‘When are you going to come out?’
‘You mean come out as sane although black and a lesbian? Gradually, gradually. I’m going to tread very carefully until I know what’s going on here. It’s far too early to spurn my mentors. Mind you, I’ve already got a little problem with young Sandra.’
‘What’s that?’
‘She wants to seal our sisterhood in bed.’
‘Not your type?’
‘No, I don’t like wimps. Bridget would be much more my type if she weren’t so nasty. Besides, presumably it was her who knocked off poor old Dame Maud.’
‘I’d like it to be,’ said Amiss. ‘But if it was her, she’s probably too clever to catch.’
‘Certainly I’d say that even if Sandra does crave my body, she’s sold her soul to Bridget. She’d give her an alibi anytime.’ She finished her wine and looked at Amiss.
‘Would you like a digestif?’ he asked.
‘Not till I’ve walked some of this off. Have you anything in your room?’
‘Whisky.’
‘Good. Let’s go.’
***
They held hands on the way back. The moon was full, the stars were out, the night was warm and the Backs were more beautiful than they had any right to be.
‘Now this is what I thought it would be all about,’ said Mary Lou dreamily. ‘I was a mite disappointed when I dis covered I would be living in a mouldering neo-Gothic heap instead of in something off a picture postcard.’
‘It might cheer you up to know that even the picture postcard colleges aren’t very comfortable. I had to go down two flights of stairs to the loo when I was at Oxford and I was always freezing in my room in winter.’
‘Stop being so prosaic. I’m an American. I want to believe in fairyland.’
‘And toasting crumpets at the fire.’
‘And funny old dons in gowns and mortar boards.’
‘And aristocratic students.’
‘And punting.’
‘And Grantchester.’ She stopped. ‘Will you take me there to see the vicarage Rupert Brooke wrote about, “Where stands the clock at ten to three?”’
‘Would it take away the magic if I told you that Jeffrey Archer lives there now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry. Still, he is a lord.’
‘Vicarages should have vicars.’ They reached the gates of St. Martha’s and Mary Lou pulled away.
‘I don’t think I’d better be seen with the enemy,’ she said. ‘I’ll follow on in a couple of minutes. I know where your room is.’
***
He had just poured out the whisky when she arrived. She walked over to him. ‘Kiss me.’
When they disentangled, Amiss said, ‘But…?’
‘I never said I was exclusively a lesbian, did I? You’re very stuffy and hidebound, you British.’
As he put his arms around her again the still small voice of his conscience whispered ‘Rachel’; it was answered by the robust voice of the Old Adam pointing out that he had never claimed to be a saint. It was at that moment that he heard trip ping footsteps; there was a tap on the door and Miss Stamp called. ‘Oh, Mr. Amiss, Mr. Amiss, I just saw you come in. Sergeant Pooley is here and wants to see you.’
Mary Lou flattened herself against the wall behind the door, which Amiss opened a few inches.
‘Did you say he was here?’
‘Yes, he said it was urgent, something official. He’s in the parlour.’
‘I’ll be down in a moment.’ Amiss shut the door. ‘Shit,’ he said, ‘but I think we’ll take it as an omen that I should go on staying faithful to Rachel.’
‘My goodness. English gentlemen still exist.’
‘Only just.’
She laughed. ‘A miss is as good as a mile. See you tomorrow and thanks for dinner.’
She kissed him on the cheek and left.
Chapter 19
‘I didn’t get you out of bed, did I?’
‘No. Five minutes later and you would have. What’s up?’
‘Nothing much, but I just had the most ghastly evening and I wanted some human company. You wouldn’t have anything to drink, by any chance?’
‘Sergeant Pooley arriving late and demanding alcohol. You must have been suffering. Sure, in my room. Come on.’
They reached Amiss’s bedroom without incident. ‘You must be psychic, Robert, to have poured out my drink before I even arrived. Or were you waiting for somebody else.’
‘I might tell you some other time, Ellis. For now I’ll only say that I’m both glad and sorry that you turned up at that precise moment. I should also mention I’ve had rather a lot to drink already, so don’t tell me anything too complicated. Tales of life chez Romford should be just about right.’
***
‘My heart bleeds for you.’ Amiss poured some more whisky into Pooley’s glass. ‘So what was the home video like?’
‘Have you ever seen one?’
‘Thank God, no. Presumably it’s like an animated version of somebody’s wedding snaps except you don’t get to miss a single moment.’
‘We had everything from the time the bride left the house through to the end of the speeches at the reception. You’d have particularly loved the reception; it was held in a temper ance hall.’
‘Naturally. What were the highlights?’
Pooley did not hesitate. ‘Undoubtedly the Romford oration from the pulpit, which was based around the biblical injunction that the wife should obey her husband.’
‘Wouldn’t have gone down big with Bridget then.’
‘Well, let’s say that John Knox would have been happy with it. It lasted twenty minutes, went on a lot about sacred duties, home-making, nest-building, nurturing, emotionally supporting, understanding that God had placed man and woman in their respective spheres and no man should mess around with that and then touched quite a lot on wicked secular ideas that were turning our womenfolk into fit candidates for Sodom and Gomorrah along with all the emasculated perverts that are today’s menfolk.’
‘Did he get the word “abomination” in?’
‘Half a dozen times, I’d say.’
‘Maybe you could persuade him to lend you a copy of his video. We could circulate it round St. Martha’s in plain brown wrappers.’
‘Then there were the wedding speeches.’
‘How were they?’
‘Long.’
‘Gist?’
‘The bridegroom was thrilled to be marrying a woman schooled in the ways of the Lord and Romford talked a lot about his wife and the virtues of a happy home and was generally light-hearted. He even made jokes.’
‘Romford?’
‘Yes, but they were Romford-like jokes.’
‘Ah! Anything else I should know?’
‘There was the cake. It was as elaborate and highly-decorated as you would expect from the kitchen of Mrs. Romford, but I suspect the wording on it was provided by Dad, to wit, “Whom God hath joined let no man put asunder.”’
‘Well, you can’t say Romford doesn’t make his position clear. Was that it?’
‘Give me some more whisky.’
‘It must have been bad. I’ve never known you drink so enthusiastically.’
Pooley spoke tonelessly. ‘I wanted to go at that stage but Mrs. Romford was determined to give me more food so we had tea and cake and talked about the wedding. Then I said I should be going and Romford said nonsense, it was only nine o’clock and it would be very dull for a young man to be on his own so I must stay for another while and see the video of his son’s wedding.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘I’m not joking.’
Amiss shook his head compassionately. ‘More of the same?’
‘Cast slightly different, content roughly the same, though the speech by the bride’s father was enlivened by golfing metaphors.’
‘E.g.?’
‘“Marriage is like a game of golf. You need God’s help to get out of the bunkers.”’
‘I got away at half past ten. They want me to come again and look at their holiday snaps.’
‘You’d better find some friends in Cambridge fast.’
‘I’ve invented six already. Now, that’s enough of my torments. How was your evening? You obviously didn’t spend it in a temperance hall.’
‘No,’ said Amiss thoughtfully. ‘It would be fair to say that alcohol featured this evening. Inter alia it brought about an entente cordiale between me and Mary Lou.’
‘I thought she was one of the Dykes?’
‘Well she is and she isn’t. It’s all a bit complicated now. It was the Bursar that called them the Dykes, but she turned out to be one though now it seems she isn’t. Mary Lou you might say is a Dyke on the outside and a Virgin on the inside.’
‘Robert, you’re not making yourself very clear.’
‘I’m not feeling very clear. Just take my word for it, Mary Lou is a closet scholar and one of these days that cow Bridget Holdness is going to get a nasty shock. So with a bit of luck the Gender and Ethnic Studies Centre is scuppered despite the Mistress’s death. We’ll know more tomorrow.’
‘What’s happening?’
‘There’s a meeting of the College Council to decide who’s in charge now the Mistress is dead.’
‘It rather smacks of indecent haste, doesn’t it?’
‘You’re telling me, but somehow or other Bridget per suaded the Deputy Mistress to call it. My guess is she’s hoping the Bursar won’t be back for it in time.’
‘You don’t know where she is?’
‘Enjoying a night of passion with Myles Cavendish, presumably, but I’ll be very surprised if she isn’t here early tomorrow. She’ll know bloody well that they will get up to no good in her absence and contrary to appearances, Jack has a very highly developed sense of duty. More whisky?’
‘No, thank you. I’ve had more than enough.’
‘Ah, good. You’ve recovered. So what does tomorrow hold for you?’
‘Well, we’ll spend tomorrow morning sorting out timings and alibis and all that kind of thing, so with a bit of luck we’ll end up with a shortlist of suspects.’ He stood up. ‘Thanks, Robert. I’d better be off. How are you fixed tomor row night?’
‘I can be free if you want me.’
‘I’ll pick you up at the gate at eight in a taxi. I know a restaurant in Grantchester where we’re unlikely to run into anyone.’
‘Good night. Watch yourself tomorrow.’
‘Why?’
‘You know what he’s trying to do, don’t you?’
‘Who?’
‘Romford. He’s trying to save you. He was just softening you up tonight.’
‘Well, he can’t do it while on duty and the only way he’s going to see me off duty again is if he kidnaps me. Anyway, we Pooleys have been pillars of the Church of England since the Reformation and we’re not going to break the tradition now.’
He closed the door behind him with a decisive bang.
***
Amiss’s prediction about the Bursar was right. A quarter of an hour before the time fixed for the College Council, he sneaked down to her office on the off-chance she was back and found her there, pink-cheeked, full of beans and with the light of battle in her eye.
‘Have you had a nice break, Bursar? You certainly chose your moment.’
‘One must always seize the moment, Robert—grab the oppor tunity. That’s what distinguishes the men from the boys.’
‘What about distinguishing the dykes from the straights?’ he said testily. ‘It’s a bit baffling for us simple-minded folk when a knight on a white charger makes off with an elderly maiden wearing the logo “DYKE POWER”.’
‘I like to keep people guessing.’
‘You do a very good job of that, Jack, or should I call you Ida?’
‘Young Pooley blabbed, I see. Well if I were you, young Robert, I would not be too free with this knowledge. We Troutbecks do not easily forgive or forget. Now, have you anything worth telling me?’
‘I’ve discovered Mary Lou isn’t what she seems.’
‘Well that was blindingly obvious. I always knew it from the glint in her eye.’
‘Knew what?’
‘A bit of a goer and bored with the company of Sandra. She’s a potential recruit for the Virgins. I’ll give it my atten tion.’
She fished her badge out of her pocket and pinned it to her lapel.
‘Why are you persisting in wearing that? It’s hardly going to cut much ice with the Dykes since you reverted to your old ways.’
‘Rubbish. This is for the benefit of the students, nipping any revolution in the bud. They’re so muddled now, poor little dears, they wouldn’t know which of us to follow. I have taken out the main enemy ammunition dump; now it’s time to deal with the generals.’
‘It’s lucky you came back. I think they were trying to hold the meeting without you.’
‘I thought they’d do something like that. That’s why I rang Emily last night and got the low-down. There seems to be an unholy alliance between the ghastly Bridget and the different but equally ghastly Deborah.’
‘What’s our strategy?’
‘You keep mum and leave it to me.’
Chapter 20
There was a full turn out at the College Council. Sitting in the Mistress’s chair, Dr. Windlesham was brief.
‘We are here to express our collective sadness at the death of our friend and colleague and to elect her successor.’
The Bursar broke in. ‘You are not proposing that we do that today?’
‘It is of the essence, Bursar. The college is in a state of crisis; it must not remain leaderless.’
‘I agree,’ said Bridget.
‘So do I,’ said Sandra.
Carol Carter, the dim Student Representative, nodded vigorously.
‘Oh dear, well I suppose so,’ squeaked the Senior Tutor.
The Bursar looked around, visibly calculated numbers, shrugged and sat back in her chair.
‘I should like to propose the Deputy Mistress,’ said Bridget Holdness. She ignored the baffled expressions of most of those present. ‘At a time like this I think continuity is all; we must present a united face to the world.’
‘I second that,’ said Cyril Crowley.
‘Any other nominations?’ asked Dr. Windlesham.
There was silence. ‘In that case, I must declare myself appointed. I am honoured by your trust in me and will try to live up to it. Now…’
‘I propose Dr. Twigg as Deputy Mistress,’ cut in the Bursar quickly.
‘I second that,’ said Primrose Partridge.
The Senior Tutor went pink with pleasure—a squirrel who had just been given a particularly tasty peanut.
‘I propose Ms Holdness,’ said Sandra.
‘Seconded,’ said Francis Pusey.
Amiss couldn’t believe it. He tried to remember what Pusey had ever said to him about Bridget and the only words that came to mind were ‘horrid’ and ‘bullying’. He wondered why the little bastard was currying favour, but inspiration eluded him.
‘I have two valid nominations here,’ said Dr. Windlesham. ‘Hands up those voting for the Senior Tutor.’
The Bursar, Primrose Partridge, Anglo-Saxon Annie, Miss Thackaberry and Amiss raised their hands.
‘And for Dr. Holdness?’
Sandra, Francis Pusey, Crowley and Carol Carter put their hands up, followed, to Amiss’s disappointment, by Mary Lou. Then Bridget raised her hand.
‘Six-five,’ said the new Mistress. ‘I declare Dr. Holdness elected.’
Tears came into the Senior Tutor’s eyes. ‘But we never vote for ourselves, never, ever. It’s a tradition.’
‘Traditions,’ said Bridget, ‘are there to be broken with.’
‘Mistress,’ said the Bursar. ‘I cannot believe that you want to start your period in office condoning such a betrayal of trust.’
‘You are o
verreacting, Bursar.’
‘As you well know, Mistress, when I overreact I overreact. I should point out that our press is bad enough at the moment without giving it further ammunition in the shape of accusations of skulduggery.’
‘Colleagues, colleagues,’ piped up the Reverend Cyril. ‘I think we should try to resolve this amicably.’
There was a general murmur of agreement.
‘Oh, very well,’ said the Mistress. ‘We’ll take the vote again.’
This time, predictably, the vote was six-all. The Fellows looked expectantly at Dr. Windlesham.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘This has now come down to my casting vote. It is not an easy decision to take. On the one hand I have my old friend and colleague, Dr. Twigg, whose dedication to this institution has been unparalleled. On the other we have Dr. Holdness, a comparative newcomer, and, I acknowledge, felt by some to be over-zealous in the pursuit of reform.’
She cleared her throat and took a sip of water. ‘What I want is a college in which the Fellows, working in concert, lead the students to achieve ever more for the greater glory of academe. We must eschew divisiveness, we must practise tolerance, we must encourage harmony and we must remem ber also that age must give way to youth. So my dear friend Dr. Twigg will understand that in voting for Dr. Holdness I am putting the interests of the college before friendship and sentiment, as I know she would be the first to do.
‘I declare Dr. Holdness elected to the position of Deputy Mistress. Now to item two on the agenda. “Funeral arrange ments”.’
***
‘Certainly not,’ said the Bursar, ‘I want chips and plenty of them, and mind my steak is rare.’
‘No blood in mine, please,’ said Amiss to the waitress.
The Bursar looked at him askance. ‘The blood is the best bit. I like blood.’
Amiss ignored her. ‘With just a green salad.’
‘Real men don’t eat green salads. They eat chips, and plenty of ’em. What’s got into you?’ She noticed the waitress waiting patiently. ‘Oh, thank you, Maureen. Please fetch us our claret as a matter of urgency.’
She turned her attention to Amiss. ‘You will be able to force down a little wine? Or would you prefer some sarsa parilla?’
‘I shall be eating a large dinner tonight, Jack, and my stomach is less capacious than yours.’
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