

‘I know we can count on you,’ said Robert Sloth.

I went back into the office and took my place at the table. Professor Ewing handed me the particular statutes which referred to the Visitor. He asked whether I had had any appeals to consider recently. I replied that since I had only been Provost and consequently Visitor since the autumn, it was not surprising that my authority had not yet been invoked. The other three
nodded
gravely. Meanwhile Dorothy Upton, who was sitting on my right, was carefully reading through the regulations. We all waited in silence until she had finished.

‘There is a spelling mistake on page five, paragraph two, line three,’ she said. ‘And regulation 6.7 appears to be in conflict with 9.4.’

We all shuffled through the papers. She was right about the misprint. Professor Ewing took out a red pen and corrected it. Then we compared the two regulations. We all looked wise as
Miss Upton read them out and explained the contradiction. This morning there was no giggling. She could not have been clearer or more precise. Really she was wasted in this job. If she only had devoted herself to drafting parliamentary legislation, the British court system would soon find it had nothing more to do.