'Oh, but he's not, really he's not…'
'But you'd like him to be.' Vanessa reached over and patted Alicia's arm. 'Don't worry sweetie, leave it to me. I'll have this man eating out of your hand.'
'Please Vanessa, don't say anything. I would be so awfully embarrassed,' pleaded Alicia.
Vanessa shrugged. 'If that's the way you want it. But I wouldn't hang about if I was you. Any half-way decent single man doesn’t stay single for long.'
Alicia glanced at her watch and seeing the time, began stacking plates. 'Would you like to freshen up while I clear away the tea things? I hope you don't mind, but I've signed us in to dine at High Table at my college tonight. I thought you might like to meet a few of my other colleagues. I know they're longing to meet you. Fergus is going to meet us in the Senior Common Room for a drink before dinner.'
'I do hope you remembered what I said about not mentioning the reason for my visit. People can be so tiresome when they know you work in television. They always think that their opinions are worth a fortune, and start demanding money,' said Vanessa brushing some crumbs off her lap on to the carpet. 'Fergus isn't like that at all,' protested Alicia. 'In fact I don't think you'll find anyone like that here at Heartlands.'
However, when they arrived at St Ethelred's that evening, they found most of Heartlands academic staff squeezed into Senior Common Room. Word had quickly spread that a television producer was coming, and St Ethelred's, normally known for its indifferent kitchen, had suddenly found High Table full for dinner and those too late to bag a seat, had decided to turn up for a pre-dinner drink.
Alicia was startled by the sea of expectant faces which turned towards them as they came through the door. Every chair was occupied, forcing many people to stand or perch uneasily on the arms of chairs. Even though it was a warm June evening, the large arched windows which overlooked the green were firmly shut, and the room was suffocatingly musty. Despite the heat, men and women alike wore tweed or corduroy suits together with academic gowns. An odour of chalk, stale tobacco and perspiration lingered expressively in the air, together with the ghosts of thwarted ambition.
Heartlands University was not among the first rank of academic institutions in the country, nor even in the second. While it had been a sanctuary for Alicia, for many others denied entry into more prestigious universities, it had been a last resort. In the time before league tables, this lack of academic excellence had not mattered. The pursuit, and not necessarily the acquisition, of learning was considered enough. But since the 1980s, when market forces began to stalk the land hungrily, preying on the weak and the ailing, Heartlands had found it difficult to attract grants. Several of its more esoteric departments had already closed down and further cuts were threatened. Word that a television producer was coming to dine had spread like a computer virus through the university, and with it the hope for publicity for a cherished department or thesis.
Vanessa hesitated in the doorway. She did not like academics. They always had such a superior air about them which, in her book, they did not merit. Degrees were a waste of time and meant absolutely nothing in the real world. She did not have one and it had not held her back. All the same, she had chosen her outfit for the evening with care, nothing too outrageous, just a simple black crepe skirt and cream silk blouse. It made her look elegant but substantive, although glancing around she wondered why she had bothered. She had never seen so many badly dressed people in one room before.
With a confident toss of her head, she tucked her black clutch bag firmly under her arm and followed Alicia across the room, looking neither to left or right.
A girl of about eighteen or nineteen, her black dress grey with washing, and her straw-like hair unsuccessfully scraped back under a starched white cap, stood to attention behind a table which served as the bar before dinner.
'What kind of sherry would you like, Miss?' she asked Vanessa.
'We have every type of sherry you can possibly imagine,' added Alicia enthusiastically.
'I'd like a large vodka and tonic with lots of ice,' said Vanessa firmly. She had a feeling she was going to need it to get through the evening.
'Vodka, Miss?' the girl squeaked. She looked helplessly at Alicia.
'It's all right, Shirley,' Alicia reassured her then turned to Vanessa.
'I'm afraid it's a silly tradition at St Ethelred's, but we have sherry for the women and whisky for the men, although most of the men drink sherry too. We're known for our sherry cellars.' This last was said with pride.
'You mean you don't have anything else?' Vanessa glared at Shirley, who shook her head, eyes wide with fright. 'Oh for heaven's sake, I'll have a large whisky with lots of ice.'
The girl looked ready to burst into tears.
'What's the matter now?' snapped Vanessa, 'aren't women allowed to drink whisky?'
Shirley leant across the table and whispered in Alicia's ear.
'I'm afraid we have no ice,' said Alicia hopelessly. 'The men drink whisky with water or soda. But Shirley could run down to the kitchen and see if they have any.'
'God forbid! I'll have it with water.'
'And I'll have a drop of that nice Amontillado, if I may,' Alicia added.
Shirley gave her a grateful nod and hastily poured their drinks.
'Can we go over by the window? If I don't get some air I shall simply die,' Vanessa said loudly, taking her drink and leading the way. 'Would you mind?' she asked two elderly professors who were standing in front of the windows, deep in conversation. They moved hurriedly away.
Vanessa put her drink down on the windowsill and tried one of the windows. At first it stuck fast, but with a sudden whoosh of air and encrusted dirt, it shot open. Fresh cool air flooded the room.
The surrounding academics backed away as though nervous of this unheard-of intrusion. Alicia and Vanessa were left standing alone, separated from the rest of the room by an invisible no-man's land.
'Dr Binns,' a deep voice suddenly boomed from the back of the room.
It was so deep, that for a moment, Vanessa thought the speaker was a man, but an imperiously-bosomed woman was elbowing her way through the common room towards them. She had dark, mannishly cropped hair and a pronounced Roman nose. Her dark-green, tweed suit looked decidedly military, but instead of the comfortable lace-ups Vanessa expected to see on her feet, she wore feminine, high-heeled court shoes below surprisingly slim, shapely calves.
'Alicia, my dear girl,' the woman said as she reached them, putting a beautifully manicured hand on Alicia's arm to emphasise her greeting, 'how nice to see you. We thought you were in London.'
For a moment Vanessa couldn't see the 'we'. Then, peeping round the large woman's elbow, she noticed a thin balding man with watery blue eyes. His mouth constantly twitched, which had an unfortunate effect on his wispy goatee beard.
'Dr Zelda Drake and Professor Ernst Gruber, I'd like you to meet my friend, Vanessa Swift,' said Alicia.
'Ah, you must be the television director we have all heard so much about,' Zelda said, grasping Vanessa's hand firmly. 'I'm afraid you have Ernst and me at quite a disadvantage. We never watch television, do we, Ernst?'
Ernst appeared to both nod and shake his head at the same time.
Vanessa was surprised to find herself looking down at Zelda. Her bearing had given the impression she was much taller, but the eyes looking up at her yielded supremacy to no one.
'You mean a television set won't fit into your ivory tower?' riposted Vanessa.
She hit her mark but Zelda did not flinch. With barely the suggestion of a hesitation, Zelda smiled, although it did not quite reach her eyes. 'No, no my dear, I was saying to Ernst just the other day, that it's time we academics tried to communicate more to the masses. So often they are fed either wishy-washy pap or downright rubbish, don't you think? I am of the opinion that they deserve something a little more challenging, perhaps even provocative, and certainly more original than most of the fare that is served up on our screens these days.'
Zelda's thrust was the more effective. The two women stared at each other for a long moment and then Vanessa's eyelashes flickered and she looked away.
Years of intellectual sword play had sharpened Zelda's ability to find an opponent's vulnerable spots, but she had found few worthy opponents since coming to Heartlands two years ago. She was a psychologist, and before Heartlands had lived in Vienna for twelve years, where she had been pursuing her research into patterns of emotional response and arousal. It was there she had met Professor Ernst Gruber, who was a palaeontologist. Their passion for uncovering the hidden past - in people's unconscious minds on her part, and in the earth's rocks on his - had developed into a passion for each other, according to Zelda. They felt no need of marriage for they were both well past forty, and were mature enough not to require the psychological prop of a sanction for their union from either church or state.
However, not long after they arrived at the university, a rumour that Gruber had a formidable wife back in Vienna who refused to divorce him and, moreover, had run Zelda out of town had stealthily begun to circulate. No one at Heartlands had ever dared ask Zelda whether the rumour was true, partly out of fear of her and partly because the idea of anyone daring to run Zelda out of town was inconceivable. Zelda herself, when given to complaining about Heartlands, which was often, explained that she would never have accepted a post at such a lowly university if it had not been for her elderly father whose rapidly ailing health had forced her to return to England to care for him. And it was true: she and Gruber did share a large and rambling manor house with her ninety-four year-old father, ten miles outside Heartlands. It was unfortunate that the woman who cleaned the manor house also cleaned for another lecturer. Over coffee one morning she had let it be known that she had accidentally seen blueprints for converting the manor house into a block of luxury timeshare flats, and she was convinced that Zelda had only come back to England to wait for her father to die so she could move the builders in.
Unlike most of the other academics, Alicia liked Zelda, and refused to listen to unkind gossip about her. She liked Zelda's elderly father too, and often visited him, even when Zelda was not there, taking him homemade steak and kidney pies and bread and butter pudding, which he loved. He was very sprightly for a ninety-four year-old and flirted outrageously. He loved to pinch her bottom if she ever turned her back to him. When Alicia laughingly told him off, he would wickedly protest that he had learned the habit defending king and country in the First World War in France. Nobody could possibly want a sweet old man like that to die, least of all Zelda. Of that, Alicia was certain.
But the expression in Zelda's eyes as she looked up at Vanessa in the Senior Common Room, made Alicia's certainty waver for a moment. For a moment it was the same look she had seen in the eyes of a leopard on a wildlife programme, just before it went in for the kill, but then it was gone and Zelda was sipping her sherry and smiling benevolently.
'Such a good turn out tonight.' Zelda indicated the room with her glass. 'You should come to St Ethelred's more often, Vanessa dear, we do so adore having distinguished guests like yourself to dinner.'
Vanessa smiled frostily and drank down half of her whisky.
Alicia checked her watch. It was getting awfully late, if only Fergus would arrive. She began to debate with herself as to whether she should go and phone him, he could be very forgetful at times.
She turned to let Vanessa know she was going to use the phone in the bursar’s office, but before she could speak, there was a loud crash and the room fell silent.
'Who the hell put that table there? Damn fool place to put a table, if you ask me. Shirley, a large whisky and none of your short measure nonsense.'
The crowd in front of Alicia and Vanessa parted like the Red Sea as every head craned to see what was going on. Vanessa glimpsed a barrel-chested man with a head of wild, rust-red curls and a beard to match, trying to disentangle himself from a side table he had knocked over. He appeared to be unable to perform the simple task of lifting his leg up and out from between the cross bars, and instead was dragging the table along with him as he walked.
'Drunk again,' Zelda said loudly, so that it would carry. 'I know he's your friend, Alicia dear, but he really is the limit. He ought to be banned from polite society.'
There was a murmur of agreement.
Alicia's cheeks burned. 'I'm sure it was just an accident,' she protested faintly. 'It's so crowded in here, perhaps he didn't see …'
Fergus finally managed to get his leg free and gave the table one last kick, which sent it careening across the room, causing several people to jump out of the way.
'Goal!' he roared and then drew himself up to his full height, which was about five-feet, six inches, and hitched his rather shabby corduroy trousers up around his sizeable waist. They immediately slipped down again, so that the crotch was only six inches above his knees.
Winter and summer, Fergus had never been seen wearing anything else but these trousers and a navy blue Aran sweater that was beginning to unravel at the wrists. Together with his weather-beaten skin, which made it impossible to guess his age - it could have been anything between thirty-five and fifty-five - they gave him the air of the captain of some rusting tramp ship.
That impression was further emphasised by his unsteady rolling gait as he walked across to the drinks table, where Shirley was holding out a tumbler full of neat whisky with a smile that transformed her face.
He grinned at her and downed the glass in one. 'Another one of those, my little darling, and I'll be right as rain.'
His voice was deep and resonant with a slight Scottish burr. Holding his refilled glass, he turned and surveyed the room. 'What are you all looking at? I could sue for industrial injuries caused by that table.'
Heads turned away and conversations started up again.
Fergus spotted Alicia and raised his glass in salute. 'There you are my pretty. Now where's this poncey media woman you want me to meet?'
Seven
Vanessa felt an unfamiliar prickle of apprehension. She was used to men looking at her lustfully, as though they’d like to eat her, but the wolfish yellow-brown eyes narrowly inspecting her had a sharpness that suggested Fergus was not quite as drunk as he wanted his audience to believe, and that when it came to eating, his appetite was not only voracious, but distinctly carnal.
'You're a bit of a spindle-shanks. I like my women with meat on their bones, like Alicia here,' Fergus declared in loud, jovial voice, putting his arm around Alicia's waist and giving her a squeeze.
Alicia blushed deep rose-red and gave him an embarrassed but adoring smile, but it was lost on Fergus. His eyes continued to hold Vanessa's.
'Still, you're probably built for speed rather than comfort as my old mum used to say.'
Fergus downed his whisky in one gulp and gave Alicia a resounding kiss on the cheek.
Vanessa drew herself up to her full height, which in heels was nearly five inches taller than Fergus. His provincial cave-man attempts at charm might work on someone as unsophisticated as Alicia, but they were wasted on her.
'It's a pity your old mother didn't teach you manners as well as clichés,' she said caustically. She turned to Alicia, who was rather ineffectually trying to extricate herself from Fergus's grasp. 'Alicia, I thought you had better taste than this … drunk.'
Fergus gave a bark of laughter. 'Another puritan. And here was me thinking it was only universities that were full of small-minded people.'
At this, all the Senior Common Room faces that had been staring in their direction looked away.
'Fergus … Vanessa … Please … ' Alicia pleaded, looking helplessly from one to the other.
'I haven't come all this way to bandy words with an inebriated Scot.' Vanessa managed to make the word 'Scot' sound like an insult. She nodded curtly at Alicia, and then turning on her considerably high heels, stalked out of the room, her nostrils flaring.
Fifty pairs of interested eyes followed her
to the door, and then swivelled back to Fergus and Alicia.
Alicia fumbled for a handkerchief and blew her nose. This wasn't what she had planned at all. 'I'm not really meant to tell you this,' she gulped, 'but Vanessa has only come to Heartlands to meet you. I told her about your research and she thought it might make the basis for some sort of television programme. Now she will probably abandon the idea and go straight back to London.'
Fergus straightened up, instantly alert. He patted Alicia's shoulder. 'There, there my pet, I'm sure there's no real harm done. Run after her and bring her back. I'll behave myself, I promise.'
Alicia gave him a watery smile. 'You promise?'
'Cross my heart and hope to die,' Fergus squeezed her hand. 'Now, off you go.'
Alicia gave him another grateful smile and trotted off after Vanessa.
Fergus watched her go, shaking his head. How could such innocence be contained inside such a voluptuous body? It was almost too much for a man to bear.
At first, he thought it was a ploy. He had met many a professional virgin among the ranks of academic women, and he had always found that all they needed was a bit of encouragement to shed their inhibitions, but not Alicia. Her innocence was not an artful ploy, it was the innocence of the unawakened - the classic Sleeping Beauty in psycho-sexual terms - and that was what made stalking her so interesting. True, it was taking a little longer than he expected because Alicia scared easily, but there were plenty of gratifying energetic young undergraduates around who were willing to help him with the practical side of his research into sexual fantasies, and keep him amused while he waited.
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