The Campus Trilogy

by AnonYMous

  “Can they get away with this?”

  “Barraclough thinks he can get away with anything. But, look, Harry, you might have a problem. If you’re not in the next RAE, your income will plummet and they’ll make you teach summer school.”

  “Why won’t I be in the RAE? I was in last time and we got a very high mark. And my stuff this time is at least as good. Why should I have to do summer school?”

  “I just have a nasty feeling about it. They’re certainly trying to get rid of you. Anyway no one wants to do summer school and I’m leaving, remember. They’ll dump it on whoever is excluded from the RAE. So you better fix up your submission.”

  “If Wanda and Pilkington are in charge, I’m not sure it will make any difference.”

  “Got to go, Harry,” Magnus said. “I’m off to the medical centre for some jabs. This time it’s for diphtheria. Can’t imagine where they intend to take us on this cruise. My rear is still sore from the cholera injection. How do the grandmothers endure it?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The English Education System’s Shot to Shit

  Over the weekend, Victoria and I went to the annual cat show at Chelsea in London. After admiring the Siamese, none of whom were as handsome as our two, we went upstairs to the section for moggies. To my astonishment, I saw Penelope standing in front of a cage with Rufus inside. There was a pink ribbon pinned on the side; Rufus had won first prize and Penelope was glowing with pleasure. Victoria was anxious to look at the Norwegian Forest cats, and set off downstairs again while I talked to Penelope.

  We were due to fly off to the States immediately after term. I wanted to ask her about my former research student. I explained that I had been pondering whether to do anything about his allegation. He had clearly been put up to making a formal grievance by Wanda and Pilkington, and I was annoyed about it.

  Visitors passed by us and poked their fingers in Rufus’s cage. He snarled back. “Look,” I said, “I think I really ought to submit a formal complaint about Ronald. What he said was malicious and totally without any foundation. I don’t think I should let this pass. I want Pilkington and Catnip to know they won’t be able to get away with trying to set me up in the future.”

  Penelope took Rufus out of his cage and stroked his ears. He purred ecstatically “You won’t have any more trouble,” she said. “They got the message, and so did your student. He’s lost you as a supervisor and he knows you will never give him a reference. That’s quite serious. Forget about the whole thing.”

  “I can’t forget, and I certainly don’t want to forgive. I taught that little shit everything he knows about ethics; I took great pains to get him a fellowship and a bursary. He made extensive use of my contacts. And he knifes me in the back.”

  “Look, Harry, you were lucky that you had such full notes about your meetings with him. Sloth would be proud of you. He’s always going on about risk management. Anyway you demonstrated beyond reasonable doubt that you had read all Grundy’s stuff. There was a solid paper-trail. The matter’s over. Don’t cause any more trouble, you’ll only be laying yourself open to more criticism. And, I hate to mention this, but you are a clergyman. You’re meant to set an example.”

  “You are aware he’s trying to get my job.”

  “Of course, but you always knew academia was a cut-throat business. Anyway, the scheme backfired. You’d be well advised to put the whole thing out of your mind. Concentrate instead on your vacation. Are you going anywhere?”

  “To Sweetpea, Virginia,” I replied. “I’m going to give a lecture there.”

  “Rufus won’t let me go on holidays,” she said holding him up. “Isn’t that right, Rufus … Mummy can’t go anywhere without you.” Rufus looked down disapprovingly. When I tried to stroke him, he bit my finger.

  “Sorry,” Penelope said, “he gets a bit jealous.”

  The next week, after term ended, we set off for Heathrow and stayed overnight at an airport hotel. In the morning we had breakfast and took the bus to the terminal. After making our way through immigration, we settled down in the British Airways lounge. When our flight was called we walked to the gate, went through security, and stood in a long queue. Eventually we filed into the aeroplane and found our seats near the back. Every place was taken; inevitably there was a small child behind us who wailed and kicked the back of my seat at frequent intervals.

  Victoria took a sleeping pill, put on black eyeshades, and fell asleep before the plane was in the air. I had purchased a classic car magazine and looked at advertisements for Rolls-Royces as we began our flight. Later I watched a Batman film and eventually dozed off. When we landed in Washington DC, after interminable waits in the immigration line, we went through customs.

  Standing outside the visitors’ entrance was a youthful red-haired woman wearing a Sweetpea blazer holding a sign with our names on it. Mary-Lou Bradley was the name on her lapel and she was the President’s PR officer. She led us to a bright red Chevrolet with the college crest on the door. Victoria sat in the front chattering while I gazed out of the back window. We were driven all the way to the college which was located in a small picturesque Southern town.

  The college buildings, clad in ivy, were designed in a mock Gothic style. In the centre of the town overlooking the college green was a handsome colonial church built in the early nineteenth century. There were students everywhere. They all seemed to be dressed in bermuda shorts and loafers. Some were even sunbathing on the lawn.

  Mary-Lou took us to the Sweetpea Inn, an old hotel near the college. Our room overlooked the campus; filled with colonial furniture and rag rugs, it was a welcome relief from our long flight. Victoria took a bath, and I stretched out on the bed. There was a bowl of fruit and a box of chocolates on the sidetable. I ate an apple, opened a magazine about Virginia which had been placed in the room, and fell asleep. Two hours later we were awakened by a phone call. “Hello,” I said.

  It was our host Oscar Billstone, the President of the College. He asked about our trip, checked that the hotel was comfortable, and invited us to join him and Nancy for dinner at their house. He explained that Mary-Lou would deliver the Rolls-Royce and we could drive it to the President’s Lodge, which was located next to the Faculty Club in the centre of town. Dinner, he said, would be informal. My lecture was to take place the next night, and would be followed by a formal dinner at the house of Thomas Jefferson Porpoise. I asked if I should wear my dinner jacket. “It’s not necessary,” Oscar said, “but no doubt Thomas will.”

  At six o’clock Mary-Lou arrived in the red Rolls-Royce I had hired from Manford Wachman. It was very splendid indeed. Victoria made scornful remarks, saying it betrayed my nouveau-riche tendencies and that my father had been in trade. I was thrilled with it. Mary-Lou handed us a letter from Mr Wachman explaining that we should keep the car over the next few days, and leave it at the Sweetpea Inn where it would be collected. He also invited us to join him for lunch in two days’ time if we were free. I drove in style to the President’s house.

  This was a large square mansion. Oscar and Nancy were standing on the doorstep as we swung into the drive. We were ushered into a marble black and white check lobby with portraits of previous presidents of the college on the wall. In an oval drawing room lined with gold and white striped wallpaper were seated several guests including Thomas Jefferson Porpoise himself. In the corner of the room was a large mahogany pedestal desk and an eighteenth-century American longcase clock. It was all very impressive. There was obviously a great deal more money at Sweetpea than there was at St Sebastian’s.

  Victoria and I were placed on a burgandy sofa. Scattered throughout the room were several Hepplewhite chairs and a large tallboy. Nancy introduced us to everyone. Thomas Jefferson bowed to Victoria and kissed her hand; he turned out to be a spare, silver-haired gentleman in his mid-seventies.

  “How was your trip?” Oscar asked as he poured us drinks.

  “Tiring. But delightful to be here,” I said.

  Thomas Jeff
erson picked up his glass. “A toast to our English friends,” he said. Throughout dinner, the conversation was animated. Thomas Jefferson Porpoise was seated next to Victoria, and he was obviously much taken with her. He told her in detail about his family. There had been a branch of the Porpoises in Virginia since the seventeenth century. They had owned great plantations. But he believed his ancestors had originally come over to England with William the Conqueror. Because of their bravery at the Battle of Hastings, they had been granted several estates on the Welsh border.

  “My family has a castle on the Welsh border,” said Victoria.

  “In Monmouthshire?” asked Thomas Jefferson eagerly.

  “No, in Shropshire,” Victoria said. “That’s in the north. Your family come from south Wales, but you’re Welsh like me. All the best people are Welsh!”

  “Well, gee,” Thomas Jefferson said, “I never knew that. Does your family have a coat of arms?”

  “Of course. And a crest. And a motto. People like us do!”

  “I think we’ve only got a coat of arms.” Thomas Jefferson was upset.

  “Oh don’t worry about that,” Victoria was very reassuring. “I’ll design you a crest and motto. I know all about heraldry. Crests are generally based on people’s names. My maiden name was Dormouse and our family crest is a fat dormouse couchant. Now let me see …” She fished about in her bag for her diary. On a blank page she drew a very rotund fish with a friendly expression. He was standing upright balanced on his tail.

  “There you are,” said Victoria. “A porpoise rampant. What could be better?”

  “Do you think I could have a motto, too?”

  “Of course. Now my family’s inscription is in Latin. But that’s because we are a rather late family. A bit new-money. And we like to show off. You must have a proper original Welsh motto. All the really old Welsh families do. She drew a scroll underneath the porpoise and inside she printed: Heb Porpoise, Nid Pwrpas.

  “What does that mean?” Thomas Jefferson asked. His voice was awestruck.

  “It means: Without a Porpoise, There is no Purpose …”

  “Gee! That’s great! What can I do with it?”

  “Well in my family, we have the crest engraved on all our silver.”

  “Gee!” said Thomas Jefferson Porpoise again, “I’d like that. We’ve got a load of old silver! I gave quite a lot of it to the college …”

  Victoria looked alarmed. “I don’t think you should put it on old silver. After all it’s a new crest. Why don’t you commission a new piece. A punch bowl, or a loving cup or something. I’m sure there are some excellent young designers in Virginia who should be encouraged.”

  Thomas Jefferson was delighted with this idea. ‘I’ll get my people to see to it straightaway. I suppose I couldn’t have that piece of paper could I?”

  “No, no,” said Victoria, putting the scrap back in her bag, “I’ll draw it for you nicely and send it to you from England.”

  Thomas Jefferson nodded. “You won’t forget, will you?” he said anxiously.

  The next day Victoria and I drove around Sweetpea in the Rolls-Royce. We parked the car in front of the President’s house as he suggested, and strolled along Main Street. Students jostled past us on their way to lectures. There were a variety of small shops including the Sweetpea College Shop where I bought a purple and gold Sweetpea bow tie. Victoria was insistent that I wear a black tie for the formal dinner in our honour, but the President told me that he would be wearing the university model instead. On the way back to the Sweetpea Inn we passed a real estate office. “Let’s go in!” I said.

  A jovial male assistant greeted us. In a deep Southern drawl, he asked what we were looking for. I explained that I had come to give a lecture and we would only be staying for a few days. But we were curious to see what property was available. He showed us brochures of several country houses outside Sweetpea – they were all over three million dollars. Vanessa was right: houses were expensive. Later we had lunch in the dining room of the Sweetpea Inn. Afterwards, we sat in a delightful room next to the entrance where we were served coffee and home-made chocolates. I was uncomfortable to notice that, as at the President’s house the previous night, all the serving people were black.

  Both of us were jet-lagged and took a nap before dinner. When we were dressing, I noticed with misgiving that my trousers were even tighter than when I had last worn them and the dinner jacket itself did not do up comfortably. For the hundredth time I resolved to go on a diet.

  At six Oscar and Nancy picked us up from the Sweetpea Inn and drove us to the Porpoise mansion just outside Sweetpea. We drove through enormous gates. The drive was at least a mile long and at the end there was a vast white building with tall Corinthian columns. In the front was a marble fountain with a stout golden porpoise spouting water. The path to the house was lined with cherry trees. There was a large brass knocker on the front door also in the shape of a porpoise. Oscar banged it. A black butler opened the door, but Thomas Jefferson was close behind. He was splendid in a white dinner jacket with a Sweetpea College tie. He ushered us into the drawing room which was lined in mahogany and covered with engravings of American presidents. The lecture was scheduled for seven o’clock in the ballroom.

  We were poured drinks from a crystal decanter and another black maid served canapés from a silver salver. “That was made by Paul Revere,” Nancy whispered. Victoria was hugely impressed. In the distance we could hear guests arriving who were taken by the Porpoise butler to the ballroom. Oscar, Nancy, Victoria and I sat on two Federal sofas opposite one another while Thomas Jefferson went to check on the arrangements. Just before the lecture was due to start, Oscar put on his Harvard PhD gown and mortarboard and led our party to the white and gold ballroom where more than a hundred guests were assembled.

  Oscar showed me to my seat and stood at a podium. After an effusive introduction in which he mentioned all the books I had written, he sat down. Then it was my turn. I walked to the podium and delivered my lecture. The topic was ‘The Paradox of Selfishness,’ the title of my new book which was due to be published at the end of the month. I tried to be entertaining and there was no sign of a gorilla.

  The audience seemed to enjoy it. After I had finished, they clapped enthusiastically and there were several questions. Thomas Jefferson then gave a lengthy vote of thanks. He obviously liked the sound of his own voice. Oscar introduced me to the Mandril-Fortescue cousin who said how much he appreciated the lecture. Then various members of the religion department were brought over to meet us, but by this stage I was tired and they all merged into each other.

  Afterwards, Thomas Jefferson led Victoria and me and several members of the audience to the dining room where there was a vast mahogany table set with places for twelve. The silver gleamed and again all the servants were black. When everyone had taken their places, Thomas Jefferson asked me to say a prayer. I recited the St Sebastian’s grace in Latin. We all sat down and turtle soup was served. I was seated next to Nancy who presided at one end of the table. On my left was an elegant, well-groomed woman who was wearing an enormous emerald necklace. Nancy introduced us: she was the wife of the French Ambassador to Washington. Victoria was seated next to Thomas Jefferson himself at the other end of the table. The Ambassador’s wife told me that Victoria’s neighbour was the editor of the Washington Post.

  A string quartet, who were seated in the shadows, played Schubert. After the first course, tall fluted glasses came round. They were filled with champagne sorbet. This, the Ambassador’s wife explained, was to clear the palate. The main course was sea bass served with exquisite vegetables. For pudding there was pecan pie. The dinner did nothing for my diet.

  After dinner we adjourned to the library, a circular room lined with leather volumes. Oscar and I sat next to one another in large Queen Anne armchairs which, Thomas Jefferson said, he had purchased in London. Oscar lit up a large cigar and offered me one. A bottle of vintage port had been placed on the table in front of us wit
h a bowl of walnuts. A magnificent Paul Revere silver nut-hammer lay on top.

  “I much enjoyed your lecture,” he said. “Now, Harry, there is something I would like to talk to you about. I’ve had a word with Thomas Jefferson. As you know, he has been a very good friend of the college. It is his intention to establish a Chair here to honour his great-great-great-grandfather: Thomas Jefferson Porpoise I. He has asked me to inquire whether you might be interested in coming. There would be few duties attached to the position since it would be a Distinguished Professorship. I know this is rather sudden. But we would very much like you to consider the possibility. It would be an honour to have you on the faculty, and to have your wife among us. Think about it. Talk it over with Victoria.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” I mumbled. I looked at Victoria who was chatting in French to the Ambassador. She looked very elegant in her simple silk dress and was clearly having a lovely time. It was the Cotswolds all over again. She fitted in perfectly. I felt a pang of guilt. Oscar followed my glance and smiled. “She has made a huge hit with Thomas Jefferson,” he smiled. “Let me know what you think,” he said as he stood up to talk to the Ambassador’s wife.

  After dinner we drove ourselves home. I loved the Rolls-Royce. As we undressed for bed, Victoria told me about her conversation with the editor of the Washington Post. “You know,” she said. “He’s read some of my articles about English antiques. How I can’t imagine. Through the internet I suppose. He wants me to meet the antiques editor of the newspaper when we go to Washington. I’m supposed to have lunch with her to discuss the possibility of writing some pieces.”

  “That’s splendid,” I said. “How are you supposed to get in touch?”

  “I’m to ring before we leave and arrange to meet. Really, Harry, this place is astonishing. There seems to be no end to the Porpoise influence.”