Bums on Seats (20 page)

“Yes, there are always a few every year. We don't place a limit on numbers. It's just a case of who applies. Some downstairs bedrooms in our halls of residence are specially equipped. You would be assigned one, if you wanted. Some of our lecture rooms are upstairs, but there is always a lift in those cases. In emergencies and power failure, the lecturer and three students would be assigned to get you back to ground floor. All toilet areas include one with wheelchair access. Almost all the university buildings are connected by covered pathways.”

“It sounds very good. Even if it was not, I would still choose to come!”

“Good, that's good! Anything else, Mary?” The girl had nothing further. Connie saw her out.

The morning continued, and then the afternoon, in a very satisfactory fashion. The only doubt during the entire day concerned a boy that Chloe suspected was inclined towards depression. But despite gentle probing, he remained resolute in wanting to go to England. He was certainly bright enough. When he'd left, Connie telephoned his Head Teacher. There was nothing on his record to indicate ill health. Chloe accepted him for the course and just made a private note for someone to keep an eye on his wellbeing at Pucklebridge.

“Do you want company at dinner tonight, Chloe?”

After a day at close quarters, Chloe was well attuned to Connie's body language. She divined that a negative response would be welcome.

“Connie, it's very good of you to offer. I think I'll just order something from room service and then relax in my room. Would you mind?”

Connie beamed. “Of course not. I shall be pleased that you unwind. I must go shortly then and see what that man is doing indoors. I expect he's had a good rest. Ha, ha, ha!”

Chloe wondered what Connie might have in mind for the evening but judged it better not to stray into that.

“'Bye for now then. See you in the morning.”

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

“Did you eat in your room then, Chloe?”

“Yes, I had stir-fried chicken with mixed peppers, onions and green vegetables. It was perfect. I drank two glasses of white wine and was in bed asleep by ten o'clock. You look in good form.”

“My man made us omelettes and we ate in front of the television. We had a quiet evening too, thanks. Ha, ha!”

“Good, good, Connie. I guess we should make a start then. Captain Kwame left a note at Reception for me, saying he would come for me at six o'clock today, for my appointment with the Minister. No doubt he'll want a report. So we'll need to finish by five o'clock and then compare our notes. OK?”

“Fine by me, Chloe. All those we see today have A Levels that accumulate to a figure between twelve points and sixteen points, inclusive. So they are at the lower end of our undergraduate catchment range.”

“That's all right, Connie. Some have to be at the bottom end for others to be higher, if you think about it! Let's try to get an idea of their suitability for a sustained course of study. Shall we call in Betty Galanga, then?”

The girl's academic achievements accumulated to 12 points. As she was first of the batch, Chloe allowed an extra five minutes for assessment. When she'd gone, they compared views. “That girl is right at the margin, in my view, Connie. She's not too well equipped intellectually. But, on the other hand, like most of the young people we have seen, she appears determined and is very optimistic. What do you think?”

“She comes from a country district of Zombek. She might well have seemed bright in her village. She might have been pushed. Or she might be suffering a little from the inadequacy, as yet, of our higher education standards. I would expect her to keep on and on trying. She's a happy girl.”

“All right, Connie, let's think about her again at the end of the day, agreed?”

By the end of the day, Betty Galanga was one of ten candidates who were on the lower border of acceptability. “Let's think about the marginal cases, Connie. What would you be inclined to do?”

“In the sixteen years of my country's independence, President Nweewe has created a strong national spirit. We are proud to be Zombekians. All those young people will want to do well for Zombek. Some of them are more gifted than others, but that's life. I am quite clear, from my side of the decision process, Chloe, that I would give all those we have seen a chance.”

“What if some should find it too much?”

“We should deal with that, if and when it arises. Some students must drop out from all your courses at Pucklebridge.”

Chloe felt it unhelpful to say that one point of keeping entry standards up was to keep failure rates down. Instead she replied, “You're quite right, they do. But would some of your young people feel shamed for life, by failing?”

“Oh, I'm against all that mollycoddling claptrap. Ha, ha, ha! As far as I'm concerned, you give people a chance. Then you give them a bit of support. Then, if they fail, they must find something else. At least they had a chance!”

“Connie, I'm with you up to a point.” Chloe did wonder what her Vice-Chancellor would have said, but continued, “Would you let me sleep on this overnight? Then if you meet me in the morning for an hour, before Captain Kwame drives me to the airport, I'll tell you how I see it.”

“Fine, Chloe, that's fine. I guess you'll be preparing to see the Minister now.”

The door burst open and Joshua Aiddo, Minister for Education emerged like a turbo-charged jack-in-the-box. It was one of his tricks. He never just opened doors, he attacked them. He rarely walked, he bounded. The impression he desired to give was one of limitless energy. One outcome was that those around him felt worn out by lunchtime.

“Hello again, Ms Hodgekiss, Chloe. How long has it been, three years?”

He'd just been reading the brief and knew the answer to the day. But that was another of his tricks. He always tested everybody. He was a clever but tiresome man who, if he hadn't wasted so much time on gamesmanship, would have climbed further up the power ladder that he so dearly loved.

“Hello again, Minister. I'm afraid it's four years since we met although, if you don't mind me saying so, you appear even fitter now.” Two can play games.

The Minister oscillated up and down on the balls of his feet with pleasure, before grasping her hand and dragging her off at speed to his visitors' chair.

“We're most grateful for the service that Pucklebridge is providing our country. I was very appreciative of the recent visit of Simon McGuire and Veronica Hamlyn. And I'm particularly pleased that you, personally, came and worked with Connie Masame. Have the arrangements been to your satisfaction?”

“Excellent, thank you Minister. Everything – rooms, administration, service – was perfect. Additionally, I've consumed so much iced lemonade and biscuits between times, I shall have to severely diet. I may have to get my jaw wired!”

“Pardon?” The Minister was nonplussed.

“Oh, I was joking, Minister. There is a clinic for obesity in England where they surgically wire together one's jaws for some time. They leave a gap for a tube so that one may drink. It's a way of guaranteeing reduced intake!”

“Ha, ha, ha! What a great idea! I've never heard of it.” He looked thoughtful. One of his wives just would not stop talking. “Well then,” he continued, “down to business. How did you find our young people?” He already had a report from Connie in his desk drawer.

“I saw the academically best twenty and the academically poorest twenty. As a total group, they more or less conformed to the view of your young people I formed when I was here before. They seem robust, pleased to be alive and determined. In short, very likable.”

“And academically, Chloe?”

She'd thought through very carefully what she would say. “As you must be aware, Minister, our Academic Registrar, Veronica Hamlyn, has confirmed the academic accreditation of Zombek's higher education process. So I don't consider it my business to audit the accuracy of her decision.” She paused deliberately before continuing. “Of the forty I saw, ten would have to work extra hard to achieve success. They would require extra attention in some way.”

“I wonder if we can forecast how those you didn't see might do.”

“Yes, Minister, we have evidence over the years that at least ten per cent of input could drop out at some stage, or be referred to re-sit examinations. And virtually all those students were a product of England's A Levels process.”

“Putting these thoughts together, Chloe?”

“I've already done so, at leisure in my room last night. In total, fifty Zombek students, out of a total catchment of two hundred and twenty, might find it very hard going.”

“Advise me then, Chloe, please.” He intended to make it sound as if the decision was hers. There was no affable smile now and his eyes were unblinking in concentration.

She paused. “I'm an idealist and an optimist, but also a pragmatist.” She paused again. “In England we can afford to be more demanding of input standards. At the risk of sounding impertinent, Zombek has more urgent needs of its potential young talent. You can less afford waste. I also believe that most problems yield to the application of sufficient resources.” She stopped, sat back and waited for him.

The Minister blinked then. This woman was not just the young female academic she appeared. She had given pointers and tossed the ball back. He had three more meetings to attend today, yet. Time was pressing.

“So I think you have said you accept that all two hundred and twenty qualify. Is that right?”

“Our Academic Registrar confirmed the quality of your A Levels. So Pucklebridge accepts them. So all two hundred and twenty qualify for admission, Minister!”

“I wonder, Chloe, what we can do then, to enhance their chances of success in their studies?”

“You've already agreed to finance extra teaching resources, Minister. I think, however, as a consequence of my visit, I need to get together with Simon McGuire and think up some extra measures. As I said, I'm an optimist! You may be assured of our very best endeavours!”

He made up his mind. “I have to conclude shortly. I really am much heartened by what I hear from you. England, if I may say so, is fortunate to have people like you and McGuire.”

“I'll be sure to tell him and thank you, Minister.”

“Just a final question, Chloe. How did Connie Masame perform in this exercise?”

“She was excellent Minister. Everything she arranged was perfect. She was extremely good with the students, and she was very good company too.”

The Minister already knew well that she was very good company. He recalled briefly a whole night in that very same hotel. What a splendid specimen of Zombekian womanhood. He jerked back into the present.

“Good, that's good. I'll write her a note of thanks. Well, I really must press on now.” He took her hand, looked directly into her eyes and said, “I've listened carefully and I'll make every effort to ensure the success of our project.”

Chloe had one more thing to say. She delivered it as a throwaway line on her way to the door. “I'm so glad I was dealing with you, Minister. I did worry that I might be dealing with one of your partners in industry. Someone like Anglo-Zombek. Despite their interests in educating your young, I feel they're too international to really focus on my part of our project. Goodbye.”

The Minister stared at the door as it closed behind her. After a while he chuckled. She was clever, that one. He picked up the phone and asked his Secretary to come and take a couple of letters whilst all this was fresh in the mind.

On the flight home Chloe sat next to a huge Zombekian. After the meal he started talking and carried on almost to Heathrow. He interspersed his sentences with laughs and he smiled a lot. It was fun at first, but wearing later. She might not have tired of it if she had known that he was the second husband of Connie Masame!

CHAPTER 21

“Let's go through to the sitting room, Simon.”

“Can I carry anything, Janet?”

“Oh, thanks. You push the trolley, I'll bring the teapot. All right?”

“Since the trolley bears the pastries, I'll settle for that, Janet!” He gave his landlady a broad grin and trundled the trolley, with its teatime paraphernalia, the short distance to her sitting room.

“Well,” she beamed, once they were settled with filled cups and tea plates, “How was Canada? It's a place I'd love to visit myself.”

“Superb, it was superb, Janet. We spent the entire four weeks backpacking on the British Columbia side of the Rockies.”

“That sounds strenuous, Simon.”

“No, not really. We didn't carry tents or sleeping equipment. If you plan it properly there are all sorts of places that offer a bed for the night. And you can get a steak and fries to go with it. It's a bit rough and ready, but perfectly clean and adequate. We just carried our clothes and toiletries and a few emergency bits and pieces. I was at college with the other three chaps. So, we all knew we'd get by together.”

“What's it like in that part of Canada?”

“Compared with here, a vast amount of space. If you put your mind to it you need never see anyone else at all. Another strong impression is the quality of the air. It's the equivalent of breathing champagne when you've been used to Asti. Then, of course, there's the scenery. Everything is on such a vast scale. After a bit, it sort of broadens your own horizons. I feel recharged!” he concluded with a burst of enthusiasm.

“How about the people?”

“Those that I saw, in that part of Canada, were pretty laid back, Janet. Made me feel part of a rat race here. Mind you, I'm not sure how I'd feel about having snow from October to April! They just seem to equip themselves and then get on with it.

“All in all, though, I'm glad to be back now in my little world.”

“You're looking in good shape anyway. Help yourself to food, do. What is the latest news at the University, then?”

“Well, my main preoccupation is getting the Zombek students off to a good start. In the end two hundred and eleven have arrived and we've got them all settled with accommodation in Halls of Residence. They start studies next week. Chloe Hodgekiss and I produced a pre-course foundation module for them, after she returned from Zombek in June. We've recruited two additional lecturers, one to help Chloe, one for me. We've also got our little pastor team in place. So the fun's about to begin!”

Janet went straight to the heart of the matter. “What impressions of the students did Chloe bring back from Zombek, Simon?”

Simon swallowed the remnants of an éclair. “She had more reservations than Veronica Hamlyn had on her return. Strange that. She felt they were likable and probably hard working, but that a sizable number of them might find the studies very challenging.”

“I'd rely on her view, Simon. I think you're wise to have produced the pre-course foundation module. Chloe sounds a very useful ally for you.” Janet sipped casually from her cup but nevertheless watched him carefully over its rim.

“She's splendid,” he enthused and in so doing confirmed an opinion Janet had been forming from their earlier conversations. “I'm confident of her abilities and her support.” He cut off short, realising how he must sound. But, happily, Janet appeared to be engrossed in checking the contents of the teapot.

Janet and Simon continued with their civilised encounter and its domestic rituals, for another half hour. By and by, Janet said, “Anything else of note then, Simon?”

“Just one thing really. The Vice-Chancellor wants to see me at ten-thirty on Monday morning. His Secretary couldn't tell me why. That's a bit worrying, isn't it? VC's don't normally spend time with normal mortals!”

“You shouldn't worry, Simon. He probably just wants a personal update briefing. At this stage of the project you're very important to Pucklebridge. Nothing untoward will be allowed to happen to you.'

“Thanks for the reassurance, Janet. I hope you're right.” He stretched cramped legs, gave a small yawn and continued, “I must collect something from the bookshop before it closes. It's been good to chat and re-live my Canadian experiences.”

“I only invited you so as not to feel guilty about eating eclairs, Simon!” she laughed. Five minutes later she walked him to her door.

“Janet, that was great, thanks. You're a very good friend to me, the best.” He faced the companionable figure, rested his hands on her hips and kissed her cheek. She put her hands to his shoulders and held herself, face pressed to his, for a few seconds. On impulse, in pure affection, Simon briefly transferred his lips to hers, which parted slightly. He experienced an instant, totally unexpected, frisson. He was shocked; it was like violating one's mother! He pulled quickly away in embarrassment, hoping she'd not felt the change. “See you soon, Janet,” he mumbled and left.

Sunday was usually a day Simon used for dealing with his post and checking up on his investments. He was amazed how quickly his credit card bills seemed to appear; a problem of getting older, he was sure. Thank goodness he'd dealt with his tax forms before going away.

But first there was need for sustenance. He beat together three eggs and a measure of milk, cut into shards two wafer- thin slices of leftover smoked salmon and stirred them in, added a generous grind of black pepper and tipped the lot into the sizzling omelette pan. The percolator gurgled a high glee accompaniment. Mmmm… wonderful!

By comparison, the post was a let-down. One advance notification that he'd drawn six lucky numbers to be entered in a junk mail lottery, one final demand for his telephone bill to be settled and a half price offer on a financial journal that was of no interest whatever. But then, nothing would have compared with the pleasant surprise contained in yesterday's single post item: another letter from the Bank in St. Helier confirming another deposit of £10,000.

Time to check the shares portfolio. Simon switched on his computer, entered his password and clicked around the icons. On July 1st he'd bought £8,040 worth of shares, at £7.58 each, in Whitbread, the brewers. The graph showed they'd moved up and down a bit since then, but now stood at £8.01. He'd hoped for better. He decided to hang on a bit longer. His other investment, Croda, in the chemical sector, had shot up. They'd been bought at £2:97 each on July 21st and now sold for £3.93. They were going really well. Should he let the profit run on? He decided not. Sold now he would easily clear £2,000 after expenses. He marked them as ‘sell.' He had an inclination to invest the proceeds in Bloomsbury Publishing shares, but decided to hold off. The total value of the portfolio now stood at £17,000, an all-time high for Simon. Things were definitely looking up!

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

“Good morning, Mr McGuire, I'll just tell the Vice-Chancellor you're here.” The secretary picked up the phone and announced him. She replaced the handset and smiled, “Go right in, Mr McGuire.”

“Good morning Simon, batteries recharged? Canada, wasn't it?”

How did he get to know all these things? His information service would beat MI5 any day of the week!

“Good morning, Doctor Mison. Yes, it was Canada and I feel in top form, thanks!”

“Coffee?” Mison buzzed his secretary.

They settled with the cups. Simon wondered what was coming. He didn't have long to wait.

“Sir Maurice and I are extremely pleased you've got the Zombek project up and running. It's an excellent piece of work. There's no telling what it might lead to. We could easily corner a brand new market. And all the income will be outside the control of the Government. The Board of Governors has discussed this. Consequently, Sir Maurice has authorised the creation of a new Chair, Professor of International Affairs. I'm delighted to offer you the opportunity to be its first incumbent!”

Simon was unable to respond for a few seconds. His heart pounded; there was a roaring in his ears, his face flushed. He had to put down his coffee cup for fear of spilling the liquid. Then he managed to stammer out, “It's a great honour. I appreciate it and accept. I assure you and Sir Maurice that I'll make a success of the job.”

“Well done, Simon. Very well done. It's from today. The starting salary is forty thousand pounds. There is no scale. Remuneration is entirely results-related and is reviewed annually. Make sure that your team shoulder their share of the burden too. We can't even contemplate failure. I fear it would have very undesirable consequences,” He looked hard at Simon before continuing, “but then I'm confident that you wouldn't let that come about, anyway.”

Having imparted the best piece of news of Simon's life, Mison seemed anxious to press on with whatever he passed his working days doing. Simon saw the man afresh. Perhaps Vice-Chancellors spent all their time in such macro activities, either fulfilling people's dearest wishes or, on occasion, dashing their hopes forever. He felt he would not, personally, be suited to great power over people's lives. Simon emerged from the office with a silly dreamy grin. Mison's secretary noted it and thought her boss must have used up his quota of good news for the day. There would be scowls, maybe even suppressed tears, from those who passed her desk by the day's end.

Details of the new post and of Simon's appointment appeared on notice boards in the afternoon, and word spread throughout the University by the end of the day. Simon, congratulated by friends, envied by others, became known to all. Instant fame! He'd just finished a call to Janet with his news when his 'phone rang.

“Simon McGuire, can I help you?”

“Hi, Simon, its Luke here. I've just heard your news. Congratulations! Do you fancy a pint to celebrate?”

“Thanks Luke. I'm amazed and absolutely delighted. I'd love a pint. Could be at The Dragon at 9.00.”

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

“Here's to you, Simon. I'm sure you deserve it! I guess that makes you the youngest professor on the campus.”

“Cheers, Luke. Yes, it does and I'm still coming to terms with it. Mmm, the beer tastes great, tonight! This project's given me a ten-year career boost. Now we have to make a success of it.”

“What now then, mate? How will you go about it?”

“Your young people are settled in and we start in earnest tomorrow. Chloe and I produced a pre-course module that takes them through the first month. It will give them confidence and help them get up to speed. We've briefed our lecturing team.”

“Sounds helpful, Simon. When I first came to school in England everything seemed strange at first, let alone the studies. Mind you, it will help that they are being part of a big group. They can all support each other.”

“By the time we get towards the end of the first term in December, Luke, we shall have a realistic first assessment of abilities and aptitudes. Then we shall know the true size of our task.”

“Hang about, I'll get the refills…”

Trade was brisk. The landlord cheerfully carried out his preferred version of weight training, exercising his right arm continuously on the old-fashioned real-ale pump at the counter.

“My uncle was impressed with both you and Chloe at your meetings in Zombek. You'll find he's a useful ally. Don't hesitate to contact him, if you ever need backup.”

Simon thought it unlikely that he'd take up the offer, but replied, “I liked his style too. I'll remember what you say, thanks.”

Just how wrong can you be? Two teenage girls at the next table, with empty glasses, giggled and smiled at them. Luke gave him a questioning glance. “Don't think so,” Simon muttered. He still had sad memories of another young girl's unhappy experience.

After a minute or so, one of the girls said in a loud voice, “Bloody gays!”

On Tuesday morning at 10.00 am, Simon, Chloe and the other two members of their team faced the 211 students in the lecture theatre. They would spend the next two hours mapping out the three years ahead. The Zombek project was launched in earnest.