The Campus Trilogy (20 page)

“Not bad money,” said Victoria, “And don’t forget I’ve been given a little job with the
Washington Post
as well …”

“The only thing,” I interrupted, “is that now the university will accept the Gold offer, and that frightful man will buy a job for his horrible new son-in-law.”

“Well, win some and lose some,” said Morris
philosophically
, as he embarked on two enormous stuffed parathas.

“But what about St Sebastian’s?” he asked with his mouth full. “Why didn’t you just say you’d accept early retirement?”

“Because Harry wants a proper retirement deal. He’s going to get a year’s paid sabbatical. Plus all the increments for his pension,” Victoria said.

“But you can’t be on the university payroll, even on
sabbatical
, if you have another job.”

“You can if you are completely outside the British system. What I do in America is nothing to do with them.” I said triumphantly.

“You cheeky bugger!” said Morris again.

“In two days time,” I explained, “I’ll go back and see Barraclough, tell him that I’m under stress and say that I want to leave, but that I can only do so if I can have all the increments for my pension plus a year’s leave.”

“Wait a minute,” Morris said. He could hardly believe it. “You plan to have paid sabbatical leave, starting this September. And then your pension will start the following year. So you’ll
have your pension plus a full salary from Sweetpea, plus an extra year’s salary from St Sebastian’s.”

“Well that’s what I want to talk to you about …” I began.

Morris was speechless for a moment. Then he laughed. “You wouldn’t let me do the negotiation for you? I’d love to see that Registrar’s face when he finds out!”

“Actually,” I said, “I want to ask you something. Does the UCU have a fighting fund or a hardship scheme or something?”

“Yes. Like everyone else we’re desperate for money, but we do have a little put by to help victims of real injustice.”

“Well, the union has done a lot for me. I don’t need the extra year’s salary. Could I give it to your fund?”

Morris was overwhelmed, “Of course you could. Are you sure? That’s really very generous.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “No need to say any more. I’ll write you a cheque as soon as I’ve dealt with Barraclough.”

Victoria giggled. “Can you imagine the Vice-Chancellor’s reaction? He’ll never forgive you, Harry!”

“Dear me!” I said.

By this stage Morris had eaten nearly three-quarters of all the food we had ordered, and he asked the waiter for another pint of lager. He paused and his expression changed. “Your VC will be furious,” he said. “Particularly after today’s performance. But what you’re asking is not unreasonable. It’s what anyone else would get and by leaving you are saving the university a lot of money.”

Victoria and I couldn’t eat anything more, but Morris was transfixed by pictures of the puddings. At last he ordered a chocolate ice-cream concoction sprinkled with hazelnuts. Although he tucked into it with enthusiasm, he was silent for a few minutes. Then he spoke thoughtfully. “You know,” he said, “your Vice-Chancellor is not as evil as you think. He’s entirely at the mercy of the government who have starved universities of funds for years. He is forced to take more and more students, and he has to educate them on less and less money. So he puts his managers under pressure. All Vice-Chancellors do it. He can’t afford to train anyone properly and, in any case, most academics are not natural managers. They’re too much like prima donnas. So it ends up a mess. It all comes down to money
in the end. Universities simply don’t have enough of it. They’ll do anything for cash, like getting involved with that shark Gold. And there you are. Everyone suffers …’

There was a pause while Morris licked the last trace of his ice cream off his spoon regretfully. Then he grinned. “Still the UCU will be delighted with the money. Thanks!”

As planned, I went to see the Vice-Chancellor two days later. I told his secretary that I would only need to meet for a few minutes. Remembering Magnus’s performance, I arrived at four o’clock, looking haggard. When I entered his office, he was seated at his desk. “Yes, Harry,” he said, putting down his fountain pen.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, but I must talk to you about an important personal matter.”

Barraclough frowned. “I only have a few minutes,” he said as he urged me to sit down.

“I’ve been thinking over what you said during the meeting …  I’m afraid I simply don’t think I will be able to continue under the circumstances.”

Barraclough looked surprised. “Not continue …?”

“No, Vice-Chancellor. I have not been sleeping. I am showing every symptom of stress. The last year has been terrible. If you would be prepared to make me some sort of offer, I might think about early retirement after all.”

Barraclough visibly brightened. “You think you might want to leave us?” he asked.

“Yes, Vice-Chancellor. For my own good, and for that of St Sebastian’s. But I will need to have an enhanced pension. I can’t afford to go otherwise.”

Barraclough took out a notepad and wrote down some figures. “Up to sixty-five?” he muttered. “Let’s see, that’s a four-year enhancement. What about part-time teaching?”

“I really don’t think in my present state of health I could do justice to the students.”

“Good! No part-time employment …” He became
noticeably
more jovial.

“But I would like a year’s sabbatical. I’m due for some study-leave.”

“A year’s sabbatical on full pay?” He sobered up a little.

“Like Magnus,” I said firmly.

“I see.” Barraclough did further calculations. “Yes,” he went on, “it could be arranged. But it must be understood in return that you won’t block Freddie Gold’s gift.”

“No. That’s all right. But … if I don’t go you will have to have me on the books for four more years.”

“I realize that.” The Vice-Chancellor looked grim. “The union is clearly going to be a complete menace. So … when would you plan to leave?”

“This autumn,” I said.

Barraclough got up and shook my hand. “You’re making the right decision, Harry.”

“Would you mind writing this down,” I said. “so we have some kind of record?”

Barraclough scribbled a note on his official writing paper, signed it, and handed it to me. “Once I get a formal letter,” I continued, “I’ll send in my notice.”

“Of course, of course … I’ll ask my secretary to do it this afternoon. It’s a good decision. The right decision,” Barraclough smiled affably. He was himself again. “We’ll have to arrange a retirement party before you go. I’ll get in touch with Wanda.”

“Thanks, Vice-Chancellor,” I said, as I walked to the door. Barraclough shook hands again.

Magnus was waiting for me outside my office. He was wearing his new clothes. “You were right Magnus,” I said. I showed him Barraclough’s scribbled note. Magnus reached into a brown bag and took out a bottle of vintage champagne. “Time to celebrate!” he declared and he did a little jig in the hall.

As promised, a letter from Barraclough arrived the next day stating the terms we agreed. I was to be given a three-year enhancement to my pension and allowed to have a year’s
sabbatical
on full pay beginning in October. He added a personal memo to the letter saying he would consult with Wanda about arranging a retirement party. He asked me to write back
formally
to give in my notice. I wrote a letter on St Sebastian’s writing paper:

Later in the day I received an email from the Vice-Chancellor telling me that my letter had been received. There was no mention of my new job at Sweetpea, but he added that in light of my future plans, it would not be appropriate for St Sebastian’s to give me a retirement party.

“Not a good loser!” was Victoria’s comment.

I also sent Morris O’Murphy the cheque and let him know the outcome of my discussion with Barraclough.

He emailed me back thanking me and saying I was a lucky bugger. He asked if he could come visit when he travelled to the States on holiday.

Two days later an email from Pilkington was sent to all members of the department announcing that I would be taking early retirement. He went on to say that a new lectureship in ethics had been established by Mr Freddy Gold and would be advertised in the
Times Higher Educational Supplement
next week. It was hoped that the successful candidate would be able to begin next term so that my courses would be covered. Again there was no mention of Sweetpea and no hint of a leaving present, a retirement party or good wishes for the future. I felt sad about this. After all, I had worked at St Sebastian’s for eleven years and, within my limitations, I had done my best.

Victoria and I spent the next few days packing up books, pictures and small items to be sent to Sweetpea. We booked
our flight, ordered change of address cards, and wrote to Oscar Billstone and Thomas Jefferson about our itinerary. We planned to stop off in New York for a week-end en route. The cats would travel with us drugged in their basket in the hold.

In the meantime Magnus was busy kitting himself out for his world-wide cruise. We had promised to see him off at Southampton, and on the day, we picked him up from his house. The afternoon before, Penelope had collected Pushkin; he was to be a companion for Rufus while Magnus was gone. Magnus was concerned about this. He was not confident that Penelope would keep her promise about buying Pushkin his favourite, expensive cat litter and cat food, but there was no alternative.

Magnus was wearing his blue blazer with the Oxford crest, a mauve and gold striped tie and a panama hat. His leather trunk was so heavy that both of us had to lift it together. At the dock there were no porters so we had to carry it to his cabin. Located on the top deck, it had a small sitting room and a bath. Magnus took a bottle of champagne out of his trunk and a packet of crisps.

As we sat down there was knock on the door. An elderly American woman wrapped in Persian lamb introduced herself as Violet Van Graff. She asked if we could help her find her cabin. She explained that she had been staying at the Ritz and that her bags had been sent ahead and were somewhere in the ship. We found her cabin with no difficulty at all. It was just down the corridor and we asked if she would like to join us. She returned several minutes later resplendent in a purple silk dress. She told us that she just loved our accents and that she was originally from Snowdrop, Virginia. “We’re going to live in Sweetpea,” Victoria announced.

“Why that’s wonderful,” Violet said. “My first husband’s cousin, Thomas Jefferson Porpoise, has a house near there.’

Victoria and I looked at each other. “I’m to be the Thomas Jefferson Porpoise Distinguished Professor at Sweetpea
College
,” I said.

“Gee … No! Are you on your way now?”

“No,” I replied. “Magnus is going on a round-the-world cruise. We’re just here to see him off.”

“So it’s just Magnus! Well, I hope you are planning to go dancing in the evening, young man.”

“He’s a splendid dancer,” Victoria said smiling. “Knows everything: cha-cha-cha, samba, tango, fox-trot … He had an excellent teacher!”

“Gee!” said Mrs Van Graff again. “Well, keep the first one for me!”

When the steward announced that the ship was to sail soon, we departed leaving Magnus with his new friend. She was telling him about her recent stay in London. I winked at Magnus when we left; he grinned and refilled his glass.

Several days later we stood in a queue at Heathrow. We had said good-bye to Victoria’s family. We had locked up the house, and left our keys with neighbours. All post was to be redirected and the lawn was going to be mown once a week in summer. We were to stay at the Harvard Club in New York for two nights before flying to Washington. There was a slight worry about the cats, but we hoped they would get through customs and that the club authorities would not notice them.

Magnus was due to dock in New York during our stay and we planned to have lunch together. Everything went according to plan. When we arrived we checked in, unpacked our bags, and spent the day at the Metropolitan Museum. Victoria was anxious to look at their collection of eighteenth-century English furniture. “After all, I’m meant to be an expert,” she said.

The next morning, we met Magnus at the docks. He emerged smiling with Violet Van Graff at his side. She looked tired. Magnus was wearing a loud blazer with a bright pink cravat we had never seen before. Even though the weather was hot, Violet was still swathed in fur. We found a cab and drove to the
Harvard
Club where we had booked a table.

“Danced all evening, every evening.” Magnus declared. “Do you know they have a midnight feast? You can’t imagine how much lobster I’ve eaten!”

Violet sighed. “I’m pooped.” She looked at Victoria. “Do you know I had to buy him a new tux?” she said.

“And this nice blazer,” added Magnus.

“The tux he brought with him didn’t fit anywhere!”

“A bit short in the trousers, a bit long in the sleeves. And it got a bit tight with all the eating,” said Magnus calmly. “Violet insisted I got some new clothes. So she took me to the ship’s shop and they fitted me out. Jolly nice present. Something to remember her by on the next leg of my journey!”

“He looked like a bum,” Violet interjected.

“Perhaps more like a gorilla.” I smiled.

“Gorilla?” Violet asked. “Why a gorilla?”

Over lunch Magnus told us about the crossing. On the third night there was a terrible storm and nearly everyone was sick, including the Captain. Magnus, however, had been fine and had eaten two lobster dinners since there were so many empty spaces. Every evening he and Violet went to the show and then spent the rest of the night dancing. There were not enough men on board so Magnus was in constant demand. “Beautiful women kept asking me to dance,” he said. “I couldn’t believe it.”

“He’s quite a dancer,” Violet sighed. “Real stamina.” I hoped she was only referring to his dancing skills. For all her cosmetic camouflage, she was at least twenty years older than Magnus.

It turned out that she lived in a big apartment on the Upper East Side, just off Fifth Avenue. Her luggage had already been sent on from the ship. “You should see her suitcases!” said Magnus. “There were about twenty of them. All matching, from Louis Vuitton.” Violet looked complacent.

Magnus was due to reboard the
Queen Christina
at three, and we had to hurry back. We put Violet into a yellow cab and we promised to tell Thomas Jefferson that we had met her. Magnus looked relieved as she sped away. “Quite an ordeal. Didn’t know how to escape.”

“I imagine there are lots of elderly women on the ship,” Isaid.

“Place is loaded, in every sense of the word.”

“I think you’ve found your vocation, Magnus,” Victoria teased him.

“Never been so popular!” he said.

We watched as the
Queen Christina
sailed off. Magnus waved from the top deck. He had promised to email us on his journey.

The next day, when we arrived in Washington, we were met by Thomas Jefferson’s secretary who drove us to our cottage in Sweetpea. She gave Victoria a letter from her employer. It was an effusive missive inviting us to dinner and thanking her for sending him the Porpoise crest and motto. He said he had a little birthday present for her. She would see it at the ball which was to take place the following week.

Our new house was near the main gates. Built at the end of the eighteenth century, it was a small white clapboard folly and was furnished with beautiful examples of American colonial furniture. I hoped we could keep the cats from sharpening their claws on it. The boxes we had sent on were placed in the corner of one of the bedrooms. The trees were in full leaf in the small garden in the back. Parked in the drive was the red Rolls-Royce.

We found a note of welcome from Oscar tucked behind the telephone. He hoped that we had had a pleasant flight, and he and Nancy looked forward to seeing us at dinner in the Porpoise mansion. He assumed we would be able to find our own way and he included a map. Dinner was arranged for seven o’clock; dress was to be informal. Thomas Jefferson, he said, had also invited Joel and Mimi Perley. Dr Perley was the Head of the Religion Department.

“Unfortunate he has the same initials as John Pilkington …”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tried to be reassuring. “
Everything
’ll be fine!”

“I hope so,” said Victoria.

At six we arrived at the Porpoise mansion; Thomas Jefferson, wearing a navy blue blazer with the Porpoise coat of arms, greeted us at the door and led us into his private study. We had not seen this room before. The walls were lined with leather books; in the corner was a magnificent
eighteenth-century
walnut knee-hole desk. Oscar and Nancy were seated on a pink Regency sofa; opposite were Mimi and Joel Perley on a matching chaise longue.

Thomas Jefferson introduced us. Joel was wearing a sober pair of trousers and a polyester jacket in dark green; his wife, who was plump with long fair hair, was in a flowery summer
dress. Somehow they looked shabby beside Oscar in his
presidential
dark grey suit and Nancy in her expensively casual silk shirt-dress.

At seven, the butler struck a gong and led us into dinner in a small dining room with dark wood panelling. Thomas Jefferson sat at the head of a large mahogany table with Victoria on his right and Nancy on his left.

During dinner, Joel told me about the department while Victoria chatted to Thomas Jefferson. Mimi described her new job at the Sweetpea nursery-school at length to Oscar and Nancy who listened patiently. Dinner consisted of Southern fried chicken with sweet-corn fritters and fried bananas. The vegetables came from the estate, and there was lime chiffon pie for pudding. I realised I was going to have even more trouble with my weight in Sweetpea.

Over coffee, Thomas Jefferson announced that he had
something
to show Victoria; he went into the hall and returned with a huge red box. Ceremoniously he removed a vast, new, silver punch bowl inscribed with the new Porpoise crest and
Victoria
’s motto. He put it on the table and asked Victoria to read the inscription. “
Heb Porpoise, Nid Pwrpas
,” she declared in ringing tones.

“What does that mean?” Mimi asked in her soft, Southern voice.

“It’s Welsh. ‘Without a Porpoise, there’s No Purpose’,” Victoria said solemnly.

Thomas Jefferson gleamed. “Quite right!” said Oscar.

Joel looked at his wife. I detected a slight shrug pass between them. After dinner we sat in the drawing room. Thomas
Jefferson
offered the men Havana cigars that he had sent from London. He also opened a bottle of vintage port and handed out glasses. Joel and his wife refused all these refreshments and looked increasingly uncomfortable. Nancy asked if I had met the Queen when I received my OBE. I told them that I had seen her briefly and had shaken hands.

“Wow…” said Oscar. “Did she say anything?”

“Actually, she asked me about my latest book,” I tried to look modest.

“She’s read your latest book?” Joel asked incredulously.

“I wouldn’t think so – one of her aides prompted the
question
. They do their homework thoroughly.”

“And you were given a medal?” Thomas Jefferson inquired.

“A small one in a black box.”

“When are you supposed to wear it?” Mimi asked.

“Only for formal occasions,” I said.

“Ah, then you must wear it at Victoria’s birthday ball,” Thomas Jefferson announced. I though the ball was meant to be in honour of the new Chair, but I let it pass.

After coffee, Oscar and Nancy stood up and thanked Thomas Jefferson for his hospitality. The rest of the company followed. As we were ready to leave, Thomas Jefferson took
Victoria
’s hand, kissed it, and bowed. I glanced at Joel; he looked dismayed. On the way back to our cottage, Victoria looked worried. “You know, Harry,” she mused, “I think the Perleys could be a lot of trouble.”