The Campus Trilogy

by AnonYMous

  As he worked his way through his lunch, our guest kept glancing up at the portrait and was plainly fascinated by it. ‘Hey,’ he said, through a large mouthful of boeuf bourguignon, ‘who’s that guy? Quite a physique! No wonder all the poofters love him!’

  Helga giggled. When I told him that Sebastian was a saint and a martyr, Luigi hastily crossed himself. Then he asked how he came to be pierced all over with arrows. I tried to explain that St Sebastian had lived in the third century in Italy and it had been a time when Christians were persecuted. I said that the university and town were named after him. Then I pointed out that the arrows had not actually killed him. ‘Fortunately,’ I told Luigi, ‘he seems to have attracted the attention of a kindly widow who looked after him until the wounds healed.’

  ‘So he liked women even though he was a saint,’ commented our guest approvingly.

  I said that I wasn’t sure about that, but I did know that eventually he was clubbed to death by his enemies. Luigi was interested in this. ‘Clubbed to death, huh?’ he said. ‘My cousin’s boy got himself beaten to a pulp the other day.’

  Helga and I expressed concern for the unfortunate young man, but Luigi was not sympathetic. ‘He got himself involved with the Ferretto gang, so what do you expect? My cousin was always too soft with him. I’d’ve given him a job. Family’s family after all! But no, he wanted to strike out on his own and that’s what happened. Dumb kid!’

  Helga asked how the boy had annoyed Mr Ferretto’s people. ‘I dunno,’ said Luigi. ‘Some drug deal or other went wrong I expect. Alberto Ferretto always was a mean bastard.’ I was not sure how to react to this story. Fortunately it was very far away from St Sebastian’s University in the respectable home counties of England.

  Luigi continued to gaze at the painting. ‘You got the name of the artist?’ he asked.

  I explained that the portrait was a gift to the university from an American benefactor, a millionaire from Sweetpea, Virginia. It was painted by a young friend of his whose name was Julian Bosie. The Vice-Chancellor, I was sure, had his address.

  ‘Maybe he’d do a few dozen of these things for our casinos!’ Luigi suggested. ‘Could he paint Cleopatra in her barge or a coupla gladiators fighting or the walls of wherever-it-was falling down?’

  I caught Helga’s eye and we shared a moment of agonised mirth. Then I got a grip of myself. ‘I’m sure he’d be very pleased with the commission. He’s still young and making his way.’

  ‘Good!’ said Luigi, ‘Then we can screw down the price a bit …’

  After lunch the whole party made its way to the site of the old squash courts. The original corrugated iron shacks had been taken down and there was rubble everywhere. However, a path had been cleared through the mess and there was a small area in the middle where the first stone was to be laid. Flanagan, looking as broad as he was long in his Vice-Chancellor’s gown and hat, stepped foward carrying a blue box. Luigi, placed on his right, towered over him. A student dressed in a maroon velvet gown and hat was on the Vice-Chancellor’s left. He held up a brass trumpet and played a few bars of Purcell’s voluntary. It was the signal for everyone to gather round and look attentive.

  I had seen enough of the Vice-Chancellor on these occasions to recognise that he adored being in the limelight. With a flourish, he stepped onto a wooden box which had been strategically placed in front of him. ‘Friends,’ he began. ‘We are gathered here today for a milestone in the history of our beloved university. Over a hundred years ago our founders envisaged that the college they created would become a light to the nations. And so it was. The missionaries who were trained in these buildings travelled all over the world bringing knowledge and civilisation wherever they preached. We live in a different age with different aims and different values, but we still have the same strong sense of dedication. We too, in our own way, will enlighten the world.’

  He looked round at the assembled company and with a bold gesture pointed towards Sylvester and Luigi. ‘You see before you the two newest and very possibly the greatest benefactors this university has ever known. They share our vision. They have taken the trouble to leave their huge business empire in Las Vegas to be with us on this unique occasion today. Each and every one of us should be grateful to the Mancini family which has made this new enterprise possible.’

  He dropped his voice and assumed a more conversational tone. He sounded more Australian than ever. ‘As some of you may be aware, Sylvester Mancini and I go way back. We were good mates together many years ago in Australia and I can tell you we two cobbers got into some hair-raising scrapes.’ There was obsequious laughter from the audience. ‘I would never have believed in those days, and neither, I promise you, would any of our teachers, that Sylvester would distinguish himself as a business man and would become a leading light of the vast Mancini empire led by his cousin and brother-in-law, Luigi.’ He doffed his cap in Luigi’s direction and Luigi nodded back. ‘We are truly honoured that Mr Luigi Mancini himself could be with us this afternoon and we welcome him to St Sebastian’s most warmly.’

  At this point everyone clapped, but Flanagan was not finished. He held up his hand. ‘We at St Sebastian’s University are delighted that a new partnership has been formally launched between our institution and the Mancini-sponsored King Midas Casino College in Las Vegas. My distinguished colleague Dr Felix Glass has visited the college and came back with glowing reports about its innovative educational programme.’ Figuratively I wiped my brow. I told myself that one qualification for being a Vice-Chancellor was an ability to be economical with the truth.

  ‘You will be aware,’ Flanagan continued, ‘that the British government has recently promoted the idea of super-casinos throughout the country. It is to be hoped that this bold initiative will bring about the regeneration of all our great cities. We at St Sebastian’s are determined not to be left behind in this visionary project. Our vocation is to contribute. We have introduced a new degree in Casino Management under the direction of Dr Glass, who is himself an eminent academic and the author of several well-received books.’ I though briefly of my latest, Kant’s Critiques Revisited, languishing on the shelves of academic bookshops, priced at sixty pounds a copy.

  ‘Our new venture,’ continued Flanagan inexorably, ‘will provide casino training at the very highest level. It is a new degree and is the first of its kind in the United Kingdom. Our aim is to be a centre of excellence in this field. With the help of Mancini Enterprises, within a couple of years, we will be sending out trained experts to all the countries of the civilised world. The Golden Arrow Casino Training College of St Sebastian’s University will be world-famous and it is all going to take place here, on this very spot. Now is the moment I know we have all been waiting for. I call upon upon Mr Luigi Mancini to lay the foundation stone of this great new venture.’

  The Head Porter, who was standing nearby, handed Luigi Mancini a square piece of stone approximately the size of a small loaf of bread. Luigi placed it on a row of bricks which had already been laid and everyone clapped. Then the Vice-Chancellor took a silver trowel with a bone handle out of the blue box he was holding and handed it to Luigi. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is a small token of our appreciation for your generous involvement in our exciting new joint venture. The trowel reads “Presented to Mr Luigi Mancini on the occasion of his laying the foundation stone of the Golden Arrow Casino Training College of St Sebastian’s University. Per Fortunam ad Prosperitatem. Through Luck to Wealth”.’

  Luigi was very taken with the gift; he patted the new foundation stone with it and sliced it through the air several times. Then he shook hands with the Vice-Chancellor and there was more clapping. As I looked around, I noticed that Wolfie Goldberg was standing near the back. He had placed himself next to Joy Pickles and they appeared to be talking rather intimately.

  Drinks before the Feast were scheduled to take place at seven o’clock in the Senior Common Room. Over seventy guests had been invited. One of the first to arrive was Sir William
with his grandson, young Will. He was dressed in a somewhat frayed dinner jacket and rumpled notes for his after-dinner speech protruded from his pocket. He looked in excellent health, although he walked with the aid of his stick with the silver dormouse handle.

  Young Will deposited his grandfather into my care and disappeared to the student bar. He was anxious, as he put it, to sample the local talent.

  Just as I had levered Sir William into a chair, Wanda Catnip and her mother entered. Wanda looked like thunder. ‘It was ridiculous of you to invite Mother,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what she thinks she’s doing here, but once she had the invitation, there was no stopping her!’ Then she disappeared in the direction of the ladies’ lavatory leaving her mother behind.

  I sat Mrs Catnip next to Sir William and introduced them. They may have been born in different sectors of society, but they were much the same age and I knew they had a common hobby. ‘Sir William,’ I said, ‘you might be interested to know that Mrs Catnip read the book about blackjack strategy that Harry gave you. And I understand she’s doing very well indeed at our local casino.’

  Sir William brightened. ‘Good show!’ he said. ‘I always like to hear about those casino sharks getting their comeuppance.’ I had a quick chill of forboding as to what he would say in his after-dinner speech. However, having found another blackjack fan, he was not going to sit chattering idly. He reached into the pocket of his dinner jacket and said in the most gallant manner possible, ‘I’m delighted to make your acquaintance Madam. I happen to have brought a pack of cards with me. I thought someone might like a little game after dinner. You wouldn’t care to have a go before the guests arrive, would you?’

  Elsa was thrilled. ‘Well I’m just a beginner, dear,’ she said, ‘But, yes. If you like, I’ll play a hand or two with you.’

  I helped the two old people move their chairs around one of the Senior Common Room tables and I cleared away the glasses and napkins. ‘Would you like to be dealer? What about seven games with you as dealer and then seven games with me?’ suggested Sir William.

  ‘Very well,’ said Elsa Catnip. She rummaged in her capacious bag and brought out a matchbox. ‘Let’s play for matchsticks,’ she said, ‘it makes it more interesting if we have chips.’

  ‘I say, why not?’ Sir William was not one to turn down a sporting proposition.

  Elsa divided the matches between the two of them and the contest began. By this time Wanda had come back into the room. Her temper had not improved and she took me on one side. ‘I understand you’ve been encouraging Mother in this ridiculous folly, Felix,’ she accused me. ‘She tells me that she wants to go back to live in her house in Leeds and she’ll support herself on the proceeds of blackjack playing.’

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Perhaps you’d better take a look at her card-playing skills before you make a judgement, Wanda,’ I suggested.

  Mrs Catnip dealt the first hand. People were coming into the Senior Common Room and a crowd began to assemble around the two players. Sir William did very well. By the time he had finished his seven games, his pile of matchsticks was considerably the larger.

  ‘See,’ said Wanda Catnip. ‘She’s absolutely hopeless. Look how much she’s lost!’

  ‘She’s not playing yet,’ I said. It was clear that Wanda had no idea of the rules of blackjack. ‘She’s the dealer. Wait and see how she does in the next group of games.’

  Then the two of them swopped roles. Mrs Catnip had made good use of her time. She knew exactly where the cards lay. She won every one of her seven games and Sir William’s pile of matches was decimated. There was a ripple of applause and Wanda looked uncomfortable. ‘Beginners’ luck!’ she said.

  It was Sir William’s turn again. Mrs Catnip dealt out the cards with her old work-worn hands. By this time Sir William had played himself in. His record was as impressive as Elsa’s. There was a breathless hush among the onlookers and again they broke out clapping as he won every one of his seven games.

  ‘Well done, dear!’ said Elsa Catnip.

  But there was no doubt that she was equally good. She had no trouble winning all her matches back when she played her hands. The audience was enthralled and the entertainment might have lasted all evening if the Head Porter had not announced in a loud voice, ‘Pray silence for the Registrar.’

  Sir William shook Elsa’s hand and bowed. ‘I say, Madam,’ he said. ‘You’re quite a gel!’

  Elsa smiled shyly as the Registrar clinked his glass. ‘Our honoured guests were regrettably detained,’ he informed the company, ‘but they now have arrived. The Vice-Chancellor has taken them straight into the Great Hall. Would you all please make your way there and find your places. Seating plans have been put on the notice boards near the door.’

  Led by Registrar Sloth, the guests filed out of the Senior Common Room. They went across to the Great Hall where a horseshoe table had been arranged in front of the St Sebastian portrait. I noticed that Joy Pickles was wearing an elaborate red dress with a deep décolletage. She left Sloth’s side without a backward glance and, all smiles, moved into her place next to Wolfie Goldberg.

  The Vice-Chancellor was at the head of the table with Luigi Mancini on his right and Sir William on his left. Emma and I were seated several seats down across from one another. On the other side of Luigi was placed the Provost of St Sebastian’s Cathedral. It was the first time I had seen him since his exposure in the Sunday Inquirer. He looked even sleeker and more self-satisfied than usual. It had been announced in The Times that very morning that he had been appointed Suffragan Bishop of Puddlethorpe and that he would be taking up his new position at the beginning of August. I remembered what Flanagan had said about the Archbishop kicking him upstairs. There was no doubt that our Vice-Chancellor knew the ways of the world.

  The Provost said the St Sebastian’s Latin grace before we sat down. But I was diverted by Sir William. He was looking flustered, almost angry. Had he perhaps been unsettled by the game with Elsa? I did not think this probable. He came from a culture which emphasised the importance of being a good loser. Anyway, he had enjoyed himself. Perhaps he had mislaid his speech? But no, I could see it was still in his dinner-jacket pocket. I was mystified. Something was very wrong, but I had no idea what it could be. As the Feast went on, Sir William did not calm down. I hoped the food and drink would have a soothing effect on him, but, if anything, he became more agitated. He kept glancing angrily in the direction of Luigi Mancini; then he frowned, shook his head and clicked his tongue. He left most of his dinner uneaten although I noticed that he did take several glasses of wine.

  Flanagan, on the other hand, was having a splendid time. He and Luigi had quickly established a rapport and they were telling each other stories and roaring with laughter.

  Apart from Sir William, it seemed to be a successful dinner. The food was good. The Great Hall, lit by candles, looked dark and romantic. The waiters were unobtrusive and each course succeeded the previous one seamlessly. Over us loomed Julian Bosie’s portrait of our patron saint, but in the shadowy light even that monstrosity looked rather elegant.

  After the raspberry pavlova, coffee was poured out and port was circulated. Flanagan stood up, tinkled his fork against a plate and raised his glass. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ he declared, ‘The Queen!’

  There was a loud scraping of chairs as everyone stood and said in unison, ‘The Queen!’ Then we all sat down again and there was a general air of relaxation. However, Flanagan was not to be cheated of making a speech.

  He began by welcoming Luigi Mancini, his brother-in-law Sylvester and the Mancini accountant Wolfie Goldberg to St Sebastian’s. This was a great occasion, he said, because it was the inauguration of an extensive building project to house the new Golden Arrow Casino Training College and to launch a full degree programme in Casino Management. The Mancini organisation from Las Vegas was funding this huge initiative in conjunction with its own training school, the King Midas Casino College in Nevada. There would be a constant exch
ange of students (I thought momentarily of Miss de la Rue), and both institutions would be enriched by the mutual contact.

  Then the Vice-Chancellor turned to his neighbour on his other side. Sir William looked straight ahead as Flanagan leaned towards him and embarked on a lengthy introduction. Sir William, he said, was an important landowner in Shropshire, well-known for his enlightened attitudes towards his tenants. He was a scion of one of the noble families of England. One only had to look at him to see that he was a top bloke, both a sportsman and a gentleman. Then he gave a brief account of our stay in the Dormouse castle and he made a joke about the lack of central heating. Sir William smiled wanly. At the same time he emphasised the warmth and generosity of Sir William’s hospitality and his enthusiasm for this new venture at St Sebastian’s.

  When Flanagan finally wound down, Sir William raised himself to his feet. He had taken the script of his speech out of the pocket of his dinner jacket, but he left it untouched beside his port glass. Clearly he was intending to speak impromptu …

  ‘Vice-Chancellor, Ladies and Gentlemen,’ he began. ‘It is an honour to be with you this evening. What your Vice-Chancellor has initiated is a very excellent plan, very excellent indeed! There is no doubt that the government will be successful in its determination to establish super-casinos throughout the British Isles. Jolly good idea, in my view! Nothing wrong with a game of cards or two! Keeps people off the streets! And quite right to involve the university in the early stages. Train people properly from the beginning, that’s the thing! Then we know that all the games will be sporting and above board …

  ‘Now, when I was a schoolboy, I played quite a bit of blackjack. There wasn’t much else to do in school in those days to tell you the truth. None of this modern emphasis on examinations. You either got wet and muddy playing rugger or you sat cosy and warm in front of your study fire having a flutter or two. Jolly good fun it was …

  ‘More recently I have become a serious player. I know some of you watched me have a few hands with that lady sitting over there.’ He pointed with his long bony finger at old Mrs Catnip who was placed far down the table. ‘Let me tell you, she was a worthy opponent! Probably the best player I have ever come across.’ Sir William bowed in Elsa Catnip’s direction and raised his glass. ‘My congratulations, Madam. First rate if I may say so! There should be more like you!’ Everyone took this as a cue for a round of applause. Mrs Catnip looked confused for a moment. Then she got to her feet and made a shy little bow before sitting down again. Her daughter, who was sitting opposite, looked almost apoplectic with fury.