by Charlot King
✧
Dr Eruna has returned to King’s College after his earlier visit to the Dean’s rooms. He stands outside the porter’s lodge. Through the wide arch his eyes fall on imposing limestone and lawns, mown within a millimetre of their lives. He remembers his short lectureship here, how antiquated, how snobby and so deliciously top drawer. Landing Professor Flint’s paper will be the making of Labzuu. Sure, the company has made him a millionaire, but he wants to reach far higher than that, and have Labzuu become the multinational to rival all others. The establishment has taught him to think big. He spots Carter coming through from a back room into the lodge.
“I wondered if I could trouble you for a favour, Carter? I have this letter I’d like to give to the Funds Committee.” Carter takes the letter from Dr Eruna and places it on a back bench next to the telephone and a pile of other letters. Dr Eruna is about to leave when Carter starts a conversation.
“Sir, might I ask, the Dean informed me you are a Fellow alumni. I must apologise, I pride myself on a face.”
“I was mostly in the States, only had dinner a few times at college when I was in the UK. But, I’d like to go and try out the Fellow’s bar now. Is it open?”
“Fellow’s opens at 6.30pm. Sorry to press you, sir, but were you here as a young lad? I’m sure I would have remembered you?”
“No, at Robinson as an undergrad.”
“Nevermind, sir. You managed to escape in the end.”
“It’s a good college, Carter. It suited my needs.”
“Perhaps you might like to try the King’s Bar?”
“Of course. Have you seen the Dean?”
“Not recently. Would you like me to call his rooms?”
“I’ll surprise him. See if he’d like something to help fire inspiration.” Dr Eruna leaves the lodge and heads out towards the Dean’s rooms before Carter can stop him. But Carter does pick up the phone to announce Dr Eruna’s impending arrival. Though the Dean does not pick up.
26. Labzuu
Godric leans back in the overlarge chair, sitting at Sir Gerald’s desk in the study. The computer screen is so close to his face it is almost too large to focus. The room is lined with books on three walls, mainly hardbacks; an eclectic collection of medical, skiing, cloud formations, political biographies, books on art and so on. On the remaining wall a large sash window opens out onto a side garden. Two bird feeders hang on an iron pole nearby. A robin is eating food Elizabeth put out earlier, while keeping a beady eye on Godric. Godric can smell his Grandpa in things. Propped up on every surface are photographs, old rowing trophies and above Godric’s head, suspended from the ceiling, an oar from Sir Gerald’s days rowing as a Blue. He hears the front door slam and Elizabeth call.
“Cooee!”
“In here!”
Elizabeth pops her head around the door.
“I thought we could eat supper later. Tea and cake now?” She holds up a box of cakes from the patisserie.
“Ooh, what have you got?”
“Viennese slice, Chelsea bun, cream eclair and a carrot cake which has my name on it.” Elizabeth walks out to the kitchen, fills the kettle, then takes two plates from the cupboard and walks back in to Godric, grabbing some napkins from the side.
“Lovely.”
Godric takes out a slice.
“I have had a look for you on that chap, Dr Eruna? Quite interesting.”
“Most helpful. But this doesn’t mean you are on the case. You have your exams, remember.”
Elizabeth leans over Godric’s chair to see what he’s found.
“I damn well am your assistant, and your payment is cream cakes at four o’clock every day, or I strike and will write to the papers.”
Elizabeth, eager, waves Godric to get on with it. With a mouthful of eclair he obliges.
“It says here that Labzuu have business interests in the UK, Europe, Americas and the African continent, including Kenya, Zimbabwe and South Africa.”
Godric bites into the cake again and squirts out cream as he talks.
“Don’t eat and speak at the same time, Goddy.”
Godric ignores his nanna.
“Interests in research and development, but it doesn’t say on their web site what in particular they are doing - just the medicines they’ve already produced. It’s just a promotional site really no news unless it relates to profits and products.”
Over Godric’s shoulder Elizabeth can see the Labzuu website, then Godric clicks to a news article about Labzuu and drops cream into the keyboard. Both of them pull a face and Godric tries to wipe it off with is fingers, putting the cream in his mouth. Elizabeth can’t believe it.
“Eww, dirty. So they’re helping people?”
“Not exactly. As you go to news or put in a search to see what other people think of them it is a whole different story. You have to dig a little. There are a few blogs and some claim Labzuu took DNA from Maori people without their permission in ‘98, and have developed their genes and not given a penny back.”
“That was where Edward was doing some of his field work. Very interesting, Godric.” Elizabeth takes a fork and cuts her carrot cake into pieces.
“There are a few angry people writing about Labzuu in general. You know, calling them scum, thieves.”
“Gerald went over to work with the Maori, and local farmers.”
“Really? I didn’t know.”
“Yes, he was helping them fight to keep some of the land that the government wanted to sign over to big agrochemical companies.”
“I had no idea.”
“So this means something. It feels like everything is connected. What’s the Dean doing with Dr Eruna?”
“Not sure. One blog here says Labzuu is working with a tribe in South Africa, paying for DNA. Quite controversial. I’ve printed some stuff out, just like a real assistant would.”
“Thank you so much for this. Okay, you’re my assistant. But that means only assignments given, not original work.”
Godric nods excitedly and licks more cream off the keys, then picks up the Viennese slice, takes a big bite and drops jam on the desk. Elizabeth glares at Godric.
“Assistants use plates.” Elizabeth looks at what is on the screen and thinks how Edward had just got back from a round trip in Africa. Kenya and South Africa. He must have found something Dr Eruna was keen to keep under wraps?
Godric is almost at fever pitch with his new role.
“There’s not stacks on the news wires. Just a small bunch of activists following them. They seem to have a good reputation, because of the degenerative brain disease treatments they’ve got going. You know, TZ921?”
Godric clicks up a snazzy image of a top of the range branded medical pill.
“Oh, goodness. Maybe that’s what the Dean is involved with Dr Eruna about. I can’t imagine him caught up in anything less worthy.”
Godric shows Elizabeth how the web is flooded with positive images and advertorials about how the company is helping people. Elizabeth wonders what she should do next. As if reading her mind Godric speaks.
“I have choir practise, but after that we can look for more information.”
“Thank you, this is most illuminating.”
Godric bites again at the cream slice.
“Do assistants get to drive the Talbot?”
“Walk. What shall we do for supper? You coming back?”
“I’ll grab something at King’s from the bar.”
“Make sure it’s non alcoholic.”
Godric leaves for evensong and Elizabeth makes herself peppermint tea. When she returns to the desk Bertie has just started to lick her carrot cake. Elizabeth smiles and sits to read the article about Labzuu that Godric left open.
“Bertie, what is that creep doing with Percival Flint?”
27. The Letter
“Come on. Come on, pick up the phone. “Yes. Hello? It’s Susan Bunt. Yes, is that Elizabeth? Oh thank goodness. I know, yes. Well, you said I could call? Yes, no please listen, yes. I will. No, please, I’ve phoned you because I need to see you again. Today. It’s really important.” Susan listens to Elizabeth on the other end, then interrupts, “Can we meet as soon as possible then? King’s? I need your help. No, I am going straight there now, to catch Rebecca. I need to go now. I don’t have time to explain” Susan listens on the phone again. “Yes, I’ll walk down. It’s fine. No, no. See you shortly.” Susan eyes the wine and looks at the clock. A couple more glasses to steady her nerves first.
28. Bertie
As soon as Elizabeth rings off from Susan she picks up her coat and looks for her keys. But Bertie is now rubbing himself against her legs, telling her it is most definitely supper time. Elizabeth has agreed to meet Susan at King’s, and knows Susan lives further out, so guesses she has time to cook Bertie a little bit of fish for his tea. Elizabeth strokes Bertie and calls to him ‘fish fish’ and his ears prick up. If only she could understand his language too. He follows her as she walks into the kitchen, opens the fridge, turns on the hob and puts a piece of bass into the frying pan with some oil. Elizabeth is a vegan but she doesn’t see why she should force it on Bertie. She has long decided that the best, most sustainable food to buy him is fresh fish. Given their land-locked location this is more of a rigmarole than she hoped. None of the fish stalls in the market sell local sustainable produce, though some purport to be organic, and most supermarket fish is not locally sourced either. But after investigation Elizabeth found a Hunstanton man who fishes out from Brancaster and makes a trip to Cambridge twice weekly to deliver to local restaurants. Brancaster is one of the little villages on the extreme northern tip of Norfolk, with miles of sandy beach and dunes. If a fish is going to die, then better there than in some fish farm, where the fish can’t swim free or see the sun glinting down through the waters. She persuaded him to do a detour to drop off her small order for Bertie. While the proprietor didn’t much like Elizabeth, who he found to be brusque and quite demanding, particularly over his punctuality - they had once argued for at least half an hour about him being late, making him an hour late for his next delivery - nevertheless he did enjoy telling his other customers and his own small children that he has this mad eccentric professor who orders his fish for her cat but is one of those nutty people who only eats nuts and seeds herself. He also felt sorry for the cat. The fish starts to sizzle in the pan and Bertie jumps up onto the kitchen work surface. If only the fisherman knew that there really is no need to worry about the welfare of Bertie Green.
“Get down from there please, Bertie.”
But Bertie just watches the bass crisp up the edges. He looks at Elizabeth and opens his mouth to reveal his pink quivering tongue. Elizabeth turns over the fish and looks back to Bertie.
“Four minutes. Now go and wash your paws.”
She picks up Bertie and puts him on her lap, while the fish sizzles. Stroking Bertie, who is purring very loudly and keeping a beady eye on the cooker, Elizabeth remembers when she first found him on Chesterton Lane one winter in the snow. She spotted him from her bathroom window. Never mind the cold, he wouldn’t have survived long on that busy road, so she ran outside in her slippers and picked him up and took him to the rescue centre to check his chip and find his family. Only he didn’t appear to have either, and so they asked if she’d like to foster him for a week in case anyone came forward as there was no space for him at the centre. She said she would most definitely not like to foster him and she was busy and didn’t have time to look after a cat. But the lady at the centre gave Elizabeth the most grave of faces and said shame, as older male cats are not desirable, wrongly seen as smelly and with vets bills too, so she wasn’t sure what they would do with him as there was really no space? Elizabeth did not like the sound of that one bit, so brought him home agreeing that she’d foster him for just a week. The first day Elizabeth called all the vets, took in photos to pet shops, put up photos on lamp posts saying ‘lost cat found’ and ‘ring this number’. On day two still no one had claimed him and she started to call him Bertie after Wodehouse’s Wooster. Bertie wasn’t sure how to use her cat flap, would run and hit his head on the window when he saw birds outside in the garden, giving her not much reason to think highly of his cognitive abilities. On day three Bertie sat by the fire and kept as still as a statue until feeding time. Elizabeth wondered if he was just cold to the bone, was ill, or didn’t want to get in her way in case she chucked him out into the cold. She had a chat with him to tell him that she wouldn’t actually throw him out. It seemed to work as on day four Bertie started to follow Elizabeth about. She’d go into the kitchen he’d follow, she’d go into the study, so would Bertie. In fact if she called his name, Bertie would come and brush his body along her leg. By day five he had somehow managed to push Elizabeth’s bedroom door open, and was there watching her when she woke. On day six he was asleep on her pillow as she stirred, leaning into her head. Elizabeth found this most amusing, like wearing a Russian ushanka. Then day seven came and it was time to take Bertie back to the centre, where there would now be a space for him Elizabeth was told. It was the day he hid under the bed and when she tried to pull him out he’d lick her hand, all over, his tongue like sandpaper and then just hide further back and out of reach. So she decided she’d take him later in the afternoon and perhaps just mark some essays first until he calmed down. It was then that he came out from the bed, jumped up and curled into her lap, only moving to get up and turn around to sit back down again. She was stuck, so stuck that she missed the time to take him back and the rescue centre closed for the day. She swears that it was then that she saw Bertie smile, from the corner of his face. And the rest is well, you know the rest.
The fish is now ready, but still hot. Elizabeth cuts it open and takes out the bones. She places it on a cold plate, decorated with lots of little tiny kittens in blue porcelain. Then, when she is happy it won’t scald her best friend’s mouth, she places it carefully on the kitchen floor and pats his head. Bertie tucks into it with gusto and Elizabeth smiles. Which is a good job as out of the window she spots the greenhouse is wide open. Once in the garden she notices the dictaphone has been knocked over and the light is not on to show recording. Aha, perhaps she has caught the perpetrator. Looking up there are yet more grapes missing from the vine. Elizabeth pockets the dictaphone and leaves the greenhouse with renewed optimism. The grape thief will be hers.
29. Time to Sing
Five minutes later and Elizabeth is cycling along Trinity Street, peddling at full speed, wearing her crash helmet. Moving at some speed a Chinese tourist and his lady wife nearly get knocked down by her as they clumsily step out from the kerb. They are carrying the map, camera and the man shouts.
/> “Hey!”
But Elizabeth retorts.
“Ho!” and whizzes past.
✧
Percival is in his rooms, scratching his head as he stares at his computer screen. His phone is ringing again but he’s ignoring it. He’s been ignoring the knocks on his door as well, especially from Dr Eruna, as he just has to start this ruddy paper for Labzuu, but he can’t fool himself. He’s hit a wall, he just can’t do it. He’d be endorsing a very shady product indeed. He has some principles left. He pushes his chair and gets up, walking towards the bay window. Behind him is a long photograph on the wall of current and past college Fellows. Edward Wiley, Percival Flint, and Dr Eruna; Susan Bunt’s face next to them, with her arm around Dr Eruna if you look closely enough. As he looks out of the window something captures his attention that worries him.
✧
Not far from Percival’s room, under the fan-sculptured ceiling vault of King’s Chapel, sounds of Samuel Barber’s Agnes Dei emanate, drifting up from the twenty strong choir standing behind the Rood screen. Siren notes float over pews, striking dumb the college members listening in petrified awe at this other worldly sound. Godric stands next to Rebecca, amazed to see her still with some life in her bones after the awful news. Just earlier Rebecca wasn’t sure she should come, but hearing sounds drifting out towards her room window she was drawn, and with the beautiful Godric she now feels safe. He squeezes her hand as she stands by his side along a finely carved chorister bench.
Susan treads unsteadily across King’s main court from the Parade, heading for the Chapel, having been told by the porter’s that’s where she’ll find Rebecca. A college boy notices her walking in a zigzag line but is too polite to interfere, and simply wonders if she’s inebriated. She staggers a little onto the grass, leaning momentarily with her hands resting on her knees, and wonders if she should sit here, but is determined to make it to Rebecca. A junior porter eyes her suspiciously, but as she straightens her spine and walks on, he thinks best not to interfere. Though never having spoken to her, he’s seen her photograph on the wall in the lodge and knows she’s a Fellow here, and after all it is past six o’clock. If she wants to take things to make her feel good then what business is it of his. As she turns the corner to get into the North Chapel Gate Susan is increasingly breathless, every step becoming more laboured and heavy than the last. Just one more corner. An American post doctoral student coming in to listen asks if she’s okay. Too weak to speak she nods and frowns, eager for him to leave her be as she makes a final push up the steps and into the late gothic limestone lobby.
