“Nothing to apologise for, beautiful,” George intervened. “The brute was completely out of order, insulting you just because he couldn’t get the better of me. Dreadful behaviour!”
“Aye, dinna apologise, Carol,” Duncan spoke up. “Ye did nothing wrong. But I think I should clear up the mess that I’ve created…With your permission, ladies, gentlemen…” Duncan rose again from the table, bowed to the Master and ex-Master and walked quickly around to the other side and bent down to catch hold of the concussed geophysicist. He dragged him smartly back and out of the serving door behind which led down to the kitchens. Despite the considerable intake of alcohol Duncan had imbibed so far he was the fastest to seize control of the situation and restore the High Table to some semblance of normality, although now with two gaps in the line of guests at dinner. And the body that was being dragged away only bumped twice into the wall and the door jamb on the way out: quite an efficient removal job, considering that Duncan, bent double and looking backwards, was by this time having just a little trouble with his vision.
All of the others at High Table were still struck dumb and didn’t quite know how to react to this astonishing and highly irregular turn of events. Fisticuffs were hardly common amongst members of the Senior Common Room. Dr Jonathan Adams, Master of St Barts, thought he had better say something but struggled to find anything coherent to help move the evening’s discourse along.
“Ahem…Dr Potts…that was an impressive display of, er, psychology you’ve just demonstrated…Not some party trick as…as has been alleged?”
“Indeed not, Dr Adams. I regret that our absent friend had the nerve to challenge a fellow on his active research project and as a result he came out a sore loser, as your Welfare Officer quite rightly pointed out.”
“Quite so, George,” offered Geoffrey Collins. “I must say that I’ve never, in all my years here as Master before Jonathan, never ever heard one member of the SCR dare to disparage the field of expertise of another. Quite, quite unacceptable.”
“Riding to a fall, you might say?” suggested Elizabeth Collins with a grin.
George loved her for that comment. “Well, it was rather foolhardy of him to tackle me on my own grounds, so to speak. I would never have had the arrogance to challenge his own research findings…”
Carol was still upset. “He insinuated that I was colluding with you, George, in some cheap stunt to bring him down.” She looked around at the others at High Table. “The trouble is, I did see him out walking his Dalmatians a week or so ago and I guess he recognised me this evening…but I never spoke about that with George here at any time since. I really didn’t, I do assure you.”
“Even if you had done, my dear, given that he had seen you with his dogs before then it was even more foolish of the man to issue the challenge he did to your colleague here. He brought it on himself, after all. It was not George’s idea to enter into the wager.” Professor Collins was not prone to criticise attractive young women who brought poise and pleasure to his table when it was another who was guilty of a serious academic faux pas.
“Did you get any money out of the man before he was despatched, George?” Elizabeth Collins asked.
“No, no.” George picked up his wallet from beside his plate and re-pocketed it. “He, um, didn’t have time to pay up before leaving…But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want his money.”
By this time the buzz of conversation around High Table had restarted as others joined in with comments between themselves and various apologies were made to waiters and waitresses who moved in and out to tidy up and clear away debris that the absent geophysicist had spilt in his hurry to depart. George noted with some pleasure that the college staff could scarcely contain their amusement at what had transpired and there was no doubt that, for them, this evening’s entertainment had surpassed anything that had been witnessed here for many years. No doubt what had happened would be actively discussed and would pass quickly around the university circuit like wildfire – between staff and students, Senior and Junior Common Rooms, colleges and departments, indeed half the population of Durham city.
Duncan Mackay M.D. reappeared through the service door and quietly enquired of the Master if he might continue with his meal. Whatever else might be thought of the man, George realised, fiery Scot and fond of the juice as he was, having taken one errant guest out of circulation he was careful now to observe decorum and not disturb matters any further. The Master, caught still wondering whether or not he ought to make some fuss about this Caledonian laying out one of his guests, in the end thought it best not to draw any further attention to him than was necessary.
Duncan returned to the table. Sally rose to greet her partner as he moved round to take his place again. She gave him a quick kiss. George nodded and signalled his pleasure at seeing his ally come back.
“Well, Doctor, how’s the patient?” he enquired. Many others looked up to catch the response.
“Och, he’ll live, though I think his jaw’ll need an X-ray. I left him sleeping in the lobby, waiting for the ambulance to pick him up.”
The buzz of conversation reached a new high. Despite everyone looking at him, Duncan wasted no further time in tucking into his meal – his appetite quite stimulated by his exertions. He couldn’t stop smiling as he shovelled down mouthfuls of steak and potatoes.
The rest of the meal passed off relatively smoothly. The Master was concerned to lead small talk away from lingering on this wholly unfortunate episode and preferred to introduce some discussion about the university’s building plans, the expansion of college numbers, the calendar of events at the end of the academic year, indeed on just about anything other than the embarrassment for him of SCR members engaged in a public brawl. Sally, sitting opposite him, an astute female and professional psychologist into the bargain, wanted to reassure Dr Adams that the efficient manner of Dr Humphries’ departure had in fact caused no great disturbance to the evening’s proceedings and was anyway more to be welcomed than to have the man’s provocative presence continuing amongst the members of the SCR for the rest of the evening. She was, of course, not an entirely unbiased observer of what had occurred.
The whole purpose of the Formal Dinner was, it must be remembered, for the college to welcome the return of Professor Geoffrey Collins, the previous Master, to St Bart’s; to celebrate his birthday, and to offer him the opportunity to say a few words of goodbye and best wishes to the graduating class of students whom he had once welcomed on their admission to this university institution three years earlier. This central objective of the evening’s gathering asserted itself as soon as the meal came to a close. Directly SCR members had finished eating and dessert and coffees had been cleared away, Professor Collins rose to his feet, came round from behind High Table and stood at the head of the dining hall, in front of the students who now all waited in silence for his final address.
George was most impressed by the quiet, dignified manner of this kindly gentleman and the warmth and consideration he showed to the undergraduates assembled before him as this ex-Master spoke of the pleasure he had had in serving the college and how he hoped these students, his last students at Durham, would all go out into the world the better for sharing their formative years with him in this place. A storm of applause and various cries of appreciation from all quarters met his remarks. It was an emotional moment for the retired professor. Geoffrey Collins turned and even wiped a tear from his face as he waved goodbye to his students and then he led the guests at High Table away to his right, out of the dining hall and back downstairs towards the Senior Common Room. George, as before, was towards the back of the procession and now, for the first time, began to see the life of certain academics at the university as something more than just being surrounded by stuffed shirts and pompous old bores.
George’s own contribution to the evening, with the able support of Duncan Mackay, had also been far from the stereotype that he had previously held of life up in the clouds of academe. Clearly he had
to reassess his opinion of what went on within the walls of university buildings. He was thinking these thoughts all the way down the staircase and along the corridor below before Carol slipped her arm through his and drew him aside just as he was about to re-enter the Senior Common Room. She held onto him until all the others had passed and they were left alone outside the SCR door. Then she threw her arms around his neck, pulled his head down towards her and kissed him full on the lips, her eyes glittering.
“George, you were absolutely amazing up there. Wonderful! My knight in shining armour.”
George froze. The confident manner in which he had been conducting himself up until now suddenly deserted him.
“I’ve never see you like that before,” Carol continued, “you were brilliant. You leapt to my defence and absolutely demolished that bastard.”
“No…no…Duncan did that.” George shook his head, trying to calm his nerves.
“I don’t mean physically. I mean verbally, intellectually, emotionally – you outshone him in every way. You wiped the floor with him.”
George couldn’t look at her. She was the one who was shining and he couldn’t cope with it. His pulse was racing and he wanted to turn and stare at the wall to control himself. He tried to focus on the man he had outwitted rather than this beautiful young woman that was pressing her body against his. Unfortunately, his hormones wouldn’t let him. And Carol wasn’t letting go.
“It was…it wasn’t…so easy, I mean, so difficult…Christ, Carol, get off me!”
“No!” She kissed him again. George nearly fainted.
The SCR door opened and someone was coming out. Carol quickly removed her arms, stepped back and smoothed her dress down. She span round to meet whoever it was about to emerge beside her. She needn’t have worried. It was Sally.
“I wondered where you two’d got to,” Sally said. She saw Carol smiling demurely and George looking perfectly uncomfortable, sweating profusely, and instantly understood what was going on. She joined in with the attack.
“George, that was a tremendous show upstairs! Has Carol thanked you sufficiently yet? If not, I’ll add my congratulations.”
“Be my guest, Sal.” Carol waved her forward. George burbled incoherently as Sally planted another kiss on his lips.
“Aye, man, ye deserve that,” a Scottish voice said. Duncan had followed Sally out into the corridor and, like his partner, quickly took in the embarrassment of one so deserving, yet so unused to receiving praise and affection when it was due. “It was well done, sah. Ye turned the man inside oot, and showed him to be the blustering idiot he was.”
George by this time was leaning against the wall, trying to hold himself up. He was thoroughly unaccustomed to having sensual young women showering him with kisses.
“And, Duncan, you also deserve your reward,” Carol turned and embraced him. It was kisses all round.
“Well thankye very much, Carol.” He licked his lips. “Much appreciated!”
“Can we go inside now?” George’s voice had returned to him and, released from his torture while Carol’s attention was elsewhere, he took the opportunity to run for cover. The Senior Common Room beckoned.
Tables in the SCR had been set up with bottles of port, glasses and a variety of cheeses whilst the Formal Dinner had been underway and Bryony Adams, the Master’s wife, was busy ensuring all SCR guests were being served. Seeking refuge, George made straight for the first table and armed himself with a glass in one hand, a plate of cheese in the other. He then wandered over to the furthest corner to escape attention. Armchairs were dotted around the room and arranged in several circles so that guests could chat amiably enough with each other in groups of four or five. George’s attempt to retreat into anonymity was not successful, however. Carol came after him.
“It’s no good, I’m not going to leave you alone.” She pushed George into one armchair and took the one next to it. “And you have to look at me! Don’t try and pretend I’m not here.”
George looked at her, as commanded. It was the look of a trapped animal. Carol softened.
“You were absolutely on top of your game upstairs, George. So confident and assured and you took that bastard apart. Can’t you relax with me now? Please?”
The trouble was, George admitted to himself, that Carol was looking absolutely stunning and it was excruciatingly painful looking at her. He would love to let himself go and fall in love with her. But he was a middle-aged old dodderer, married to a dragon, employed in a dull office, living a boring life and the only excitement he could offer this vivacious and sparkling young beauty was to metamorphose on occasions into a quadruped. What a sad case that was! In contrast, milling around behind Carol was a room full of interesting people who were engaged in undoubtedly fascinating careers and could keep up an intellectual and diverting conversation for more than the fifteen minutes of so that he could bluster on about, providing no one knew him. What was he doing here and what was she doing bothering with him?
George could say nothing. Looking at her, his eyes actually started welling up.
Carol rose from her chair, took a pace forward and bent over George as he was sitting there transfixed. Her perfume washed over him in waves. Her beautiful breasts were hovering inches from his face. She lowered her head and gently kissed his forehead.
“Christ, George! You are a lovely, lovely man. I’m going to leave you for a bit but I’m not leaving you for long…OK?” She moved gracefully away.
Sally was standing by one of the tables, sipping port and talking to Duncan. She saw Carol approach.
“What do you think of this big hunk, Carol? I think I might just marry him after that show on High Table. Bang! He certainly knows how to make an impact!”
Duncan grinned. “Well, lassie, I must have proposed to ye a dozen times and got nowhere. I have tried being gentlemanly to a fault, with no success. The first time I smack some bastard in the face in front of ye, y’go all amorous on me. I should’ve taken ye out on a Saturday night in Inverness wi’me many years ago. We’d be married wi a dozen bairns by now!”
Carol laughed. “There are as many ways to a women’s heart as there are women in the world, Duncan. You’ve just got to figure out which way suits the woman you want.”
“And it’s our job to keep you guessing,” said Sally. “Though I think I might have given the game away now.”
Carol smiled. She was pleased to see these two enjoying each other’s company. But it only reinforced the difficulty she was experiencing with the one whose company she wanted.
“Sal, take a look at that man of mine behind me, sitting in the corner,” Carol whispered. “What do you reckon?”
“He looks sad. And alone. What’s going on?”
“I’ve got to get him to come out of his shell…but he won’t, not in here. What am I going to do?”
“I’ll go see him; nee bother!” Duncan grabbed a bottle of port, left the girls behind and went over to join his newfound friend. He topped up George’s glass and refilled his own. George looked up gratefully as the Scotsman settled down in the chair Carol had vacated. He relaxed with an audible sigh.
“Aaah. Thanks, Duncan. That’s what I need.”
“Aye. Port or whisky. I’m partial to both.”
“Me too. One’s quicker but both have their attractions.” George pecked at a slice of cheese and chewed it slowly, savouring its taste to contrast with the last sip of port. He leaned back and stretched out his legs; his pulse slowing, his colour at last beginning to recede.
“Och, man, this is the life: plenty o’ drink, good-looking women, and nothing like punching the lights out o’ some mean Sassenach who thinks he’s so damn superior.”
George laughed. “Thanks, Duncan. You’re the real deal. Even makes me think I should move north of the border.”
“Nay, man. We’d no have ye. Pyschologists should stay well away. Look – we kicked out those two girls yonder, no matter they’re gorgeous to look at.”
“I se
e. Would you have accountants then?”
“More people after our money? Like as not. Are ye trained in accounts as well, George?”
“Sort of. Actually I don’t want any of your country’s money, nor am I interested in its psychology…but I could do with some of the space you’ve got. And the mountains. And the single malt.”
“Aye, we’ve plenty o’ all that ye can enjoy. D’ye have the flask wi’ ye still?”
With glasses of port now drained, the two men passed the flask between them and conversation lapsed into the slow appreciation of 10-year-old Islay. Professor Geoffrey Collins, enjoying his birthday and not wishing it to end as various guests now began to take their leave, saw these two relaxing in the corner and so wandered across to share their company and see what they were up to. He brought the bottle of Laphroaig with him.
“Good evening, gentlemen, may I join you?” He was a polite as always.
George sat up. “Hello, Geoffrey, please do. There’s a bottle of port around here somewhere and I have a flask of single malt in addition to what you are carrying. What’ll you have?”
“The port’ll do fine for now, thank you. Well, George, you got the measure of me and my affection for dogs quickly enough. How’d you do it?”
“Not so difficult if you know dogs as well as I do.” George did not wish to elaborate. He reached for the Laphroaig.
Over the next fifteen minutes, as the common room began to thin out, the three men in the corner settled into discussion and began to explore their common interests – women, whisky, animals. Duncan asked George if he could guess what creature he kept.
“I’d say you were a cat person, Duncan. Someone who appreciates independence; a sense of wild, untameable nature. Also, they’re not so much bother to keep!”
“Got it in one! Ye have a reel canny knack aboot thee, mon!” The accent was becoming broader and broader with each passing whisky.
George grinned. He told Duncan that he would be sure to appreciate Mr Tibbs, a real degenerate feline neighbour of his. The Scotsman agreed that that was most likely.
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