“But how do I get his briefcase or whatever he keeps them in? You say he never lets the papers out of his sight. Do I just wait for you to burst in and grab him? I need to know.”
“Look, Ralph you just get him talking. Then if you get an opportunity to swap the development documents we supply you with for those in Sparini’s briefcase that would be a bonus. But don’t take any risks. And for heaven’s sake don’t let him suspect that you’re working for us. As I said, we’ll take care of Sparini. Your job is just to get him to the Club.”
Ralph was still none the wiser as to what exactly the Colonel meant by ‘just leave us to take care of things’.
They chatted on about dates and times, and Ralph agreed to contact Sparini and arrange a meeting within the week.
The Colonel said that it would only take a day or two at their end to set up the required recording equipment in the Club’s private dining room. He told Ralph that they would wait till they heard from him.
Later that week Ralph contacted Sparini. Ralph pretty much insinuated that he was interested in the job but that he wondered if Sparini would be in London any time soon because the University had asked him to talk to him about some further developments on the proposal that Sparini had spoken with Dean Granger about at Goodwood. Ralph also told him that there were still one or two things he wanted to talk to him about before he gave him a definite yes on the job offer. Sparini seemed to take Ralph’s enthusiasm as a ‘yes’ with respect to coming to work for him and told him how delighted he was to have him on board. Sparini also told Ralph that he had a business meeting in London later that week and asked if Ralph was free to get together. Since Sparini had asked for the meeting, then he would not be suspicious of Ralph’s motives. When Ralph suggested they meet at the In & Out Club, Sparini readily agreed.
“That’ll be a nice change from some dreary hotel conference room,” Sparini told him. It was all working out even better than Ralph had hoped.
A quick call to Stigart under the pretext of having accepted his offer to run a sail training outfit in Gibraltar allowed the Colonel the time he needed to get things set up. The game was afoot. Now Ralph had no option but just step up to the plate, as his American friends might put it. It would not be his first encounter with a tricky situation, but he still felt apprehensive. ‘The best laid plans of mice and men’ whirred in his brain. Ralph had forgotten who coined that phrase, but it was damned true.
***
Ralph was in the midst of preparing for a tutorial with some final year students. He enjoyed the informal discussions that they generated. In many ways he believed that it was futile to deliver a lecture to a hundred or more students. No doubt many of the students at the back could not even hear what was said and hence lost interest. Some of his lectures were so crowded that students had to sit on the floor in the aisles between the rows of seats. The administration favoured the mass lecture approach because it cut down on rooming problems and made timetabling of the students much easier. It was the first thing that Ralph planned to change once he became Dean. He was just putting his thoughts together about the tutorial when the Dean barged into his office without so much as a courtesy knock and broke into his thoughts.
“Good news, Ralph. We’ve made progress with the proposals that I was discussing with Count Sparini. All it needs now is approval by our Board of Governors and we can get the contract signed and start to access the funds. Then once we select a contractor we’re in business.”
“That was fast,” Ralph agreed.
“And one other thing I thought you might find of interest,” Granger said conspiratorially, “It’s not been made official yet, of course, but I’ve been made Pro- Vice-Chancellor.” Granger stepped back and smiled.
Ralph had to give Granger credit. When it came to putting together deals that promoted himself and his career, Rupert Granger got top marks.
“And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Ralph. Your interview date will be announced soon. And unless you just fail to show up, you can think about clearing out your desk,” he laughed and clapped Ralph on the back.
“Surely the University’s required to advertise the post and accept applications before they can appoint anyone,” Ralph queried.
“Not to worry about the red tape part of it, Ralph. We’ve already canvassed a few outsiders and one or two from inside the University and the notice went on the internet today. It only permits a one week window, but that’s all within the regulations. The interview panel is set and all you have to do is apply.”
Ralph knew that it was customary for people who were short-listed for a teaching post to be asked to make a presentation to members of staff in order to give the panel an idea as to their suitability in a lecture situation. Granger assured him that in this case that was not necessary. Having given the news, Granger swept out and left Ralph wondering how quickly word would get around. Assuming that the bush telegraph was up to its usual efficiency, it would be out already, he muttered to himself.
Ralph was determined to take the interview process in his stride. He had witnessed this process with many of his colleagues over the years. The Dean would raise their hopes of promotion only to have them dashed at the final interview hurdle. He had never understood why those in power played with people’s emotions and careers in that way, but he had no intention of being anyone’s pawn in that little game. When the Dean had first told him about the job he had already made up his mind. He had been with the University for more than twenty years, and if they did not know by now if they wanted him in that post, then parading in front of a selection panel would hardly make any difference. No. Either they wanted him or they didn’t. He would be polite and answer their questions, but nothing more. Ralph had more important things to tend to and one of them was the tutorial he would be late for if he did not get out of the door.
***
The interviews were scheduled for a Friday afternoon. This was not the usual practice. Ordinarily they held them early in the week when most of the teaching staff were around. By Friday afternoon most of the staff would have left for the weekend and the place would be almost deserted. It was beginning to appear that a clandestine operation was in progress.
Ralph sat with the other candidates waiting to be interviewed. He knew one or two from the Conference circuit and they were not as strong as he would have expected.
The interview itself was a polite affair. No aggressive questions and lots of smiling and nodding. He could almost predict the pre-prepared questions that each of the panel had written on the pieces of paper in front of them. He had been on a number of selection panels and it was a familiar ritual that had more to do with going through the motions than with selecting the best candidate. That decision had already been made.
Ralph was the last to be called. When it was over, the VC asked him to step into his office. He came straight to the point. He told him that the HR department would notify him officially, but that he was being offered the post of Dean of the Business School and hoped that Ralph would accept. He asked Ralph to keep this to himself until the official announcement had been made.
Ralph had mixed feelings. He had Peter and Cynthia as allies, but some of the other staff were a bit of a challenge. Granger, for all of his faults, would be a hard act to follow. He smiled to himself when he thought about Granger’s comparison of the Dean’s job of trying to manage a bunch of academic prima donnas as being akin to trying to herd cats. As he put the Jag away in the garage he realised that for the first time in weeks he had completely forgotten about Stigart, Sparini and that whole ruddy labyrinth of intrigue and mistrust. Now he had three balls to juggle in the air at one time: Leading his erstwhile staff at the University, working as an unofficial undercover agent for MI6 and holding himself out as a hale fellow well met type sailing the oceans with Katie at his side. He could not afford to drop any of the three.
***
Katie had been invited to be the keynote speaker at a conference at Edinburgh University
. She was confident that this would open the door to a round of invitations if it went well. He could see that she was racing ahead with her career, and with his imminent promotion to Dean it looked as though their plans for the future were taking shape. Katie would be away for the whole of the weekend and Cynthia and Lance had invited him to Sunday lunch on their houseboat on the Thames near Hampton Court a mere thirty minute walk from his apartment.
Ralph strolled along the river past the lock. He stopped to watch as some scullers skimmed along. Their long oars reminded him of summer water beetles, skating across the surface, barely wetting their wings. It was a perfect day to be on the river. Blue skies, a soft breeze and a cricket match on the Molesey playing field on the opposite bank of the river. Ralph heard the sound of enthusiastic clapping as the batsmen connected with the ball and sent it for a six, followed by a more subdued round of applause when the bowler took a wicket.
***
Ralph and his friends sat on the white decking of the houseboat and sipped their wine. The flutter of leaves from the trees along the riverbank drifted down to settle onto the bank or drop into the water. They were a reminder that summer was nearly over. Lance had cooked a perfect lunch of roast beef, dark green cabbage and baked potatoes. The rich brown gravy added the final touch. He had surpassed himself by managing to cook Yorkshire puddings which was not easy even in the modern galley that Cynthia had installed when she bought the boat.
They had pigged out by finishing their meal with apple pudding and custard. Ralph thought he had died and gone to heaven.
“So, Ralph. You can see what standard my man is setting for you when you and Katie get married. Have you set the day yet?”
Ralph knew that Cynthia and Lance enjoyed baiting him about his perennial bachelor status. It was all in good fun and he found that unlike in previous years, he found he did not really mind. He also knew that Cynthia and Katie were best mates, so anything he said would go straight back faster than a greyhound chasing a rabbit.
“He’s a great asset. If you ever go back to New Zealand you should set up a restaurant business, Lance.” Ralph skilfully skirted the issue.
“Hey, I’m not just a pretty face, you know. Even if this busted nose would suggest otherwise,” Lance protested good naturedly as he went below with the empty plates.
“Leave it, Lance. I’ll do that later,” Cynthia called down to him as she raised herself on one elbow from the deck chair where she was now stretched out full length.
“Since that trip to Gibraltar when he got that stomach bug, he’s got this thing about food. He says he doesn’t trust anyone else to do it properly.”
They chatted on. Although he got on well with Cynthia, Ralph found it less of a strain when Lance or someone else was around.
“Tea, anyone?” Lance called up the stairs. They all agreed that would hit the spot.
They sat idly tossing bits of leftover bread to a fleet of passing swans, Cynthia asked Ralph about his interview.
“Do you think you got it, Ralph? I saw the short-list, and to be frank, if you didn’t, then you must have committed a right faux pax.”
“Who knows,” he replied. “Just have to wait and see.”
As he leaned back and listened to the lap of the water against the houseboat his mind turned to Colonel Stigart and his upcoming mission. He looked across at Cynthia and Lance. They had both dozed off in the waning afternoon sun. Life could be straight forward, he thought. I wonder if those two are as relaxed about things as they appear, or if they’re really like those swans that just came by: serene to the casual observer as they drift past while just beneath the surface their legs are paddling like mad. Perhaps it is all about perception, he mused, or is it mostly deception? As the boat swayed from the waves created by a passing cruiser and the heavy meal took effect, he began to doze off like his two friends.
Later that evening Katie telephoned from the train to say that she was on the way home from Edinburgh. She told him that she would get a taxi home since she would not get in until late. The Conference had gone well by all accounts, and her keynote speech had been well received. He told her about his afternoon with Cynthia and Lance, and how Lance seemed to be turning into a first rate chef. They lost contact and Ralph presumed that the train must have gone through a tunnel. Ralph continued thinking of his next steps with Colonel Stigart. The ball was firmly in his side of the court.
________________
Chapter 11
Ralph had dressed for dinner. He was glad that ‘tails’ were de rigour , but anyone who wore a black tie, even on the Basingstoke to Waterloo train, would have drawn a few enquiring glances from their fellow travellers unless he was also carrying a violin case.
Fortunately one of his gym pals was a London black cab driver and had agreed to give him a lift to town. Stuart liked the night shift, as he called it. A lot of fares in Club land and around St James Square meant big tips. He chatted to Ralph as they drove past Vauxhall Bridge and along the Thames.
“How’s your boy getting on at Bristol University?” Ralph asked. He knew that Stuart was proud of his son and enjoyed relaying his successes.
“He’s doing great. Graduates soon. My wife and I are going down for the ceremony.”
“I know he took a year out to do the Camp America thing but what’s he been studying?”
“Music, and would you believe the band he’s in are playing at the Glastonbury Festival.” They both laughed at the image it conjured of youths hoisting precious instruments above their heads as they struggling across the muddy fields.
They passed the MI6 offices that looked out over the grey Thames. The dark red brick building looked like something from the set of a space movie. Blunt and rectangular, there were hardly any windows, just rows of what looked like the slits you see in the walls of medieval castles. On their web site they were open about their role in protecting the national interest, but the only jobs they advertised were for accountants, HR people, secretaries and software engineers. Not a word about their activities in the field. It presented itself as just another government bureaucracy offering cushy positions to averagely intelligent people with job security for life. Ralph could just imagine the secret goings on behind locked doors down in the depths of the basement.
Stuart was still chatting on about football, his favourite sport, and who would win the next World Cup when they pulled up at the front entrance to the Club.
“Looks like the toff’s are stirring. After the dinner you’ll be having you’ll need that workout at the gym. Mind your suit and have a good evening.” He laughed as he flicked the security lock to let Ralph out. “No charge, sir,” Stuart mocked. “And no tipping among friends.” Ralph waved as Stuart drove off among the traffic that swirled past. Not the sort of job I could do, thought Ralph. Then he realised that this was no evening out on the town. He bounded up the steps. Best to get it over, he muttered to himself.
The receptionist glanced up and smiled. He wore that ubiquitous look that reminded everyone that there was a ritual to be followed. Ralph had heard that women were not allowed to use the front entrance and that even the Queen was required to use the back entrance, although that had not been confirmed. After the usual exchanges of pleasantries and notes had been consulted – no computer screen here, Ralph noticed – he was asked if he preferred to wait for his guest in the bar or go straight to the room that had been reserved for their dinner. It was only a few minutes before 9 so Ralph decided to go straight to the private dining room. He half expected to see one of Stigart’s people sitting in the foyer with a hat pulled down over his face pretending to read a newspaper. Apart from a red faced old gent who struggled to put on his overcoat while holding a black bowler hat and rolled umbrella, the place was deserted. Turning as he heard the door to the street swing open, he was surprized to see Nick, the driver from Trident who had taken him and Katie to Goodwood.
“Good evening, sir.” Nick must have been nearly six feet six. When on parade in his bearskin hat
while he was with the Irish Guards he must have looked massive, thought Ralph.
Nick explained that he was there to pick up two NATO officers and take them to Stanstead Airport. Then he was finished for the day. When Ralph told him that he was there for dinner, Nick offered to pick him up when he had finished his shift and drive him back to Chelsea where he had dropped he and Katie off after their day at Goodwood. He pointed out that it was on his way to Chiswick where the cars were garaged. Ralph thanked him and said he would be ready around 11.
The NATO officers appeared, and once Nick had shown them his security details, they left for Stanstead.
The receptionist showed Ralph to the room that Colonel Stigart had arranged.
Once on his own he took a quick look around. Everything appeared normal. It was a typical Edwardian dining room. The table was set for two and a drinks tray by the window held sherry, gin, whisky and mixers as well as the requisite bottle of Port. It all looked very civilised. A massive bookcase containing large red and blue leather volumes about regimental histories and famous battles fought by the two Senior Services covered one complete wall. The RAF were still seen as the new upstarts. Ralph wondered if the club had deigned to put their history in another room. A simulated log gas fire was the one concession to modernity. It was set in a magnificent black marble chimneypiece that he recognised as early 19th century. The flickering flames sent shadows dancing on the oak panelled walls and provided a nice touch. There was a light tap before the door opened.
“Your guest, Lieutenant Chalmers,” said the valet as he ushered Roberto in. “Count Sparini.” The man waited while Ralph and his guest shook hands.
“Excuse me, sir,” he addressed Ralph. “This package was left for you at reception. My apologies for delaying to give it to you. With that he handed Ralph a large brown envelope that Ralph presumed contained the development notes about the University that Stigart had prepared. The valet backed out and pulled the door closed.
Murder on the Rocks (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 7) Page 12