As well as being one of his main course lecturers Professor Sterling was also in charge of Stuart’s Monday tutorial group. Tutorials were rare at the university, the system preferring to leave students to study on their own. However, Sterling had instituted a tutorial system for his third year History students that had proved to be very popular. Not only did it allow students to raise questions about material presented in lectures but also required them to present topics to the rest of the group for discussion and disputation. That afternoon was the final tutorial before the exams. The topic was the events that led to the start of World War I. It was Stuart’s turn to present his point of view to the other nine students. After much thought he had decided to take the position that the prime responsibility for causing the war was Britain’s due to her intransigent behaviour towards the Germans. At 3 o’clock he and the others assembled in the small classroom and, after a few comments about the forthcoming exams, Professor Sterling invited Stuart to make his presentation.
Reading from his prepared notes, and using the blackboard, Stuart outlined the basis of his argument. The resulting discussion became quite heated as each of the students debated the pros and cons. Stuart felt that he had managed to deal adequately with the counter arguments and although he enjoyed the challenge, was relieved when Sterling concluded the tutorial with a brief summation and a ‘good luck for your exams’. As Stuart began to collect his papers the professor touched him on the shoulder.
“Mr Johnson, I wonder if you would be so kind as to wait behind. I’d like a word.”
As the others collected their books and papers, Stuart sat worrying that he had overstepped the mark with his arguments. He had deliberately chosen to be provocative as he relished a lively debate, but given the current increasing unpopularity of the Germans he was concerned that he was in for a reprimand. As the last student left, Sterling turned to him.
“Now, then, young man – no, stay seated – I was interested by the viewpoint you took in the debate.
“Yes, sir,” replied Stuart, uncertainly.
“The point of view that you took - do you believe it?”
The question caught him by surprise. ‘Believe’ and ‘beliefs’ were words he had heard used every Sunday for years. In the analytical world of academia they were mercifully absent – until now.
“‘Believe’, sir?” he responded cautiously. “I don’t know if belief comes into it. I think it’s a viewpoint for which there is some support------”
“A credible perspective, you mean.”
Wishing they’d had been his words Stuart replied, “Yes, sir. There are also strong arguments for other points, er, perspectives but I decided to take that one.”
“Any particular reason, Mr. Johnson?”
“Well, I knew with the recent news it wouldn’t be a particularly popular perspective and therefore I thought it would be a lark, er, challenge, sir, to defend it. Sorry if you thought it was not appropriate.”
Sterling chuckled. “Appropriate. Good lord, no, young man. Let’s hope we never reach the day when universities start considering the worth of academic disputation on the grounds of ‘appropriateness’.” In fact, Mr. Johnson, I am bound to say that I was impressed by the strength and the logic of the view you expounded. And it certainly provoked a strong reaction.”
“Yes, sir, it did, particularly in the light of what you said to us about the Nazis after yesterday’s lecture.”
“I’m glad you said, ‘Nazis’ and not ‘Germans’. The two are not necessarily synonymous.” He paused and looked directly at Stuart. “Now, young man, yesterday I was informed that I have received a government research grant to undertake a lengthy study of German foreign policy since the end of the last war. Its topicality and the fact that it could be of some political use probably resulted in the unusual speed with which the application was approved. I’m delighted, although I suspect that my findings may not be particularly politically acceptable. However, to undertake funded research at this stage in my career is a great opportunity.”
“Yes, sir. A great opportunity,” echoed Stuart wondering why he was being told.
“Part of the funding allows me to employ a research assistant. I need a free thinker, someone who will not simply follow the political perspectives of the time. Furthermore, I understand from Professor Barnes that you’re performing extremely well in Pure Mathematics.”
Stuart’s eyes widened. “Professor Barnes, sir. Have you been---?”
“Yes,” smiled Sterling. “It’s not entirely unknown for Arts to converse with Science you know.” Seeing Stuart about to speak he held up his hand. “And I’m given further to understand that you have more than a passing interest in cryptology.” Stuart started in surprise. “Why, yes, sir.”
“Splendid. Could be useful in the future. No, no more questions. The pay’s not much but, well, Mr. Johnson, I’d like you to consider it. The position would also enable you to move into postgraduate studies should you wish to continue your studies in the History and Mathematics departments.”
“I don’t know what to say, sir. I mean, well, this is a great honour, I never imagined---.”
“Let’s go up to my study,” smiled Sterling, “and go through the paper work. It spells out the research assistant’s role, remuneration, conditions of employment and all that sort of detail. You can have some time to think it over, of course, but I would like an answer fairly promptly.”
The research assistant’s contract was for one year, but as the grant was a generous one, the likelihood of it lasting a further year was almost certain. Furthermore, Stuart would be able to enrol into a postgraduate programme as soon as he had completed his bachelor’s degree and the research that he would undertake as Sterling’s assistant could be credited towards his studies. The prospect of completing a master’s degree in two year’s time, with Professor Sterling, and possibly other senior academic staff mentoring him was impossible to turn down. Although the professor offered him time to think it over, Stuart agreed to sign up immediately.
“We’ll commence the research once your finals are over. However, in the interim,” concluded the professor, “I will give you the key to the small History Department library. You may find it useful during the final run up to the exams and it will give you time to familiarize yourself with its contents. It’s only for use by staff and postgraduate students so it’s a quiet spot, entirely conducive to concentrated research. Its other great advantage is that has an exterior door, which means we can come or go at any time. It’s downstairs and the second on the right. Here, take good care of the key.”
Moments later a dazed Stuart found himself walking across Albert Park down into Queen Street. Opting to walk rather than catch one of the trams that rattled down to the ferry buildings he made his way slowly towards the bottom of the town contemplating the undreamed of possibilities that had suddenly opened up before him. A postgraduate degree with Professor Sterling as his mentor could lead to a staff position at the university. The prospect was mind numbing. Periodically an academic career had crossed his mind but, aware that the opportunities were limited he’d never seriously considered it as a possibility for himself – until now.
His parents had always been disappointed that he’d not been made dux of Takapuna Grammar School. His marks in all subjects had been high through primary school and on entering grammar he’d particularly relished the various challenges of Mathematics. However, the attractions of the sports arenas and his growing awareness of the young women in his class had resulted in his studies too often taking second place. Although his final Sixth Form marks were high, they weren’t high enough and the title of dux had gone to Paul “Swot” Smithers. Acutely disappointed and angry, his father had insisted on a banking career – “keep the boy on the straight and narrow” he’d overheard him informing his mother. Within a week as a bank teller, he knew that for him it was the first step into a career wasteland. From his meagre wages he’d managed to save sufficient funds and enrolle
d at university – much to his father’s chagrin.
He smiled. “Wait ’till I tell him and Mum this piece of news.”
As he crossed Wellesley Street he was brought back to reality with a jolt.
“Late City!” cried the Auckland Star newsboy standing in his usual street corner spot. “Read all about it! Allies declare war on Germany! King George speaks to the Empire!”
The Germans! He’d completely forgotten about them. Now they were poised to smash his hopes and dreams at the incubation stage. He bought a paper and scanned the headlines.
“Bastards!” he said aloud and he began to quicken his pace towards the ferry buildings.
“Pardon?” said a familiar voice alongside him.
He looked round and gasped, “Carol! Apologies for my language, but it’s the bloody Germans. They’ve ruined everything don’t you know! But it’s smashing to see you again. Are you catching the ferry? Where’s whatshisname?”
She smiled. “You are in a tizz? ‘Whathisname’, as you call him isn’t here. The Northern Club had a bit of a do on so they asked me to work late. And what about you? Swearing your way down the street. Is it because war’s been declared?”
“Yes, it is, in a way. Look, I’ve just had this most amazing position offered to me and now there’s going to be a war!”
He’d stopped walking and stood facing her, his fist clenched, staring straight ahead. She touched his arm. “Stuart. What is it? Tell me?”
He looked up at the large Civic Theatre clock. “Do you have to catch the next ferry? I’d really like to talk to you about it.”
She hesitated for a moment and then smiled. “Alright. I’ve already telephoned my auntie to say I’m working late. What is it?”
A tram, its bell clanging, rattled by noisily. The newsboy was doing a roaring trade and around him complete strangers were forming discussion groups - their tongues already loosened by the beer consumed at the pubs that had closed an hour earlier at six o’clock.
“It’s too noisy, here. Let’s walk back to the university.”
“OK.” She smiled. She tucked her arm into his as they headed back up Wellesley Street towards Albert Park. As they walked Stuart begun recounting the day’s events in detail. When he reached the part where Professor Sterling had offered the research position to him Carol involuntarily stopped and turned round to face him. “But, Stuart, that’s a wonderful offer isn’t it?”
“Rather. Research assistant positions are very rarely offered to undergraduates. Normally you’d have to have finished your degree, with very good marks. But me, I’ve been offered the position before my finals and,” he paused, “I’ve been given a key to the History library.”
“Is that an honour?”
“I suppose it is. I hardly knew it existed. The key’s only given to lecturers and selected students.”
“Such as you.”
He grinned. Then on impulse he said, “Like to see it?”
“The key?”
“No, the library,” he laughed. “It’s got its own outside entrance.”
“But what if someone is there?”
“Not likely. This war news will bring everyone out on the street or send them hurrying home. Come on. Have you ever been inside the university?”
“No. But are you sure that--------.”
“Course I’m sure.” He struck an exaggerated pose. “Step aside, you fellows. I am the new research assistant to Professor David Sterling.”
He was delighted by the spontaneity of her laughter. He took her hand. “Come on, it’s just down here.”
The exterior door, unmarked, was in a secluded part of the complex. The key fitted easily and with a quick glance round Stuart pushed it open and stepped back. “In you go. I’ll find the light.”
His mouth was dry as he closed the door. It was partly due to her nearness but also the knowledge that if they were caught, his new position could be seriously jeopardized.
The interior was almost completely dark save for a faint light from an unseen street lamp that cast shadows over the room.
“Not sure where the light switch is,” he muttered reaching out towards the wall. Carol had shifted her position and his groping hand, instead of reaching the wall, found the outside of her left breast. Before he could even gasp an apology she swung round towards him and placing her hand behind his head pulled his mouth down on hers. His response was instantaneous. All the hopes and frustrations of the day and the excitement of her in the dark room overwhelmed him as he kissed her long and hard. His tongue found hers and their shudder was mutual. He felt her legs beginning to wilt and, reluctant to let the moment go, supported her with his left arm while his other explored the nape of her neck and her long soft hair. She moaned and her hips moved spontaneously towards his, her left leg sliding upwards over the outside of his right thigh. Through his mounting excitement he wondered if there was a couch in the library or, at the very least, carpet on the floor.
Suddenly, without warning she jerked her head back and tried to pull away. “No! Sorry, Stuart! No!”
“Carol, what is it? What’s wrong?” Although she was standing quite still he could feel her trembling. “Carol, I’m not just, I’m not just out for what I can get.”
She reached her hand up towards him and placed two fingers over his trembling mouth. “I know you’re not.”
The breath of her sigh enveloped him before she slowly placed her head on his chest. “Stuart, just hold me.”
Puzzled, he wrapped both his arms around her in a protective embrace. Yet his arousal had not subsided and her nearness rekindled his desire. Loosening his grip, with his left arm he tried to lift her chin up towards him but, guessing his intention, she kept her head down.
“Carol, you don’t have to----.”
Her smile was genuine as she looked up and gazed steadily into his eyes.
“I know, Stuart. Please, just kiss me, slowly and gently.”
He did, keeping himself in check even when he felt her begin to respond and push towards him again. The thrill of her presence swept over him in tingling waves but concerned that she would shy away again, he limited himself to a long lingering kiss. Not that it was too much of a challenge. She was lovely to touch and to hold. And, in any case, he smiled to himself - it was he that was doing the kissing and not that other fellow.
The distant chime of a clock brought them both to a realization of reality. Moving slightly apart they stood, trembling slightly. Stuart’s long sigh stirred the hairs on top of her head. “You’re beautiful, Carol. Just beautiful.”
Her response was simply to bury her head in his blazer and murmur, “Do you think we’d better go. If we miss the last ferry------.”
Her voice tailed off. Stuart sighed again. “I’m afraid you’re right. We’d better be off.”
No one was in sight as he carefully opened the door and peered outside. Quickly exiting and, holding hands, they headed towards the ferry terminus. Neither of them spoke, and Stuart after the dramatic turns of events during the day, was content to walk with this beautiful girl.
The ferry was half empty and they found a spot at the rear of one of the large cabins. Usually the taciturn Auckland passengers maintained their own silence during the 20-minute trip to Devonport but tonight most of them were engaged in animated conversations with their neighbours. “Nothing like a war to turn strangers into friends,” Stuart mused. Carol had rested her head on his shoulder and appeared to have drifted off to sleep. Feeling protective, Stuart sat listening to the chatter that mingled with the rhythmic thumping from the ferry’s engine room below decks. All too soon the clanging of the ship’s bells and the change in the engine’s rhythms signalled the end of the trip.
Carol stirred and opened her eyes. “I fell asleep,” she murmured.
He grinned. “Bit early in the relationship for you to start sleeping with me.”
Expecting her to respond with a cheeky grin or a playful dig in the ribs, he was nonplussed by the long clay-col
d look that she gave him.
Behind them came the clattering of chains and a thump as the heavy gangway was lowered onto the ferry’s upper deck.
“Come on,” she stood up.
As the tide was at its peak, the ferry was riding high causing the gangway to slope steeply. Pausing at the top Stuart reached out and took Carol’s hand firmly as she gingerly made her high-heeled descent. As he stepped off the bottom onto the terminal’s concrete floor she stumbled forward. He caught her in his arms as she fell against him. She leaned her head on his chest for a moment and then looked up and smiled.
“Sorry. Bit tricky in these shoes.”
Heedless of the other passengers pushing past them he ran his right hand lightly over her hair.
“You OK?”
She held his gaze and reaching up touched her fingers to his lips.
“Stuart, I---.”
“Carol!” The angry voice cut through the clatter of the passenger’s footsteps on the concrete floor. They both turned abruptly at the sight of Hamish, his face twisted with fury. Lurching forward he reached for Carol’s arm hissing, “Come here, girl.”
Instinctively Stuart put his arm protectively across her shoulder and drew her back.
Hamish lunged again. “I told you to come here!” he snarled.
Stuart, stepping in front of Carol clamped his hand around Hamish’s outstretched arm.
“Not so fast, mate.”
Hamish’s look was of undiluted hatred. The force and unexpectedness of the heavy punch to the right side of Stuart’s mouth staggered him. Instinctively he put the back of his hand to his mouth and looking down saw that it was smeared with blood.
Furiously Stuart lashed out with a roundhouse right hand that, had it landed, would have certainly floored the other man. In a smooth action Hamish evaded the blow, swaying backwards, his eyes never leaving his opponent. Boxing was a regular feature of the sporting curriculum of many secondary schools and Hamish, by his blow and his stance had obviously been taught the basics of the craft.
Uncommon Enemy Page 3