Some of the Characters Appearing or Mentioned:

Mark Henry Foster  The story‑teller:  Pennefather Organ Scholar

Tristan (Tris) Price‑Williams  His well‑proportioned boyfriend

Professor James Tanner  Mark's Maths tutor

Paul Phillips  A friendly solicitor, companion of Professor Tanner

Jacob Van Zyl   Aother friendly solicitor but badly crippled

Paulus Andriessen  Jacob's companion

Charles Fane‑Stuart  Research Student and Assistant to the Bursar

Brigadier Robert Taylor  The Bursar

Mrs Wendy Chalfont‑Meade  The Bursar's Secretary

Drew Penry‑Jones  Senior Organ Student

Boswell Johnson  BA(Cranwell)  The new Servant of the Chapel

Benjamin Mostyn  Organ Scholar [2002]

Jason Knott   A newly minted Porter

Liam Moore  A Lodge Boy

Sean O'Malley   Servery lad and Lodge Boy

It was nice having a few days getting ready for the term without the rush of lectures, tutorials

and so on.  We were up the next morning early as usual, even though our love‑making had

continued until both had been satisfied and replete with those feelings that had become so

much a part of our relationship.  Our run was shorter.  Although we had both swum and

walked on holiday we were not at that peak of condition we felt we were at before embarking

on our summer jaunt.  We knew that Oliver would join us, and perhaps the Aussies, when

term began, so we resolved to make it a permanent fixture in our day again.

     Tris went off to Jacob's office to be there by nine when it opened as he said there was

a stack of documents to be dealt with.  Some to be taken to the Italian Fellow in one of the

other colleges to get the legal and other documents translated, others to prepare for

prospective franchisees.  I knew he was overjoyed at getting this firsthand knowledge of how

a busy solicitor's office worked.  I spent the morning in Cambridge shopping and browsing.

There was music to choose, there was new crockery and some more elegant wineglasses to

purchase, and there was food to buy to stock the fridge and small freezer.  As I came out of

Green Street opposite Sidney Sussex College I was surprised to spot Drew in earnest

conversation with a bespectacled young man who looked the usual type of God Squad

material.  Funny, I hadn't seen any sign of Drew yesterday and his pigeon‑hole had been full

of letters and notices just as mine had been.  I dived into Sainsbury's and contemplated the

range of Italian foods and decided we would have Indian that evening.

     As soon as I got back through the College gateway I found Charles with young Liam,

complete with clipboards.  Liam went off towards one of the other staircases while Charles

hailed me and walked with me towards ours.

     "Mark, dearest, I hope you aren't suffering from the lack of sun here, your tan really

sets off your features."   He laughed.  "Perhaps we could plan a modest divertissement before

it fades, say of the Dear Old Queen and a dusky Eastern retainer."  The clipboard was waved.

"But no, I feel I could not age enough for that just yet." Charles was in a very happy mood.

The clipboard was waved again.  "Have you a moment?"  I nodded.  Charles lowered his

voice and became almost confidential.  "Allow me to vouchsafe you a peek at my old abode

now ready for my successor."  We walked to the front door and stood by the entrance to his

'old abode'.  He opened both doors and I was ushered in, not expecting what I then saw.  The

whole place was transformed.  It was no longer garish, over‑dressed with fabric and smelling

'like a Turkish brothel', as Adam had snidely whispered to me one day.  All the pictures of

Charles in his various manifestations were gone, including the stunning one of him as a

platinum blonde beauty.  Now, the dark wood panelling was gleaming, the old carpet on the

floor had been replaced, and the windows were hung with brightly coloured plainer fabrics

which complimented the rest of the subdued, very expensive‑looking, decor.   Rather

expensive‑looking paintings were hung around.   What a change!

     He bowed.  "Mother's gift to the College," he said.  "Mother does have good taste

when she is allowed."

     I said it was a wonderful transformation.  He laughed and said all the old tat had been

gratefully received by the wardrobe department of the local theatre and he was looking

forward to seeing a production there using his old curtains.

     I asked him about his own vacation and suggested he told me about it over coffee.  As

I laid the tray, displaying some of my morning's purchases before him, I asked, "But, your

hair?"

     He put a hand up and ran two fingers through the wave above his left ear.  "Mother

insisted I had it shorn before embarking on the voyage across the great divide.  Her next

client, after the Scottish baronial mansion owner, and the one I was to meet first, was a

clean‑living Baptist from a good and honest working background who prayed to the Good

Lord each morning in thanks for the abundance He had bestowed upon him, as he told me in

fog‑horn tones at that initial meeting.  Mother had thought on a previous meeting with him he

might not take kindly to my preferred appearance."

     He was off.  He was a superb actor.  Every character in his tale was vividly portrayed,

even to the accents.  I felt quite privileged as I was the only audience.

     He dropped his voice and leaned forward.  "I need not have worried.  Both he and his

unmarried son made advances to me before the week was out.  Advances, I might add which

were strongly repelled."  He sat back and smiled, a satisfied smile.  "I took a leaf out of dear

Alexandra's book and the younger Mr Crannock did not appear for dinner that evening and

was last seen driving his Hummer at breakneck speed away from the premises."

     I wasn't sure if this wasn't a rehearsal for a reincarnated, new model Charles, from

the ashes of Clarissa, but I persisted.

     "And Mr Crannock Senior?"

     He raised his left hand.  "Very simple.  After he had described in graphic terms what

terrors might befall me in the privacy of his library, I merely asked if the scenario was of

such a Biblical nature as those I was to discuss with the Reverend JoeBob Buttle that

afternoon as possible depictions on his entrance hall walls and would ask his advice.   He did

go rather red and had to loosen his collar and I left to consult with the good Reverend with

the promise of a substantial reward for my forbearance of  thoughts which only the Evil One

could have planted."  He shook his head.  "I then endured two hours of Apocalyptic ravings

of a very vivid nature from a sweet‑faced, white‑haired, eighty‑year‑old, whose Biblical

knowledge seemed to be confined to the more graphic portions of the book of Revelations."

He sighed.  "I was not unhappy to leave that demented household.  Poor Mrs Crannock

wrung her hands at my departure as I found her the only sane person as the retainers, all

elderly, seemed bowed with care and troubles of their own, and she, poor soul, only wanted

news of the two shows I had seen on Broadway and the joys of London."

     "Charles...," I said, hardly believing a word, but staring at the very expensive looking

wristwatch he was wearing.  Was that bought with the reward for forbearance?  "...And after

that?"

     "Mother polished off that one in no time at all.  The Reverend JoeBob had three

granddaughters who were competent draughtswomen and they were left in charge.  At least

they were not imbued with the Hellfire and Damnation as they had spent time in more

civilised climes and one told me, when in a confidential mood, that she would see that the

murals contained hidden references to more earthly delights."

     He laughed.  "But I continue.  The major assignment after that was another huge

house to be decorated in 'the Italian style', statuary, urns, handmade furniture, Pompeiish

wall paintings and mosaic flooring, all in abundance."  His arms flayed the air and I had fears

of volcanic destruction of my expensive new porcelain.   "My dear, the owners had so much

money it was unbelievable!  He was big in diggers.  Huge monsters tearing up the landscape

in State after State.  They were sweeties though.  He was positively cuboid and she was

blonde, facially reconstructed, but well‑read."  He snickered.  "He was insistent that the male

statues were complete and had ticked off a long list from the Vatican Museum and was

incensed he could not buy the originals even though mutilated.  She, dear thing, had volumes

of Herculaneum and Pompeii and a hoard of painters copying exquisite depictions of

peacocks, flowers, all sorts of animals and views on the vast walls of the mansion.  Mother

had to work round all this and I was dispatched to, of all places, a film studio where the main

bodies of the statues were to be constructed.  It was most embarrassing.  I have to tell you the

innuendos were too gross even for dear Clarissa to contemplate."

     My turn to laugh.  "And who modelled for the extras?"  Surely not Charles himself.

     "Mark," he said severely, "If I tell you this, you promise not to impart the knowledge

to third‑parties."

     I held up both hands and showed him my fingers crossed.  "Of course not!"

     "Dear Tristan at least I allow," he said, taking a delicate sip from the porcelain cup I

had earlier feared for.  "But, I was given an address of another studio.  I did not realise the

nature of the films produced there."  His voice took on a tinge of horror.  "I had to inspect a

whole row of young men who might be chosen to provide the replicas and they wanted to

know what a Limey was doing peering at their possessions.  Not said in such refined terms I

can assure you.  I found their animosity was due mainly to their fears of not being in the

selected group."  A hand was raised.  "Poor dears, so anxious, but all were most apologetic

and very friendly after I pointed at each in turn and said they would all be immortalised in

stone rather than in the ephemerality of film.  I did not point out the statues were to be

cleverly made from plaster and their contributions were of like kind.  That said, Mr

Tommasini was so pleased with the results I was awarded a substantial personal bonus."

     I didn't enquire what he may have spent that on.  "And you're back here in dull old

Cambridge?"

     He laughed.  "I hear your holiday was of a restful nature on the whole.  The lovely

Oliver sent me several cards with closely written descriptions of the joys of the Villa and its

inhabitants and tells me he has formed a relationship with a delightful boy.  I understand he

is that inestimable Fiona's younger brother."

     I said we all approved and Zack was also an inestimable character and there was an

even younger brother whose character was of the highest quality, too.

     He smiled.  "I am so pleased for Oliver, he did seem rather lost for a time."   He

contemplated the plate of biscuits and then reached out and took one.  "Of course, dear

Father has been most attentive, too, in his own sweet way.  I am loath to intrude on his

generous nature at the Villa but he has arranged for Mother and I  to spend Christmas and the

New Year in Venice.  I do not think Mother has the inclination to settle down yet, she is too

set in her career and I feel I must support her in her endeavours however wearing on my

sensibilities."

     I thought, old fraud, I can see you've enjoyed every minute of it!

     He indicated the clipboard which he had beside him on the sofa.  "But then, I may

have found my avocation.  There is much news of a happier sort here.  The Master has been

informed that...." He paused.  I knew he was having some sort of difficulty.  I nodded in

support as he looked straight across at me.  "...Mr Finch‑Hampton has willed his house and

all his possessions to the College."  He breathed in deeply.  "There, I've said it.  It was a

quite unexpected gift, but there would seem to have been some falling‑out in the past

between various members of the family when he inherited the house in the first place.  The

Master has asked me to supervise the refurbishment in due course so that it can become a

valued adjunct to the College as further student accommodation.  The Bursar is most happy

this task has been removed from his shoulders and has indicated a permanent position might

be mine in view of my organisational abilities."  He smiled.  "I think I have found my future

place in College."

     "That's marvellous," I said.  "But what about your research?"

     The hands were raised again.  "My dear, that goes on apace.  I have been helped most

generously by the University Library who have taken on the task of photo‑copying and

transferring to disk all the readable, and even unreadable, manuscripts of successive Servants

of the Chapel.  I am concentrating on the 1500's as this was a time of turmoil and trouble as

you well know.  There are mysteries there, too, and I must take advice where I can.  It is a

task of transcribing at the moment and the Master and Dr Henson are content to give me

board and lodging in recompense for the other duties as well.  I am very happy and I have

been helped greatly by dear Professor Jensen when he was here last week."

     "But the limousine....?"

     His hands performed their usual ballet.  "I have been camping out aloft.  A meagre

blanket or two have sufficed, but the rooms have been prepared ready for me.  Mother hired

the car as usual to bring my possessions from the flat in town.  The boys have taken them up

and I must unpack them later."

     We finished the coffee and he said he would have to go as he had things to report to

the Bursar before he could attend to his own necessities.  I also noted I hadn't been invited to

peek at his new abode, Tris's old room.  I wondered if a couple of statues with pendant un‑

Cellini proportioned willies were guarding the door, and the walls adorned with murals of the

racier sort from Pompeii.  Definitely not the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse that would be

for sure!

     I spent the afternoon in the Chapel playing.  Again, I had missed that wonderful

feeling of discipline and release at the same time over the past three months.  That relation

between keyboards and the sound produced was akin to being with my Tris and I played

through the Cesar Franck Cantabile with him fixed in my mind.  That solo in the tenor

register soared out and I made every note a personal message of my love and devotion.

     After about two hours I felt I was getting back to a semblance of my previous

standard.  When I came down from the loft I found Jason and young Liam busily polishing

the brass of the lamps on the choir stalls and the big brass candlesticks from beside the altar.

     "Thank you, Mr Foster," Jason said, "We saw you come in and took the opportunity

of preparing the Chapel for the new Servant.  I said to Liam I particularly liked the Herbert

Howells but he preferred the more robust Choral Song."

     "The Wesley?"

     "Yes, sir," he said, surveying a shining, thickly decorated stem of the candlestick.

     I was rather flabbergasted.   Here was Jason displaying another unsuspected talent.

"Do you play?" I asked.

     "Yes," he said, eyeing up the second immense candlestick, "I help out my great‑Aunt

Mildred at the Methodist Chapel when I can."

     "Leave that," I said, "I want to hear."

     He seemed hesitant.  Liam nudged him and whispered "Go on, Jase".

     I led the way up to the loft and switched on.  "Music," I said, indicating the orderly

rack of volumes.  He didn't answer and took nothing, but selected my favourite Flutes, 8ft

and 4ft on the Choir and the same on the Swell and a single 8ft on the Great.

     "Sorry, sir," he said pressing his fingers together, "Wrong shoes, so it will have to be

manuals only."

     He launched into a Gavotte by Camidge I had often played.  He changed manuals

with aplomb and pointed up the numerous changes in the cheerful tune as it rippled along.

Liam was smiling and nodding his head.  Oh, Jason, you do amaze me!

     He turned and also smiled as he finished.  "First time here, thank you."

     I just said "Thank you," back.  Then I found he'd taken Grade Eight and I said he

really should go further.  I heard then, as well as his promotion, the Chaplain had persuaded

the Bursar to let him have a day off a week to attend the local Sixth Form College with a

view to A Levels.  "Mr Adam said he'd help with the History when he comes back."  I didn't

know that.  My kind‑hearted cousin had not mentioned it, but Jason said it was all arranged

last term.  History, Geography and Economics were his chosen subjects, and two others had

been lined up to help him, too.  I said if he promised to work I would hear him play on

Thursday mornings after early Chapel and try to give him advice for a diploma.

     Liam was nudging him again.  "You go for it, Jase!"

     "And what about you, Liam?" I asked.  He grinned.

     "Five nights a week at the gym," said Jason, "Budding little welter‑weight he'll be,

eh, Liam?"

     Gosh, yes, I could see the sturdiness of his frame.

     "My brother's in the Army, he's a PTI," said Liam, really the first time I'd heard him

say more than a 'Yes' or 'No'.   "I might join up when I'm eighteen but Mr Tomkins says I'll

be better off here.  Connor's worried about Iraq and says it's better to be kicked around by

Jase here than be blown up there."

     Jason slapped him on the back.  "And if we don't get down there and finish the

polishing Mr Fane‑Stuart will give you one with his clipboard again."  He turned to me.

"Liam's taking over some of my duties helping the Servant of the Chapel and Mr Charles has

been instructing him.  Liam'll help me with the Pennefather set as well.  Mr Charles says it's

a double now.  I can assure you Liam is one for neatness and tidiness."  And one to hold his

tongue I hoped.

     "Have you seen the request for a desk?"  I asked as we went down the stairs into the

Chapel.  Tris was going to leave one at the Porter's Lodge as he went past this morning.

     "Yes," said Jason, "Mr Fane‑Stuart says there is a very nice one surplus to

requirements in Mr Finch‑Hampton's old set."  He nudged Liam this time.  "Young Liam

will be exercising his muscles helping Mr Marlowe dismantle it and reassemble it tomorrow

afternoon, if that is convenient.  If we come with you now you can show us where you would

like it."  Mr Marlowe was the main‑tain‑ance man, who in overalls and belt holding tools of

every description, kept most of the College in working order, and had said my set was not

damaged by the leak from above.

     But there were other things.  I wondered if Liam exercised one particular muscle, his

tongue.  This might upset certain arrangements if he did so.  Arrangements which were so

obvious as I led the pair into our bedroom.  I hadn't tidied up.  Cast‑off running gear for two

was on the bed.  The Manchester United duvet was folded half  back where we had slid out

of the bed to get ready for our run.  Yesterday's socks and pants were either side of the bed.

No sign of nightwear though.  Two unopened suitcases were on the other, unmade, single

bed.

     It didn't take much to realise that two rather large lads had shared the four‑poster the

night before.  Perhaps just to keep each other company?  Perhaps to keep each other warm

against the coming rigours of a Cambridge winter?  Perhaps to fuck like two happy bunnies?

Take your pick, Liam, I thought.  I think Liam realised the full import of the situation and,

while Jason measured widths and depths like a modern‑day Figaro, he busied himself folding

running shorts, jockstraps, and tops and putting those and the trainers on the shelves by the

wardrobe.  He folded back the duvet after shaking it gently to make certain the filling was

even and put socks and underpants in a pile in the wicker basket we kept for things waiting to

be laundered.

     He turned and smiled.  "I can be available each morning, Mr Foster," he said, "If it is

not convenient some signal, perhaps.  Mr Leadbetter puts a red elastic band on his door

handle but he has a double with Mr Farson this year."

     Leadbetter?   Farson? Yes, the chunky lad who played in Ivo's team last year was

Leadbetter if I remembered rightly.  Farson?  I thought hard.  Yes, he was a rather foppish

young man who was one of the drinking and eating club band.  A liaison, as Charles had said

about the new doubles?

     "No need," I said, "We've resolved to go running every day unless the weather's too

bad.  Just clatter about if we're still comatose, but with all we're involved in I think early

mornings will be general.  It's just the dirty laundry I worry about.  Why not come in after

nine if Jason can spare you."

     "The bed will be changed once a week, and I will see all is ready for washing on

Friday mornings," Liam said, with no emphasis on the singular 'bed'.  "If I'm not available

my step‑brother will attend to you and could do the washing."

     "Sean?"

     "Yes," said Jason, putting a protective arm round Liam, "Liam's Mum died three

years ago and Sean's Dad went off so after the divorce there was a wedding last year.  Liam's

lived next door to us since he was born.  Known him since he was in nappies, eh?"

     I laughed.  "You couldn't have been out of them long then."

     They both laughed and I knew that tight lips were the order of the day.

     Tris was full of news when he arrived back at College just after half past five.  I was

in my study looking over another sheaf of notes I'd found stuffed in my pigeon‑hole after the

lads had left.  Professor Tanner was a stickler for work and the Second Year stuff I could see

followed on well from what I'd done before.  But there was lots of it.  Confidence was

needed, though.

     "Hi, precious one," he said as he flung his arms round me, it was obvious who he'd

just bumped into.  "Just seen Charles and the news is out."

     "Pinch‑Bum's Will?"

     "Yeah!  You heard?"  I nodded as he stroked the top of my head.  "Bugger was

loaded! Best news is that the executors' got in touch with Jacob and if he doesn't sue the

estate they'll pay for anymore reconstructive surgery and convalescence.  Pauli says that's

best for all so Jacob's arranging to have the next lot done in a couple of weeks, then there'll

be a major do once that's healed and all should be over.  He'll be walking again."  He

laughed.  "Pauli says he'll enter him for the Marathon then!"  He bent and kissed my ear.

"They're so nice.  It's wonderful.  Your James and Paul have been together since they were

at school and Jacob and his Pauli are the same.  I had lunch with Jacob today and he told me

a bit about what happened when he was at school in South Africa and how he was chucked

out and came here when his cousin ratted on him.  He said he was apart from Pauli for nearly

four years and it nearly broke his heart.  He said that James and Paul had been such  good

friends to him and James thinks you're good, too.  I said I wouldn't tell you that, but he said

there shouldn't be secrets, so you know now, bighead!"

     "James said that about us being friends?" I asked, turning on my chair and making

him sit on my lap.

     "No, you dumbcluck, he thinks you might have a little brain somewhere else than in

the tip of your dick.   Oooh!"  He laughed.  "You're probably like those dinosaurs who had

two brains, one in their head and the other up their arse, yours has just shifted a bit."

     He wriggled his arse against my immediate erection.  I'll make him go Ooooh!

Properly!!

     "If you keep doing that you'll be having a late supper."

     He got up, put his arms round me and kissed me deeply.  "That'll keep you nicely

ready for later," he said, "Now, you tell me about your day and I'll tell you more about

mine."

     We had an early supper and chatted all through it.  I heard more about Jacob and his

background, I filled him in on Charles's saga.  He was starving and the kitchen was filled

with the rich aroma of a variety of Indian dishes.  I'd added a platter of cut banana and

tomatoes to the array, with two jars of special chutney.  Tris had a very satisfied look as he

mopped the last remnants with the remains of piece of naan bread.

     "I must say that a hint of spices and ginger does a power of good to the loins.  No

wonder India's overcrowded," he said with the usual lascivious look in his eye.  "Here, let's

leave this and go and sit.  I'll take the Heineken in, just stick the plates in the sink."

     Good.  I also favoured the possible effects of the spicy food and was just

contemplating what it might result in a bit later after finishing the cold beer, when there was

a discreet knock on our outer door.

     "I'll go," said Tris, "Can't think who it can be."

     I had just come back in from the kitchen as he ushered in the bespectacled young man

I'd seen in conversation with Drew.  Oh, bloody hell, I thought, another one after our souls

and why had Tris succumbed to his entreaties to be saved?

     He saw me and smiled an apologetic smile.  "Sorry to intrude, but I'm Boswell

Johnson and I'm supposed to meet Charles Fane‑Stuart and he's not around.  I'm the new

Servant of the Chapel."

     Tris laughed.  "Charles will be around somewhere.  Have you met him before?"

     Boswell's eyes twinkled as his face broke into a grin.  "Have I?  Bowled over is not

the word."   He looked at us.  "Which one's the Pennefather Scholar?"  Tris pointed to me.

"Dad was about thirty or so years ago," he said, laughing.  "Hasn't stopped talking about it

yet.  He's organist at our church."  He smiled most engagingly.   "Congrats.  I'm not musical

at all, just about keep my end up amongst the basses."

     I was immediately taken with Boswell.  What did we know about him?  Graduate of

elsewhere.  High Anglican.  That was all.

     We were interrupted in this by a brisk knock.  I went this time.  It was Charles in a

real tizz.  "Darling Mark, I am so late!  You have Boswell here?"  I nodded as he rushed past

me.  "The Brigadier insisted I join him in another port after dinner.  Poor Mrs Taylor realised

I had another engagement but he was so resolute I could not refuse.  I think he is kept on a

short leash while at home where drink is concerned."  He had spied Boswell who was

standing more or less hidden by Tris.  "Boswell, my dear, I apologise abjectly.  You have

introduced yourselves?"

     "Glass of beer?" asked Tris, knowing that Charles preferred a gin and tonic.

     Charles held up an admonitory finger.  "I have supped sufficiently but I am sure

Boswell could be accommodated while I go upstairs to fetch his keys."  He turned and rushed

out again.

     We stood and grinned at each other.  Tris held up his can.  Boswell nodded.  Tris

went out to the kitchen.  I indicated he should sit.

     "Who's the Brigadier?" he asked as he sat.

     "The Bursar," I said, "Charles is hoping to take over his job sometime, I think.  He's a

great organiser and the Bursar certainly isn't, and that's well‑known."  I knew that as I'd had

occasion to see him about a leak in the wind supply to the Great soundboard and had to stick

some adhesive tape over the hole and waited for three weeks before the organ builders were

contacted.

     Charles was back, carrying not only a most impressive bunch of keys but also a thick

notebook and the Servant's gown over his arm.

     "For you," he said, handing over the keys, "You will be formally invested with the

gown, however, on Sunday at the beginning of Matins.  I will be there to guide you through

the ceremony.  Quite touching as it dates back to the first Statutes."  He held up the book.

"Each Servant of the Chapel keeps a record of all happenings of interest in the Chapel and in

the College.  It is your turn to start a new journal.  Mine is now entrusted to the safe‑keeping

of the Chaplain."

     "Charles is doing his BPhil on old records of the Servants," I said, "He's found some

rather interesting things so far."

     "Hush," said Charles, holding up a hand, "Do not alarm him on his first day.  Just

record what you see and hear however trivial it may seem at the time.  Our Porters do the

same and their diaries have been most useful in retrieving lost items."

     That set him off and while the three of us supped our beer Charles launched into one

of his vast monologues with a substantial gin and tonic to keep his throat from drying.  We

felt we were really back.  They said their goodnights about ten o'clock.  I said I would wash

up in the morning and for our second night in our bed we replayed the previous night's

scenario.

     Wednesday the Freshers started arriving in hordes.  One of the first was the new

Organ Scholar, Ben Mostyn, as his name label proclaimed.  He seemed quiet but soon

showed he had a mordant sense of humour as he described having been entreated, after his

interview with the Chaplain and Dr Al‑Hamed, by an insistent Drew that he should put away

all evil thoughts and actions as such things would affect his playing, as well as his whole

being and existence.  As he was barely seventeen at the time, he said he'd been quite scared

and almost refused the post until his father, the local vicar, had said he was no different from

any other boy.  Oh, another lad confessing to being a wanker and on the first meeting with

me.  But then he said his girlfriend was up at Girton as well this year.  But I thought he'd be a

real asset and with Boswell could be friends.  Just had to explain the conjugations on the

staircase, as Charles called them.

     I kept somewhat out of the way just seeing four of the six new members of the choir

and chatting to Louie and Toby who were importuning anyone over six foot six to be

members of the Boat Club.  No, I think it was five foot ten as I saw two muscular youngsters

of that ilk signing up.  They'd look good in the College leotards I thought.  Tris worked at

Jacob's in the mornings on Thursday and Friday but manned the Basketball Club stand on

both afternoons.  Wow! I just loved seeing him in those long silky shorts waving his leaflets!

I was getting rather lascivious and then I saw my favourite young ladies and  that side of my

temperature dropped a degree or two but I was so pleased to see them.  They were side by

side womaning ‑ I decided to be PC ‑ the Music Club and Debating Club stands.  I was

hugged and kissed by both, I think raising the expectations of a number of callow eighteen‑

year‑old males who thought this was standard Cambridge practice and if they joined...?

     "Hi, gorgeous," said Dina,  getting in a remark first for once.  "Where's the other

hunk?"  I pointed along the row.

     "She's only jealous," said Fiona, "Louie's been in Switzerland all summer staying

with his Gran so she's feeling deprived and at least Toby took me to up to Edinburgh.  Looks

good in a kilt, he does, it's those thighs."

     "Hussy!  But I did go out and stay a fortnight and had a fab time," Dina  said,

     Fiona laughed.  "But not so grand as my evil little brothers.  Villa Matteoli and a real

live Count!"  She poked my arm.  "And you two and the others!  The pair have made my life

hell since they've been back.  Mark this, Tris that!  Oliver's had his work cut out keeping

tabs on them and doing their homework and snatching the phone away as they're constantly

sending Dad's phone‑bills sky high.  But God bless their little souls." She laughed.  "Zack

sends his best wishes and Brandon says he's used up all that bottle of body spray you gave

him as all his pals got hold of it after PE and the master made a very inappropriate remark

about their joint activities."  She shook her head.  "Nice to be back, though."

     I grinned.  Brandon had sprayed Pietro liberally with it on the last day he was there

and Pietro had also probably made a very inappropriate remark which made Nesto laugh but

had refused to translate but we guessed it referred to dubious sexuality on Brandon's part.

Yes, young Brandon and Pietro's wankathon!  I bet that wasn't mentioned at home in polite

company.  Nor the remark Zack made to Oliver after his inspection of Brandon's over‑used

tool, "The pair of them would have torn each other to shreds with another night of the

same!".

     "Done any work?"  I asked, hurriedly banishing my thoughts to an inner recess of my

brain, and brandished the copy of the lecture list I'd just picked up from my pigeon‑hole.  A

second copy, this one marked up in red and green pen by James Tanner.

     "Bollocks," breathed Fiona, then waved a leaflet at a rather startled young lady.

"Sorry, it just slipped out..."  I forbore adding "...as the bishop said to the actress."

     Dina laughed.  "What do you expect with two young brothers.  But my brother Lucas

is even worse.  He has his own private swear‑box in his room and last time I picked it up it

weighed a ton and Mum says he should give it to his favourite charity."

     "You?" I said.  She laughed and screwed up her nose.  "But work....?" I said.  They

both shook their heads.  Whereas I seemed to work all the time they appeared so much more

laid back about it, but on the surface we were level‑pegging.  But no, Dina did have some

difficulties and so did Fiona.  They made up for these by really knowing the techniques they

felt they could use.  I plodded on never satisfied until I could deal with as much as possible.

I was always looking forward, too.  I wanted to know where a proof or a result might lead.  I

already had a notebook full of private jottings.

     "We'll start on Monday.  Don't forget the Freshers' trek on Saturday.  We'll be there

and so will you!"  They both waved goodbye and started haranguing the throng of passers‑by

and I wondered how much of the freely available fermented grape‑juice of dubious quality

they had already imbibed.  Anyway, I was also clutching a polystyrene cup of the muck

which I had accepted from the Flat Earth Society or the Crochet for Cretins Club, or

whatever the stall before theirs was called, and moved on

     I felt very grand as a Second Year as I strolled around.  But then, Tris was now a

Third Year student.  I had a sudden pang.  Only one more year and we would be parted again.

But my year would be full and so would his.

     I was ruminating on this, having ditched the cup and its vile contents in a convenient

black sack, when I was accosted by a flustered Charles with a grinning Liam in tow, both

armed with clip‑boards.

     "Oh, Mark, sweetheart!  We need assistance, a slight calamity has occurred."  The

clipboard was waved alarmingly.  "Two of the sweet young things have had a hissy fit and

will not share the set I had assigned them..."  'Hissy fit'.  A few weeks across the Atlantic, I

thought,  and he was speaking like a native.  "...How was I to know they were anathema to

each other?  The school was the same, their interests the same, even their post‑codes were

the same.  I took all this as a hint of compatibility.  But no!  Both arrive this morning and

glower at each other and spit veritable fire at poor wee Liam here who conducted them to

their set.  You are the only mediator and hope.  They are both to be in the choir, though

Decani and Cantoris I am sure.."

     "Are there two anywhere else who might share?" I said, "You could look for friends

who have separate sets.  Louie and Toby, they're great pals and you know them well.

They've got quite poky sets on the same staircase."

     "Mark, you are an angel of loveliness and sweet reason.  The set in question is quite

ample in size."  He looked at me craftily.  "Would you be my go‑between, I would not like

either dear Louis or my erstwhile Paris, my invaluable Tobias, to think I had any plans for

them other than through sheer necessity?"

     Casting two large, built‑with‑it, slabs of gorgeousness, in parts requiring the

minimum of costume and the ability to link arms and high step and attempt the splits in the

can‑can, together with ten others of like magnificence, might be considered a task of some

magnitude which he had accomplished with great virtuosity, and now he was asking me just

to have a word with the pair, just in case they thought....

     "OK, OK," I said, wondering if they would laugh, bat me between them like a

pestilential fly, or fall on their knees sobbing out undying love for each other and this was the

answer to their maidenly prayers.  I doubted very much the third and they were too amiable

for the second, so....  "I'll see what I can do.  But it'll cost you.  Tea for four in your new

abode," I said, pointing from Liam, to me, to him and waving a finger in the general direction

of Tris.  "You stay here.  Come on Liam!"

     Toby and Louie were having a slight rest from their labours of cajoling would‑be

rowers and were necking down a bottle of beer each.  "Thirsty work this," said Louie, "Want

one?"

     "No thanks, not at the moment," I said as Liam looked rather longingly at the array of

bottles on the stand.  "I am an emissary of goodwill and the bearer of  certain suggestions for

possible deliverance from those monkish cells you inhabit."  They started to laugh, so point

one wasn't too far off the mark.  Go for it!  My imitation of Charles' rodomontade had been

recognised. "Unfortunately, Charles in his new role of Bursar‑in‑Waiting and General Cock‑

Up Merchant has managed to put two lads who hate each other's guts in a joint set and to

prevent any bloodshed wonders if you would like to share?"

     Liam, still eyeing the bottles, held up his clipboard.  "It's the set at the top of

Staircase E.  Fully furnished and the Bursar is willing to give a discount on gas used.  There's

plenty of cupboard space, too, and I reckon we might find a better fridge for the kitchen."

     They did laugh.  They did agree.  Liam had a look of triumph on his face as both

presented him with a bottle of beer and I took a bottle, too.  As we walked back to where

Charles was lurking he stowed his bottles in an inner pocket of his black coat.  "Poacher's

pocket," he said.

     "You'd make a bloody good Estate Agent you little fraud," I said.  "What's this about

the Bursar's discount and a fridge?"

     He snickered.  "There's a pipe some student must have put in years ago which can

bypass the meter.  I'll just give them the benefit a couple of mornings a week..."

     "And the fridge?"

     "There's a better one in Mr Mantegnant's old kitchen.  I'll get it cleaned up a bit and

swapped over and he'll think it's brand new.  All sorted, Mr Fane‑Stuart," he concluded as

we came up to a less‑harassed looking Charles.

     Even though it wasn't particularly warm he mopped his brow with a large, crisply

laundered handkerchief.  "My dears, such grateful thanks."  He looked at his watch.  Cartier I

guessed.  "Four o'clock sharp.  That gives us time to impart the good news to those two

ungrateful wretches.  Come along Liam, I see one of them skulking by that hydrangea."

     I wandered over to Tris who was looking even more adorable in my eyes and told him

tea at four.  He looked slightly relieved as two young ladies were asking him if there was a

Ladies' Basketball Club although a big sign pointed to the requisite stand.  I skirted the mob

and went to the Chapel and played for the next hour and wondered what was in store for

later.

     Charles and Liam were already upstairs when Tris and I arrived.  The door was flung

open and the usual welcome was offered.  I was more interested in the decor.  It couldn't

have been more different from his 'previous abode'.  It matched very much the decor on the

ground floor but colours were a delightful mix of autumnal shades with hints and flashes of

colour.  The only item in the main room which was familiar was the painting of Clarissa

above the fireplace.  There were artfully placed ceramics around with two table lamps and a

very modern standard lamp.  All in all,  the whole place looked cosy and subdued and

liveable in.  "Do you approve, my dears?" he asked.  We both grinned and nodded.  No more

needed to be said.  There were no rampant statues on guard!

     "Liam and I have been discussing the placement of the new‑comers.  I think all has

been very successful except for that regrettable pair."  A hand was waved dismissively.  "But

even Masters Pretty and Awful...," "Orford," said Liam.  The hand was dismissive again.

"...Even they, although adjacent as at home, are not snarling and can easily avoid each other.

They will need to be seen separately about their placement in the choir.  Master Pretty says

he's a tenor and Liam ascertained Master.."  "Orford," said Liam.  "...Can sing either alto or

bass.  A curious conjunction but possible, I am told."

     "Yes" I said, "We could use a good male alto, but where's the tea?"

     "Hush, do not be so precipitous.  The kettle in on and Liam slipped out and found

some pastries.  Not too large for us as I intend to take you both for a meal in thanks for what

dear Mark has accomplished for me."

     I snorted.  "But he hasn't done anything except incite young ladies' passions with his

golden tan and those shorts."  I pointed in the general direction of his knees.  Tris stretched

his legs.  Yes, quite sufficient to incite me.  "I protest," I said, "I might have ended up in the

Cam for suggesting that pair live together."

     "But, sweet one, we know they have other interests and there are two quite adequate

and separate bedrooms in that set.  I had arranged for a dividing partition to be erected rather

than the flimsy curtain which served as in your dear cousins' set."

     "How long have you been angling for the job?" forthright Tris asked.

     Charles laughed.  "I have been cultivating my acquaintance with the dear Bursar for

the past year.  He has been most attentive to my suggestions as it relieves him exercising

those few cells left between his ears other than contemplating a long drive up the fairway or

whether his dear lady wife has counted the glasses he has already consumed."  He put his

finger against his nose.  "Mother did have a bottle of Chivas Regal which was spare and..."

     "...That has oiled the wheels, so to speak," Tris said and we both laughed.  "Anyway I

thought Bursars were usually old Army or Navy types..."

     Charles's hands were raised.  "...Time to break the mould which has encrusted the

workings of this College for too long...."

     "Wrong sort of mould..." persisted Tris.

     "...Dear soul, I am speaking figuratively of both."  He paused.  "What does a poor boy

do whose first degree is not of the highest quality in the subject he chose to pursue?"  He

shook his head.  I missed the swirling mane.  "I am imbued with the social mores of such

thinkers as dear Thomas Hobbes, Hume and poor Rousseau...."

     ".....Come off it!  Machiavelli more like it..." said Tris with a countering flick of his

hand..

     "Touché, dear Tris.  I must survive and I feel I have much to offer this College.  It has

been my home for the past four years and I would feel the wrench of parting deeply."  He

sighed.  "There I have bared my soul.  It is now for the Master to decide on my future.  He

has been most supportive in my endeavours and the...." He paused again.  "...the Finch‑

Hampton Bequest, though not on a par with the value of the Pennefather, is not

inconsiderable, and gives the College a good deal of leeway in its development.  He has

given me carte‑blanche, as it were, subject to planning permission to develop the site of

Hampton House.  Old Dr Congreve the Fellow in Architectural Studies is to supervise and he

does have a good reputation.  So, I must look to the future..."

     Liam was listening attentively as well as pouring tea and handing round the tea‑cakes.

"Mr Tomkins says the College needs a kick up the arse.  I'm quoting and he should know."

     "Too true, dear Liam, too true."

     There was a contemplative silence for a few moments but then I remembered what I

wanted to find out.

     "The Bursar's discount, Liam?  The pipes?" I asked, "Are they all over the place?"

     Liam looked at Charles who nodded.  "Yes, Mr Foster, most of the sets have the extra

pipe with extra taps..."

     Charles laughed and held up a finger.  "...I shouldn't enquire too far as a certain

Captain Henry Foster, Royal Engineers and a Captain Sven‑Petter Jensen, Eleventh Hussars,

would seem to be responsible for the planning and supervising the installation of pipework,

at least on this staircase."

     "My Grandfather?"  I said.

     "And Oliver's as well?" Tris added.

     "Correct," said Charles, trying hard not to laugh.  "They appear in detail in the very

comprehensive logs of the Servant of the Chapel of the day.  But then what might you expect

after the rigours of the War and that so‑cold winter of '47."  The finger was by the side of his

nose again.  "My dears, as you enjoy the discount all the time under the terms of the

Pennefather Bequest I think sealed lips are in order, do you not agree?  And I can assure you,

precious Tristan, the desk, completely re‑polished, will be installed in the morning.  We have

been a trifle engaged today, haven't we, young Liam?  And for you dear Mark, a small

something to display by those exquisite busts of Bach and Beethoven on your mantelshelf.   I found it in my carry‑on bag I brought from the States.  A souvenir of that encounter with dear Mr Tommasini who so desperately wanted the David as the centrepiece of his collection.  The modelling had to be exact."  He went to a shelf and picked up a box and handed it to me.

"You must look later as time presses.  I have to return to tell Mrs Chalfont‑Meade all has

been accomplished.  Come, Liam, the clearing‑up can take place later."

     We took our leave promising to meet up at seven thirty for the walk to the Garden

House Hotel.   We escaped downstairs giggling together wondering how big the object was

the box contained.  I allowed Tris to open the box and there, all carefully wrapped in tissue

paper, was a perfect replica of  David's Ear, as supplied by the British Museum.  We

collapsed on the sofa.  "What did you expect?" Tris asked through snorts of laughter, "The

dick Michelangelo really wanted to carve?"  "'Ear, 'Ear," I said and had to make a dive to

catch the object as Tris threw it at me.

     We weren't surprised when Boswell also joined us that evening.  I thanked Charles

for the gift, with a straight face, and said Beethoven could have done with a spare one as he

was deaf.  We did not say what we expected to find.   We'd  wondered if Charles had

secreted the whole range of the other models in his hand luggage and imagined the reaction

of the Customs Officers if he'd been asked to open the bag.

     Anyway, the more I saw of Boswell the more I liked him and during the course of

dinner we found that he had been rejected as a student by the College when he'd first applied

as a Sixth‑Former.  What he said really incensed Charles who had to order another bottle of

wine to calm his temper.

     "Yep," said Boswell, "I came up for interview.  There was a crowd of us and we'd

been shown round by a couple of the Third Year students who warned us of who we should

go for, or avoid, for tutors."

     Tris laughed.  "I had the same and my guide was reading Law and that was useful and

he was one of Mr Fullerton's students and he praised him up.  I didn't tell him he was a

friend of Dad's but it was a recommendation."

     Boswell grinned.  "My interview was disastrous.  I said straight out I wanted to read

History and Theology combined and the whole thing went pear‑shaped.  This little man went

to town on me.  I was subjected to a rant about the illogicality of religious belief and the

study of History would show it's deleterious effect on about everything that had happened.

He said he couldn't imagine anyone with half a brain wanting to study such clap‑trap, let

alone proclaim it.  I said I didn't consider either the Archbishop of Canterbury or the Pope to

have half‑brains and I was certain mine was fully functional and I could see that one could

study a subject out of intrinsic interest in any case.  I wasn't accepted, so I went to Cranwell

instead where, at least, one could read what one liked."

     I could see the look on Charles's face.  Tris stepped in.

     "Was your interview with Mr Finch‑Hampton?"

     Boswell nodded.  "Yep, I think that was his name.  Ferret‑faced and sandy."

     We looked at each other.  Very quietly, as Charles signalled for the wine waiter, I

went through the Pinch‑Bum saga.  Boswell shook his head sadly.  "Poor bugger," he said as

I finished.

     "That book is closed," said Charles.  "A sad chapter in the history of the College."