by C. P. Snow
Winslow took his seat at the head, and others manoeuvred for position; Jago did not want to sit by him after their fracas, so that I found myself on Winslow’s right hand. Jago sat by me, and Luke on the same side: opposite was Brown and then his friend Chrystal, who had also avoided being Winslow’s neighbour.
Brown smiled surreptitiously at me, his good-natured face a little pained, for though he could master these embarrassments he was a man who liked his friends to be at ease: then he began to talk to Winslow about the college silver. My attention strayed, I found myself studying one of the portraits on the linenfold. Then I heard Jago’s voice, unrecognizably different from when he replied to Winslow, talking to young Luke.
‘You look as though things are going well in the laboratory. I believe you’ve struck oil.’
I looked past Jago as Luke replied: ‘I hope so. I had an idea over Christmas.’ He had been elected a fellow only a few months before, and was twenty-four. Intelligence shone from his face, which was fresh, boyish, not yet quite a man’s; as he talked of his work, the words tripped over themselves, the west-country burr got stronger, a deep blush suffused his cheeks. He was said to be one of the most promising of nuclear physicists.
‘Can you explain it to a very ignorant layman?’
‘I can give you some sort of notion. But I’ve only just started on this idea.’ He blushed again cheerfully. ‘I’m afraid to say too much about it just yet.’
He began expounding his subject to Jago. Chrystal made an aside to Brown, and asked across the table if I was free next morning. Winslow heard the question, and turned his sardonic glance on to Chrystal.
‘The college is becoming quite a hive of activity,’ he said.
‘Term starts next week,’ said Chrystal. ‘I can’t leave things till then.’
‘But surely,’ said Winslow, ‘the appearance of the young gentlemen oughtn’t to obstruct the really serious purposes of our society? Such as rolling a log in the right direction?’
‘I’m sure,’ Brown intervened, quickly but blandly, ‘that the Dean would never roll a log across the table. We’ve learned from our seniors to choose a quieter place.’
We were waiting for the savoury, and someone chuckled.
‘By the way,’ Winslow looked down the table, ‘I noticed that a bottle of claret has been ordered in the combination room. May I enquire whom we are indebted to?’
‘I’m afraid I’m responsible.’ Brown’s voice was soothing. ‘I ought to have asked permission to present a bottle, but I rather anticipated that. And I ought to have asked whether people would have preferred port, but I found out from the kitchens who were dining, and I thought I knew everyone’s taste. I believe you always prefer claret nowadays?’ he said to Winslow.
‘If you please. If you please.’ He asked, the caustic note just on the edge of his voice: ‘And what remarkable event do you wish to celebrate?’
‘Why, the remarkable event I wish to celebrate,’ said Brown, ‘is the appearance of Mr R S Winslow in the Trial Eights. I don’t think anyone has got in before me. And I know we should all feel that when the Bursar has a son at the college, and the young man distinguishes himself, we want the pleasure of marking the occasion.’
Winslow was taken right aback. He looked down at the table, and gave a curiously shy, diffident smile.
‘I must say this is handsome of you, Brown,’ he said.
‘It’s a privilege,’ said Brown.
We returned to the combination room, and took our places for wine. The table could hold twenty, and we occupied only one end of it; but the room was intimate, the glasses sparkled in the warm light, the silver shone, the reflection of the decanter was clear as it passed over the polished table. Luke filled our glasses, and, since Winslow’s health was to be drunk, it was the duty of Jago, as the next senior, to propose it. He did it with warmth, his face alight. He was full of grace and friendliness, Brown’s steady cordiality had infected him, he was at ease within this group at the table as he never could be with Winslow alone. ‘The Bursar and his son,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Senior Tutor. Thank you all. Thank you.’ Winslow lifted his glass to Brown. As we drank Brown’s health, I caught his dark, vigilant eye. He had tamed Winslow for the moment: he was showing Jago at his best, which he very much wanted to do: he had brought peace to the table. He was content, and sipped his claret with pleasure. He loved good fellowship. He loved the arts of management. He did not mind if no one else noticed his skill. He was a very shrewd and far-sighted man.
He was used to being thought of as just a nice old buffer. ‘Good old Brown’, the Master called him. ‘The worthy Brown’, said Winslow, with caustic dismissal: ‘Uncle Arthur’ was his nickname among the younger fellows. Yet he was actually the youngest of the powerful middle-aged block in the college. Jago was just over fifty; Chrystal, Brown’s constant friend and ally, was forty-eight, while Brown himself, though he had been elected a fellow before Chrystal, was still not quite forty-six. He was a historian by subject, and was Jago’s junior colleague as the second tutor.
Winslow was talking, with a veneer of indifference, about his son. ‘He’ll never get into the boat,’ he said. ‘He’s thought to be lucky to have gone as far as this. It would be pleasant for his sake if they made another mistake in his favour. Poor boy, it’s the only notoriety he’s ever likely to have. He’s rather a stupid child.’
His tone was intended to stay caustic – it turned indulgent, sad, anxiously fond. Brown said: ‘I’m not prepared to agree. One might say that he doesn’t find examinations very congenial.’
Winslow smiled.
‘Mind you, Tutor,’ he said with asperity, ‘it’s important for the child that he gets through his wretched tripos this June. He’s thought to stand a chance of the colonial service if he can scrape a third. Of course, I’m totally ignorant of these matters, but I can’t see why our colonies should need third-class men with some capacity for organized sports. However, one can forgive the child for not taking that view. It’s important for his sake that he shouldn’t disgrace himself in June.’
‘I hope we’ll get him through,’ said Brown. ‘I think we’ll just about manage it.’
‘We’ll get him through,’ said Jago.
‘I’m sorry that my family should be such a preposterous nuisance,’ said Winslow.
The wine went round again. As he put down his glass, Winslow asked: ‘Is there any news of the Master tonight?’
‘There can’t be any,’ said Chrystal.
Winslow raised his eyebrows.
‘There can’t be any,’ Chrystal repeated, ‘until he dies. It’s no use. We’ve got to get used to it.’
The words were so curt and harsh that we were silent. In a moment Chrystal spoke again: ‘We’ve got to get used to him dying up there. That is the fact.’
‘And him thinking he will soon be well,’ Jago said. ‘I saw him this evening, and I tell you, I found it very hard to sit by.’
Chrystal said: ‘Yes. I’ve seen him myself.’
‘He’s quite certain he’ll soon be well,’ Jago said. ‘That is the most appalling thing.’
‘You would have told him?’
‘Without the shadow of a doubt.’
‘I’m surprised that you’re so convinced,’ said Winslow, ready to disagree.
‘I am utterly convinced.’
‘I don’t like to suggest it, but I’m inclined to think that Dr Jago may be wrong.’ Winslow glanced round the table. ‘If I’d had to make Lady Muriel’s decision, I think I might have done the same. I should have thought: this will mean for him a few days or weeks of happiness. It’s the last happiness he’ll get – he ought to have it if it’s in my power. Do any of you share my view?’ Winslow’s eyes fell on Chrystal, who did not reply: then on Brown, who said: ‘I haven’t thought it out.’
‘No,’ said Jago. ‘You’re presuming where no one has a right to presume.’ His tone was deep and simple, no trace of awkwardness left. ‘There are
a few things no one should dare to decide for another man. There are not many serious things in a man’s life – but one of them is how he shall meet his death. You can’t be tactful about death: all you can do is leave a man alone.’
We were all watching him.
‘Winslow,’ Jago went on, ‘you and I do not often see things with the same eyes. Neither you nor I have been friendly with Royce through most of our lives. We know that, and this is not a good time to pretend. But there is one thing we should never have disagreed about. We had a respect for him. We should have admitted that he always faced the truth, even when it was grim. We should have said that he was the last man among us to be drugged by lies when he was coming near his death.’
Winslow was staring at his empty glass. Chrystal broke the silence: ‘You’ve said things I should like to have said myself.’
Silence came to the table again. This time Brown spoke: ‘How long will it be before they have to tell him?’
‘Three or four months,’ I said. ‘It may be sooner. They say it’s certain to be over in six months.’
‘I can’t help thinking of his wife,’ said Brown, ‘when she has to break the news.’
‘I’m thinking of the Master,’ said Chrystal, ‘the day he hears.’
The coffee was brought in. As Winslow lit a cigar, Brown took the chance of bringing them to earth.
‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘that the position about the Master will have to be reported to the next college meeting?’
‘I’m clear that it must,’ said Chrystal.
‘We have one, of course,’ said Brown, ‘on the first Monday of full term. I feel that we’re bound to discuss the Mastership. It’s very painful and delicate, but the college has got to face the situation.’
‘We can’t elect while the Master is alive. But the college will have to make up its mind in advance,’ said Chrystal.
Winslow’s temper was not smoothed. He was irritated by Jago’s effect on the party, he was irritated by the competence with which Chrystal and Brown were taking charge. He said deliberately: ‘There’s a good deal to be said for discussing the wretched business this term. We can bring it to a point in some directions.’ His eyes flickered at Jago, then he turned to Brown as though thinking aloud. ‘There are one or two obvious questions we ought to be able to decide. Are we going outside for a Master, or are we going to choose one of ourselves?’ He paused, and said in his most courteous tone: ‘I think several of the society will agree that there are good reasons for going outside this time.’
I caught sight of Luke leaning forward, his face aglow with excitement. He was a sanguine and discreet young man, he had scarcely spoken at the table that night, he was not going to intervene now of all times, when Winslow was deliberately, with satisfaction, undermining Jago’s hopes. But I thought that little had escaped young Luke: as acutely as anyone there, he was feeling the antagonism that crackled through the comfort-laden room.
‘I didn’t mean,’ said Brown, roundly but with a trace of hurry, ‘that the college could go nearly as far as that at the present time. In fact I’m very dubious whether it would be proper for a college meeting to do more than hear the facts about the Master’s condition. That gives us a chance to talk the matter over privately. I’m afraid I should deprecate doing more.’
‘I agree with Brown,’ said Chrystal. ‘I shall propose that we take steps accordingly.’
‘You believe in private enterprise, Dean?’ Winslow asked.
‘I think the Dean and I believe,’ said Brown, ‘that with a little private discussion, the college may be able to reach a very substantial measure of agreement.’
‘I must say that that is a beautiful prospect,’ said Winslow. He looked at Jago, who was sitting back in his chair, his lips set, his face furrowed and proud.
Winslow rose from the head of the table, picked up his cap, made off in his long loose stride towards the door. ‘Goodnight to you,’ he said.
4: A Piece of Serious Business
I called at Brown’s rooms, as we had arranged with Chrystal, at eleven o’clock next morning. They were on the next staircase to mine, and not such a handsome set; but Brown, though he went out each night to his house in the West Road, had made them much more desirable to live in. That day he stood hands in pockets in front of the fire, warming his plump buttocks, his coat-tails hitched up over his arms. His bright peering eyes were gazing appreciatively over his deep sofas, his ample armchairs, his two half-hidden electric fires, out to the window and the snowy morning. Round the walls there was growing a set of English watercolours, which he was collecting with taste, patience, and a kind of modest expertness. On the table a bottle of madeira was waiting for us.
‘I hope you like this in the morning,’ he said. ‘Chrystal and I are rather given to it.’
Chrystal followed soon after me, gave his crisp military good morning, and began at once: ‘Winslow gave a lamentable exhibition last night. He makes the place a perfect beargarden.’
It seemed to me a curious description of the combination room.
‘He’s not an easy man,’ said Brown. ‘And he doesn’t seem to be mellowing.’
‘He won’t mellow if he lives to be a hundred,’ said Chrystal. ‘Anyway, it’s precisely because of him that we want to talk to you, Eliot.’
We sat down to our glasses of madeira.
‘Perhaps I’d better begin,’ said Brown. ‘By pure chance, the affair started in my direction. Put it another way – if I hadn’t been tutor, we mightn’t have got on to it at all.’
‘Yes, you begin,’ said Chrystal. ‘But Eliot ought to realize all this is within these four walls. Not a word must leak outside.’
I said yes.
‘First of all,’ Brown asked me, sitting back with his hands folded on his waistcoat, ‘do you happen to know my pupil Timberlake?’
I was puzzled.
‘I’ve spoken to him once or twice,’ I said. ‘Isn’t he a connection of Sir Horace’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘I know the old man slightly,’ I said. ‘I met him over a case, two or three years ago.’
Brown chuckled.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I was almost sure I remembered you saying so. That may be very useful.
‘Well,’ he went on, ‘he sent young Timberlake to the college – he’s a son of Sir Horace’s cousin, but his parents died and Sir Horace took responsibility for him. The boy is in his third year, taking Part II in June. I hope to God he gets through. It will shatter everything if he doesn’t. He’s a perfectly decent lad, but a bit dense. I think he’s just a shade less stupid than young Winslow – but it’s a very very near thing.’
‘It’s not a near thing between their seniors,’ said Chrystal. ‘I’ll trade Winslow for Sir Horace any day.’
‘I was very much taken with Sir Horace when I met him.’ Brown liked agreeing with his friend. ‘You see, Eliot, Sir Horace came up for a night just about three weeks ago. He seemed to be pleased with what we were doing for the boy. And he specially asked to meet one or two people who were concerned with the policy of the college. So I gave a little dinner party. The Master was ill, of course, which, to tell you the truth, for this particular occasion was a relief. I decided it was only prudent to leave out Winslow. I had to ask Jago, but I dropped him a hint that this wasn’t the kind of business he’s really interested in. Naturally, I asked the Dean.’ He gave Chrystal his broad, shrewd, good-natured smile. ‘I think the rest of the story’s yours. I left everything else to you.’
‘Sir Horace came up,’ said Chrystal, ‘and Brown did him well. There were only the three of us. I should have enjoyed just meeting him. When you think what that man’s done – he controls an industry with a turnover of £20,000,000 a year. It makes you think, Eliot, it makes you think. But there was more to it than meeting him. I won’t make a secret of it. There’s a chance of a benefaction.’
‘If it comes off,’ Brown said, cautiously but contentedly, ‘it will be one of the bigg
est the college has ever had.’
‘Sir Horace wanted to know what our plans for the future were. I told him as much as I could. He seemed pleased with us. I was struck with the questions he asked,’ said Chrystal, ready to make a hero of Sir Horace. ‘You could see that he was used to getting to the bottom of things. After he’d been into it for a couple of hours, I’d back his judgement of the college against half our fellows. When he’d learned what he came down to find out, he asked me a direct question. He asked straight out: “What’s the most useful help any of us could provide for the college?” There was only one answer to that – and when there’s only one answer, I’ve found it a good rule to say it quick. So I told him: “Money. As much money as you could give us. And with as few conditions as you could possibly make.” And that’s where we stand.’
‘You handled him splendidly,’ said Brown. ‘He wasn’t quite happy about no conditions–’
‘He said he’d have to think about that,’ said Chrystal. ‘But I thought it would save trouble later if I got in first.’
‘I’m not ready to shout till we’ve got the money in the bank,’ Brown said, ‘but it’s a wonderful chance.’
‘We ought to get it – unless we make fools of ourselves,’ said Chrystal, ‘I know that by rights Winslow should handle this business now. It’s his job. But if he does, it’s a pound to a penny that he’ll put Sir Horace off.’
I thought of Sir Horace, imaginative, thin-skinned despite all his success in action.
‘He certainly would,’ I said. ‘Just one of Winslow’s little jokes, and we’d have Sir H endowing an Oxford college on a very lavish scale.’
‘I’m glad you confirm that,’ said Chrystal. ‘We can’t afford to handle this wrong.’
‘We mustn’t miss it,’ said Brown. ‘It would be sinful to miss it now.’
These two were the solid core of the college, I thought. Year by year they added to their influence; it was greater now than when I first came three years before. It had surprised me then that they should be so influential; now that I had lived with them, seen them at work, I understood it better.
