Read The Collected Short Stories Online
Authors: Jeffrey Archer
The Collected Short Stories (5 page)
“Rubbish,” said Philippa. “When I am proved right, you will repeat this story word for word, including your offensive non-word, at Somerville's Gaudy Feast.”
“And you, my dear, will read the Collected Works of John Skelton and eat humble pie as your first course.”
“We'll ask old Onions along to adjudicate.”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed.”
With that, Sir William picked up his paper, kissed his wife on the cheek, and said with an exaggerated sigh, “It's at times like this that I wish I'd lost the Charles Oldham.”
“You did, my dear. It was in the days when it wasn't fashionable to admit a woman had won anything.”
“You won me.”
“Yes, you arrogant man, but I was led to believe you were one of those prizes one could return at the end of the year. And now I find I shall have to keep you, even in retirement.”
“Let us leave it to the
Oxford English Dictionary
, my dear, to decide the issue the Charles Oldham examiners were unable to determine,” and with that he departed for his college.
Oxford English Dictionary
, my dear, to decide the issue the Charles Oldham examiners were unable to determine,” and with that he departed for his college.
“There's no such word,” Philippa muttered as he closed the front door.
Heart attacks are known to be rarer among women than men. When Dame Philippa suffered hers in the kitchen that morning she collapsed on the floor calling hoarsely for William, but he was already out of earshot. It was the cleaning woman who found Dame Philippa on the kitchen floor and ran to fetch. someone in authority. The bursar's first reaction was that she was probably pretending that Sir William had hit her with a frying pan, but nevertheless she hurried over to the Hatchards' house in Little Jericho just in case. The bursar checked Dame Philippa's pulse and called for the college doctor and then the principal. Both arrived within minutes.
The principal and the bursar stood waiting by the side of their illustrious academic colleague, but they already knew what the doctor was going to say.
“She's dead,” he confirmed. “It must have been very sudden and with the minimum of pain.” He checked his watch; the time was 9:47. He covered his patient with a blanket and called for an ambulance. He had taken care of Dame Philippa for over thirty years and he had told her so often to slow down that he might as well have made a record of it for all the notice she took.
“Who will tell Sir William?” asked the principal. The three of them looked at one another.
“I will,” said the doctor.
It's a short walk from Little Jericho to Radcliffe Square. It was a long walk from Little Jericho to Radcliffe Square for the doctor that day. He never relished telling anyone off the death of a spouse, but this one was going to be the unhappiest of his career.
When he knocked on the professor's door, Sir William bade him enter. The great man was sitting at his. desk poring over the
Oxford Dictionary
, humming to himself.
Oxford Dictionary
, humming to himself.
“I told her, but she wouldn't listen, the silly woman,” he was saying to himself, and then he turned and saw the doctor
standing silently in the doorway. “Doctor, you must be my guest at Somerville's Gaudy next Thursday week, where Dame Philippa will be eating humble pie. It will be nothing less than game, set, match and championship for me. A vindication of thirty years' scholarship.”
standing silently in the doorway. “Doctor, you must be my guest at Somerville's Gaudy next Thursday week, where Dame Philippa will be eating humble pie. It will be nothing less than game, set, match and championship for me. A vindication of thirty years' scholarship.”
The doctor did not smile, nor did he stir. Sir William walked over to him and gazed at his old friend intently. No words were necessary. The doctor said only, “I'm more sorry than I am able to express,” and he left Sir William to his private grief.
Sir William's colleagues all knew within the hour. College lunch that day was spent in a silence broken only by the senior tutor inquiring of the warden if some food should be taken up to the Merton professor.
“I think not,” said the warden. Nothing more was said.
Professors, fellows, and students alike crossed the front quadrangle in silence, and when they gathered for dinner that evening still no one felt like conversation. At the end of the meal the senior tutor suggested once again that something should be taken up to Sir William. This time the warden nodded his agreement, and a light meal was prepared by the college chef. The warden and the senior tutor climbed the worn stone steps to Sir William's room, and while one held the tray the other gently knocked on the door. There was no reply, so the warden, used to William's ways, pushed the door ajar and looked in.
The old man lay motionless on the wooden floor in a pool of blood, a small pistol by his side. The two men walked in and stared down. In his right hand, William was holding
The Collected Works of John Skelton.
The book was opened at “The Tunnyng of Elynour Rummyng,” and the word
whymwham
was underlined.
The Collected Works of John Skelton.
The book was opened at “The Tunnyng of Elynour Rummyng,” and the word
whymwham
was underlined.
After the Sarasyns gyse,
Woth a whymwham,
Knyt with a trym tram,
Upon her brayne pan.
Woth a whymwham,
Knyt with a trym tram,
Upon her brayne pan.
Sir William, in his neat hand, had written a note in the margin: “Forgive me, but I had to let her know.”
“Know what, I wonder?” said the warden softly to himself as he attempted to remove the book from Sir William's hand, but the fingers were already stiff and cold around it.
Legend has it that they were never apart for more than a few hours.
Ted Barker was one of those members of Parliament who never sought high office. He'd had what was described by his fellow officers as a “good war”âin which he was awarded the Military Cross and reached the rank of major. After being demobilized in November 1945, he was happy to return to his wife, Hazel, and their home in Suffolk.
The family engineering business had also had a good war, under the diligent management of Ted's older brother, Ken. As soon as he arrived home, Ted was offered his old place on the board, which he happily accepted. But as the weeks passed by, the distinguished warrior became first bored and then disenchanted. There was no job for him at the factory that even remotely resembled active service.
It was around this time that he was approached by Ethel Thompson, the shop steward andâmore important for the advancement of this taleâchairman of the Wedmore branch of the North Suffolk Conservative Association. The incumbent MP, Sir Dingle Lightfoot, known in the constituency as “Tiptoe,” had made it clear that once the war was over they must look for someone to replace him.
“We don't want some clever clogs from London coming up here and telling us how to run this division,” pronounced Mrs. Thompson. “We need someone who knows the district
and understands the problems of the local people.” Ted, she suggested, might be just right.
and understands the problems of the local people.” Ted, she suggested, might be just right.
Ted confessed that he had never given such an idea a moment's thought, but promised Mrs. Thompson that he would take her proposal seriously, only asking for a week in which to consider his decision. He discussed the suggestion with his wife, and, having received her enthusiastic support, he paid a visit to Mrs. Thompson at her home the following Sunday afternoon. She was delighted to hear that Mr. Barker would be pleased to allow his name to go forward for consideration as the prospective parliamentary candidate for the division of North Suffolk.
The final shortlist included two “clever clogs” from Londonâone of whom later served in a Macmillan cabinetâand the local boy, Ted Barker. When the chairman announced the committee's decision to the local press, he said that it would be improper to reveal the number of votes each candidate had polled. In fact, Ted had comfortably outscored his two rivals put together.
Six months later the prime minister called a general election, and after a lively three-week campaign, Ted was elected as the member of Parliament for North Suffolk with a majority of more than seven thousand. He quickly became respected and popular with colleagues on both sides of the House, though he never pretended to be anything other than, in his own words, “an amateur politician.”
As the years passed, Ted's popularity with his constituents grew, and he increased his majority with each succeeding general election. After fourteen years of diligent service to the party nationally and locally, the prime minister of the day, Harold Macmillan, recommended to the Queen that Ted should receive a knighthood.
By the end of the 1960s, Sir Ted (he was never known as Sir Edward) felt that the time was fast approaching when the division should start looking for a younger candidate, and he made it clear to the local chairman that he did not intend to run in the next election. He and Hazel quietly prepared for a peaceful retirement in their beloved East Anglia.
Shortly after the election, Ted was surprised to receive a call from 10 Downing Street: “The prime minister would like to see Sir Ted at 11:30 tomorrow morning.”
Ted couldn't imagine why Edward Heath should want to see him. Although he had of course visited Number 10 on several occasions when he was a member of Parliament, those visits had only been for cocktail parties, receptions, and the occasional dinner for a visiting head of state. He admitted to Hazel that he was a little nervous.
Ted presented himself at the front door of Number 10 at 11:17 the next day. The duty clerk accompanied him down the long corridor on the ground floor and asked him to take a seat in the small waiting area that adjoins the Cabinet Room. By now Ted's nervousness was turning to apprehension. He felt like an errant schoolboy about to come face to face with his headmaster.
After a few minutes a private secretary appeared. “Good morning, Sir Ted. The prime minister will see you now.” He accompanied Ted into the Cabinet Room, where Mr. Heath stood to greet him. “How kind of you to come at such short notice, Ted.” Ted had to suppress a smile, because he knew the prime minister knew that it would have taken the scurvy or a local hurricane to stop him from answering such a summons.
“I'm hoping you can help me with a delicate matter, Ted,” continued the prime minister, a man not known for wasting time on smalltalk. “I'm about to appoint the next governor of St. George's, and I can't think of anyone better qualified for the job than you.”
Ted recalled the day when Mrs. Thompson had asked him to think about running for Parliament. But on this occasion he didn't require a week to consider his replyâeven if he couldn't quite bring himself to admit that although he'd heard of St. George's, he certainly couldn't have located it on a map. Once he'd caught his breath, he simply said, “Thank you, Prime Minister. I'd be honored.”
During the weeks that followed Sir Ted paid several visits to the Foreign and Colonial Offices to receive briefings on
various aspects of his appointment. Thereafter he assiduously read every book, pamphlet, and government paper the mandarins supplied.
various aspects of his appointment. Thereafter he assiduously read every book, pamphlet, and government paper the mandarins supplied.
After a few weeks of boning up on his new subject, the governor-in-waiting had discovered that St. George's was a tiny group of islands in the middle of the North Atlantic. It had been colonized by the British in 1643, and thereafter had a long history of imperial rule, the islanders having scorned every offer of independence. They were one of Her Majesty's sovereign colonies, and that was how they wished to remain.
Even before he set out on his adventure, Ted had become used to being addressed as “Your Excellency.” But after being fitted up by Alan Bennett of Savile Row with two different full-dress uniforms, Ted feared that he lookedâwhat was that modern expression?â“over the top.” In winter he was expected to wear an outfit of dark blue doeskin with scarlet collar and cuffs embroidered with silver oakleaves, while in the summer he was to be adorned in white cotton drill with a gold-embroidered collar and gold shoulder cords. The sight of him in either uniform caused Hazel to laugh out loud.
Ted didn't laugh when the tailors sent him the bill, especially after he learned that he would be unlikely to wear either uniform more than twice a year. “Still, think what a hit you'll be at fancy dress parties once you've retired,” was Hazel's only comment.
The newly appointed governor and commander in chief of St. George's and his lady flew out to take up their post on January 12, 1971. They were greeted by the prime minister, as the colony's first citizen, and the chief justice, as the legal representative of the queen. After the new governor had taken the salute from six off-duty policemen standing vaguely to attention, the town band gave a rendering of the national anthem. The Union Jack was raised on the roof of the airport terminal, and a light smattering of applause broke out among the assembled gathering of twenty or thirty local dignitaries.
Sir Ted and Lady Barker were then driven to the official residence in a spacious but aging Rover that had already served the two previous governors. When they reached Government House, the driver brought the car to a halt and leaped out to open the gates. As they continued up the drive, Ted and Hazel saw their new home for the first time.
The colonial mansion was magnificent by any standards. Obviously built at the height of the British Empire, it was vastly out of proportion to either the importance of the island or Britain's current position in the real world. But size, as the governor and his wife were quickly to discover, didn't necessarily equate with efficiency or comfort.
The air-conditioning didn't work, the plumbing was unreliable, Mrs. Rogers, the daily maid, was regularly out sick, and the only thing Ted's predecessor had left behind was an elderly black Labrador. Worse, the Foreign Office had no funds available to deal with any of these problems, and whenever Ted mentioned them in dispatches, he was met only with suggestions for cutbacks.
After a few weeks, Ted and Hazel began to think of St. George's as being rather like a great big parliamentary constituency, split into several islands, the two largest being Suffolk and Edward Islands. This heartened Ted, who even wondered if that was what had given the prime minister the idea of offering him the post in the first place.
The governor's duties could hardly have been described as onerous: He and Hazel spent most of their time visiting hospitals, delivering speeches at school prize-givings and judging flower shows. The highlight of the year was undoubtedly the queen's official birthday in June, when the governor held a garden party for local dignitaries at Government House and Suffolk played Edward Island at cricketâan opportunity for most of the colony's citizens to spend two days getting thoroughly drunk.
Ted and Hazel accepted the local realpolitik and settled down for five years of relaxed diplomacy among delightful people in a heavenly climate, seeing no cloud on the horizon that could disturb their blissful existence.
Until the phone call came.
It was a Thursday morning, and the governor was in his study with that Monday's
Times
. He was putting off reading a long article on the summit meeting taking place in Washington until he had finished the crossword, and was just about to fill in the answer to 12 acrossâ“Erring herd twists to create this diversion (3,7)”âwhen his private secretary, Charles Roberts, came rushing into his office without knocking.
Times
. He was putting off reading a long article on the summit meeting taking place in Washington until he had finished the crossword, and was just about to fill in the answer to 12 acrossâ“Erring herd twists to create this diversion (3,7)”âwhen his private secretary, Charles Roberts, came rushing into his office without knocking.
Ted realized it had to be something important, because he had never known Charles to rush anywhere, and certainly he had never known him to enter the study without the courtesy of a knock.
“It's Mountbatten on the line,” Charles blurted out. He could hardly have looked more anxious had he been reporting that the Germans were about to land on the north shore of the island. The governor raised an eyebrow. “Admiral of the Fleet Earl Mountbatten of Burma,” said Charles, as if Ted hadn't understood,
“Then put him through,” said Ted quietly, folding up his copy of
The Times
and placing it on the desk in front of him. He had met Mountbatten three times over the past twenty years but doubted if the great man would recall any of these encounters. Indeed, on the third occasion Ted had found it necessary to slip out of the function the admiral was addressing, as he was feeling a little queasy. He couldn't imagine what Mountbatten would want to speak to him about, and he had no time to consider the problem, as the phone on his desk was already ringing.
The Times
and placing it on the desk in front of him. He had met Mountbatten three times over the past twenty years but doubted if the great man would recall any of these encounters. Indeed, on the third occasion Ted had found it necessary to slip out of the function the admiral was addressing, as he was feeling a little queasy. He couldn't imagine what Mountbatten would want to speak to him about, and he had no time to consider the problem, as the phone on his desk was already ringing.
As Ted picked up the receiver he was still wondering whether to call Mountbatten “My Lord,” since he was an earl, “Commander in Chief,” since he was a former chief of the Defense Staff, or “Admiral,” since Admiral of the Fleet is a life appointment. He settled for “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Your Excellency. I hope I find you well?”
“Yes, thank you, sir,” replied Ted.
“Because if I remember correctly, when we last met you were suffering from a tummy bug.”
“That's right, sir,” said the surprised governor. He was
reasonably confident that the purpose of Mountbatten's call wasn't to inquire about his health after all these years.
reasonably confident that the purpose of Mountbatten's call wasn't to inquire about his health after all these years.
“Governor, you must be curious to know why I am calling.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am presently in Washington attending the summit, and I had originally planned to return to London tomorrow morning.”
“I understand, sir,” said Ted, not understanding at all.
“But I thought I might make a slight detour and drop in to see you. I do enjoy visiting our colonies whenever I get the chance. It gives me the opportunity to brief Her Majesty on what's happening. I hope that such a visit would not be inconvenient.”
“Not at all, sir,” said Ted. “We would be delighted to welcome you.”
“Good,” said Mountbatten. “Then I would be obliged if you could warn the airport authorities to expect my aircraft around four tomorrow afternoon. I would like to stay overnight, but if I'm to keep to my schedule I will need to leave you fairly early the following morning.”
“Of course, sir. Nothing could be easier. My wife and I will be at the airport to welcome you at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon.”
“That's kind of you, Governor. By the way, I'd rather things were left fairly informal. Please don't put yourself to any trouble.” The line went dead.
Once he had replaced the receiver, it was Ted's turn to run for the first time in several months. He found Charles striding down the long corridor toward him, having obviously listened in on the extension.
“Find my wife and get yourself a notepadâand then both of you join me in my office immediately. Immediately,” Ted repeated as he scuttled back into his study.
Hazel arrived a few minutes later, clutching a bunch of dahlias, followed by the breathless private secretary.
Other books
Crossings by Danielle Steel
The Sultan's Eyes by Kelly Gardiner
ClaimedbytheCaptain by Tara Kingston
The Ninth Step by Grant Jerkins
The Juliet Spell by Douglas Rees
Super in the City by Daphne Uviller
On the Edge of Humanity by S. B. Alexander
Dear White America by Tim Wise
Nomads' Fall: Burning Bastards MC by Ryder Dane
That Nietzsche Thing by Christopher Blankley
