Full Circle (24 page)
The note's second sentence read,
They know about Serengeti.
Rupert Madden fumbled through the remainder of his remarks in record time. The Bodleian master watched in bemusement as the MVP chairman found his way back into his seat.
The master said, “Mr. Austin, perhaps you would care to respond?”
Adam rose to his feet, patted Peter on the shoulder, and began, “My chairman is unfortunately not well, and so has asked me to speak on his behalf.”
“And you are?”
“Adam Wright.”
Peter cleared his throat. “Adam is my protégé.”
Adam began, “As some of you know, both Peter and his late wife were students at Christ Church. Last night Peter told me that he had felt her presence very strongly these past few days. Amanda Austin was apparently a great one for the promotion of legacy. And that is what I would like to speak with you about today. The vital importance of building a proper legacy.”
Adam's adrenaline surge was such that he could be both intensely involved in his talk and observe himself from a distance. He realized that he had slipped into a role. He was not merely mouthing Peter's speech. He was speaking with the chair-man's quiet intensity. And confidence. And ease. Adam strode to the front of the room and reflected that there was nothing more he could wish for himself than to become a man reformed in Peter Austin's mold.
“Before that, however, I am obliged to respond directly to Mr. Madden's comments. There are two points he failed to mention, both of which are of crucial importance. The first, I am sorry to say, is that over the past three quarters our company has lost four-teen percent of its value. As have your holdings. This is the first period in our history that we have not made a profit. Up to last spring, through all the trials and turmoil we have faced together, we have produced a steady return. Which brings us to the second point, which is that over the sixteen years of our existence, capital invested in Oxford Ventures has increased in value by four hundred and eighteen percent. This is fourteen percent more than the same capital would have earned with MVP.”
The words came far easier than any scene he had spent weeks rehearsing. Adam saw with piercing clarity what it meant to portray such a man, and to do so from the inside out. To be a man who cared deeply for his company and his employees and his investors. A man of compassion. A man of vision. A leader. “Certainly the past year's difference in our respective performances is by far the most dramatic of this entire period. There is nothing whatsoever we can say about our disastrous results except that we are sorry. Deeply, deeply sorry. We have let you down.”
Adam punctuated an end to that thought by walking around the headmaster's chair. But his destination was not his adversary's seat. Instead, he walked to the far corner of the chamber. He stood over a massive blackened chest, one he had never seen before. But it looked precisely as Peter had described it the previous evening. Adam raised his voice so that it echoed through the stone chamber. “This, as most of you know, is the chest of Sir Thomas Bodley. Safekeeping of money and valuables posed obvious problems in the days before bank vaults and strong rooms. The answer was the medieval treasure chest, which was not protected by locks so much as by weight. This particular chest is banded by both iron and plastered stone. It weighs almost four tons. The result is a chest so heavy thieves could not lift it. The top is fastened by interconnected locking mechanisms and requires four keys to be turned in careful tandem, making it the forerunner of a modern safe's numerical dial.
“In the late thirteen hundreds, Bodley left his money chest and all it contained to this august body. His bequest financed the Bodleian Library, which remains the foremost university library in the world.”
Adam left the chest and returned to the table. He rested one hand upon the peak of the master's chair and continued, “Less well known is the history of the chair now occupied by our host. This, my honored colleagues, is the Drake Chair, made from timbers taken from the forecastle of the
Golden Hind
. Which, as you are no doubt aware, is the ship Drake used to circumnavigate the globe. It stands as a silent reminder that Oxford University's geography department became the first to accurately map the globe.”
His hand rose and fell once upon the chair. “I ask you to give careful consideration to the concept of legacy. The pressure and pace of this modern era leave us little room to consider what will happen when we are gone. Yet the hall where we are gathered is testimony to that simple fact. We come, we serve, and we depart.
“What is our legacy? Profit or something greater? What gift do we bestow upon those who will follow? Whom, by our actions, do we serve? What is our ultimate purpose?”
Adam returned to stand behind his seat. “Peter Austin did not establish Oxford Ventures merely to compete in the arena of profit. Yes, of course, we have a responsibility to generate revenue. But our
purpose
was to create a legacy. How? By aiding the Oxford community in bringing new ideas to the market. By helping to transform theory into commercial reality. We established a second division which fosters and aids and promotes the local scientific community. Why? Certainly not merely for profit. Many of these ventures will not show a profit for years, per-haps decades, and some never. Oxford Ventures holds to this perilous course because there
is
something greater than profit alone. Because we
do
serve a higher purpose. Because our vision must be focused
beyond
the human horizon.”
He paused there for quiet emphasis, then concluded, “Legacy. A vital concept. One we must instill in those around us, those entrusted to our care, the only way we can. By example.”
A
s soon as Adam left with Peter for the meeting in town, Honor sat down at the kitchen table and cupped her face in both hands. All the fear and worry and sleepless distress she had hid-den from her husband came out in that single gesture. Kayla walked over and put her arm around her. Such a simple action. One friend being there for another. She did not say anything, just let Honor know she was not alone.
Eventually Honor lifted her elbows off the kitchen table and swept the hair from her face. “I was going to the Christmas market today. I wanted to surprise Peter with a tree and a wreath for the door. But just now I don't feel up to doing anything.”
“I'll go. I'd like to.”
Honor studied her. “Must you truly leave so soon again for Africa?”
“Yes. My number two, his name is Tanyo. He's Tanzanian. Never been outside his country. He is immensely trustworthy. But he isn't able to handle the project on his own.”
“I remember your father saying once that a good assistant does not necessarily make a good leader.”
“That's Tanyo in a nutshell.”
Honor smiled at the memory. “He was talking about you at the time. Describing why he had never pressured you to join his firm.”
“I would have been miserable.”
“I understand that now. But understanding doesn't make it any easier for your father, having you so far away.”
“I won't make it so long between trips. Not ever again. I promise.”
Kayla watched the woman's beautiful features melt slightly. Then recover with sheer internal determination. “I pretend to sleep at night. Knowing I'm awake will only add to his concerns. But I know he's not resting well. He is so worried about me. The house, the firm, the baby, everything all bundled together.”
Kayla said, “I want to give Daddy back his money.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. That is so incredibly kind. But Peter wouldn't dream of acceptingâ”
“Adam managed to get back a hundred and fifty thousand pounds. From Geoffrey. I mean, Derek. We didn't talk about it last night, there was so much ground to cover about Daddy's company and MVP. But I have it. And I can give Daddy back his funds.”
Honor stared at her a long moment. “Peter would never accept.”
Kayla started to argue, but Honor's fragile state defeated her. She would bring it up with Peter.
Honor said, “I'm so glad Adam went with Peter today. And to have you join us at church this morning. You don't know, you can't imagine, how much that meant. Especially today.” She hesitated, then asked, “Would you mind terribly if we prayed?”
Kayla neither spoke nor shut her eyes. But she allowed Honor to take hold of both her hands, then sat there and listened to the soft words wash over her. Honor tightened her grip in regular pulses of tension, of confession, of fear. Even so, Kayla felt nothing save a remarkable sense of peace. The calm from that moment, and the way they had embraced at the front door, two friends sharing a very difficult time, stayed with Kayla as she drove into town.
The Christmas market stretched the entire length of Broad Street, nestled among the colleges and their walls of honeyed stone. Sunlight and ruddy faces and good cheer and a fierce winter wind filled the market. Kayla bought a tree so large she could only fit it into Honor's car by bending it slightly. She went back for a holly wreath, and on a sudden impulse purchased a second. The air was laden with chatter and cloves and cinnamon and fresh-baked tarts. Kayla walked until the cold worked its way through her clothing layers and into her bones. There was no reason for how she felt, so light it seemed as though only the holly wreaths kept her from floating away.
When Kayla pulled up in front of the house on Norham Gardens Road, the word that best described the way she felt about stopping by was
natural
.
Professor Beachley greeted her with a delighted, “Oh, my dear Kayla, what a lovely wreath. Set it there in the hall and come sit down.” The old lady beamed as Kayla settled into the seat beside her. “I had the most marvelous chat with your father this morning.”
“Daddy stopped by?”
“We spoke while your young man changed clothes. I had quite forgotten what a distinguished gentleman your father is. Despite his rather frail state, he remains so very handsome. I haven't seen Peter since the funeral. He apologized repeatedly for not making it by since. Which was quite unnecessary.” She patted Kayla's hand. “I must say, your own young man is quite the looker.”
“Adam was an actor. On television.”
“Well, I'm hardly surprised. The both of you harbor an air of refined beauty tempered by rather large measures of the world. Not in a bad way, mind. You have been tested by fires which lie far beyond the border of my ivory-towered realm.”
Kayla found it the most natural thing in the world to tell her what she faced. Just launch in and share the story. Of her growing feelings for Adam.
When Kayla lapsed into silence, the professor asked, “What do you suppose might be the true purpose behind Oxford's tutorial system?”
Kayla responded with the first thing that came to mind. “To get under the student's skin.”
Sylvia Beachley laughed, and her face shed a dozen years. “You are closer to the truth than you might suppose. The task is to
illuminate
. A student comes with a problem, a hope, a pain, a quest. More often than not, students are so tightly enmeshed in their issue, they fail to see vital elements clearly. Which brings us to the matter at hand. Might I have a go at reinterpreting this issue of yours?”
Kayla took a firm grip on the chair's arms. “All right.”
“You are at an impasse. Your dreams and ambitions and passions have been reduced to rubble. You have been made an outcast from hope. Your journey home from Africa was driven by desperation. And what happens, but
another
man appears. A wounded hero with his own burdens. One who accepts your quest as his own, who moves heaven and earth to aid you. Suddenly you find yourself within a swirling vortex of new questions and unexpected challenges, which you feel utterly unable to confront. Even your need to return swiftly to salvage what you can of your project is under challenge.”
