“So I’ve heard, Jon. So I’ve heard. But good that you’ve got some young blood in. Too many of us old fogies dominate the place. What’s the dress code for the evening?”
“We were thinking of a black tie dinner: DJs for men; long dresses for women. Four course meal; candles; silverware, the works. SCR funds will stretch to some decent plonk for High Table, too. We’d like to put on a bit of a show for you and as it’s the last Formal of the academic year you know that the students like to go out in style as well. What do you think?”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll know most of the graduating class so will be glad of an opportunity to say goodbye to them. And both old friends and new in the SCR should together make it a most enjoyable evening. Many, many thanks for the invitation. Very kind of you.” Prof Collins was smiling with anticipation as he put the phone down.
Formal Dinners at St Bart’s were a popular and well-established tradition. They were an excuse for members of the college – from first-year students to long-serving academic tutors – to dress smartly, put on academic gowns and take a waitress-served meal all together. Not that the staff and students mixed very much. There were a restricted number of places for academic staff and guests – members of the Senior Common Room – on High Table and the students of the Junior Common Room were allocated places apart on Low Tables around the rest of the dining hall. There was an extra fee charged for such Formal meals, distinct from the usual buffet service at college, and the fee was even higher for the grander occasions, as was being proposed for the ex-Master’s birthday celebration. Despite the cost, however, the popularity of especially this last Formal of the academic year meant that the dining hall would be packed.
Carol Davies, Student Welfare Officer at St Bart’s, found a nicely embossed invitation to the final Formal Dinner of the academic calendar waiting for her on her desk when she arrived for work, 9.00am Monday morning. It was to be on Friday week: in twelve days’ time. She immediately phoned Julie, the College Secretary.
“What’s all this, Julie?” she enquired. “I’ve never received an invitation to a Formal meal like this before.”
“I know,” replied Julie, “but on this occasion the Master wanted you and Sally in particular to come. Since it is the last Formal, there’ll be a rush to reserve places on High Table so I got the message to send you invites first of all.”
“Any reason why we’re so honoured?”
“Yes. It’s a special request from Professor Collins on this occasion of his birthday. He was Master here a couple of years back – before Dr Adams and before you were appointed. He’s a real dear, you must have heard of him. Apparently he wants to meet the new staff and new members of the SCR. And I think he knows you’ve made a bit of a splash since you’ve been here so I guess he wants to see what all the fuss is about.”
“Have I been causing a fuss?”
“Come on, Carol! You know you have. So of course Professor Collins wants to meet you. But don’t worry – like I say, he’s a real dear. Most of us love him and I’m sure he’ll be quite taken by you. And Sally. You’ve both been sent invites.”
“Can we bring partners?”
“Usually that’s OK. Both the Master and the ex-Master will be bringing their wives so you are entitled to do so if you wish. But you had better confirm places before all seats are taken.”
“Right. Then can you confirm for us both? I know Sally will want to come and we will both be bringing partners. Reserve us four seats can you?”
“Will do. You sure you want four?”
“Absolutely!”
“OK. It’s done. Some of our boys will be quite disappointed you’re bringing a partner, but you know what they’re like!”
“I do. And they’re just boys, so there’s no contest. Thanks, Julie, you’re an angel.” Carol rang off.
That evening, Carol and Sally discussed their invitations. They didn’t normally go to Formal meals at the college but on this occasion, given the personal nature of the Master’s and the ex-Master’s summons it would have been rude as well as unpolitic to decline the offer.
“Trouble is, many of the stuffed shirts of the SCR are just not my sort of company,” complained Sally.
“I know. That’s why I reserved places for partners; I thought you’d like that. Are you going to ask Duncan to accompany you?” Duncan was a friend from their undergraduate days who had been chasing Sally for years.
Sally smiled. “Of course. I’ve gotta give him something now and again to keep him hanging on!”
“You’re awful, Sal. When are you going to settle down with him?”
“Dunno. Not yet, that’s all. He’ll be great for the SCR – they won’t know what hits them when he’s had a few – but can I live with him? Not yet! What about you – who are you going to take?”
“I’ve not stopped thinking about that all day. You know who I want, don’t you?”
“Yes…but would he come?”
“If I insist, I think he will. But am I being selfish? Is such a Formal, with all the SCR there, going to be his thing?”
“Probably not, no more than it is for us. But I’d like to see him there and see how he interacts with them…and it will be fun to see how he and Duncan get on.”
“Yes…” Carol was very introspective. “The thing is…I want to get to know him better and it’s so difficult when I don’t know how long I’ll have him before he changes out of his skin again…”
“Well, we’ve talked about this for ever. You’re part of the reason; the biggest part, in my view, for his shyness and inability to share our company. We both know it and he knows it too, so we’re doing him a favour in forcing him to confront you and his own feelings for you.” Sally grinned. “The Formal Dinner will be the crucial test to see how long he survives. It is going to be fascinating – you’ve got to invite him. Do it now. I’ll call Duncan as well…”
It was decided.
Late Monday evening and Annabel’s mobile buzzed. It was Stephen Maxwell. Annabel made sure her husband was ensconced in his study with the door shut before she answered.
“Hello, Stevie, my love. How are you?”
“Fine, fine, Annabel. I’ve got some good news for you.”
“Oh yes? Do tell.”
“Well I’ve been doing some digging. You know you mentioned you wanted that greyhound got rid of as soon as possible, yes? Well there are people in the dog racing business that can help.”
“Oh, Stevie, you are a wonder. What have you found out?”
“It’s all very hush hush, so don’t breathe a word of this…but every year there are tens of thousands of greyhounds that are retired from racing and have to be disposed of. Illegal to kill them, o’ course, but who’s gonna take all them dogs, eh? There’s a racing kennel near us that pays people to take ‘em away, no questions asked. Well – I followed up a lead there and found someone who can help.”
“I don’t want that mutt just taken away, Stevie. I want it dead – stone-cold dead. It can’t ever invade my nightmares – not ever again!”
“Yes, yes, Annabel. I know. This man’ll do it. He lives on a farm up Weardale somewhere, so I understand. Met him in a pub this afternoon and we had a long talk. But like I say, you gotta keep this quiet. He’s got a captive bolt gun from an abattoir; he’s done for any number of dogs already and buried ‘em up on the moors, above the farm. It’ll cost a bit but he’ll do it if we can catch that animal.”
“We gotta catch it first? If we do, will he come straight away? I don’t want that damned dog causing any trouble and letting everyone know we’ve got him. You know the noise it makes!”
“Yeah, I thought of that. He says it’ll take him a couple of hours to get to Durham…but it will be quicker if we can advise him beforehand so he’s standing by. He doesn’t want anyone knowing about his business either so the quicker the better for him as well. Says he’s got a Transit van and he can do the business there and then as soon as he gets the dog inside. Shooting the gun off
makes a noise, he says, but it’s no different from someone banging the van door loudly. There’s no blood, no mess, no incriminating evidence afterwards. ‘Cept a dead dog, of course, but he’ll dispose of that.”
“Oooh, Stevie! This sounds just what we’re looking for, you lovely man. Well – that’s settled it, then. We gotta catch the beast next time we see him around here. That may not be so easy…”
“It’ll be easier, my love, if you don’t run off screaming when you see it. Just give me a call and I’ll come round quick as I can. Of course, it will be better if we can trap it in the house or somewhere first of all. And George mustn’t know or he’ll let the dog out of the bag, so to speak.”
“Yes. It will have to be when he’s at work, or out or something. So far, I’ve only ever seen that mutt when he isn’t around which seems pretty incriminating. I reckon he finds that dog somewhere and releases it near me – either in college or at home – just to get at me. So if we can turn the tables on his plans that will suit me just fine. Thanks for the call, Stevie. You’ve made it so that I’m almost looking forward to seeing that brute of a dog this time. Brilliant! I love you!”
The rest of the call between the two of them descended into a series of snuffles and woffles and baby talk but the conclusion to their conversation was not infantile at all. It was murderously serious.
Late Monday evening and George’s mobile buzzed. It was Carol Davies. George looked round and made sure his study door was shut before he answered.
“George, you’re coming out with me on Friday evening next week. Book it in your diary right now because I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Is that so?” George replied. “I’m going out with you, am I? And just what sort of evening have you got planned for us?”
“It is going to be a very elegant Formal meal and I need someone like you to come with me and chaperone and protect me.”
George laughed. That was a good one. “Who’s going to protect me from you then? And is Sally going? Will I need protection from her as well?”
“Now, George, you’re being obstructive – and ridiculous. You don’t need any protection from either of us, only from yourself if you get some wild notion to change shape again. Besides, Duncan’s coming. You’ll like him.”
“Who’s Duncan?”
“Duncan Mackay. A friend of Sally’s. Her special friend…and he’s almost as wayward and unpredictable as you.”
“I’m unpredictable? What about the two of you? I never know what you’re going to throw at me next. Just exactly what is this elegant meal you are trying to drag me into?”
“It’s a college Formal. Sally and I have received special invitations and we’re only going if you and Duncan go with us.”
“Right. So you’re not going then.”
“Now don’t be awkward. Of course we are going. And I need you to go with me as my chaperone, I’ve told you that.” Carol knew perfectly well that George would normally want to run a mile in the opposite direction from university functions, but by playing up her need for ‘protection’, she reckoned George would be too much of a gentleman to turn her down. Nonetheless, the required protestations would have to be gone through first.
“Carol, you cannot take me to one of those awful academic get-togethers. They’ll either be talking a lot of wishy-washy codswallop that will be of no interest to me, or they’ll be swanking around with their noses in the air and pretending they are all terribly important. Absolutely not. Not my scene at all. No way. You cannot do this to me.”
“George, it’s you that’s talking a lot of wishy-washy codswallop. You haven’t a clue what some of these people are like. Some of them are really nice, friendly and courteous; feet solidly on the ground; quite, quite normal…certainly not liable to turn into monsters, gargoyles or greyhounds at a moment’s notice. And I want you with me to fend off any dogs who want to get too friendly. You’re not going to be one of those dogs, are you? Tell me you’re not…”
That was a low blow. A sensitive individual, George’s feelings were hurt. He half suspected that he turned into a greyhound (goodness knows how) as his last defence against this staggeringly beautiful female that he found simply oozing with sex, sensuality and desirability. She was irresistible. In fact the only way he could resist her was to swallow bucket-loads of alcohol and pass out. He went silent.
“George?” Carol instantly regretted what she had said. She could feel his hurt down the other end of the phone.
“I won’t get too friendly,” George replied, his voice flat and quiet. “Easy for you – I won’t go. Neither as man nor dog.”
“George, I’m sorry.” Carol was alarmed. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I really didn’t. I love you to bits, George, and you are the only one that I want to get friendly with…and as a man, not as a dog. No one else. Understand, George? Are you listening? Talk to me. I really, really want you to go with me. Please! I can’t go alone…”
George was struggling with his feelings. “I’m still here. I’m thinking. Let me call you back.” He put the phone down.
“SHIT!” As the line went dead, Carol swore loudly and threw her mobile down. Sally looked at her in concern.
“Shit, shit, shit! I really screwed that up!” Carol was mad with herself. “Now he won’t want to see me again. Oh, Sally, how could I be so stupid and say everything wrong like that? What is it with me and men? I’m sick to death of all these arrogant machos and narcissists and then I find this shy, gentle, absolutely adorable one who is totally bewitching and I come over like an arrogant, pushy feminist and insult him right down to his marrow. But dog or man, I love him!”
This confession, out loud to herself and to her best friend, brought tears to her eyes. How was she ever going to rescue the situation?
Meanwhile, not so very far away in the nearby village, George was still struggling. He turned to his desk draw and pulled out the whisky flask. He looked at it. Then he put it back, unopened. No – not this time – he was going to think it through and not retreat into an alcoholic haze.
What was he going to do with his life? He was married, he admitted to himself, very unhappily now and had kept it together out of force of habit, no more. His wife had been bolder than he and had done something about it – throwing herself into the arms of a neighbour. Could he really object to that? He had not wanted to confront the awful truth that he had wasted years of his life with her and he guessed she had not wanted to question things too deeply either. And now there was this glorious twenty-something young siren that had somehow swam into his life and he was almost too frightened to look at her. Moreover, she had just told him she loved him to bits. What was he going to do about that? Run away from her?
The fact was that George didn’t really believe her. He was an unattractive, hopeless old fool and he knew that if he got emotionally involved with her he’d only get hurt when some more attractive, intelligent and sophisticated young man came into her orbit. And he’d be left looking like a stupid old geezer that should have known better than to act like a gormless, love-struck teenager. He had better not see her again. He really ought to get himself under control.
But then again, why couldn’t he get his feelings under control? OK, she might be the sexiest thing he had ever seen – either on two or four legs – why not just admit that to himself and go along with it for wherever it took him? If she eventually tired of him and found another, well – what had he lost? It would be a roller-coaster of a ride while it lasted. And he simply had to get his feelings under tighter control. What was he? Man or mouse? Or greyhound? He was not some fragile, emotional teenager any longer. Call her back and say he wanted to go out with her – damn it all – wherever it led in the future. He picked up the phone.
When Carol’s mobile sounded she dived upon it like a shark taking a victim. It was George calling! She could barely speak.
“George! I’m…I’m sorry…what can I…”
“Listen woman…” George’s spirit
s were rising. He had made his decision. He was not going to let this or any other female play with his feelings any more. He was going to lay it on the line. “…I’ll go with you, OK? I’ll go to this bloody Formal Dinner and you had better introduce me to some normal, decent people and not some fancy, pretentious, high-falutin professors or whatever who are too snotty and superior. And tell me more about this Duncan. How do you know if I’ll like him? Where’s he from?”
Carol was holding back the floodgates in relief. “Inverness. Oh, George – thank you! Of course you’ll like him: he’s a mad Scotsman we knew at Edinburgh Uni. Half wild, so Sally was enamoured with him right from the outset.”
“Is he another academic?” George asked suspiciously.
“Not sure what you mean by that. He doesn’t work at university, if that’s what you mean, no. He’s got a proper job. But I work at university. I’m an academic, if you like. Is that so bad?”
“Hmmph!” George hmmphed. “In your case, no. Well, I’m not so sure now I think about it. Dunno if I know you well enough yet.”
Carol’s heart soared. Not yet! That meant he wanted to know her better. “Well, if you come with me next Friday and promise not to change into a greyhound all night you can get to know me loads better. In fact, George, it doesn’t just have to be next Friday, you know…A girl might like to receive offers at times and not have to make all the running herself…”
George hmmphed again. Yes. He supposed she might. He’d got himself into this…he had better get himself out. “Alright. Alright. We´ll see how it goes. If you behave yourself at this dinner of yours, then next time I´ll call you. OK? Right! Bye for now.” He put the phone down hurriedly. He´d committed himself now.
Not so far away in nearby Durham, Carol whooped. She put her phone down more carefully this time and did a little dance in front of her soul mate.
Greyhound George Page 14
