The Campus Trilogy (40 page)

I was very much afraid she was right.

We left Las Vegas the next morning. Wolfie and Sylvester saw us off at the airport and we parted with expressions of mutual esteem. We had already arranged that they would be visiting the university in March with Luigi for the annual St Sebastian’s Feast. We hoped that the old squash courts, the site of the new Golden Arrow Casino, would be ready for the laying of a
foundation
stone. In my own mind, however, I was determined to bring the whole absurd enterprise to an end.

By the time we arrived home, there was very little of the Christmas vacation left. While we’d been away, Imogen had had a very successful few days at the Women’s Refuge. She felt that she had a better grasp of the whole issue of domestic violence and was ready to write her dissertation. To her relief, there had been no further visit from Helga Flanagan. I always felt
miserable
when it was time for her to return to Cambridge, but I knew that she was happy there and, from all accounts, was doing very well.

Emma had a great deal of work to do. She was immersed in a new programme on Lenten cookery and she needed to spend
several days in London. I was left to my own devices. As soon as the new term started, I made an appointment to see the
Vice-Chancellor
to tell him about our adventures in Las Vegas. However, Flanagan was currently away at a meeting of the
Vice-Chancellors’
Association, and his secretary told me I’d have to wait until the following week.

Therefore it was not until the Monday that I arrived in his office. In an affable bellow, Flanagan shouted at me to come in and I found him bubbling over with enthusiasm. ‘I’ve just got rid of that boring bloke, Ralph Randolph,’ he said.

Ralph Randolph was the Professor of Chemistry. I had hardly ever spoken to him, but I knew him by sight. He was a rather dour figure, invariably dressed in a dark suit and emitting a strange, vaguely metallic smell. ‘Is he old enough to retire?’ I asked.

‘Man has no vision!’ pronounced Flanagan. ‘No idea at all! We can’t go on with Chemistry. It costs a fortune and it attracts fewer and fewer students. So I gave him the opportunity of a
lifetime
. I offered to redecorate all those space-consuming
laboratories
and start a brand-new degree programme: Celebrity Studies. He isn’t exactly a ball of fire, but even he couldn’t fail with a
project
like that … But he’s got no imagination. He said that if he couldn’t teach chemistry, he would go elsewhere. So I accepted his resignation before he had a chance to change his mind.’ Flanagan roared with laughter.

‘What are you going to do with the other two chemists?’ I asked.

Flanagan wrinkled his brow. ‘Don’t know yet! They’ve all got tenure dammit, so I can’t just throw them out on their ears. I’ll have to think of something …’ Then the sun came out and he turned his attention to me. ‘Just the man I wanted to see,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’ He picked up a large piece of paper which was on his desk and handed it over. ‘This came from that artist fellow, what’s-his-name, Julian Bosie, this morning. It’s just a preliminary sketch to make sure we like it!’

I found myself gazing at a very realistic picture of St Sebastian being pierced with arrows. He had a body builder’s physique and there was an expression of ecstatic torment on his face. ‘Jolly good, isn’t it?’ the Vice-Chancellor was admiring. ‘It’ll be quite
an eyeful when it’s twelve feet high and hanging in the Great Hall.’

I took a deep breath. ‘It’s certainly memorable,’ I said.

Flanagan sat down behind his desk. ‘Now tell me all about Las Vegas. How did you get on?’ he asked. ‘Was Sylvester
hospitable
?’

‘Oh yes.’ I could at least be enthusiastic about the trip. ‘Yes. We were treated royally and I met Luigi, his brother-in-law, who is in charge of the whole Mancini empire. Everyone was extremely kind and generous and they gave us a delightful time.’

‘Splendid!’ boomed Flanagan, ‘Well that’s all settled then! I knew you were just the bloke for the job.’

‘Well …,’ I began hesitantly. ‘It’s not quite as straightforward as that…’

‘How do you mean… not as straightforward?’ The
Vice-Chancellor
frowned. ‘I hope you’re not going to be a wet blanket, Felix. We can’t afford to let this opportunity slip through our
fingers
. There’re plenty of other universities just waiting in the wings for this. What on earth’s troubling you?’

‘Well for a start … there isn’t really a training school to go into partnership with …’

‘What do you mean … there isn’t a training school. Sylvester told me quite specifically that they have a fair-dinkum training school. Absolutely the best. It’s called the King Michael Club or something.’

‘The King Midas Club.’ I hesitated. ‘Yes, Emma and I visited it.’

‘Well there you are then!’ said Flanagan.

I was determined to make my case. ‘But it isn’t a training school. There’s a small casino, but there are no lecture rooms and the library is not for the students. It’s just a collection of
pornography
for the guests.’

‘Pornography, eh?’ Flanagan was interested.

‘The girls do learn the practical skills of being a croupier and they all seem to know how to serve drinks and things like that, but the top floor is a brothel! It’s not a college!’

Flanagan laughed, ‘Really Felix, you do exaggerate …’

‘Honestly, I’m not. Emma came with me to see the place, and they were embarrassed and tried to keep her downstairs. But she
insisted on visiting everywhere and we were asked if we wanted to look over the girls. We can’t possibly go into parternship with them.’

‘And did you select a girl?’ Flanagan leered at me.

‘No, I certainly didn’t. Emma was there.’

Flanagan gestured for me to sit down in the armchair opposite his desk. ‘You shouldn’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘What they do in Las Vegas needn’t concern us.’

‘But, Vice-Chancellor,’ I protested. ‘I don’t think you’ve got the picture. It was just like the
Godfather
films. For all I know, they may be dealing in drugs and they’re certainly running a prostitution skam.’

Flanagan was growing impatient. ‘Well that means there’s all the more for St Sebastian’s to do on the academic side. Perhaps we can insist that the students stay for two terms rather than one?’ He thought about this for a moment and then shook his head. ‘I don’t think Luigi Mancini would take it. He’s paying us a couple of million as it is.’ He turned his attention to me again and he spoke sternly. ‘You must understand, mate. When I took this university on it was looking bankruptcy in the face. The
government
is giving us less and less money and is insisting that we attract more and more outside funding if we are to survive. The Mancini organisation is outside funding. We can’t afford to turn down this chance and there’s an end to the matter.’

Suddenly the frown left his face and he smiled. ‘Come on Felix. I know you can do this for the university. Las Vegas needs us and we need Las Vegas and before very long there will be super-
casinos
all over the United Kingdom as well. It’s only sensible to get in on the ground floor. I know you have your reservations, and quite right too, but you must see this as an opportunity, a
wonderful
opportunity, to clean up the gambling industry. Think of it as a moral challenge!’

‘But …,’ I protested.

‘No buts! It is all arranged! Luigi Mancini is due here in March for the St Sebastian’s Feast. The plans will proceed as agreed.’ Flanagan stood up. ‘Now I must go. I’m supposed to address the Rotary Club weekly luncheon. I’ll have another word with the Planning Officer for you.’ I noticed that Flanagan was wearing a Rotary pin in his lapel. He walked me to the door, patted me on
the shoulder and sent me on my way. I knew when I was defeated.

Later that afternoon, I met my Kant class for the first session of term. Both Mary and Rosalind were in superlative form. They had clearly put the traumas of the previous months behind them. Afterwards, I went to the Senior Common Room for a cup of tea. The room was unusually full and I found myself sitting next to John Pilkington. He was entertaining the former Dean, Wanda Catnip. Pilkington frowned as I sat down. ‘I understand you’ve been in Las Vegas.’ he said. I wondered if this were common knowledge. Wanda looked surprised, and I explained that the university was exploring the possiblity of setting up a degree in Casino Management.

‘A thoroughly reprehensible idea,’ Pilkington commented.

I pointed out that it was the Vice-Chancellor’s scheme, and that I had been deputed to organise it. Then, anxious to change the subject, I asked Wanda about her mother. ‘I met her in the St Sebastian’s bingo hall when I was doing some research for the new project.’

Wanda became very tetchy. ‘I can’t understand it,’ she said. ‘All Mother seems to want to do is play bingo. She goes with that cleaner, Mrs Brush. She’s been a thorough nuisance about it.’

‘Is your mother interested in gambling?’ Pilkington asked.

Wanda shook her head. ‘To begin with it was just a little
outing
for her, but she’s become more and more preoccupied with it. I can’t understand the attraction.’

‘She seemed very homesick for her old home in Leeds,’ I said.

Wanda became pink in the face. ‘Mother is absurd. She keeps whittering on about wanting to move into an old people’s home with her friends …’

‘Wouldn’t that be a good thing if she’d like it?’ I asked.

‘Nonsense!’ Wanda was very brusque. ‘Daddy bought that house to be security for me. It’s ridiculous to sell it now and lose all that capital just to satisfy a whim. It isn’t as if the
government
will pay for her to have residential care. The house would have to be sold and Mother probably wouldn’t like the home anyway.’

‘It’s very good of you to look after your mother as you do, Wanda,’ said Pilkington sanctimoniously.

‘Well, as you know John,’ responded Wanda Catnip, ‘I was never one to shirk my duty …’

A few days later, I was sitting in my office looking up
information
about the Mancini organisation on the internet. There was a knock on the door and it turned out to be Magnus back from his trip. I was delighted to see him. He was deeply tanned and was carrying a large package. ‘Hello,’ I said, ‘you look as though you had a lovely time.’

Magnus slumped into one of the plastic chairs I used for
seminars
. ‘Exhausted!’ he sighed. ‘Danced out! Talked out! Dined out! I never want to see another octogenarian as long as I live!’

‘How is Pushkin?’ I knew that Magnus’s cat did not like being left with cat-sitters.

‘Cross!’ said Magnus. ‘He’s sulking and he has a touch of
cystitus
. I know that wretched girl didn’t buy him his favourite cat litter whatever she says …’

‘Anyway,’ he continued, giving me the package. ‘I brought you a present.’ Inside was an African mask of a fat green frog. It looked uncannily like Flanagan. ‘Got it in the Caribbean,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t resist.’

‘That’s very kind. But really Magnus, where can I hang it? Surely not in my office.’

‘I thought you might wear it for departmental meetings. Give our colleagues a scare!’ he said. Then he handed over the new copy of
Private Eye
. ‘Now, I’ve got something important to show you. Turn to page twenty-three.’

There was a small heading which read ‘High Principals.’ Underneath was written:

Magnus smiled slyly. ‘Good isn’t it?’

‘Really Magnus! You go too far!’

‘Ah, but you haven’t heard the full story. When I was on my cruise, I had plenty of time to do research about our friend. Harry’s pal the Bishop of Bosworth seemed to know all about the errant brother: apparently he’s notorious in clerical circles. There have been a string of minor scandals involving rich women. Danielle is one of a long line. She first moved to England to avoid publicity from the French newpapers, who were giving her no peace. After her divorce she took a job in a hospital in Oxford where she worked as a radiographer. It was there she met Chantry-Pigg when he thought he had broken a toe tripping over a croquet hoop.’

‘Harry told you all this?’ I asked.

‘Most of it …’

‘What in the world did she see in him?’

‘No accounting for tastes,’ Magnus grinned. ‘Maybe the attractions of fat men wore off. I understand she’s very religious and the Roman Catholic Church let her down badly. Maybe the dear old Church of England can do better.’

‘Yes, I read about that on the internet. They didn’t hesitate to give Jacques Bousset an annulment to his marriage. Was he fat by the way?’

‘Gross I understand.
En Bon Point
was his fantasy: lithe young girls chasing after enormously fat men.’

‘After he won his Oscar, they apparently did.’

‘Life imitates art! But the point is, Chantry-Pigg and Danielle became close. He was never in his friary. So the ecclesiastical authorities hoped to avoid the occasion of scandal by sending him to us.’

‘Really! It’s too much! We’re not a dumping ground for
delinquent
clergymen …’