by ILIL ARBEL
“How about Tahiti?” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre. “It might be nice to throw everything to the winds and go to Tahiti.”
“Whatever do you mean, Professor?” asked Professor Buckholz-Schuller, raising his head in amazement.
“I mean, this morning I received a telephone call from my department, and was told that they had given us a grant to go to Tahiti, for a purely scientific research regarding the insect that pollinates the Florida palms,” said Professor Hilliard-Schuller. “I had requested it as soon as the student brought the subject up, but did not have much hope, so I did not mention it to you. They said that our joint lectures about the palms caused such interest that they would be able to give it to us, despite the usual difficulty, and they expect considerable revenue from the book we would write about our research and findings. The road is clear for such an expedition, and all that is needed is to put it together. So would you like to go?”
“You want me to come? You are you not furious at me?” asked Professor Buckholz-Schuller.
“Furious? I am thrilled. I am enchanted. No one had ever thought of me as an adventuress, ready to risk her reputation on a whim, and a criminal to boot. How exciting!”
“You like it?” asked Lady Norton, trembling, barely finding her voice.
“I do,” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre. “Very much.”
Lady Norton was again at a loss for words. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, she remembered the yellow chiffon dress with the tiny roses that Professor Hilliard-Sabre wore for the Christmas dinner, and the overly bright lipstick as well.
“But…” said Professor Buckholz-Schuller. “My schedule…”
“Come on, Erich! Pull yourself together and start enjoying life a little!” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre. “There is more to life than ferreting in university archives, you know! Your usual work can wait, it won’t go anywhere, and you can get a replacement lecturer anytime for your courses. Let’s go to Tahiti together and find the elusive insect! What an adventure, what excitement, what fun it would be!”
“Elspeth!” said professor, and could say no more.
“Did you really think I was your enemy, Erich? Yes, I was your rival, and we had our disputes, but they were nothing personal, ever. And from the moment we met, I felt we had such a connection, such deep understanding...”
“Oh, Elspeth, I will never think it again,” said the professor. “And yes, I would so much like to go to Tahiti with you; it will be an expedition and a discovery worthy of Darwin himself.”
Lady Norton noticed that Professor Hilliard-Sabre gave a sidelong glance to Professor Buckholz-Schuller. As a matter of fact, it was a glance through surprisingly long lashes, which Lady Norton had not noticed before that moment.
“As for the cactus seedlings, Lady Norton, how are they doing?”
“Not well,” said Lady Norton. “A few seeds sprouted, but they all died. We tried to give them the exact conditions, but it did not work. It breaks my heart.”
“Well, I have a lovely surprise for you,” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre. “I saw something just before your maid asked me to see you, something that really pleased me. Please come outside with me.” Lady Norton suddenly remembered the mysterious look of exultation on Professor Hilliard-Sabre’s face when she came into the room.
They put on their coats and went out, and Professor Hilliard-Sabre took them to the exact area under Lady Norton’s window, where Carla had thrown out the original seeds. Lady Norton gasped. In the wet soil, right where the begonia bed used to be, grew a large number of magnificent young specimens of the difficult, elusive Echinocactus horizonthalonius var. Nicholii. They were strong, ugly, and highly successful, and it would be clear to any botanist that if they were allowed to remain where they were, they would soon split the stones of the foundations of Norton Hall, as was their habit when encountering any rock, stone, or mortar, and Norton Hall would crash to the ground and be no more.
“But this is impossible,” whispered Professor Buckholz-Shculler. “They can’t grow in wet soil; they need dry conditions and they thrive only on alluvial fans composed of limestone-derived soils in the Waterman and Vekol Mountains.”
“Apparently not,” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre. “These specimens are the most spectacular of this cactus I have ever seen. They seem to like England, and to enjoy English weather and damp soil.”
Lady Norton was so shocked by all these events that she was completely speechless and just gazed at the cacti. The cacti seemed to stare back at her. Their elongated stalk-like protuberances gently waved at her, showing off their still tiny grey-green globes, covered with a filthy yellowish wool-like substance and already ferocious spines. They were obviously quite happy just where they were, and determined to stay there at the expense of the foundations of a mere house. What is a house next to the boulders of the Waterman and Vekol Mountains?
“Lady Norton, you are the first horticulturist to have ever grown the Echinocactus horizonthalonius var. Nicholii out of its natural habitat. Should the three of us write an article about your great achievement? We do owe it to science, you know,” asked Professor Hilliard-Sabre.
“Yes, of course,” said Lady Norton. “I did not do anything, though... they just grew by themselves.”
“The plants are on your premises, Lady Norton. You had tried various ways to grow them, and you certainly deserve the credit. And in addition, you gave me a most delightful holiday. Let’s do it as soon as Erich and I come back from Tahiti.”
“I would love to do it,” said Lady Norton. “It will be an honour. And would I be able to use the material for a book I plan to write about cacti and succulents, later on? I was thinking about a book like that for the general public. ”
“Of course,” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre. “It should generate a great interest both here and in the United States, I believe, and I will put a good word for it in one of the university presses I usually deal with. They often do horticultural books for the general public, as well as purely botanical works. They will simply snap up your book.”
“Thank you so much, Professor Hilliard-Sabre,” said Lady Norton. “It would be wonderful to be published by a university press.”
“No trouble at all,” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre. “After this interesting holiday, which gave me so much pleasure, I consider the three of us fellow conspirators... though as for the little business with the so-called stolen seeds, we don’t have to mention it to anyone, do we, Erich?” She glanced at the professor again, and smiled sweetly. Yes, Lady Norton was certain now. Professor Hilliard-Sabre was flirting most shamelessly with Professor Buckholz-Schuller... could she really? This distinguished middle-aged professor? It certainly seemed to be. And what’s more, she was taking him to Tahiti, the land of sinful romance, wasn’t she? Vague memories of the stories she heard about the painter Paul Gauguin and his illicit behaviour in Polynesia came into her mind. All this was faintly immoral and inappropriate, everything Lady Norton usually objected to, and fought against, all her life.
Lady Norton was about to do the Right Thing. She sincerely meant to stand tall and straight, put on her face-à-main, and stare the immoral woman down, making her realize how unbecoming her behaviour was for a lady and a scholar. But the virtuous intention lasted for only a mere moment, and Lady Norton did nothing of the kind. Instead, she sighed and said nothing at all. Deep in her heart Lady Norton had to make the shocking admittance that the miraculous success of the seedlings under her window, the upcoming botanical article, and the horticultural book that should be selling quite well on both sides of the Atlantic and could never be achieved without Professor Hilliard-Sabre’s help, were much more important than these vague moral issues which after all, Lady Norton pretended to herself, might be mere imagination. Lady Norton simply could not bring herself to act, since action would deprive her of horticultural fame, within her grasp for the first time in her life. She had glorious visions of herself consorting with famous botanists in London, lecturing in Sydne
y, Australia, and being taken on a private tour of a Botanic Garden in New York by its famous director himself; no, she could not give such dreams up, she was only human. And so Lady Norton decided to ignore the whole thing, move on with her exciting plans while being helped by the two rather dissolute professors, and throw integrity to the winds. Yes, as we have said before, such is the power of botany.
The End
This is the end of the New Chronicles of Barset, at least for the present. But if you feel like having a little extra dose of our Barsetshire friends, perhaps you would like to read Mrs. Morland’s first book? It is called Madame Koska and the Imperial Brooch, and you can find it on Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/lwzs8xv