The Campus Trilogy (41 page)

‘I agree. But unknown to his order, Danielle bought a house in
St Sebastian’s on the proceeds of her divorce. She now seems to spend her time cooking for our chaplain.’

‘And nobody knew anything about it?’

‘They do now!’ Magnus smiled like a snake. ‘Everyone reads
Private Eye
and even the Church of England will have to do something about the situation. I’ve known the assistant-editor for years and he was delighted with the story!’

Clutching his magazine, Magnus went off to his office; we planned to meet for lunch at one.

When I arrived in the Senior Common Room, he was sitting at a table with Patricia Parham. They were both bent over the
article
, giggling. I ordered a cheese and onion roll and a bag of crisps and joined them. ‘Have you seen this?’ Patricia asked.

‘Magnus showed me.’

‘It was the talk of the Senate meeting this morning,’ she said. ‘Apparently, Chantry-Pigg has already sent in a doctor’s note saying he is suffering from stress and will be off for several weeks …’

‘Did the Vice-Chancellor say anything?’ I asked.

‘Not formally, but the rumour is he’s delighted. He thinks the article’ll help with recruitment and put St Sebastian’s on the map. He’s also threatening to approach Mrs Bousset for a donation and enlist her to give a series of lectures for a new degree course he’s dreamed up in Celebrity Studies!’

‘Typical! That man never disappoints!’ declared Magnus. ‘By the way, how’s the casino going, Felix?’

‘Don’t ask! The Vice-Chancellor is working on the Planning Officer to develop the squash courts site, and the Mancinis are coming in March for the St Sebastian’s Feast. Emma and I have just got back from Las Vegas. It was quite a trip!’

On my way back to my office, I passed the chapel vestry. There was a neat sign on the door which read, ‘Father Chantry-Pigg is unwell’.

There was a message waiting for me on my answerphone from the Vice-Chancellor’s secretary: Flanagan wanted to show me something, and he asked if I could come to see him straightaway. What I wondered had happened?

I found the Vice-Chancellor standing in front of the largest, most baroque gold frame I had ever seen. It was propped across
his sofa and it took up half his room. ‘Look,’ he said, handing me a letter, ‘this is the surrounding for the St Sebastian portrait. It arrived this morning along with this note …’

The missive was typewritten on extraordinarily thick cream paper. At the top was an engraved crest of a large fish standing in an upright position on a scroll. Inside the scroll was a motto – ‘
Heb Porpoise, Nid Pwrpas
.’ The letter itself read as follows:

‘You’re going to want me to organise the unveiling ceremony,’ I said.

‘I was hoping you’d suggest it.’ Flanagan was all charm. I reminded myself firmly that he was a bully and a wife-beater. ‘You’d better liase with Mr Porpoise to see which day is most convenient for him,’ he continued. ‘Then we’ll have a little party. Cake and sparkling wine should be enough, but we must keep the old bloke happy.’

‘What are you going to do with the frame in the meantime?’ I asked. It really was gigantic.

‘The porters will come and hang it in the Great Hall. I’m expecting them any minute … and we’ll exile all my boring
predecessors
to the Senior Common Room.’

As we were speaking, the Head Porter and his spotty young assistant came into the room. Even they were rather daunted by the size of the frame. ‘Well I hope we can get it though the doors …’ the Head Porter remarked. ‘And how are we supposed to hang it on the walls? That’s what I want to know. It’ll bring down all the oak panelling.’

The Vice-Chancellor was very soothing. ‘I’m sure you’ll manage, Mr Thomas,’ he said. ‘I always know I can count on you.’

‘It’s my best I do, Sir, as you know. Look out there, young Kevin. Don’t hit the corner. Art, this is!’ And the two of them staggered off in the direction of the Great Hall.

‘Tell them where to put it, would you mate,’ said Flanagan to me and left us to it. I followed the pair down the corridor and we spent an exhausting afternoon hoisting and fixing St Sebastian’s new acquisition to the Victorian woodwork of the Great Hall.

The next couple of weeks were uneventful. Crispin Chantry-Pigg failed to reappear and Mrs Sloth reverted to her old standard of incompetence in the library. On the one occasion I spoke to her, it was obvious that she had been crying. I was returning some books and I thought I might as well broach the subject. I asked her as Trustee of the Chapel if she had any idea when Father Chantry-Pigg was returning to work.

‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ was Mrs Sloth’s pastoral response.

‘I think
Private
Eye
may have given the wrong impression,’ I said, trying to pour oil on troubled waters. ‘It may be that Madame Bousset really is only Father Chantry-Pigg’s
housekeeper
. We don’t know for certain …’

‘Oh that woman! She’s so rich! No one can compete against her!’ She dumped a pile of books onto the counter and
disappeared
into her private little sanctum.

As promised, the famous picture arrived at the end of the month. I did not see it. I arranged for a picture-framer to come in to fit it into the frame and he and the porters were closeted in the Great Hall for a whole morning stretching the canvas and putting it up. Meanwhile a blue velvet curtain had been hung in front of it so it could be revealed in all its splendour at the
unveiling
ceremony.

All the pictures of previous Vice-Chancellors had been
transferred
to the Senior Common Room, much to the dismay of the academic staff. As Magnus remarked, it was a sure-fire recipe for indigestion. The Great Hall had been emptied of chairs. It was swept and polished under the supervision of Mrs Brush and then the door was locked. There was no entry to anyone. The whole university was agog to see the new work of art.

Thomas Jefferson Porpoise was scheduled to arrive at four o’clock on the afternoon of the 10th of February. The
Vice-Chancellor
and I were waiting at the front entrance in the biting cold to receive him and, sure enough, a silver-grey Rolls-Royce drew up in front of us as the cathedral clock struck the hour. Thomas Jefferson was exactly as I remembered from Sweetpea. He was probably in his mid-seventies, with white hair and a slim figure. Julian Bosie was also slender, but his hair was gold. He had dressed for the occasion in an artist’s smock and a Parisian beret. He would have fitted in nicely among Crispin
Chantry-Pigg’s
troop of incense-swinging acolytes.

Flanagan was effusive to the pair. He enquired about the
success
of their trip and, on hearing that they were intending to visit Sir William Dormouse in Shropshire, he embarked on an
enthusiastic
account of our visit. I wondered if Thomas Jefferson Porpoise had thought to purchase a few hot water bottles. Given the capaciousness of his car, I thought it probable that he was bringing his own generator to combat the cold of the castle.

We led our visitors into the Great Hall where a large number of academics were already assembled. The Vice-Chancellor introduced the pair to Registrar Sloth and to Dean Parham. I was amused to notice that Patricia had made no effort whatever with her appearance. Then it was time for the opening ceremony.

I melted into the background and found myself standing beside Magnus, Patricia and her partner, Judith. I noticed several of my theological colleagues, including John Pilkington, dotted about the audience. Then Flanagan, who was standing between Thomas Jefferson and Julian, struck a glass with a spoon and began his speech:

‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘today marks the beginning of a new era in the history of our university. During the Victorian period our founding-fathers created an institution whose
mission
was to spread the good news of the Gospel to far-flung parts of the earth. We, the inheritors of this great tradition, have a
similar
goal: to enlighten the world with wisdom and knowledge. It is in this spirit that we are launching several new degree
programmes
. One of our most exciting ventures is our new degree in Casino Management in partnership with the King Midas Casino College of Las Vegas. As you all know, the government is
intending
to establish super-casinos throughout this country in
imitation
of the network already established by our American cousins.’ Flanagan bowed in the direction of Thomas Jefferson, who smiled back. It was clear that the two had already achieved a profitable understanding.

‘We here at St Sebastian’s,’ continued Flanagan, ‘will make our contribution to this endeavour by providing training of the very highest quality to those who find their life’s vocation in this most specialised industry.’ I thought momentarily of Shortie, Wolfie Goldberg, Leftie, Divine de la Rue and the African tribesmen.

Flanagan was enjoying himself. ‘We have a very exciting plan for redeveloping the old squash courts into a state-of-the-art casino and you will be delighted to know that I heard only this morning that the university architect has just been granted full planning permission for his designs. In the meantime this historic Great Hall will be playing its part. Not only will it act as a
forerunner
for our future casino, but it has now been recognised as a licensed venue for marriage and commitment ceremonies.’ I
looked over at Pilkington and saw him wince. So much for his petition …

‘These wonderful life-enhancing ceremonies will be watched over, dare I say presided over, by this magnificent portrait of our patron saint which is soon to be unveiled. May I introduce to you all our honoured guests, the world-famous philanthropist Mr Thomas Jefferson Porpoise VI and his young protegé, the
distinguished
portrait-painter Mr Julian Bosey. Thomas Jefferson is a most generous patron of the arts, and it is his wish to donate this portrait to the university. This is an extraordinarily generous gift and each and every one of us who is part of St Sebastian’s is deeply in his debt. I have asked him if he might be willing to say a few words before we actually see the portrait.’

‘Oh God!’ said Magnus, ‘More oratory …’

Thomas Jefferson Porpoise was not backward in coming
forward
. In his soft Southern drawl he began, ‘Friends. It is a great pleasure for both of us to visit your august institution and Julian and I are surely honoured by the kind things your President has just said about us.’

Magnus closed his eyes. ‘I did not vote for Flanagan for President!’ he said.

‘To my mind,’ Thomas Jefferson continued, ‘this portrait is an inspired work by one of the most talented young artists of our generation. I know my young friend will not be embarrassed if I tell you that he is generally recognised as one of the greatest
portrait
painters working in America today. It is a particular
privilege
to be able to give something like this to one of the foremost educational institutions of Great Britain, a country to which we, as Americans, owe so much. I feel real joy to think that this
painting
will grace this beautiful hall for hundreds of years to come. May it be an inspiration to the young people who study here and, in its small way, contribute to the friendship, the very warm friendship which already exists between our two wonderful nations.’

Then he stepped forward and pulled a purple cord. To my great relief, the curtains covering the portrait parted. There was a hush as the assembled audience stared at the canvas.

The figure of St Sebastian stood in its full twelve feet of glory. It was obvious that Julian Bosie had used his own face for a
model. It was a very competent likeness. The body, however, belonged to someone who took a daily dose of steroids and spent every waking hour lifting weights in a gym. Every vein and every muscle stood out in sharp relief from the bright pink flesh tones. At strategic intervals, arrows skewered bank notes to the body and streams of blood glistened redly from the wounds. Behind the head was a gold halo and the face, uplifted to Heaven, bore an expression of orgasmic torment.

‘Bugger me!’ said Magnus.

Patricia and Judith started giggling uncontrollably. I looked over to Pilkington to see his reaction. I was not disappointed. He went purple, spluttered to several theologians standing nearby, and stormed out of the room. Several members of the Theology department followed close behind. I realised something needed to be done fast. I caught Magnus’s eye and together we began to clap. Patricia and Judith followed our lead and soon the whole room was applauding wildly. Bosey swept off his beret and made a tremendous bow. Thomas Jefferson and Flanagan were thrilled by the audience reaction and smiled at each other. Then it was time for the wine and cake to be served.