by Duncan James
***
As it happened, the Cabinet Office meeting was quite short.
The Air Commodore in charge of the Briefing Room organisation was certainly on the ball, and had managed to find the copies of the contingency plans for that region, which were sent to his office as a matter of routine. Not only that, he had also managed to summon enough clerical support to have prepared a synopsis of them, copies of which were handed to all the members of the meeting when they arrived. Within ten minutes of the meeting having started, everyone knew what was possible and what wasn't.
They discussed each scenario in turn.
Regime change was clearly not an option. Although the President's tactics were obviously threatening the economic future of the whole of central and eastern Africa, it was equally clear that it would be virtually impossible to form a coalition of countries ready to support any effort to bring about his overthrow simply on those grounds. Indeed, some of his neighbours actually supported his efforts to return land to what they saw as its rightful owners. Since it was a political non-starter, the fact that it would be logistically "mission impossible" anyway, was hardly mentioned.
The evacuation of the remaining white farmers was also quickly ruled out. Apart from anything else, most of them wanted to stay anyway, and they were too few in number and too scattered over the vast country to make any speedy, centralised, operation feasible. Even those who had already been evicted had mostly elected to stay in Zimbabwe - it was, after all, their home, and if they did leave, they were forbidden from taking any money out of the country with them. In any case, where would they be taken - to England? No: this was clearly out of the question.
A case could be made, however, for the distribution of food aid on humanitarian grounds. It was agreed that such a programme should be launched, if at all, under United Nations auspices, and that the UK could offer logistical help in the distribution of essential supplies, but only as a partner in a broader, multi-national effort. The Treasury was very sniffy about the likely cost of such a venture, while the Foreign Office pointed out that Zimbabwe had already rejected aid from the United Nations World Food Programme, claiming that the country was enjoying record harvests, which meant that it was self sufficient. The fact was that more than half the remaining population was going hungry, although it was claimed by sources in South Africa that some 70% of the workforce had fled to neighbouring countries to avoid oppression and a collapsing economy, and that up to 30% of the entire population had already left the country. A rather shame-faced Foreign Office mandarin also admitted that the UK had resisted providing any direct aid to white farmers in the past as a matter of policy, so as not to be seen to be bankrolling the Government-sponsored war veterans' efforts to take over their land. Any direct involvement in a food aid programme now could well be seen as a political U-turn in this country, and unwanted interference in Zimbabwe's affairs in Africa.
In the end, it was agreed that a report would be sent to the Prime Minister and Cabinet colleagues reflecting the meeting's view that not much of immediate benefit to Zimbabwe, its white farmers, or, for that matter, the UK, could be done. The report would recommend, however, that a further approach should be made to the United Nations to see whether there was any likelihood of the World Food Programme being able to restart its distribution effort in Zimbabwe, notwithstanding that country's present attitude, and offering possible UK support in the future if that was considered desirable and practical. Or words to that effect.
Gavin Williams was very glad he was not a civil servant or directly involved in the world of politics. But he admired the skill with which Air Commodore Bridges had chaired the meeting and steered it to a conclusion that there was no immediate emergency requiring further action by his COBR organisation. He had even managed to persuade one of the Cabinet Office civil servants to draft the committee's report, so when he adjourned the meeting, he had nothing further to do, for the time being at least.
Williams remembered his further commission from Group Captain Bowman, and approached Bridges with some temerity and embarrassment. He had to wait his turn to get a quiet word with the Head of COBR, as there was the inevitable series of discussions going on "in the margins" as the civil service put it, but eventually he managed to introduce himself.
"Shan't keep you a moment, sir, but my boss, Group Captain Charles Bowman, particularly asked me to pass on his best wishes to you."
"How kind of you," said Bridges. "He and I used to see quite a lot of each other when I was still in the Service, but we met again at the RAF Club a few weeks ago for the first time in ages."
"So he told me," replied Williams.
"It would have been nice to see him again this evening," said Bridges,? "but I can understand him not wanting to turn up on a Saturday. You obviously drew the short straw," he joked.
"Well, I was very familiar with our contingency plans, and he had a dinner party which was still going on, so it made a lot of sense for me to be at the first meeting," said the Squadron Leader.
"With any luck, it will also be the last meeting, too," said Bridges. "I can't see the Government wanting to do anything about Zimbabwe now. They've left it far too late."
"Well, I hope you're right, sir," said Williams. "But I do have a rather odd question for you from the Group Captain. So odd, in fact, that I'm sure it must be some secret code you have developed between you!"
"I'm intrigued," replied the Air Commodore. "Tell me more."
"Well, he simply asked me to ask you, on behalf of someone else at his dinner party, whether your wife, by any chance, makes patchwork tea cosies."
Air Commodore Bridges roared with laughter, turning the heads of others who were still in the room.
"It's no code," he said, "and it actually makes a bit of sense, to me anyway although obviously not to you. I would guess that his guest who asked the question is the wife of a retired RAF Padre, who is a mutual friend of ours, and who now has a parish in civvy street somewhere. I would also guess that my wife and I are about to be asked to a church fete, and that she will be expected to contribute in some way to one of the stalls. Give him my compliments and tell him she does!"
"Certainly; I'll do that with pleasure," replied Williams. "The Group Captain said he'd ring you, anyway, so no doubt all will be revealed then. I shall be de-briefing him on the phone tomorrow, by the way, just to put his mind at rest."
"Well I'm sure I shall be proved right," said the Air Commodore. "And I'll make sure he gets his own copy of the report of this evening's little session."
"That would be helpful," said Williams.
As he left Whitehall, he was relieved that, after all, the world was probably not quite so mad as he had thought.
Although he didn't often get involved with church fetes and patchwork tea cosies.? ?
4. THE OXFORD AFFAIR?
Robin Hood wasn't feeling at all well. In fact he felt awful. Some of it, he suspected, was probably due to the fact that he was hungry. Or it could just be that he had eaten something that hadn't agreed with him. Something he had cooked, more than likely.
Not that he had cooked much - at least, not much that was in any way edible. He was fast coming to the conclusion that he was not a very good cook. And he certainly didn't enjoy cooking, or eating the results.
But he couldn't eat out all the time. His allowance wouldn't stretch to it for a start, and there was a limit to how much junk food you could take in any one day, however much you enjoyed hamburgers and pizzas.
The very thought of it turned him over. He rolled off the bed and headed for the tiny bathroom again.
He simply was not enjoying his second year at Oxford. He was enjoying his studies all right, but certainly not his new lifestyle. He had begun to wish that his parents hadn't been so insistent that he should live in digs, rather than in College accommodation as he had during his first year, and where he was at least able to eat in the dining room with other students when he wanted, even though it was expensive. But neithe
r of them had particularly happy memories of their own time at University, so were quite sure he'd be better off living privately now that he was allowed to, in his own 'place'. They also thought it would do him good. And since they were paying for it, he had little option, for the time being. The fact was that he had no real idea about how to look after himself. He'd never had to. Boarding school, and servants when they lived abroad, had all helped to make sure of that. But now he was on his own, like a fish out of water.
The only good thing about it was that, because he was not in shared accommodation, he was able to work on his own without interruption, and without anyone else knowing what he was doing. So far as his research was concerned, that was perfect. He certainly didn't want prying eyes about the place, although the fact was that the scruffy little apartment that was now his home was really meant to be shared with a couple of other students, and it was a far cry from the large house in Surrey that he had recently left behind. He missed the open-air life he had been used to. Roaming the countryside at weekends, stalking wild brown trout on some of the best chalk streams in the country, or even, in the depths of winter, casting a fly for grayling. Game fishing was his passion, although he had never yet been after Salmon. He preferred the smaller waters - the gin-clear chalk streams of the southern counties, or small still waters and lakes, with their stocked rainbows. If only they did decent degree courses in fishing, he'd have gone for that instead of computer sciences. But computers were his other passion, and you could probably make more money being 'in computers' than from fishing.
His mother would have a fit if she could see him now. He slumped back on to the bed, and resolved, as soon as he was well enough, to get to the launderette with his sheets. Putting the towel in with them would be a good idea, too. And perhaps a couple of shirts, and a few of the other odd bits and pieces that lay scattered about the place. He didn't fancy using the washing machine down the corridor for all that lot. Next to the launderette there was a pub, where he could get a sandwich while the washing was going round.
He headed for the bathroom again.
He should be at a lecture now. He wondered if anyone would miss him. Rupert was a nice chap, doing the same course. Perhaps he would bring a set of lecture notes, or let him borrow his own notes sometime, to catch up. He had already missed a tutorial, too, but had at least managed to get a message through on his little-used mobile phone.
He dozed off again, to be woken this time not by his rumbling stomach, but by Rupert and a fellow he hadn't met before.
"What's up?" asked Rupert.
"I'm dying," Robin replied. "And why aren't you at the lecture?"
"I was, but that finished ages ago. Quite good, too. It was 'electric whiskers', and you know he is always interesting. I got you a set of his lecture notes. Pity you missed it, but I noticed you weren't there, so thought I'd see what was up."
Rupert waved a thumb at the stranger.
"This is Freddy, by the way" he said, by way of introduction. "I've told you about him - we share digs."
Robin raised a hand in salute.?
"Good of you to come round," said Robin. "How did you get in, by the way?"
"Through the door," said Freddy, stating the obvious. "It was wide open - you could have been murdered in your bed."
"I wish." said Robin, faintly.
"If you're that bad, I'll nip round to the college and find a nurse or something," offered Rupert.
"Kind of you to offer," said Robin, "but please don't bother. It's only something I've eaten, I think. Otherwise, I wouldn't normally say no to the offer of a nurse. Not that I have for a long time."
"Haven't what?"
"Eaten. I think I might be hungry as much as anything. Can't seem to get the hang of cooking, somehow."
"I'd offer to rustle up something for you," said Rupert, "but I'm pretty hopeless, too."
"And me," volunteered Freddy. "And the last thing you want when you're not well is badly cooked food."
"I couldn't face another take-away, though. The very thought of it makes me feel ill again."
"What you need is to get up and get some fresh air," said Rupert. "It's kind of - well - like, a bit stuffy in here."
He wrinkled his nose, and Freddy sniffed.
"I agree," he said. "Air is what you need. And then a good meal."
"And perhaps a wash would do you good," added Rupert. "Freshen you up a bit. And a shave."
"And a change of clothes," suggested Freddy.
"How long have you been off colour anyway?" asked Rupert.
"A couple of days, really. I haven't been out since Tuesday."
"And today's Friday - that's two days," calculated Freddy.
"Three, actually," corrected Rupert. "Good job you're doing the arts and not sciences!"
"When you two have quite finished," interrupted Robin, "I'll struggle out of bed and have a wash and brush up. Perhaps then I might feel like a gentle stroll, as you suggested."
"Good. We'll wait in the kitchen."
The table was piled high with books and papers, where Robin had been studying, but there was little sign of any order to any of it. In fact there was little sign of anything else much, apart from a laptop computer and lots of what looked like spare parts for it. It was fairly typical of a bachelor pad: untidy and cluttered, but not really dirty, apart from the inevitable little puffballs of fluff in every corner. The more they looked around them, though, the more it actually looked as if it could do with dusting. There was a bit of washing up in the sink, but not much evidence of a large meal having been recently prepared.
Rupert sat on one of the chairs at the table, while Freddy perched on the edge of it. There were sounds of running water from the bathroom.
"At least he's up," said Rupert.
"What this place needs more than anything," mused Freddy, "is a woman's touch."
"Just what I was thinking," agreed Rupert. "Someone to get him a bit organised."
"Have a go with a duster."
"Cook him a decent meal."
Freddy sighed.
"Who couldn't do with someone like that around the place?" he asked. "But who is there?"
They exchanged glances.
"I bet I know who you're thinking off," said Rupert.
"Marian?"
"Exactly! Marian is just the girl to get him sorted."
"In no time flat, and no nonsense."
"And she can cook."
"I wonder if she's in?"
"Why don't I dash over and see?" volunteered Freddy. "It won't take a tick on the bike, and if she's not doing anything, I'll bring her back."
"What a laugh!" said Rupert. "I hope Robin won't mind."
"He won't have to," replied Freddy. "It's for his own good, and he can't fail to like the girl."
"I shouldn't think they've met."
"Probably not," replied Freddy.
"Robin wasn't at the gig where we met her."
"He's not really the sort to go to gigs, I would say," observed Freddy.
"Neither's Marian, come to that." said Rupert. "She was with another girl from her college if I remember."
"Glasses, pimples and greasy hair, as I recall," said Freddy.
"Flat chested and a big bum, too."
"Just your sort," said Freddy.
"No thanks. But that Russia girl who was there, too? - that's more my style! Now do run along and see if you can find Marian, and stop being beastly to me," demanded Rupert.
"Shan't be a jiff," said Freddy, slipping on his cycle clips.
"Get her to bring a bit of grub with her, if she's got any spare," suggested Rupert.
"Good idea," said Freddy. "She's bound to have something in the cupboard."
Robin eventually emerged.
"You tart up quite well," observed Rupert. "It's amazing what a shave and a clean shirt will do for a man. You look better already."
"Actually, I feel better now I'm up, too. You were right - I was beginning to feel sorry for myself. Where's Fre
ddy?"
"Nipped out to get a woman for you," replied Rupert.
"But I really don't want a nurse - I feel better," protested Robin.
"This isn't quite a nurse," replied Rupert. "She's in Freddy's year, doing psychology or something, and wants to go into charitable work when she graduates. She can practice on you."
"Oh, Lord! Are you sure this is wise?"
"You are bound to be impressed. She's highly organised, and will sort you out in no time. And she can cook," added Rupert.
Freddy returned and banged on the front door, which opened on its own.
"You should get that door fixed - it doesn't shut properly. This is Marian. Marian - Robin." Freddy introduced them, and they shook hands solemnly.
"Very good of you to come over," said Robin, "especially as I'm a total stranger."
"Not at all," she replied, looking about her. "This could be quite a nice pad you've got here. Do you share with anyone?"
"No, I'm on my own here. It's much as I found it when I arrived, I'm afraid, but there is quite a lot to do," agreed Robin.
"I gather you've not been well," said Marian.
"Deaths' door, until we got here," said Rupert.
"Needs a good meal, that's his problem," said Freddy.
"Well, I didn't have much in the cupboard, but I've brought over some eggs and a loaf of bread," said Marian. "Do you fancy an omelette or something?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," replied Robin. "Something like that would be perfect, if you're sure you don't mind," he added. "I'm feeling better already but something decent to eat would be very welcome."
"Shouldn't we take his temperature or something first?" asked Rupert.
Marian felt Robin's forehead, and he noticed her large, brown eyes.
"Perhaps we should," she replied. "But I don't suppose you've got a thermometer, have you?" she asked.
Robin looked embarrassed.
"As a matter of fact, I have," he said. "My mother must have slipped it into my sponge bag before I came up. It's in the bathroom cabinet."
Freddy fetched it, and shook it knowingly.
"Where do you usually put this," he asked.
"Under my tongue," replied Robin.
"That's a relief," said Freddy. "Now open up and shut up for a few minutes."
Robin sat down, muted, while Marian looked around the tiny kitchen end of the dining room.
"Frying pan and toaster," she demanded.
Freddy and Rupert scurried about, looking in cupboards.
"This looks like the remains of a toaster," said Rupert, as he discovered a rather blackened machine in the corner near the plug.
He switched it on, and there was an immediate puff of pale blue smoke.
"Hooray!" he said. "It still works, so let's shove some bread in it to see what happens."
Freddy emerged with an even blacker round object with a short handle.
"And this looks as if it was once a frying pan," he said triumphantly, banging it on the edge of the sink to get rid of the black, flaky bits.
"If that's all there is, it will have to do," said Marian, whipping up eggs into a light froth. "See if you can find anything to put in the omelette," she demanded.
More searching of cupboards, which were mostly empty.
"Looks like a choice between Brasso or Marmalade," announced Freddy. "And if it was me, I'd go for the Brasso. The Marmalade has a thick green furry coat on the top."
"It's probably all right underneath," said Rupert.
"Throw it away, for goodness sake," said Marian, as more blue smoke issued forth from the corner of the room.
"Toast's ready," said Rupert. "Done to a turn, apart from the black edges, but that scrapes off."
Freddy took the thermometer out of Robins' mouth, and looked at it sagely.
"As I thought," he pronounced. "The man's got a temperature."
"But I feel better," said Robin.
"Let's have a look," said Marian.
"What is it, then?" asked Robin.
"Ninety eight point four," said Marian.
"Strewth!" exclaimed Rupert, "that sounds high."
"Not centigrade, I hope," said Freddy.
"It's just what it should be," said Marian, "and perfectly normal."
"There you are. I told you I felt better," said Robin, relieved.
"Now try and eat this," said Marian, turning out the omelette on to a plate.
"Looks wonderful," said Robin. "And I always preferred my toast well done."
Freddy and Rupert took their leave, while Robin was eating.
"We really must go," said Rupert, "but you'll be quite safe without us."
"That's reassuring - thank you", said Robin.
"I meant Marian, not you," said Rupert, and they all laughed.
When they'd gone, Marian offered to help 'sort things out a bit', as she put it.
As she said it, she wondered why. She wasn't the pushy sort usually. Friendly, yes, but not one to take that sort of initiative. She should have gone with the other two, really. But Robin looked rather nice, and certainly seemed as if he could do with some help. You could see he hadn't been well, although she thought that probably, under the pallor, there was the hint of a good tan. He wore an open-necked green shirt, showing a suntanned neck. He had dark brown wavy hair, trimmed short, and his face, bronzed to a ruddy tan as if by wind and weather, was open and frank and friendly. He was tall and slim, with - well - lovely blue eyes. Fancy her noticing that, she thought. This wasn't at all like her, offering to help a complete stranger.
"I don't want to interfere, of course, but if it would help, ?"
"I could certainly do with a hand about the place, if you're sure you don't mind and have nothing better to do," said Robin. "I don't somehow seem to have had the chance to settle properly. The flat was a bit of a tip when I arrived, to be honest, but the lectures have been so interesting, I seem to have spent all my time working. In fact, I was thinking earlier on that I really should get to the launderette, and change the sheets and so on."
"Well, let's do that then," said Marian, taking a further bold step forward. "When did you last have a good meal, by the way, with gravy and greens and things?"
"I really can't remember, exactly," Robin replied. "Probably three weeks ago now, when I nipped home for the weekend."
"Where's home?" she asked.
"Surrey," he replied. "Where's yours?"
"Nottingham. And before you ask, I didn't go to university there because I wanted to get away from home for a bit."
"Same with me, really," said Robin. "I could easily have done computer sciences at Surrey University, but got high enough grades to come here instead."
"Come on, then, "said Marian. "Let's tackle the washing, and then perhaps another day I could come and help you clean up a bit - and maybe even take you shopping for some basic items of food and a new toaster."
"That would be wonderful, if you're sure you don't mind," he said again, gratefully. "I could certainly do with a new toaster, but I wouldn't know where to look for one."
"Plenty of places, really," she replied. "We could try Debenhams or somewhere like that. It's at the top of Cornmarket Street, and not too far."
"Nothing's too far in this place, especially if you're on a bike," Robin replied. "It's quite near my College, too," he added. "I'm at Trinity. Where are you?"
"St. Catherine's," she replied.
"Very rural!" said Robin.
"Very modern, too, compared with your old buildings. But I guess they all teach to about the same standard, so I suppose that's what counts."
Robin was already thinking that it might be good fun to get to know this attractive girl better. She was tall and slim, and although dressed casually in a loose-fitting pullover and a pair of jeans, he could see that she had a good figure. Her short, fair hair was tussled, and he noticed again her large, dark eyes.
And so it was that Robin met Marian, and it wasn't long before they were chatting amicably together
as if they had known one another for ages.
"It's very kind of you to offer to help like this," he said. "Are you sure you don't mind?"
"Of course not - I wouldn't offer if I did," she replied, still wondering if this was entirely wise. "There's quite a nice pub near the launderette if you feel like it, or a tea shop a bit further up the hill, over Folly Bridge, if you don't mind the walk. I would suggest the Folly Bridge Hotel, but that's a bit pricey, although it is a bit nearer."
"A cup of tea would be nice, to be honest. And that omelette was delicious - all fluffy in the middle. Mine usually end up like cardboard pancakes!"
"Right," said Marian decisively. "Tea it is then. We'll have time to get to the Cafe Loco and back while the washing is being done."
"Don't think I know that one," said Robin.
"It used to be Alice's Tearoom, but it's changed hands," explained Marian. "Still got the Mad Hatter's prints on the wall, though."
"Now I know where you mean," replied Robin. "I've been there a couple of times. I'll treat you to a cream tea, if you like," he offered.
"Lovely," she replied. "They do a very good bowl of chilli with crusty bread for about a fiver, but I wouldn't recommend that in your state!"
"Maybe next time," he said, already suggesting they should meet again.
And so they did. Often.