The Campus Trilogy (62 page)

‘That makes me feel better,’ I said. ‘It’s good of you to say so. I really do not want to corrupt the morals of your nice boys …’

The Precentor laughed. ‘With a seriously old fertility statue? I don’t think so. If you only knew what sites they look up on the internet, then you’d have cause for concern.’

‘But don’t you block all the pornography on your computers?’ I asked.

‘We do in school, of course,’ Percival reassured me. ‘But what they get up to at home is another matter.’

‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘what am I to do with this letter? What should I say to the anxious Mrs Holmes?’

‘Tell her the truth.’ The Precentor was very downright. ‘Say that the statue is of an ancient fertility goddess. Point out that the Choir School is intending to take Rupert’s class on a visit to the British Museum next term and he is likely to see several similar examples there. If she really wants to protect him from this sort of thing, then she must let the School Secretary know as soon as possible that Rupert should not be included in the expedition. Then, if you feel very energetic, you might download pictures of similar statues from various world-famous museums. That will stop her in her tracks. Then say you’re sorry that Rupert was sick, but that it is a valuable lesson in life to learn when you have had enough.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘You sound very experienced about this sort of thing. Do you often receive these kinds of letters?’

The Precentor sighed. ‘I would say about three in an average week. However little education she herself may have had, the modern parent believes that she knows best. Most of my mothers seem to spend all their time on the telephone comparing notes with one another and insisting that their little paragon of
boyhood
has been hard done by.’

I laughed. ‘I don’t envy you your job,’ I said.

Despite his triumph at the Choirboys’ Treat, there had been no thaw in my relationship with Reg Blenkensop. He continued to look straight through me and ignore whatever I said.
Marmaduke was fully restored to health by the end of Boxing Day and there was no improvement in his behaviour either.

One lunchtime, just before the New Year, I was waylaid by one of the cathedral ladies. She formed part of the regular
volunteer
cleaning corps, whom Victoria persisted in referring to in private as the ‘Holy Dusters’. In fact they did an excellent job and it would have cost the Chapter a lot of money if they had to be replaced with professional cleaners.

She was in a state of considerable distress and was clutching one of the cathedral needlepoint kneelers. It was in a dreadful condition. It was smeared with blood; it had been heavily clawed so many of the threads were hanging loose and much of its
stuffing
was falling out.

‘I found this when I was polishing in the nave,’ she said. ‘There was a half-eaten blackbird beside it.’ She wiped her nose with her handkerchief. ‘I’d have felt bad whichever kneeler it was, but as it happened I embroidered this particular one in memory of my dear mother when she died eight years ago. It took me six months.’

There was nothing I could say. I commiserated with her and promised that if she could mend it, the cathedral would of course pay the cost of the materials. She was not to be consoled. When we parted she was still lamenting and vowing vengeance on (I quote) ‘that nightmare of a cat’.

On the afternoon of New Year’s Day, Magnus rang up to wish us a Happy New Year. We had not seen him over the holidays since he and Pushkin had been spending Christmas with his Aunt Ursula. She was a lady of immense age who had brought Magnus up and who continued to live independently in Norfolk. Victoria invited him round for a drink.

He was in fine form though he was not pleased to hear of the complaint about his statue. ‘Silly cow!’ he said of Mrs Holmes. ‘I expect she has no idea what young Rupert gets up to when he’s alone in his bedroom with his computer.’

‘That’s exactly what the Precentor said,’ I remarked.

‘Well he would know. Believe me, the young all have a detailed knowlege of every possible sexual perversion from bestiality to paedophilia and beyond. If my students spent a quarter of their
time on their Hebrew grammar that they do poring over the Internet, there might be some hope for Semitic scholarship in the future …’

Victoria disappeared into the kitchen to find some clean glasses while I finished off a letter I was writing. Meanwhile Magnus picked up a copy of
The Times
.

I was startled by him saying ‘No!’ very loudly.

‘What’s the matter?’ I inquired.

‘Haven’t you read the paper yet?’ he asked. ‘Look at this!’

He handed over the page and there, in the middle, was a
picture
of a familiar face. Underneath was printed ‘New Baron: Professor Alf Flanagan Joins the Opposition Front Bench in the House of Lords’.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Victoria had come back into the room. ‘Let me see!’

There was no mistake. Alf Flanagan was listed among the new barony creations in the New Year Honours. It was a political appointment. He was being rewarded for his services to higher education and he was to be the new Party Spokesman for
universities
and colleges.

Victoria, as the daughter of a baronet, was familiar with the ways of the world. ‘Someone important in the Opposition is sponsoring him. You don’t get that kind of honour just for beavering away and being a thoroughly dutiful good egg.’

Magnus and I looked at each other. ‘Lord Barridon!’ We said in unison.

Victoria nodded. ‘I should think so. It’s a little thank-you for bailing out the druggie son and heir. And probably the nice little earner that was thrown in the direction of the glamorous Miss Olive O’Shea didn’t go amiss either.’

I shook my head. ‘I suppose it really does work like that …’

‘’Fraid so, Harry,’ said Victoria cheerfully. ‘Yet again, it’s nothing to do with the greatest good for the greatest number!’ she grinned as she looked at me.

Magnus was abstracted. ‘Of course … that explains it!’ he said.

‘Explains what?’

‘I need my drink,’ Magnus insisted. ‘It explains Flanagan’s behaviour. I couldn’t understand why he was so cavalier about
the Quality Control Inspection. It would have reflected very badly on him if St Sebastian’s had failed. And he knows as well as anyone how incompetent both Sloths are …’

Victoria handed over a large whisky and soda. She nodded. ‘Yes… it all makes sense. He’s known this was in the pipeline for at least a year and, of course, once he’s left, the University of St Sebastian’s will be nothing to do with him. His reputation will be completely intact.’

‘But he can’t go straightaway,’ I said.

Magnus laughed. ‘You won’t see him for dust! I shouldn’t think any of us will meet Lord Flanagan ever again.’

Later that evening, I was sitting at my desk working on my
sermon
for the next Sunday matins. As I typed away on my
computer
, a message flashed up that a new email had just arrived. I was bored with my own efforts so I looked up my new mail straightaway. It proved to be a letter from Flanagan addressed to all members of the university staff. It had been copied to me as Visitor.

The next day the Vice-Chancellor’s elevation was the front page story in the
St Sebastian’s Gazette
. In a lengthy interview, the Vice-Chancellor described the numerous progressive
innovations
he had made since he had arrived at the university and he outlined the policies he would be advocating in the House of Lords. Again it was made clear that he would be leaving for London immediately.

The Times
newspaper announced Flanagan’s new title. Despite all his professed fondness for the city of St Sebastian’s, he was not going to be associated with it formally. Instead, his
elevation
was gazetted under the title of Baron Flanagan of Fandonegal. ‘Quite right!’ was Victoria’s comment. ‘After all, it was to the Honourable Tristram Barridon’s time at Fandonegal that he owes his promotion.’

‘That’s not fair,’ I objected. ‘Presumably what finally pushed Lord Barridon over the edge was the generous salary St Sebastian’s University was persuaded to cough up for his wife.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Victoria. ‘Olive’s wages are simply Flanagan’s way of getting the university to pay his London rent. You should regard it as a pension for him.’

At that moment, the telephone rang. It was Felix. ‘Harry,’ he said, ‘have you seen the email Flanagan sent out?’

‘I read it too. What about
The Times
and
St Sebastian’s
Gazette
?’ I asked. ‘It seems that he’s leaving straightaway.’

‘Well the quality inspectors are coming in February. He couldn’t afford to hang about,’ Felix pointed out.

‘He was very laudatory about the Sloths,’ I said.

‘Fine words butter no parsnips! We all know they’re hopeless. Jenny Sloth’s made a mess of everything. She’s lost more
documents
than she’s found. And as for that dozy individual her
husband
. He seems to be asleep most of the time. Do you think the inspection can be delayed? After all, there should be a
Vice-Chancellor
in charge on these occasions.’

‘I have no idea, Felix. I’m only the Visitor. I suppose it’s up to Council to decide what should be done.’

‘Aren’t you the Chairman?’

‘No, I’m not even a member. The Visitor is essentially a
figurehead
, or the final arbitrator if there’s an appeal. But he’s not supposed to take executive decisions.’

‘But the Council has always been hopeless. They never do
anything
except rubberstamp Flanagan’s decisions.’

‘They’ll have to act now,’ I said. ‘They’ve no alternative.’

Felix paused. ‘Look, Harry,’ he said. ‘I’m serious. There’s a vacuum at the top without Flanagan. The most senior person in the university is the Registrar. Sloth is as bad as his wife. He gets
everything wrong. You know he’s a narcoleptic – he’s usually asleep during meetings. He can’t be left in charge.’

‘It’s not up to me, Felix.’

‘Oh come on, Harry, you’ve got to face facts. You’ll have to intervene. We’ll fail the Quality Control inspection if you don’t, and then the whole place will be in serious trouble. Come on, you’re a clergyman. It’s a matter of Christian charity.’

I thought this was a bit thick coming from Felix. He was, after all, Jewish.

‘I’m sorry, Felix. I can’t. The university statutes won’t allow it and anyway, I’ve got my hands quite full enough with the cathedral.’

Felix sighed and we said our good-byes.

I put the telephone down and it immediately rang again. This time it was Magnus. ‘Did you see Flanagan’s email?’ he asked. ‘Really that man goes too far …’

‘He probably always has …,’ I said.

Magnus was not to be halted. ‘I was in the middle of writing a really damning review of a new Hebrew grammar. It’s written by some rabbi who teaches at the University of West Wales of all godforsaken places. It’s intended for beginners, but that’s no excuse. It’s grossly over-simplified, full of errors, completely unscholarly. No wonder the young can neither think nor
remember
if they’re fed pap like that …’