Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less (29 page)

“Well, what do you know?”

Very little, thought Stephen.

He guided Harvey to his reserved seat in the
balcony. He did not want his guest to be able to see the individual men and
women too clearly. The truth of the matter was that the senior members of the
university in the hemicycle were so covered from head to toe in gowns, and
caps, and bow ties, and
bands, that
even their mothers
would not have recognised them. The organist played his final chord while the
guests settled.

“The organist,” said Stephen, “is from my
own college and is the choragus, the leader of the chorus, and deputy professor
of music.”

Harvey could not take his eyes off the
hemicycle and the scarlet-clad figures. He had never seen a sight like it in
his life. The music stopped and the chancellor rose to address the assembled
company in vernacular Latin.

“Causa
hujus convocationis est ut...”

“What the hell’s he saying?”

“He’s telling us why we are here,” explained
Stephen. “I will try and guide you through it.”

“Ite Bedelli,’” said the chancellor, and the
great doors opened for the bedels to go and fetch the honourands from the Divinity
School. There was a hush as they were led in by the public orator, Mr. J. G.
Griffith, and one by one he presented them to the chancellor, enshrining the
careers and achievements of each in polished and witty Latin prose.

Stephen’s translation, however, followed a
rather more liberal line and was embellished with suggestions that their
doctorates were as much the result of financial generosity as academic prowess.

“That’s Lord Amory. They’re praising him for
all the work he has done in the field of education.”

“How much did he give?”

“Well, he was Chancellor of the Exchequer.
And there’s Lord Hailsham. He has held eight cabinet positions, including
Secretary of State for Education and finally Lord Chancellor. Both he and Lord
Amory are receiving the degree of Doctor of Civil Law.”

Harvey recognised Dame Flora Robson, the
actress, who was being honoured for a distinguished lifetime in the theatre and
Stephen explained that she was receiving a Doctor of Letters, as was the Poet
Laureate, Sir John Betjeman. Each was given his degree by the chancellor,
shaken by the hand and then shown to a seat in the front row of the hemicycle.

The final honourand was Sir George Porter,
Director of The Royal Institution and Nobel laureate. He received his honourary
degree of Doctor of Science.

“My namesake, but no
relation.
Oh well,
nearly through,” said Stephen.
“Just a little prose from the
professor of poetry, John Wain, about the benefactors of the university.”

Mr. Wain delivered the Crewian Oration, which
took him some twelve minutes, and Stephen was grateful for something so lively
in a language he could understand. He was only vaguely aware of the recitations
of undergraduate prize winners which concluded the proceedings.

The chancellor of the university rose and
led the procession out of the hall.

“Where are they off to now?” said Harvey.

“They are going to have lunch at All Souls,
where they will be joined by other distinguished guests.”

“I would love to have gone to that,” said
Harvey.

“I have arranged it,” replied Stephen.

Harvey was quite overwhelmed.

“How did you fix it, Professor?”

“The registrar is most impressed by your
past help to Harvard and I think they hope you may be able to assist Oxford in
some small way, especially after your wonderful win at Ascot.”

“What a great idea.”

Stephen tried to show little interest. The
time had not yet come to move in for the kill. The truth was that the registrar
had never heard of Harvey Metcalfe and Stephen, because it was his last term at
Oxford, had been put on the list of invitations by a friend who was a Fellow of
All Souls.

They walked over to All Souls, just across
the road from the Sheldonian Theatre. Stephen attempted, without much success,
to explain the nature of All Souls to Harvey. Indeed, many Oxford people
themselves find the college something of an enigma. Its corporate name, the
College of All Souls of the Faithful Departed of Oxford, resonantly
commemorates the victors of Agincourt. It was intended that masses should for
ever be said there for the repose of their souls. Its modern role is unique in
academic life. All Souls is a society of graduates distinguished either by
promise or achievement, mostly academic, from home and abroad, with a
sprinkling of men who have made their mark in other fields. The college has no
undergraduates, admits no female Fellows, and generally appears to the outside
world to do much as it pleases with its massive financial and intellectual
resources.

Stephen and Harvey took their places among
the hundred or more guests at the long tables in the noble Codrington Library.
Stephen spent the entire time ensuring that Harvey was kept occupied and was
not too obvious. He was thankfully aware that on such occasions people never
remembered whom they met or what they said, and he happily introduced Harvey to
everyone around as a distinguished American philanthropist. He was fortunately
some way from the vice chancellor, the registrar and the secretary of the
University Chest.

Harvey was quite overcome by the new
experience and enjoyed listening to the distinguished men around him–something
that had rarely happened to him before. When the meal was over and the guests
had risen, Stephen drew a deep breath and played one of his riskier cards. He
deliberately took Harvey up to the chancellor.

“Chancellor,” he said to Harold Macmillan.

“Yes, young man.”

“May I introduce Mr. Harvey Metcalfe from
Boston.
Mr. Metcalfe, as you will know, Chancellor, is a
great benefactor of Harvard.”

“Yes, of course. Capital, capital. What
brings you to England, Mr. Metcalfe?” Harvey was nearly speechless.

“Well, sir, I mean, Chancellor, I came to
see my horse Rosalie run in the King George and Elizabeth Stakes.”

Stephen was now standing behind Harvey and
made signs to the chancellor that Harvey’s horse had won the race. Harold
Macmillan, as game as ever and never one to miss a trick, replied:

“Well, you must have been very pleased with
the result, Mr. Metcalfe.” Harvey turned as red as a beetroot.

“Well, sir, I guess I was lucky.”

“You don’t look to me like the type of man
who depends on luck.” Stephen took his career firmly in both hands.

“I am trying to interest Mr. Metcalfe in
some of the research we are doing at Oxford, Chancellor.”

“What a good idea.” No one knew better than
Harold Macmillan, after seven years of leading a political party, about flattery
on such occasions. “Keep in touch, young man. Boston was it, Mr. Metcalfe? Do
give my regards to the Kennedys.”

Macmillan swept off, resplendent in his
academic dress. Harvey stood dumbfounded.

“What a great man. What an occasion. I feel
I’m part of history. I just wish I deserved to be here.”

Stephen had completed his task and was
determined to get out before any mistakes could be made. He knew Harold
Macmillan would shake hands with and
talk
to over a
thousand people by the time the day was over and his chances of remembering
Harvey were minimal. In any case, it would not much matter if he did. Harvey
was, after all, a genuine benefactor of Harvard.

“We ought to leave before the senior people,
Mr. Metcalfe.”

“Of course, Rod.
You’re the boss.”

“I think that would be wise.”

Once they were out on the street Harvey
glanced at his Jaeger le Coultre watch. It was two-thirty.

“Excellent,” said Stephen, who was running
three minutes late for the next rendezvous. “We have just over an hour before
the Garden Party. Let’s take a look at one or two of the colleges.”

They walked slowly up past Brasenose College
and Stephen explained that the name really meant brass nose and the famous
original brass nose, a sanctuary knocker of the thirteenth century, was still
mounted in the hall. One hundred yards farther on Stephen directed Harvey to
the right

“He’s turned right, Adrian, and is heading
towards Lincoln College.”

“Fine,” said Adrian, and turned to his two
sons. They stood awkwardly, aged seven and nine, in unfamiliar Eton suits ready
to play their part as pages–not that they could understand what Daddy was up
to.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Stephen continued slowly towards Lincoln and
when they were a few paces away Adrian appeared from the main entrance of the
college in the official dress of vice chancellor, bands, collar, white tie and
all. He looked fifteen years older and as much like Mr. Habakkuk as possible.
Perhaps not quite so bald, thought Stephen.

“Would you like to meet the vice chancellor?”
asked Stephen.

“That would be something,” said Harvey.

“Good afternoon, Vice Chancellor, may I
introduce Mr. Harvey Metcalfe.” Adrian doffed his academic cap and bowed. He
spoke before Stephen could continue:

“Not the benefactor of Harvard University?”

Harvey blushed and looked at the two little
boys who were holding the vice chancellor’s train. Adrian continued:

“This is a pleasure, Mr. Metcalfe. I do hope
you are enjoying your visit to Oxford. Mind you, it’s not everybody who’s shown
around by a Nobel laureate.”

“I have enjoyed it immensely, Vice
Chancellor, and I’d like to feel I could help this university in some way.”

“Well, that’s excellent news.”

“Look, gentlemen, I’m staying here at the
Randolph Hotel. It would be my great pleasure to have tea with you all later
this afternoon.”

Adrian and Stephen were thrown for a moment.
Surely the man realised that on the day of Encaenia the vice chancellor did not
have a moment free to attend tea parties.

Adrian recovered first.

“I’m afraid that is impossible. One has so
many responsibilities on a day like this, you understand. Perhaps you could
join me in my rooms at the Clarendon Building, which will give us the chance
for a private discussion?”

Stephen immediately followed suit and said, “Excellent.
Will four-thirty
be
convenient for you, Vice
Chancellor?”

Adrian tried not to look as if he wanted to
run a mile. They had only been standing there for about two minutes, but it
seemed to him a lifetime. He had not objected to being a journalist, or an
American surgeon, but he genuinely hated being a vice chancellor. Surely
someone would appear at any moment and recognise him for the fraud he was.
Thank God most of the undergraduates had gone home the week before.

Stephen thought of Jean Pierre and James,
the finest string to their dramatic bow, loitering uselessly in their fancy
dress behind the tea tent at the Garden Party in the grounds of Trinity
College.

“Perhaps it would be wise, Vice Chancellor,
if we were to ask the registrar and the secretary of the University Chest to
join us?”

“First-class idea,
Professor.
I will ask
them to be there. It isn’t every day we have a distinguished philanthropist to
visit us. I must take my leave of you now, sir, and go to my Garden Party. Nice
to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Metcalfe, and I look forward to seeing you
again at four-thirty.” They shook hands warmly, and Stephen guided Harvey
towards Exeter College as Adrian darted back into the little room in Lincoln
that had been arranged for him. He sank into a seat.

“Are you all right, Daddy?” asked his elder
son, William.

“Yes, I’m fine. Let’s go and have some ice
cream and Coca-Cola.” Both boys were transformed–ice cream and Coca-Cola
were
much more important than helping with that silly gown.

Adrian slipped off all the paraphernalia–the
gown, hood, bow tie,
bands
–and placed them in a
suitcase. He returned to the street just in time to watch the real vice
chancellor, Mr. Habakkuk, leave Jesus College on the opposite side of the road,
obviously making his way towards the Garden Party. Adrian glanced at his watch.
If they had run five minutes later the whole plan would have struck disaster.

Meanwhile, Stephen had gone full circle and
was heading towards Shepherd & Woodward, the tailor’s shop which supplies
academic dress for the university. He was preoccupied with the thought of
getting a message through to James. Stephen and Harvey came to a halt in front
of the shop window.

“What magnificent robes.”

“That’s the gown of Doctor of Letters. Would
you like to try it on and see how you look?”

“That would be great. But would they allow
it?” said Harvey.

“I’m sure they will have no objection.”