The Campus Trilogy (37 page)

‘It was dreadful,’ I agreed.

‘Do you think Maureen Pilkington would be offended if I sent her a BBC helpsheet on healthy eating?’ my wife asked.

We were sitting down to breakfast the next morning when Imogen and Judith, Patricia Parham’s partner, came through the front door. We knew that Imogen had spent the night on duty at the Women’s Refuge and it seemed that she had met Judith there. Judith was also a volunteer. They both looked sleepy as if they had been up most of the night and they were clearly worried.

Emma provided them both with orange juice, coffee and toast and Imogen began the story. ‘It was a fairly quiet evening. There were the five usual women and their children. They live in the Refuge for the time being while they’re waiting for injunctions against their partners. Anyway they’d just gone up to bed and I was having a session with Jan, who’s the senior paid worker – she’s being really helpful about my dissertation …’

‘I was upstairs, settling one of the children who had earache,’ Judith broke in. ‘Anyway there was a ring at the door bell …’

‘Jan went to answer it,’ Imogen continued, ‘and Liz, the other paid worker, went out to join her. I peeked through the door and it was Mrs Flanagan, the Vice-Chancellor’s wife. As soon as Jan
had taken her into the kitchen, which is the only warm place in the house, I shot upstairs to warn Judith.’

‘You see, it’s all meant to be confidential,’ explained Judith. ‘If we happen to know a woman who comes in, then we have to make ourselves scarce. Well both Imogen and I met Mrs Flanagan after that awful priest’s inauguration ceremony. I’m not sure she’d remember us, but it’d be very embarrassing if we met again at a university social occasion.’

‘So we stayed upstairs and let Jan and Liz cope with the
situation
. It was serious. Helga was crying and she was in real pain. Apparently Professor Flanagan had kicked her and she had fallen down the stairs. Jan had to drive her to the casualty department at the hospital. She was bruised all over; she wrenched her
shoulder
trying to save herself on the bannister; a couple of ribs are cracked and she has sprained her ankle badly. She was lucky. They initially thought it was broken.’

‘What time was this?’ asked Emma.

‘About eleven.’

Emma and I looked at each other. ‘We saw them last night at a party,’ I said. ‘Professor Flanagan was very drunk. Helga
persuaded
him to go home but he was quite docile when they left.’

‘That’s not all,’ said Judith. ‘After Jan had put her in the car and they had gone to hospital, we didn’t feel like going to sleep so we had more coffee and Liz told us that this wasn’t the first time. She looked back in the record book and Helga’s been in three times since September.’

‘Why doesn’t she leave him?’ I asked.

Emma looked thoughtful. ‘I must admit I was worried about her. I thought there might be something odd. When we went to that party at Cuckoos’ Roost, she and I had a good chat. She had made a really splendid German feast and I wanted her to come on my programme to talk about food from the Black Forest. She seemed to be very pleased with the idea.’

‘What happened?’ asked Imogen.

‘It was strange. I rang up a couple of times. She was completely different, monosyllabic and shy. She was anxious to get off the phone as soon as possible and she made it clear that she didn’t want anything to do with me. I couldn’t understand it. She was so friendly at the party.’

‘That’s how it often is,’ said Judith. ‘Violent men terrorise their wives. They undermine their confidence and want them entirely to themselves. What they’re doing is isolating them and cutting them off from any female support or help …’

‘Anyway you haven’t heard the end,’ Imogen interrupted. ‘At seven in the morning there was a tremendous hooting outside the front door and someone leaned on the doorbell for a couple of minutes. I looked out of the window and there was the biggest Mercedes-Benz you’ve ever seen in your life with the
Vice-Chancellor
stamping beside it. I heard Jan trying to persuade Helga to stay in the Refuge, that she’d be safe there, but then I heard Helga say, “No, No! He really does love me. It was my fault. He just doesn’t know his own strength sometimes”, and she limped out of the house, climbed into the car and off they went.’

‘That’s what happens,’ said Judith resignedly. ‘These women are so beaten down that they believe that it’s their own fault that they’re battered. It’s really sad …’

Emma was conscience stricken, ‘I wish I had known. Perhaps I could have helped the poor woman, but I don’t expect there’s anything anyone can do.’

After Judith had left and Imogen was having a bath, Emma took me on one side. ‘Be careful of the Vice-Chancellor, Felix. You know he’s a bully. You saw how he treated John Pilkington. Judith’s story just confirms it. No wonder Helga’s so frightened. But it’ll have bad implications for the university. I’ve seen it in one or two departments in the BBC. Once there’s a bully in charge, a whole bullying culture takes hold and it sweeps through the entire organisation. Do look out …’

It was time for me to leave for the university. I had a busy day so I gave Emma a kiss and set out on my way.

When I arrived in my room, Mrs Brush was emptying the waste-paper basket. I asked her how she was and then enquired after old Mrs Catnip. Mrs Brush was full of it. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you’ll never guess. Elsa didn’t play bingo last night. She’d had a small win last week and she decided she’d try blackjack. She said she’d been reading up about it. Well… she won more than a hundred pounds.’

I thought of Sir William Dormouse. Clearly Mrs Catnip was another cardsharp. How did these old people do it? Mrs Brush
was in full flow. ‘She’s always had a very good memory you know. Even at bingo she always remembers all the numbers that are called in every game. I think that’s why she’s good at cards. She won every hand yesterday.’

‘Did she say anything about a book I gave her?’ I asked.

‘She mentioned something about learning how to count cards … I really don’t remember … but she’ll make a fortune if she goes on like this …’

‘She ought to be careful not to let on that she has a system for winning. You remember Professor Harry Gilbert?’

‘Oh yes. I never got to clean his room, but I know he had some nice things. A real gentleman, he was. Always said “Good Morning”. I heard he went to America …’

‘He did. The reason I mention him is because his father-
in-law,
Sir William Dormouse, is an expert on blackjack. He wins every time. Anyway he was thrown out of the casino in Las Vegas because he won too much money. Mrs Catnip must be careful.’

‘I’ll tell her. Thrown out of the casino because he won too much! Well I never!… She’ll be tickled pink!’ And with that Mrs Brush picked up her cleaning equipment and stumped off to her duties.

When I was alone, I turned on my computer. There were two emails from Pilkington. The first said that the department had entered into three more partnerships. We were now going to award degrees to two Bible colleges in Japan and to a Lutheran seminary in Sweden. I was sure the Vice-Chancellor would be pleased with this, but I wondered how we were going to assess written work in Swedish and Japanese.

The second email was marked URGENT. It read as follows:

I was sorry Magnus was away on his cruise ship. His
comments
would have been a tonic. As it was, I deleted the email off my machine. I certainly was not going to sign such a petition.

I told Emma about it at dinner that evening. We were eating a cheese soufflé which was a delight. Emma was incensed. ‘What a bigot!’ she declared. ‘His wife can’t cook; their house is a
disaster
; and his opinions are appalling. Really, Felix, I don’t
understand
your new colleagues. Are they all like that?’

‘Maybe. They won’t talk to me, so I really don’t know them. But from what I’ve seen, I think they will probably all sign this idiotic petition.’

‘But surely the Vice-Chancellor won’t pay any attention.’

I laughed. ‘I shouldn’t think so!’ Then I became serious. ‘Actually, you have to hand it to Pilkington. He’s brave. He knows what Flanagan’s wrath is like, but he still sticks to his principles.’

Emma snorted. ‘I wish he’d be brave about something sensible.’

It turned out that I was the only member of the Theology department not to sign the petition. Pilkington informed my
colleagues
of this fact in another email. I felt hostility all around me. At coffee and lunch-time I was isolated and everyone turned aside if they happened to pass me in the corridors. I looked
forward
more and more to Magnus’s return.

Then, just before the winter break, we all received a Christmas card from Flanagan. On the front was a German woodcut of a cuckoo clock with a Christmas greeting. Inside the
Vice-Chancellor
had scribbled a personal message: ‘Enjoy yourselves in Las Vegas. Remember me to Sylvester. Best regards, Alf and Helga.’ Also in the envelope was an enclosure.

It was a glossy pamphlet. At the top was a company logo of an arrow piercing a heart with ‘Mixed Blessings’ written in fancy lettering underneath. At the bottom of the page Mixed Blessings was described as a subsiduary company of St Sebastian’s University specialising in high-class catered events.

Inside the text read:

At the bottom of this were a series of photographs. There was a picture of the Great Hall; another of a bride and groom standing in the quadrangle; a third of a lesbian couple both wearing
massive
white wedding dresses; and a close-up of two handsome young men holding hands. I shook my head and laughed. It was clear that the Vice-Chancellor had taken no notice at all of the petition. What, I wondered, would Pilkington and the
department
of Theology do now?

The three of us had a very happy Christmas at Emma’s parents. They were no longer young, but they still loved having Emma, her two brothers and all the grandchildren to stay. Emma took charge of the cooking. After we had recovered from all the cheer and over-eating, it was time for our trip to Las Vegas.

It was an extraordinary interlude, wholly different from our usual life. There was no nonsense about catching a train to the airport. A massive limousine drew up at our front door and took us directly to Heathrow. We were shown to a plush first-class lounge where everything was, as they said, ‘complimentary’. We helped ourselves to excellent orange juice, coffee and rolls. Then we read all the daily newspapers as we waited for our flight to be
announced. Our suitcases had been whisked away, but we were assured that they would turn up like a couple of obedient dogs when we arrived at our destination.