The Campus Trilogy (73 page)

‘Bastards!’ he exclaimed.

I continued to try to be soothing. ‘Really, Robert, it would be best to avoid it if at all possible. You admit you’ve definitely made one mistake with regard to Lady Barridon. You don’t want to go through all this and end up being humiliated in public …’

‘But what can I do?’ he turned to me like a child.

‘Why don’t you just hold up the whole process? Of course there’ll have to be cuts and of course you must manage them. No one denies that. But there’s no need to do it now. Why don’t you wait at least until the Funding Council’s final report? Then you’ll be able to see the way forward.’

‘But what about the budget?’ he wailed. ‘It’s supposed to be all sorted out by the end of this month.’

I felt I was gaining my point. ‘These are very exceptional times. You’ve inherited a difficult situation. Why don’t you just postpone everything? After all, the new Vice-Chancellor, when he or she is appointed, will want to have some say in the decision. Everything is in a state of flux. Just play for time. In my
experience
, nothing is very often the best thing to do.’

Suddenly Sloth relaxed in his seat. He looked as if he could go to sleep at any moment. ‘That sounds a very sensible solution,’ he said. ‘Thank you for being so sympathetic, Harry. It always helps to talk things through …’

The next day, just after we finished breakfast, the telephone rang. It was Sir William. Victoria looked grave and was clearly upset. She kept saying, ‘Oh dear!’ and ‘I’m so sorry to hear that!’ and ‘Are all the rest of you all right?’ When she hung up, she came to talk to me in the study. ‘Mrs Germaney died in her sleep last night,’ she said.

I found the news hard to accept. ‘But we only saw her the day before yesterday. She came to your class. She seemed fine.’

‘Apparently,’ Victoria said, ‘She wasn’t feeling her usual self yesterday. Daddy organised a Scrabble tournament after dinner, but she didn’t want to play long and she went to bed early. Well, this morning one of the carers went in to wake her for breakfast, but she couldn’t stir her. They called the doctor and he said she had died.’

‘That is sad,’ I said. ‘She was a nice old lady.’

‘Daddy’s comment was “What a way to go!” and he’s quite right. She was eighty-nine you know. Still Matron has asked if you could ring and make an appointment to go over to the Priory. They want you to do the funeral. I said that would be all right.’

‘Of course,’ I agreed. ‘What are the arrangements?’

‘Daddy wasn’t sure. He rather thought it would be a
cremation
.’

‘That’s fine,’ I said, and I took the telephone and rang up Matron.

The next day the two of us walked over to the Priory. Matron had arranged that the local undertaker would be present too. There was no family to consult and, beyond a cremation, which Mrs Germaney had paid for in advance, there were no special requests. Victoria went to have a little chat with the residents while we held our conference. I asked Matron what had happened.

‘It wasn’t entirely unexpected,’ she said. ‘She’s had heart
trouble
for years.’

‘And is there no family at all?’ I persisted.

Matron shook her head. ‘None that I know of. She told me once that neither she nor her husband had brothers or sisters and they had no children of their own. She certainly never had any visitors. According to our forms, a firm of solicitors is listed as her next of kin. They always paid all the bills for her board and lodging here.’

‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘It does sound sad.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Matron. ‘She was a cheerful person. When she first lived here, her husband was still alive. They came in together. He died about five years ago.’

‘Were they from St Sebastian’s originally? Why are there no friends?’

‘No. They lived in Manchester and they left their old life behind when they came here. He made a lot of money, I believe. He invented some new form of linoleum and it was very successful.’

‘So why did they settle here?’ I asked.

‘Ah,’ said Matron. ‘Mrs Germaney told me all about it once. Her husband grew up in a village near St Sebastian’s and, when he was a boy, he went to the Cathedral Choir School. After he grew up, of course, he was swept into the Second World War. He was that generation. He fought in the Far East and spent much of the war in a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp.’

‘Oh no!’ I said.

‘Yes. Apparently it was every bit as bad as everyone says. When he came out he weighed about five stone. Anyway, what kept him alive through all the horrors was his memories of the St Sebastian’s buildings. He went over and over them in his
imagination
while he was living the nightmare of building the Burmese railway. So when he retired and there was nothing to keep them in Manchester, he was determined to end his days here. After his experiences, he wasn’t religious, but he spent a lot of time in the cathedral. I was always ordering a taxi for him.’

‘And were they happy?’ I asked.

Matron nodded. ‘I hope so. He wasn’t an easy man, but they were very fond of each other. I think it was a good time for both of them. Edith Germaney was a very sensible woman.’

The funeral arrangements turned out to be quite
straightforward
. The St Sebastian’s Crematorium was just outside the city, beyond Arrowsmith College and the Law Courts. In the event, the only people present were two representatives from the Manchester factory, a dark-suited lawyer from London, Victoria, myself and a good-sized party from the Priory. It was enough. I think Mrs Germaney herself would have been happy about it.

By the end of April things had settled down. There was no more talk of redundancies at the university and the residents of the Priory were back to their usual routine. Even the cathedral seemed to be running smoothly. Then, on the last Sunday of the month, at Sung Eucharist, Canon Sinclair asked if he could see me after the service.

It was a beautiful spring day and the garden was just beginning to come into flower. We walked across the Green Court together towards the Provost’s House, I moderating my steps to his. Standing on the doorstep, he admired the flower beds. ‘I shall try to do some gardening in my retirement,’ he said as we stepped into the hall.

We went into the study and I poured out sherry for both of us. Canon Sinclair took the glass with a shaky hand. ‘Provost,’ he said, ‘I think the time has come for me to leave St Sebastian’s. There’s no doubt this Parkinsons thing is getting worse. I don’t feel I’m as much use as I should be. The cathedral needs someone more able-bodied.’

I hated to hear him speak in this way. I knew he was devoted to his job and he was much loved by the congregation. ‘But, Graham,’ I said, ‘you’re a crucial figure in the Chapter. We can’t do without you.’

The old man smiled sadly. ‘It’s kind of you to say that. I don’t deny I shall miss it all very much, but I’m due to retire at the end of the year in any case. I’m not as well as I was and I think I ought to step down by the end of the month.’

I nodded. ‘Well if you’re really sure … We’d be more than happy to have you until December.’

‘No, Harry. The time has come. I’ve talked it over with Jean. We must go.’ He looked up at me. ‘Do you know, I’ve been here on and off for more than sixty years?’

‘No!’ I said.

‘Yes … I was a choirboy in the cathedral and I was educated in the city. I went away to Oxford of course, but I did my first curacy nearby. Then I was vicar of the parish church for many years before I became a residential canon.’

‘And where will you live now?’ I asked.

‘Not too far away … When we inherited a little money, Jean and I bought a small cottage in the country, just outside the city. Over the years we’ve rented it out. The lease is just coming to an end and the tenants want to leave. So everything’s come together. It will be just fine. Yes, just fine!’

‘At the very least, I hope you’ll continue to worship here,’ I said.

Again Canon Sinclair smiled. ‘We will indeed! But be assured,
Provost, I intend to take a back seat. No more sermons. And no more duties.’ He looked out of the window and sighed. ‘It’s a pretty place. Full of memories. But there’s a time for everything. And the time has come for me to go.’

I had no sooner said goodbye to Graham Sinclair when young Derek Trend appeared on the doorstep. He was someone I always felt vaguely uneasy about. He was polite, helpful, amenable and eager. Yet I had no sense of him as a person. I had no idea of his real views or feelings. I felt I did not know him at all. On this occasion he looked excited and asked if I could spare a minute to talk with him.

‘I know you’re about to have lunch, Provost,’ he said. ‘And I don’t want to trespass on your time. It’ll only take a moment. But I felt I had to see you.’

I led him into the study and asked if he would like a glass of sherry. ‘No, really, I don’t want to detain you,’ he said. ‘You see, I’ve just had a phone call from the Bishop of Morton. He has
formally
invited me to be his Archdeacon. I’ve known for a little time that it was a possibility. I come from that part of the world, you know, but I never thought I’d actually be chosen. Anyway, I said that of course I’d have to speak to you about it first.’

I smiled. He was so young and so nakedly ambitious. ‘I see,’ I said. ‘And you want to go …’

He took a deep breath. ‘Yes, Provost, I do rather. I’ll miss St Sebastian’s, of course. But there’ll be more responsibility. A new challenge. I feel I’m being called to something important.’

‘Then you must certainly accept the offer.’ I said. ‘When do they want you?’

‘The Bishop didn’t give an actual date, but I have the feeling it’s as soon as possible. At any rate by the end of this month. The present Archdeacon has been ill for some time and I’m afraid the prognosis is not good.’

‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘Well, then it’s decided. I’m very pleased for you, Derek. It’s a marvellous opportunity and I know you’ll do very well.’

Trend looked relieved as he left. With a jaunty step he crossed the Green Court. I stood looking after him. I wondered how far it was possible to reconcile being an ambitious cleric with being
an honourable caring Christian. Victoria came out to join me. She had overheard the conversations.

‘“So thick and fast they came at last,”’ she quoted. ‘You’re
getting
rid of them very successfully, Harry. At the university, the Vice-Chancellor’s left and Dean Pilkington’s on long-term sick leave. And now you’re going to be two canons down in the
cathedral
Chapter … Why don’t you concentrate on gunning down Sloth and Blenkensop to complete the massacre?’

Victoria and I were due to have dinner with Magnus that evening. Dorothy Upton was staying for the weekend and he was anxious that we should get to know her. He insisted that he was cooking and we were both somewhat apprehensive about what he might serve.

At seven we arrived at his flat. Magnus greeted us at the door wearing his maroon smoking jacket and velvet hat. Dorothy was seated in a battered armchair in front of a low table piled with books and old newspapers. Pushkin was sprawled on her lap and I noticed she was wearing the brooch that Magnus had given her. We greeted each other as old friends while Magnus poured out retsina from a musty looking bottle. There was a peculiar smell of singeing coming from the kitchen and Magnus hurried back to his task.

Victoria immediately focussed on Dorothy’s brooch. ‘How lovely!’ she said. ‘It’s Victorian … What does it spell out? Is it “DEAREST” or “REGARD”?’

Dorothy smiled smugly. ‘It’s neither. It’s “DOROTHY”!’ she said.

Victoria leaned forward. ‘Let me see … oh yes … a diamond, an opal, a ruby, another opal, a topaz, a hessionite and a yellow sapphire. Isn’t that fantastic? Where did you get it?’

Dorothy looked even smugger. ‘Magnus gave it to me!’ she said.

Victoria glanced in my direction. ‘That’s just the kind of thing I’d like, Harry. Is there a precious stone that begins with a “V”?’

Dorothy did not even pause for thought. ‘Yes … a Vulcanite. Then it’d be Iolite, Chrysoberyl, Topaz, Opal, Ruby, Iolite and Amethyst.’

‘Good heavens!’ I said.

Dorothy looked apologetic. ‘I do crosswords. You pick up all sorts of useless information there.’ I noticed that there were two copies of
The Times
on the coffee table. Both were open at the crossword and both grids were completely filled in, but in
different
hands. I wondered who had done it faster.

‘I see you like cats,’ I observed.

Dorothy tickled Pushkin under his tabby chin. He stretched himself ostentatiously. ‘This one’s very handsome,’ she said, ‘but he’s not quite as good-looking as my Hezekiah at home. He’s a blue Persian.’

‘How lovely!’ said Victoria. ‘We have two Siamese. Has Hezekiah ever met Pushkin?’

Dorothy shook her head. ‘I don’t think we should try the experiment. On one occasion I had to have my sister’s cat for the weekend. I’m afraid Hezekiah was not very welcoming. It took the visitor several months to recover from the trauma of the
experience
.’ Victoria and I both laughed.

‘Dinner’s ready,’ Magnus called from the kitchen. The three of us sat at a small round table and Magnus served out the food. First there were stuffed dolmades which came from the local
delicatessen
. This was followed by rather a good lamb stew. ‘I got the recipe last time I was in Turkey,’ he said. There was also a large mixed salad to go with it. The third course was Greek goats’ cheese. Then we had Turkish coffee. This was accompanied by almond biscuits drenched in icing sugar. They were delicious and had been a present from Dorothy.

‘There’s a good Greek shop in Brambletye,’ she informed us. ‘I remembered that Magnus liked sweet things.’

Dorothy was delightful. The dimples were much in evidence as she told us how she had first met Magnus. ‘You see, in those days, there was no one in my college who was a specialist in Aramaic,’ she explained. ‘So they farmed me out to Magnus. He was finishing his PhD and he was meant to give me tutorials. He had to check all my exercises, but the problem was he kept
making
mistakes.’