Bums on Seats (16 page)

It was a leisurely day. He slopped around in jeans and t-shirt, listening to music and catching up on mail. He’d accumulated a week’s worth of mail before going to Zombek. It was a considerable pile. A preliminary sort revealed that half was easily spotted junk mail. He recalled a lecture by the management guru, John Harvey-Jones. The great man had advocated pinning a plastic shopping bag to the inside of the front door and simply jettisoning unsolicited post immediately on its arrival. Great, simple, bugger the wasted rainforests! In any case, when personal email and the electronic office really took off, there’d be a glut of unused paper, or too much forest!

When he’d sifted, the most interesting item to emerge was a follow-up from the bank in St. Helier, assigning him a pin number, an account code and a cheque book. By this time, Simon had opened a bottle of red and smeared a couple of buttered, toasted slices of whole-grain bread with great dollops of Brussels pate. He squeezed a quarter lemon over the delightful result, went back to the recliner and sank his jaws into the knocked-up lunch. Heaven!

I’m committed now, he thought. Reputation, livelihood, fortune and future pledged to the success of the Zombek project. He recalled a valuable lesson learned as a 10-year-old from his late father. They were on a seaside holiday. All week he’d pestered Dad to take him on the big scenic railway ride. On the Friday, Dad agreed and they clambered aboard the first car. The thing clattered and chuntered, up and up, to the top of the structure. As it climbed and climbed, Simon began to feel unsure. When it reached the top and poised, revealing the first terrifying plunge, he’d whispered, ‘I don’t think I want to go on after all, Dad!’ His father said, ‘We’ll be all right, Simon,’ and put a strong arm around his shoulders. When the ride ended, his Dad said, ‘Sometimes, Simon, you start things in life and there’s no getting off till the end of the ride. You just have to prepare yourself beforehand, and then see it through to the end. And it always helps to have a friend nearby.’

On impulse Simon picked up the phone and dialled Janet. “Hello, Janet, it’s me. I’m back. I wonder if you’re free to come up here for lunch with me on Sunday?”

“What a lovely thought Simon. I’d be delighted. Can you bear to toil over a hot stove after your Zombek marathon? Tell you what, you provide the main course and I’ll bring the pudding. You’ll need to tell me what you’re cooking and I’ll bring something suitable to follow.”

“Janet, you’re a wonder. I’ll do fish pie made with fresh salmon and serve it with a simple green salad. OK? How about one pm to eat?”

“Fine, I’ll see you then. I’m dying to hear about your adventures. Thanks for your card by the way. And, as of now, I’m stopping eating until Sunday!” she laughed.

“What pudding will you bring then?”

“Ah, that would be telling!”

“That’s not fair. I told you my menu.”

“I never said I’d be fair if you did, though.” She laughed again. “’Bye Simon.”

Janet was more than just a good friend. She was a substitute for much loved and missed parents. He resolved to talk everything out with her after their lunch.

On Saturday, Simon shopped for the ingredients for his lunch date with Janet. Later he sat at the word processor and drafted a report, to the Senior Management Executive Committee, on the Zombek trip. That might be amended after he’d talked things through. He drifted through the rest of the day.

At one point he called up his investment package on the computer. Both his current selections were climbing nicely. Should he start to invest the money from his new windfall? This was a problem he wouldn’t share with Janet. He’d already resolved to speak with no one about that. His father, again, the font of so many of his attitudes to life, had told him, ‘Share a secret and double the jeopardy.’ Some actions and events in life, he said, might be so risky or discreditable that, if they really must be embarked upon, they should remain one’s sole and personal responsibility.

In the early evening, Simon made the rich sauce for his fish pie. He gently fried shallots in butter then added a couple of glasses of white wine. When it was much reduced he added some fish stock and boiled it to reduce again. Finally, he stirred in a carton of double cream and simmered it until the consistency was about right. He strained the lot through a sieve into a jug and left it to chill in the fridge overnight.

In the late evening he watched, for the nth time, the old James Bond film
Diamonds are Forever
and concluded that, by and large, it was his favourite from the entire series. He especially enjoyed the cameo performance of the two murderous mini baddies, Wint and Kydd.

Before going to bed, Simon dipped into a Reference Bible and tracked down Janet’s quotation about labour of love, committing it to memory.

Sunday morning and he felt completely recovered from Zombek. After a light breakfast he put on tracksuit and trainers and jogged the mile to the newspaper shop. He stuffed a copy of the Sunday Times and a box of Belgian chocolates for Janet into a plastic bag and jogged the return journey. He’d been right, he was back to his normal condition, not huffing or puffing too much from the practical work out. He settled in the chair with the business supplement and a glass of orange juice for an enjoyable hour before starting preparations for lunch.

Time for action! Simon propped up his computer-printed recipe and methodically worked through the stages. Granny had shown him this dish during a school holiday when he was sixteen. A decade later, he’d added the recipe to his collection on hard disk.

Check that the ready-made puff pastry is at room temperature
.

Check that the sauce is back up to room temperature
.

Cut the skinned salmon fillet, and skinned cod fillet, into chunks
.

Heat some oil and sauté some shallots and button mushrooms
.

Roll out the pastry until it’s bigger than the pie dish
.

Trim off a strip to use later to seal the pie rim
.

Mix the fish chunks together with some chives in the pie dish; add seasoning to suit
.

Pour the shallots and mushrooms in
.

Add the pre-prepared rich sauce
.

Stir the whole together
.

Brush the rim of the dish with beaten egg yolk and water
.

Press the spare bit of pastry round the rim and brush this too
.

Put the rolled-out pastry over the lot, trim and crimp the edges
.

Use the rest of the egg and water to brush this all over. Cut three short lines across the middle, put in fridge to settle
.

Simon felt, as usual at this point, a little glow of satisfaction. It was probably because Granny had always been lavish with praise in return for effort. He pressed on, washing, cutting and mixing the salad. Finally, he combined a little olive oil, wine vinegar and mustard as a simple dressing. Three quarters of an hour to go! Just time to shower and change while the oven came up to temperature.

At five minutes to one Janet gave three short rings on the bell. He bounded down the stairs. “Hi, Janet. Great to see you. You look wonderful!” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

“That’s nice dear, thank you. You’re very thoughtful. I’ve tried to dress casually.” And she had. But she’d also taken immense care to make the very best of herself, without making it obvious, but she wasn’t going to tell Simon that.

“What shall I carry, Janet?”

She passed over a tray with white linen cover. “You carry the dessert. I’ll bring the flowers for the table.” She stooped and picked up a vase from between her feet. It contained spring flowers from the garden, but not yet any water. Simon led the way back up.

In his kitchen they swapped roles. Simon ran water in the vase, and then took it through to the table. Janet uncovered two tall sundae glasses ready for the fridge.

“That looks superb, Janet. Does it have a name?”

“If it does, I don’t know it. It’s made from fresh peaches, grapefruit and mandarins, marinated overnight in rum. The layer of chocolate mousse is made from bitter chocolate, egg whites, cream and caster sugar. The cream topping has just a little more than a hint of kirsch. If you find you really like it, we’ll call it Simon’s Surprise!”

Lunch was a huge success. The dishes were stacked in the sink. The empty Chablis bottle consigned to the pedal bin. The percolator had bubbled its way to a perfect brew.

“Kick your shoes off, Janet. Pull that lever and recline. I’ll do the same if you don’t mind.”

She complied, gave a luxurious wiggle of released toes and said, “Well, you wrote that Africa is always producing some novelty, was Pliny right?”

“Well done, Janet. I thought you’d soon suss that one out. The proverb was made in allusion to the Greek belief that Africa abounded in strange monsters, you know.”

“I thought you took your own strange monster with you on the plane, Simon?”

“Ouch! Miaow, Janet!” They both laughed with gusto. “Actually, once we reached Zombek, I hardly saw La Hamlyn at all. And coming home she barely said a dozen words.” Simon hoped Janet wouldn’t ask about the outward journey. Happily she didn’t pick up on it.

“And was the trip a success, Simon?”

“There were two outcomes and I’d like to hear your views on them. More coffee?”

“Simon, dear, I’ve been all agog for two days. I decided before you rang, that if you didn’t tell me, I’d cancel your tenancy and have you evicted onto the street, furniture and all,” she twinkled. “I’d love more coffee, please.”

He guffawed at the unlikely eviction prospect, and topped up both cups whilst sorting out the starting point in his mind.

“Well, I went to assess the potential undergraduates. I was given complete access to dozens of A level, final year students. Based on that experience, I’d say that Zombekian youngsters are, in general, good-natured, hard-working and nearly an academic year behind the equivalent student in this country. In other words, their A levels are not equivalent to ours.”

“What did Veronica Hamlyn think, Simon?”

“She went to a couple of teacher training colleges to assess the quality of teachers and the content of their syllabi. She states her complete satisfaction and will affirm the accreditation of Zombek’s academic standards for Pucklebridge’s purposes, Janet.”

“And what will you report, Simon?”

“Well, since I want the project to proceed, I’ll say I’m satisfied with the prospective undergraduates. Then what I’ll do, Janet, is devise a plan of studies which will help them get up to speed. In other words, I’ll fudge it and deal with the consequences.”

“That sounds decisive, Simon. Will you get a professorship out of it?”

“The Vice-Chancellor has implied so.”

“Well then, Simon, ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, if taken at the flood leads on to fortune’

“If Shakespeare had been alive today, Janet, I guess he’d just have had Julius Caesar say, ‘Sometimes, you’ve simply got to go for it’.”

“Well done. Is there anything else you want to tell me, Simon?”

“No,” he lied. He wasn’t going to burden her with complicity in his illicit financial backhanders.

“So what do you think about it all, Janet?”

“I don’t think you should worry about Veronica Hamlyn’s acceptance of Zombek’s educational standards. Accreditation is her business. She can look after herself. I don’t judge her to be very imaginative. But she’s clever and determined.”

“Thanks for that. And the quality of the students, Janet?”

“You can’t deal with that alone, Simon. You’ve already told me that the Economics Faculty is involved. Who’s their Admissions Tutor?”

“Chloe Hodgekiss, who’s also a friend.”

“My advice, Simon, is for you to be absolutely frank with her. You need an academic ally. Otherwise you’ll drive yourself into a breakdown.”

Simon thought that outcome unlikely, but saw the sense of the suggestion. “More coffee, Janet?”

“Yes, please.”

“What do you reckon? Do you think it’s a good project, Janet?”

“Well, there’s a good few millions of pounds involved, and you’re not getting a professorship for nothing. It’s possible you may not be aware of all the ramifications of this project.”

“With large projects involving millions of pounds, who knows what might happen,” Simon offered.

“Yes, that’s true.”

Simon went quiet and thought if only she knew.

They mulled the matter over for another half hour, but it got to the point where they were revisiting earlier points. By and by Janet felt it time to depart. “It’s all been splendid, Simon, but I think I’ll have to go now. I’ve one or two things to deal with.”

Simon had begun to tire too. “Janet, I don’t recall when I last enjoyed a lunch date more. And I really do appreciate your advice and counsel. In fact I don’t know where else I could possible get the same benefit. How do you do it?”

“I’ve just lived a long time, dear!”

Simon walked back down the stairs with her, producing from behind his back at the last minute a box of Belgian chocolates for her.

“See you soon, Janet.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

She just smiled a big smile, said nothing, turned the key, stepped inside and closed the door. When his footsteps receded, she allowed her face to mirror the regret in her mind.

*************

On Monday, Simon delivered his Zombek report to the Senior Management Executive Committee, as did Veronica Hamlyn. On Friday 21st March the contract between Zombek’s Ministry of Education and Pucklebridge University, already engrossed, was duly signed. The die was cast.

If Simon had had the power of clairvoyance, things would have been different. If only he’d been able to see next week, he’d have been shocked for a very different reason. But he hadn’t and couldn’t, and so slept easily at night and strove earnestly with his students by day.

CHAPTER 18

The message light flashed on his answerphone. He pressed the replay button.

“Hello Simon, its Nadia Jennings. Sir Maurice has given me a note to deliver to you by hand. Would you give me a call when it’s convenient please? My number’s 406562. ’Bye-ee.”