by AnonYMous
In a severe email sent out to all staff, Barraclough instructed them not to speak to any member of the press. All inquiries from newspaper reporters, he stated, should be directed either to him or to the Registrar. Any infringement of this instruction would be treated in the most serious manner.
Several days later, yet another letter arrived in my pigeonhole from the Vice-Chancellor marked Private and Confidential. With a sense of dread I opened it. The Vice-Chancellor, it said, would like to see me for a brief interview on Wednesday at four. It was to be an informal meeting to discuss my future. I debated whether to take Penelope. But I resolved to say no to any offer that might be made.
On Wednesday I arrived early. Barraclough greeted me warmly and showed me into his office. I sat in a wing armchair across from his desk. His secretary came in carrying a tray with a silver teapot, cups and saucers, and a large coffee and walnut cake. The Vice-Chancellor poured out the tea and handed me a slice of cake. I had never seen him so amiable.
“It’s a pity about Wanda’s lecture,” he began. “The poor girl is very upset. We’ll have to reschedule it sometime.”
“How is she?” I asked.
“In rather a bad way. Very weepy. Unfortunately we don’t seem to be having much luck catching the culprit. Whoever it was covered their tracks. Anyway, in the circumstances, she deserves some study leave. I’ve decided that she ought to have a full term next academic year.”
“Now Harry,” he said as he munched his way through two large slices of cake, “I know we recently had a conversation about early retirement in less favourable circumstances. But something has emerged that I need to talk to you about.”
I noticed that Barraclough was wearing his Acropolis tie. “Vice-Chancellor,” I interrupted. “Is it true that the Registrar doesn’t want to be a member of the club?”
“Well, I think it’s more complicated than that,” he replied. “There’s been some difficulty with the election committee, and I was advised to withdraw his name.”
“Oh dear,” I responded. “I hope he’s not too distressed?”
Barraclough fiddled with a folder on his desk and avoided my question. He took out a letter and adjusted his spectacles. “I have just received this note from Mr Gold,” he said. “Let me read it to you:
Dear Vice-Chancellor,
You will remember that we have had recent correspondence about my daughter who is a student at your university. I am glad to report that she has recovered from the unfortunate ordeal of last term. She seems much more settled and is happy with her studies.
The reason I am writing to you is to inform you of my intention of making a donation to the university as I indicated previously. However, rather than wait until Lisa graduates, I would like to make this benefaction at an earlier stage while Lisa is with you. My proposal is to establish a Lectureship in Ethics in remembrance of my dear mother.
I know it would have given her enormous pleasure to honour the institution where her granddaughter is a student. I would like the lectureship to be in her name, and I am prepared to fund it for three years in the first instance.
I would be grateful if you could let me know if this gift might be suitable.
Yours sincerely,
Freddy Gold, MBE
Gold and Gold Manufacturers”
“That’s very generous,” I said.
“It is indeed. Particularly given the difficulties of last term. I phoned Mr Gold yesterday and we discussed his proposal at length. There is one condition that I want to explore with you. It appears that Mr Gold intends to give this donation on the understanding that the person appointed would take over all teaching of ethics in your department.”
“But I do the ethics teaching.”
“Yes. That’s just the point. The condition of the gift is that the new lecturer takes over all your courses.”
“That’s outrageous.” I was furious. “He’s just trying to get rid of me by the back door.”
“Look, Harry. We are most grateful for all you’ve done here. You have made a real contribution to the university. But surely you do see the merits of accepting this gift. It really is a lot of money!”
“You can’t expect me to take early retirement just so Mr Gold can replace me with a junior lecturer.”
“I do have a proposal for you, Harry. The university is prepared to enhance your pension and offer you a quarter-time contract for the next five years. This would enable you to have more time for research and travel and still retain your links to St Sebastian’s. It would also enable you to develop your teaching interests outside the field of ethics. Of course you will need some time to think this over …”
“That’s not necessary,” I said. “There’s nothing to think over. The answer is no.”
“Please be reasonable, Harry. This is a generous offer which would save the university a great deal of money.”
“I don’t want to take early retirement, Vice-Chancellor. And I do resent the whole proposal. I assume Mr Gold intends to be involved in the appointment.”
“Well, yes. That is another condition of the bequest.”
“And I suppose he intends to appoint young Ronald Grundy, my research student. You are aware, aren’t you, that he’s going out with Mr Gold’s daughter.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Barraclough. He looked embarrassed. “Mr Gold did mention his name as a promising young scholar.”
“What does Gold know about ethics? Promising young scholar indeed! He’s just trying to buy a job for his daughter’s boyfriend!”
“It isn’t like that at all, Harry. If this lectureship were established, the job would be advertised in the normal way. Candidates would be selected on the basis of their qualifications, and there would be interviews.”
“But Gold will be on the appointment committee, and he will make it clear that young Ronald is the only candidate he will pay for.” I put my cup of tea on Barraclough’s desk and stood up. “Thank you Vice-Chancellor for letting me know about this. But I have made up my mind. I am happy here and have no intention of leaving. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Barraclough sat at his desk as I walked to the door. As I shut it, I noticed that he cut himself another slice of cake and was reaching for the telephone.
Victoria was horrified when I told her about my interview with Barraclough. Magnus was less surprised. “Sneaky shit,” he said. “All he can think about is money. No standards. And as for Gold, that man is a menace to scholarship.”
I was determined to stick to the point. “But look Magnus, is there anything I can do?”
“I think you’ve done it. You said no.”
“I’m afraid it’s not going to be the end of the matter.”
I was due to have a supervision with Ronald the following week. No doubt he’d heard from Lisa that her father’s scheme had met serious obstacles. I wondered how he would react. On the day, he arrived fifteen minutes late. He was flustered when he knocked on my door. I offered him a cup of coffee, but he refused.
Seated on my sofa, he spread out papers on the floor. “My computer has been acting up,” he said. “That’s why I’m late. I wanted to print out my last chapter, but the printer wouldn’t connect up. Anyway, I finally managed to get it printed. Do you mind if I make a call?” he asked. He took his mobile telephone out of his jacket pocket and dialled a number. “Hi,” he said. “Yea, I finally got it to work. So I don’t need yours. Look, I’m with Professor Gilbert now. Can we meet at the Student Union in an hour?”
I looked over his chapter as he spoke. When he finished, I asked him when he thought he’d be ready to submit the thesis. “It’s nearly finished,” he said. “Just this last chapter and the conclusion. If you think it’s OK, I should be able to complete the whole thing by June.”
“Very good,” I said. “Have you thought what you’ll do next?”
“Actually,” he sounded awkward. “I have just got engaged to Lisa Gold. Not formally, but we plan to get married this summer.”
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“Congratulations,” I said.
“So, I’ve got to look for a job. There doesn’t seem much at the moment. There is a lectureship at Aberdeen in systematic theology; I saw the advertisement in the Times Higher Ed last week. But it isn’t really my field. And anyway Lisa has still got another year to do here.”
“I see. It’s a problem.” I tried to sound as neutral as possible.
When the supervision ended, Ronald packed up his papers, put on his coat, and left. I watched from my window as he made his way to the Student Union. He looked downcast as he walked across the campus.
Rumours were still circulating about Wanda. There was no announcement about her lecture, but Barraclough sent out a note to the department saying that she was planning to return at the beginning of next term. I had a pile of essays to mark, and I was busy reading them when Magnus arrived at my door one afternoon. He was wearing a new Harris tweed jacket, and a dashing red and yellow bow tie.
“You look very jolly,” I said. He dropped into my armchair and handed me a letter. “You won’t believe this,” he sounded excited. “You know my aunt gave me a present at Christmas of a few premium bonds. Well, they worked.” The letter was from the office of National Savings, announcing that Magnus had won a quarter of a million pounds. Normally a cheque for small prizes arrives in a standard envelope, but winners of large sums are informed individually.
“That’s amazing, Magnus. I don’t know anyone who has ever won a big prize. My father-in-law has been trying for years; I think he has the full quota of premium bonds, but he’s never won more than a hundred pounds at one time.” I phoned Victoria and told her Magnus’s news. We arranged to have dinner to celebrate in a small Indian restaurant in town. Magnus insisted it would be his treat and he booked a table.
He was waiting for us when we arrived. We had onion bahjis to begin, and Magnus ordered pints of lager all around. Lifting his glass, he said, “Destruction to our enemies! And Happy Days!”
“Happy days at St Sebastian’s?” Victoria inquired sceptically.
“You must be joking,” he said. “I’ll be giving in my notice as soon as I can. But don’t tell anybody. I have an appointment with the VC and Sloth next week. I want to get the best deal I can. There’s no need for them to know I just won a big prize. I plan to plead poverty … got to squeeze them dry. And then I’m off!”
“Off?”
“I’m going around the world.” Magnus pulled a brochure out of a Marks and Spencer bag that he had put next to his chair. As he flipped through the pages, he enthused about the Queen Christina. He had circled the cabin he wanted to have: it was the cheapest first-class accommodation, but would entitle him to the first-class dining room. There were pictures of elegant, grey-haired couples playing shuffleboard, dancing and swimming in the indoor pool. Some of the men were wearing dinner jackets and their partners were dressed in ball gowns and diamonds. “What do you think?” he asked.
“You’ll love it, Magnus,” replied Victoria. “But do you have a dinner jacket?”
“Mine had the moth decades ago. But I thought I’d be able to find a used one at a charity shop.”
“What about dancing?” I asked.
“Actually, that might prove something of a problem. My aunt insisted I have lessons when I was about eleven. I even learned the tango. But I can’t remember a thing. If I just jiggle about will that be OK?”
“No, Magnus,” Victoria sighed. “It won’t. If you plan to be a hit with the grandmothers, you’ll have to brush up on the fox-trot and waltz. Do you want me to teach you?”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Of course not,” Victoria said. “At Cheltenham we had classes with the gym teacher.”
“Do you think I could learn?” Magnus asked shyly.
“Anyone could learn, even Bossyboots.”
“You know,” I said. “I’ve heard she’s actually quite good at ballroom dancing. I understand she won some competition.”
Magnus had ordered a vast quantity of food including tandoori king prawn, chicken korma, and lamb vindaloo as well as a variety of vegetable dishes. I thought I would forget my diet and enjoy myself. After several pints of lager, Magnus looked glazed. “Look, Harry,” he said. “I’ve got to see the VC and Sloth next week to tell them I’m going to leave. I need a friend to come with me. Would you mind?”
“I’d be delighted,” I said. “But what are you going to say?”
“Wait and see,” he replied as he tackled the After Eight mints.
On the day, Magnus arrived half an hour early. He was wearing an old tweed jacket that had a large hole in one sleeve. He smelled of whiskey. “How do I look?” he asked as he slouched into my armchair.
“Terrible,” I said. “What happened to your jacket?”
“I poked a hole in the elbow with a fork.”
“Your breath is quite awful. What have you been drinking?”
“Scotch. Actually, I soaked my jacket in it this morning.”
“Why? The VC will think you’re a tramp.”
“That’s just the idea,” he smiled. He pulled a whiskey bottle out of his brief case and handed it to me. “Want a drink?”
“No thanks, Magnus. But I don’t get it. What are you up to?”
Without answering he stood up. “You know,” he said, “I’m not sure I can stand wearing this jacket. It really stinks of drink. Come on, let’s go.”
When we arrived at Barraclough’s office, the door was open. He was speaking to Sloth and ushered us in. Magnus thrust out his hand; the Vice-Chancellor looked dismayed. He shook it and then stepped back coughing. “You’d better sit down,” he said.
Magnus staggered into an armchair. I sat next to him on a dining chair that had been pulled up to Barraclough’s desk. Sloth sat on the sofa. He was holding a small calculator and had a pile of papers spread out next to him. The Vice-Chancellor looked disapprovingly at Magnus. “I see you’ve had a bit to drink,” he said.
“More than a bit. Actually quite a lot.”
Sloth stared at Magnus’s jacket. The hole had got bigger and his elbow was even more visible. Barraclough shifted uncomfortably. “I understand you want to talk to us about early retirement,” he said.
“I do.” Magnus looked exceedingly tipsy. “I can’t cope, Vice-Chancellor. I’m simply exhausted. I feel on the verge of a breakdown …”
“I see.”
Magnus leaned forward; the fumes wafted from his jacket and Barraclough moved his chair backwards. “The idea of summer school is the final straw,” he declared. “Can’t concentrate on teaching or anything. When I look at the students in my classes, I feel sick. That’s why I’m here.”
Sloth began doing some sums on his calculator. Magnus stretched out and sighed. The Vice-Chancellor took out a file and made notes. Magnus belched noisily. “What kind of a deal have you got to offer me?” he asked.
Sloth looked up from his work. He passed over his pocket calculator to Barraclough. The Vice-Chancellor made a note and handed over a piece of paper to Magnus who dropped it. I reached down and handed it to him. He looked as though he was going to pass out. Drunkenly he read out the note: “‘Enhancement of five years. No part-time teaching. Beginning October.”’
Magnus looked stupefied. “Vice-Chancellor,” I said. “Perhaps we ought to discuss details when Magnus is in a better state.”
“I’m fine,” Magnus belched again. “But not too frisky after so much whisky!” He took out a pen, crossed out October, and added: ‘One year study leave on full pay.’ “Think I deserve it,” he said. “Anyway, I won’t get my full pension if I retire in the autumn. I’m only sixty next year. So I need five full years enhancement after that.” He winked at Barraclough and passed him back the note.
The Vice-Chancellor shook his head. “I’m not sure ….”
“It’s non-negotiable,” Magnus interrupted. “Take it or leave it. A one-day offer. It expires at midnight. Otherwise, I’ll stay here and endure it for six more y
ears, and you’ll have to pay me until I’m sixty-five. Is that what you prefer?”
Barraclough shook his head. “No, Magnus. You’ve got to go.”
“Then you’ve got to pay me. It’s not exactly a golden handshake. You’re getting off lightly. Most academics want part-time teaching. I want to leave for good.”
Sloth passed a note across the desk. The Vice-Chancellor read it and sighed. “All right, Magnus. It’s not unreasonable. But no part-time teaching. After next year, you’ll be fully retired. I hope you make profitable use of a year’s sabbatical. Perhaps you’ll manage to get something written for the RAE.”
Magnus brightened. “Good,” he said. “If you’d care to sign your note, then I’ll consider the matter done. I’ll sign it too as a goodwill gesture. The Registrar and Harry can witness the deal. That will constitute my notice as well as your guarantee about the sabbatical and the five years’ enhancement. You can draw up the formal letter later.”
Barraclough looked puzzled, but signed anyway. He passed the note to Sloth who scribbled his signature and then gave it to me. Both Magnus and I added our names “Shall we celebrate?” Magnus asked, taking his whiskey bottle out of his briefcase. It was followed by four tumblers which he put on the desk.
Barraclough recoiled, “Not today,” he said.
“If not now, when?” Magnus asked.
“Perhaps later. I’m sure your department will have a retirement party. You can celebrate then.”
Magnus packed up his glasses, leaving the whiskey bottle on Barraclough’s desk. He stood up. “Now, Vice-Chancellor, is this absolutely legal?” He sounded far more sober. “Can I come back if I change my mind?”
“No Magnus,” Sloth said. “You can’t. I’m afraid you are definitely going. There’s no coming back.”