by Ruth Edwards
*. It needed only that.
***
‘Who’s going to be there, Marjorie?’ asked the baroness, now resplendent in an intricately knitted Missoni dress of red, mauve, and purple. Since purchasing an entire job-lot of designer garments that had been donated to a Cambridge Oxfam shop by a woman of her own generous proportions, the baroness was beginning to develop a reputation as a bit of a fashionista.
‘Didn’t the Provost give you the list?’
‘She gave me a ton of paper, but I ignored it. She’d been reading me some stuff I thought was guff, so I assumed all this was guff as well and anyway today I had pressing matters to attend to.’
‘In that case you’d better bring all that paper along to the office tomorrow and I’ll show you what’s important. You need to know your schedule. As for tonight, there will be you and the other three DVPs as well as the President, several deans, a half-dozen or so senior professors, and Martin Freeman, who’s the Chairman of the Board of Trustees and whose family bankrolled the university. Some wives will be there as well.’
‘Will Professor Godber be there?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Just something I heard about him made me interested in meeting him.’
Marjorie looked at her curiously. ‘I don’t know. Warren Godber doesn’t socialise much. And I don’t know that he’d be invited anyway. It’ll be mostly people…’ she chose her words carefully, ‘closer to the administration.’
‘Will we have speeches inflicted on us?’
Marjorie gave a slight smile. ‘You sure will. After all, you’ll be making one yourself.’
‘I will? Shit! What about?’
‘Didn’t the Provost tell you?’
‘Maybe she did, but what with all the travel and jet-lag and general fuss, I’m afraid I didn’t take it in. What do I have to do?’
‘Just five minutes or so on why you’ve come here and what you hope to do should be fine.’
‘I wish I’d given that some thought, Marjorie. However, no doubt something will occur to me.’
***
‘President Dickinson, may I present Lady Troutbeck?’
Dickinson—expensively coiffed, orange-tanned, and smooth-faced—wrung the baroness’s hand firmly and gazed into her eyes with an expression of deep sincerity. ‘May I bid you a hearty welcome to Freeman University, Lady Troutbeck? We are honoured to have a person of such distinction visiting with us.’
‘Greetings from the United Kingdom, President. It’s an honour to be invited to be part of such a fine institution, even for such a short time.’
Dickinson introduced her cursorily to his more darkly tanned wife, an anxious bottle-blonde with enormous lips who looked half his age, and then began a welcome speech to Rowland Cunningham.
‘Can I get you a cocktail, Lady Troutbeck?’ asked Traci Dickinson.
‘You certainly can. Gin and tonic…no, no, on second thoughts, I’ll have whisky. Large, bottled water, no ice.’
Her drink arrived quickly. As she took it from Traci, she was impressed by her nails, which were painted fuchsia, elaborately etched with a yellow that matched her dress, and were so long they seemed almost to encircle the glass. Within a few minutes, the chore of listening to Cunningham, who was oozing unctuousness, caused the baroness to request another whisky. The discovery that she also knew and despised the other two Distinguished Visiting Professors caused her to ask for a second refill. The third she took to the dinner table, for she had seen with alarm that there was, as yet, no sign of any wine. Just ubiquitous jugs of chlorinated iced water.
She was placed between Dickinson and the pleasant, rubicund Martin Freeman, who seemed anxious to tell her about Indiana’s history. ‘I’m a Hoosier through and through,’ he explained, ‘and proud of it.’ As she was about to request an explanation for this perplexing statement, the President asked the gathering to bow their heads and said grace. ‘Now,’ he added, ‘before we tuck into a hearty meal, we are fortunate that our four distinguished visiting professors have kindly consented to share with us their mission statements.
‘Before I call on our speakers, can I just welcome all of you this evening, particularly our DVPs, who we know will add lustre to our campus. To them I say that here at Freeman U we have three goals we pursue passionately: the welfare of our students, the embracing of diversity, and the lighting of beacons of excellence that lead all our young people to high educational achievement. Our DVPs are four such beacons and we know they will inspire our students to strain every sinew to bring academic and sporting credit to their beloved school.
‘As I always remind my colleagues, we can never stand still at Freeman U: innovation will always be at the forefront of our strategy, along with the challenge of change. There will always be enemies who will seek to undermine our great mission, but we will take them on and we will win.’
He paused for sycophantic applause, which was forthcoming.
‘Now, I call on Lady Ida Troutbeck. All our DVPs are remarkable people, but even by their standards, Lady Ida is exceptional. Not only does she head up the University of Cambridge, but she’s a senior member of the British parliament and an aristocrat. We are more grateful than we can say that she has taken time out of her busy schedule to be with us for a half-semester. Lady Ida.’
***
‘It wasn’t an absolute catastrophe,’ she explained later to Mary Lou. ‘But it was close. I had expected to speak after dinner, not before, and probably last because of alphabetical order, and my mind was reeling with the discovery that in addition to the appalling Rowley Cunningham, the other members of the job-lot of DVPs—as we are known—that Helen Fortier-Prichardson acquired on her trip to England were that ghastly New Labour stick-insect Constance Darlington….’
‘Oh, that’s funny. What was it she said about you during that debate about House of Lords reform? I seem to remember you two had a particular face-off.’
‘Don’t remember. The usual stuff about dinosaurs and the Stone Age, I expect. I remember denouncing her as a constitutional and cultural illiterate and vandal, which of course she is, but she took it rather badly. The cow has no discernible sense of humour, naturally. Like all lefties.’
‘What about Woody Allen?’
‘He doesn’t count.’
‘Oh, get on with it, Jack.’
‘There’s worse.’
‘Worse than what?’
‘Worse than Constance Darlington.’
‘Who could that be? Jack the Ripper?’
‘Jimmy Rawlings.’
‘You’ve made my day, Jack. Mind you, I should have guessed she’d want someone ethnic.’
‘That ethnic? Burn-out-whitey ethnic? Allah-the-merciless-who-will-root-out-the-infidel ethnic?’
‘That’s religious rather than ethnic. Anyway, your Provost was probably as ignorant about him as she is about you. Perhaps he’ll liven things up.’
‘He may do so. How he got into the country is beyond me when you think Horace was almost clapped in chains. Anyway, as you can imagine, I was somewhat preoccupied between wondering what a Hoosier was….’
‘You can’t have done two seconds reading on Indiana if you didn’t know that’s what the natives call themselves.’
‘I haven’t. So be it. Stop interrupting. Do you want to hear about my speech or not?’
‘Oh, I do. I do.’
‘I hadn’t thought of anything to say—and since I hadn’t even looked at my time-table I hadn’t a clue what I was expected to be doing while I’m here or even what faculty I’m assigned to, and I had to start by correcting the President’s mad claims about me. By the time I’d managed that—without, I hope, making the idiot feel as silly as he deserved and me seem disappointingly unimportant—I burbled about the common cultural values of Britain and the United States and then explained that my mission was to learn more about their wonderful country.
‘I thought a bit of light relief wouldn’t be a bad thing, so, since it’s much
on my mind, I explained I’d been having cultural difficulties with their cuisine. “There was a stage earlier today,” I told them at one point, “when I thought New Paddington was a culinary desert and that I would end my stay as skinny as Lady Darlington. I couldn’t even get an egg that tasted of anything.” Then, to make them laugh, I added that I’d even toyed with the idea of driving out into the prairie to scratch around for a Red Indian who had free-range chickens. I thought I detected bafflement, so I pointed out that if you couldn’t find an Indian in Indiana, where would you find one.’
‘Oh, God. You didn’t. I’m surprised you haven’t been deported.’
‘Well, a combination of a boo from Jimmy Rawlings and a general sharp and noisy intake of breath made me realise something was wrong, so I muttered something about having found a wonderful delicatessen that had solved all my problems, added that everyone was warm and welcoming and that I was sure I would be very happy in New Paddington, and sat down to what was only just a light patter of applause. The smarmy president then explained that Lady Troutbeck would in time come to love the unparalleled and diverse cuisine of Indiana and that I needed to know that at Freeman U, Indians were called First Citizens, since these were the people from whom the country had been stolen. Then Rowley Cunningham made a leftie speech about world peace and the evils of neo-imperialism that went down well with everyone except Martin Freeman, who turns out to be a Republican. Constance droned on mind-numbingly about human rights and Jimmy Rawlings said his mission was to eradicate inequality and discrimination from the face of the universe or something like that and to stand up for victims everywhere.’
‘How did the rest of the evening go?’
‘Great mounds of horrendous food and a very little horrible wine. Still, I made myself a modest feast of salami and cheese when I got back here and the California merlot I’ve acquired is really rather good.’
‘I wasn’t asking about food.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Get on with it, Jack.’
‘Oh, all right. Freeman was OK. He’s the fourth generation of Freemans, who’ve been the main funders of this university for decades. The family firm continues to make a fortune out of spare parts for cars and Freeman is a big time philanthropist. I hope I may in due course be able to charm a couple of million out of him for St. Martha’s. Freeman likes England and was pleasantly surprised that we were on much the same side in politics since he thought all academics were left-wing. I made quite a speech to him about my respect for American self-reliance and can-do, which went down well.’
‘Did you get any gossip about the university from him?’
‘Not really. He talked mainly about the history of New Paddington. Apparently it was once a steel town. When the mills died, New Paddington died. Any questions I asked about the university were batted away. He seemed uneasy talking about it at all.’
‘And the President?’
‘Regurgitates platitudes rather than conversing, ex-Wall Street, lives for fund-raising and has no discernible interest in anything of the mind. However he got lively once. When the first lot of plates were removed, revealed in front of each of us was a circular piece of paper with a picture of a sword in a rather elaborate silver scabbard, on which was written “TRUTH” in gold and, on the hilt, an acronym—“VCR” or something.’
‘This was an ad for video cassette recorders?’
‘No, no, no. It certainly wasn’t an ad. Judging by Dickinson’s barely contained fury, it was more like a threat. Wait a minute and I’ll get my copy—which I held on to despite Dickinson’s best efforts.’ She was back in a moment. ‘It’s VRC, not VCR. And no, I’ve no idea what it stands for except that it made the President and the Provost cross, Gonzales was breathing fire, and Martin Freeman looked thoughtful. I asked Dickinson what it meant, and he said something curt about student pranks and told me to throw it away. So obviously I immediately hand-bagged it.’
‘VRC? VRC? We had a Video Resource Centre in my university.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything? It might as well be Vassar Rowing Club. However, no doubt all will be clear in time. It was, in any case, a welcome episode, though soon I was back to chit-chat with the president about his dreary goals. I’d have fallen asleep at the table had it not been that the whole event mercifully ended at 9.15. I gather that they all get up at about 4.00, so I may have to become less nocturnal.’
‘Then you should go to bed now, Jack.’
‘I intend to. Any word from Robert?’
‘They’ve reached the Czech Republic. They seem to like it. Then on to Slovenia or Slovakia or one of those places.’
‘Did he say anything about Indiana?’
‘Just that it sounded like the last place on earth he wanted to visit.’
The baroness bit her bottom lip. ‘Pity,’ she said. ‘Tell him that things are hotting up and he and Rachel still have time to change their minds.’
Chapter Six
Within two days, the baroness and Marjorie had reached an understanding. Having swiftly accepted that her secretary was intelligent, sane, and ultra-competent, the baroness had surrendered herself into her power where all practical matters were concerned. For her part, Marjorie appreciated having her worth recognised: while the baroness deferred to her, the other three DVPs treated her like a flunkey. And once Marjorie had cross-questioned the baroness about how she ran St. Martha’s and they had established that maintaining academic standards was a joint passion, they became partners in bile. ‘I wouldn’t pee on the Provost if she was on fire,’ was a sentiment Marjorie produced on the third day with which the baroness heartily concurred. Dr. Ethan Gonzales—who, it emerged, liked to be known as The Enforcer—she referred to as the Goon.
‘Are Provost and Goon an item?’
‘They deny it. They’ve worked together for years and they call themselves a team. I don’t know if they screw. But that would break the rules so they wouldn’t admit that anyway.’
‘Is he as much of a plug-ugly as he looks?’
Marjorie cast her eyes to heaven. ‘Is Bill Clinton a skirt-chaser?’
‘I may have led a sheltered life, Marjorie, but though I’ve met many academics, I’ve never come across one who acts like an understudy for Mike Tyson in a bad mood.’
‘Academic? The Goon’s dumber than a box full of hammers, Ph.D. or no Ph.D. Just because you put a boot in the oven don’t mean it’s a biscuit. He’s just a jumped-up minder, but he’s good at bein’ frightenin’.’
‘And is that essentially his job?’
‘Yep.’
‘This campus takes some getting used to. Even Horace is a bit subdued.’
‘Wouldn’t it be simpler to have a permanent cage for him here, Jack? That way you could transport him in his carrier rather than hoistin’ that cage over and back.’
‘But where would I get a cage? It’s been difficult enough to get bird seed.’
‘You leave that to me. And don’t you worry about payin’ for it. I have enough money in the DVP expenses budget to burn a wet dog, as my granny used to say. And the others are already dippin’ in there good.’
‘For what?’
‘Rawlings spends a lot taking people out to eat. I don’t know where he finds so many people.’
‘He’s probably financing the local Islamist terrorist cell.’
‘And limo hire for the three of them. They wanted a proper chauffeur, not a student.’
The baroness frowned. ‘Does that reduce Betsy’s income?’
‘I guess so.’
‘In that case I want her given as many hours as she needs working as my research assistant.’
‘I’ll organise that.’
‘And will the budget run to buying me decent food?’
‘Don’t see why not. You need your nourishment. Give me some idea of what’s involved and I’ll organise an allowance for your special dietary requirements.’
‘Thank you very much, Marjorie. You’ve cheered me up and
God knows…sorry, Marjorie…dear knows, I need cheering up. The President’s trophy wife has asked me and Constance Darlington to dinner tonight to keep her company while her husband’s in Chicago. Goodness knows why.’
‘Because Traci Troutpout….’
‘Her surname is Troutpout? Extraordinary. I wonder if they’re related to the Troutbecks. I hope not.’
‘It’s a nickname for what your lips look like if you overdo the collagen implants.’
‘Ah, that’s why they’re so huge. I thought she’d maybe had some Negro ancestry. Ooops, no, I’m not allowed to say that, am I? I should be saying “African-American.” Really, Marjorie, normal conversation is very difficult in this country.’
Marjorie smiled indulgently. ‘Don’t let it worry you. It’s not as if you’re looking for tenure. Anyway, it’s nothing to do with Traci’s ancestry. Just her busy cosmetic surgeon. And the reason she’s invited you two, I guess, is that she can’t stick her husband bein’ the centre of attention, and she wants to show you two that with the rooster away, she’s the queen-of-the-walk in the henhouse.’
‘How will she do that?’
‘Showin’ off. She’s that dumb she thinks she’ll impress you with her acquisitions. She shits and flies, that woman.’
‘You’ve lost me, Marjorie.’
‘Granny again,’ said Marjorie, smiling. ‘It means new money showin’ off. You’ll find out tonight.’
***
‘Hey, Lady Troutbeck. You’re looking good today.’
‘You too, Betsy. Are you well?’
‘I’m good, thanks. And thanks for inviting me to lunch.’
‘You need building up. Right, I’m finished here. ’Bye, Marjorie. See you later.’
‘Before you go, Jack, here’s your cell phone.’
The baroness peered at it suspiciously. ‘I don’t know how to use it. It’s different from my mobile back home. Looks very complicated.’
‘Why don’t you stop grumblin’ and go get lunch? I’ll teach you later.’
‘All right. Come on, Betsy, we’ll walk to the hotel.’
‘Like walk?’
‘Like walk.’
