Some Characters Appearing or Mentioned:

Mr Arthur Chalfont-Meade   A golfing enthusiast with a purple nose

Mr Jerry Quinton  The Mayor who is quietly inaudible

Mrs Gwen Quinton   The Mayoress and ex-Art student

Kent Martin   A seedy reporter guaranteed to quote wrongly.

Sergeant Carl Bachman (Carlo)   A newly promoted policeman who likes leather

Dr Percival Sinclair   An elderly don whose eyesight is no longer perfect

Philip Foxx   Captain of Rugby whose picture does him justice

Gervase Box   Captain of Boats perhaps underhung but made equal

Dr Eric Mays   Master of St Mark’s and renowned Biochemist.

Gwilym ap Rees   First Year Organ Scholar of elfin build

Anthony Duncan  A Fresh young Engineering student

Logan Henderson   A second Fresher with the answer to a mystery

 

           

 

 

[           Liam was laughing as I poured him a mug of tea.  He looked at Oliver.  “You’d better read the Times first.  Page eight.”]

 

            Oliver pushed our empty plates aside and laid the paper out.  “Page eight,” he said as he turned the pages.  “Ah, yes.”

 

            There it was.  A headline.  Quite straightforward, almost a direct quote,

 

                                    ‘Sacred And Secular In Cambridge College’ 

 

            Under it were two smallish photos.  One was of the head and shoulders of Frankie and Ivo/Adam - no further.  The second was of part of the cavorting dancers and the courting couples.  A bit more frank but reduced in size showing Charles, Tris and me in full glory as the three left hand figures in the main frieze.  The article did go over the sacred works displayed in the two outer cellars and praised the artistry of Damien FitzArnold ‘the well-known artist’ and then spent a good three paragraphs on the middle cellar and it’s ‘celebration of erotic male rapture’ painted in about 1770 based on known Greek originals and now renovated by Alistair Jameson, ‘who has shown flair in incorporating contemporary alumni in his reconstructions’.   A very neutral phrase for what did appear.  The final paragraph said that no doubt it would all be on the visiting list of anyone not familiar with the byways of Cambridge and it’s treasures.  All quite bland but it did note opening times starting Monday.

 

            Liam then brandished the second paper.  It was the rather outspoken rag Tris and I had been in before.  The front page’s screaming headlines this time were castigating some football star for sticking his cock - as far as one could read between the lines - in some welcoming orifice in a massage parlour.

 

                                    DWAYNE  SAYS  ‘JUST  A  RUBDOWN!’

 

            This was followed by a clear, almost full-page, shot of the well-known chunky figure sidling out of a side-door of a rather seedy-looking establishment.  Under it was a further pronouncement in smaller type.

 

                         TRACEY SAYS “GET STUFFED YOURSELF!”

                                             More on pages 4, 5, 6 and 7.

 

            “We’re on page eight in this one, too,” said Liam making sure all were included.

 

            I turned the pages this time.  Not so large print, but just as lurid.

           

                                            ‘OBSCENE  COLLEGE  WALLS’

           

            Short but not sweet!  The paragraphs which followed were full of vitriol.

 

                        ‘Young people at Cambridge will be exposed to explicit gay love images said to be art by College Head, Eric Mays.  Our reporter, Kent Martin had his camera destroyed and was manhandled out of the foul cellar where the pictures are displayed by two bouncers when he was protesting about the vile paintings.  His appeals to the police were ignored as university and town bigwigs were entertained.  When the Lady Mayoress emerged she was red-faced and said “That was truly something!”

                        The disgusting images were shown in full on television that evening.  The Reverend  Ernie Copthorne, the well-known pastor of the Church of The True Path in Cambridge, when interviewed said “I fell to my knees as I viewed the lewd images.  I recorded the evening news and will show my congregation on Sunday so we can see those evils of the flesh our dear young people are exposed to in the name of education.”

                        The exhibition at St Mark’s College also includes recently found items looted from local churches by Henry the Eighth.

                        When contacted, the College Bursar, Charles Stewart, said the exhibition will be open to the public from Monday.  Entrance will be five pounds, usual concessions for Senior Citizens, Students, Cambridge Residents and the Unwaged.’

 

           Both Oliver and I let out our own screeches of mirth as we read the report.  Liam’s grin showed he’d already seen it.

 

            “Miss Anstruther-Lamb was a good bouncer!” I said, “‘Kent Martin’!  Who does he think he is?  Wasn’t Superman Kent something or other?  And I saw the Lady Mayoress.  She was red-faced through laughing with Mother.  Oh God!  Charles as Bursar now!  At least his name is spelt incorrectly.”

 

            Oliver was spluttering.  “Looted by good old Henry!  Don’t they know any history?  Who’s this pastor, anyway?”

 

            Liam was laughing as well now.  “He’s some mad old git gets up on the Market Place on Saturdays....”  He stopped and looked quite downcast.

 

            “He had something to do with Drew?”  I asked.  I remembered the phrase ‘evils of the flesh’.

 

            Liam nodded.  He was in full flow as recompense.   “He used to give him all those leaflets.  Mr Tomkins told him once to keep away from the College and not dump his rubbish in the Lodge.  He said Mr Tomkins was the spawn of the Devil and would rot in Hell with the rest of the sinners.  Mr Tomkins told him he remembered him from school where he used to peer at the girls through a hole in the changing-room wall.”  He cheered up again and sniggered.  “Old git shouted those were the lies of the damned and he had forsaken the flesh and Mr Tomkins said it was only because he couldn’t get it up....”  He stopped.  He looked at both of us.  Had he gone too far?

 

            I thought I’d better support the lad.  “Good old Albert!” I said, “A master of repartee.  Listen and learn!”

 

            “Better get back or he’ll repartee me,” said Liam.

 

            I found a five pound note and passed it over.  “For the papers and get me another copy I can give to Doctor Anstruther-Lamb, please.  I don’t think that paper is her usual type of reading matter.”

 

            He laughed and went off and was back in about fifteen minutes with a second copy.  I folded it open at the page and wrote a short note saying thank-you for the tea and that this report had come to my notice.  Liam said he would deliver it pronto to her rooms.

 

            I worked hard on problems on Friday morning.  Oliver and I went to ‘first sitting’ in Hall and listened to the chatter of the old hands and the slightly more subdued murmurs of the Freshers.  What was evident was that the hot topic were the cellars.  I saw several students displaying their timed tickets and thought that had been a bright idea.  Just then Charles came in and brought his laden tray to where we were sitting with two Freshers opposite us who were asking questions about which pubs and bars were best.  Sweet young eighteen-year-olds just loosed from mummy’s apron-strings, I thought, then checked myself.  Of course, they were male and needed guidance.

 

            “My dears, let me join you.”  We shifted along a bit on the bench so he could sit on the end.  The two lads gave us  what could only be interpreted as peculiar looks.  Charles was in one of his favourite get-ups.  What looked like an old-fashioned frock coat with turned-up buttoned sleeves and black braid piping all around the hem.  A high-necked crimson silk shirt was under this and a pale blue silk handkerchief was tucked into his sleeve.

 

            He put down the tray and looked at the pair opposite.  “I hope your accommodation is to your liking.  You indicated you would both consider sharing.”  As the pair just stared at him obviously wondering who the hell he was Charles twigged this.  “My dears, I know you but you do not know me!  Charles Fane-Stuart, Assistant Bursar.”  He held out a hand.  “The photograph each aspiring scholar has to enclose with his or her acceptance means we have a ready means of identifying each and every one of you   You must be Anthony Duncan..,” He inclined his head.  “...And you are Logan Henderson.”

            The lads looked suitably impressed and shook hands.

 

            Oliver laughed.  “Charles, you surpass yourself,” he said, “A photographic memory as well.”

 

            He smiled.  “Thank you.”  He turned his attention to the two bright young things as well as cutting, then forking up, what looked like a rather succulent piece of steak.  I hadn’t noticed that on the menu.  I’d opted for the quite succulent looking salmon and broccoli quiche.  Hum!  Menus were also looking up.

 

            “My dears, have you taken your turn at the Exhibition?”  He waved his fork in my direction.  “It was my good friend Mark here who discovered the contents of the hidden cellar through solving the code.  The rest is history.”

 

            Ouch, that did it.  Yes, they’d seen the ‘Celebration’.  ‘Wow!’ from Anthony; a Scottish ‘Jings!’ from Logan.  ‘Saw about it in the Times this morning’ from Antony.  Four more Freshers further up the bench joined in.  Help!  I was a minor celebrity.  But Logan capped it all in a broad Scottish lilt, and made Charles blush by pointing at him.  “And it’s you with the tambourine!”

 

            “Eat your lunch, my dears, and I expect dear Mark might let you into his hallowed abode and demonstrate the secret door!”

 

            Thank you, Charles.  Diverting attention from you cavorting in your nakedness.  OK.  I did the only thing possible.  I said perhaps the six around us might like....  Yes, they would like....

 

            We finished lunch and the six followed Charles, in full flow, with silent, but grinning at each other Oliver and me, across the quad.  I unlocked my outer door and the six filed in.  There was another ‘Jings!’ from Logan - I warmed to him, he had an easy athletic gracefulness as well.  There were gasps from the others as they took in grand piano, harpsichord, dining table, chairs, fine curtaining, rugs, panelling, pictures and the frieze of organ stops.  I explained that as Pennefather Organ Scholar I was privileged to have these rooms.  Oliver then stepped forward.

 

            “But I have to tell you it hasn’t all been all been a life of Riley for Mark.  You may have read about the body in the cellar and...”  He looked at me.  He was going to raise the other topic.  One we had to face at times.  “...at the end of last year the tragic death of one of our fellow students.”  There were nods among the listeners.  “Mark, luckily, survived....”

 

            I didn’t really want to remember those dark days.  I interrupted. “...What Oliver has said is so true.  But I hope we’ve put all those things behind us and I’ll explain what’s here.” I would apologise to Oliver later, but then he also had to come to terms with his fiery experience at Simon Finch-Hampton’s demise.  I asked Anthony to read out the names on the stops.  There was laughter as I spelled out the initials.  I pointed at Logan who was a good six foot and could reach the appointed stop easily.  “Pull the Gambe gently and listen for three clicks.” There was a gasp as the panel swung open.  There was more laughter as the passageway was revealed.  It was then that Logan spoke.

 

            “Ma gret-gret-grandfaither was an engineer,” he began in his soft Scottish accent.  “I’ve read his shop-book.  It mentions this College and that’s why I applied here.  It’s a bit vague but there’s some drawings of a mechanism for opening a door.  My father’s an engineer as well and he couldn’t think what it was.  It must be this door.”

 

            Oh my!  Another mystery solved.  After they’d all had a look and I’d told them about the recital and all the musical happenings in the College the rest went off leaving Logan and Anthony.  They were both going to read Engineering themselves so had a look in the cupboard in the passageway where the mechanism was housed.  Logan nodded.  It looked just like the drawings.  His father was in practice in Edinburgh and had the old shop-books at home.  I said about the Engineering dons who had inspected and repaired the worn parts of the mechanism and they had been puzzled.  Over the next few weeks there were even more inspections and appraisals, especially when Mr Henderson made a special journey down to bring the original drawings which he deposited in the College Library..

 

            When the pair went I did my apologies to Oliver.  I said I wanted to get any bad memories well behind me.  I said how much I valued everyone’s friendship, especially his.  They had all helped to erase what had happened.  I said I never knew I had so many friends until I came here, but, I said again, his friendship was especially precious.  He smiled and agreed he felt the same but he still had those horrible memories of his own which came as flashbacks at sometimes inopportune moments.  That done we went off into Cambridge to the music shop in Green Street were we browsed for anything suitable for oboe and harpsichord and anything not too difficult  for me to learn quickly for elsewhere in the recital.  We spent ages there and had to rush to the Bus Station to meet Tris.  It was all I could do not to hug and kiss him as he stepped off the bus.  That happened in great measure when we were in the privacy of my rooms.  Oliver, bless his heart, discreetly disappeared to the Chapel to play through a couple of the pieces he had chosen and said it was his turn to treat us to dinner.  Tris and I spent the next hour and a half in joyous lovemaking, then showered, poured drinks and sat while we recounted our week apart and waited for Oliver to return.

 

            He came back with Alistair who he’d invited as well.   Alistair said he’d almost finished but had been hindered to some extent by inquisitive students who, if female giggled, if male sniggered, and urged him to be more generous with his restorations.  He said Messrs Foxx and Box had been on a joint viewing and were pleased with what they saw.  “I did them as mirror images so neither could complain,” Alistair said with a grin.  “Come down in the morning and check.  Just a few more bits and pieces and I should be more or less finished by Sunday evening.”

 

            The three of us went down to the cellars after breakfast on Saturday morning.  Both Damien and Alistair were there putting finishing touches to various bits.  Alistair  had also sketched in from a faint border two or three extra heads including  his own and Damien’s and also Raphael.  I said he would be pleased.  As he was looking down at his well-endowed brother from above it was an apt little cameo.  I asked Alistair if he could add a few more heads as there seemed to be plenty of space across the top.  He nodded.  I said I had in mind Jason, Liam and Sean as well as ‘Pull the other one’ Danny from the Club as he had planted the idea.  That meant Jonty and a couple of others as well.  He laughed and said ‘The more the merrier’ as he thought he could make quite a feature of the frieze.  “Make a bit more pocket-money before I go back to Art School.  My Finals this year, too, and you can guess some of the things to go in my portfolio!”

 

            The two outer figures were now fully visible, the staff had been craftily altered into an oar and, dangling from the wrist of the character at the other end was a net containing an unmistakable Rugby ball instead of the athlete’s oil flask.  The two were mirror images of each other with not a millimetre’s difference in the size of the generous flaccid equipment between their legs.  No wonder the two Captains had been pleased.

 

            The rest of the day was spent in shopping and just being companionable.  After Dinner in Hall in the evening we joined the throng for the Freshers’ initiation into the joys of the Cambridge watering-holes.  That is Oliver, Tris and I, with Gabe and Josh chatting up everyone, started out and visited two of the pubs but then peeled off and went straight to the Club.  There wasn’t quite the build-up as for Whippet’s farewell party but Carl was obviously the favourite of Godders and his friend  - ‘sorted out a spot of bother’ as they put it - and the drink flowed freely.

 

            In fact, Carl was in an expansive and chatty mood.  He said  he’d had the first big coup since being promoted and Mr B was so pleased..  The ‘Low-life’, as he put it, hadn’t taken on board the previous visit to tell him to mind his manners.  Last Saturday afternoon he and a couple of drunken pals had given Godders and his shop assistants a rather scary time as they were locking up the shop.   Godders had told Mr B so another visit was arranged for Monday morning.

 

            He and Mr B had turned up at the house just after nine o’clock in the morning.  Low-life’s mother had rather hesitantly opened the door and they had gone in to find Low-life’s father in the sitting-room watching a football match on a rather large, plasma screen, television set.  Mr B gave Carl the nod and said he would watch the match as well.  Carl said he then went upstairs and saw one of the bedroom doors open.  It wasn’t where Low-life was still asleep, but he investigated and saw six large boxes, as well as several Marks and Spencers bags.  The six large boxes contained six more of the television sets.   Well, well, well!  There had been a break-in at a warehouse in Royston the previous week and amongst things taken were seven large television sets.  A quiet glance at the contents of the M & S bags showed a collection of items most probably shop-lifted.  No receipts in evidence!

 

            Carl laughed.  “Low-life’s Dad said he was just looking after the sets for a friend and his Mum said she’d been doing some early Christmas shopping!”  He said both were taken off to the local Police Station and a note was left for Low-life: ‘Mum and Dad are at Parkside.  Get your own dinner.’  He laughed.  “We’d got the van round and cleared all the evidence and taken them off without little Willy Wanka surfacing.   He was stoned out of his tiny mind.  But news travels fast.  When his Mum and Dad got back, after we’d charged them, he wasn’t there.  A bit later he was found beaten up behind the Drummer Street Bus Station.  Somebody thought he’d squealed!  And I don’t think Godders’ll have anymore trouble.”

 

            Carl said Police work was often ugly - but so were the people they had to deal with.  Low-life had squealed eventually and they had recovered all the stolen goods ‘being looked after’ by other confederates and got the perpetrators as well.  He winked.  “Mr B’ll be quite generous when he arrives!”  As he said it so the burly leather-clad figure appeared and the drinks flowed again.

            Shawn, one of the owners, was welcoming everyone effusively and came over to our group and said that ‘your friend’s brother’, meaning Raphael, the sociable angel, had had quite an effect and new customers were coming in.  He said he’d also taken on the ‘little tyke’ as well who had learned bar-keeping skills very quickly.  That turned out to be Curt who was dressed the part in a minimalist outfit which showed off his wiry young body.  I’m afraid the Matteoli outfit Raph was wearing looked a bit tired and I said he’d better come and choose some more.  As much as he wanted.  I would also e-mail Unc with further requirements as well!.  All good for business.

 

            I have to say Oliver and I didn’t imbibe too much and kept quite sober even when the influx of Freshers occurred later.   Fiona and Dina were leading the female contingent and we got special hugs and kisses - not only from them!  I spotted Logan and Anthony before they spotted us and sent Raph over to the two rather overwhelmed lads to invite them to our table.  They goggled a bit when confronted with Brad and Carlo clad in their leather gear but Brad said they were harmless and as Logan had produced another ‘Jings!’ he was invited to partake of a wee dram.  Half an hour later he was doing an almost Highland Fling with Danny who had him safely in his clutches as he whirled and twirled with seemingly gay abandon.  I wondered ‘gay’?

 

            On Monday the tourists’ queue for entry to the ‘Celebration’ stretched up to Trinity Street and Mrs Chalfont-Meade’s brilliant idea of having timed tickets with half an hour only in the cellars was the saving grace or else there might have been riots.  Charles was Chief Usher that day and for most of the week.  Liam and the beefy sub-gardener, Wayne, were roped in as attendants, and were  in charge of the middle cellar for quite a bit of the time.  There was no shortage of students who signed up as attendants earning ‘a little pocket-money’ as Charles put it, including Messrs Foxx and Cox who pocketed extra pennies from numerous flash-happy tourists when they posed, in rowing or rugger kit, in front of their robust less-clad representations.  Another was Christopher Lascelles-Wright, who always seemed to be on duty at the same time as Wayne!  On other occasions when I went down to see how things were going the hubbub was quite something.  The quiet of the first cellar was followed by the squeals and shouts of the viewers as they progressed into the second room.  There was quiet again as they viewed the replicas of the treasures - with the notes that the originals were mainly on display in the Fitzwilliam Museum though some were being studied either at the British Museum or British Library.  The replicas were superbly done and kept the people’s attention.

 

            Monday lunch-time was the opening of the new Dining Room.  This would prove to be a money-spinner as well.  The new Second Chef was a real find.  The thirty of us who experienced both the subtlety and the richness of the food knew he was a master of his art.  No wonder the standard of the ordinary Hall food had gone up as George, the master of the cleaver, wasn’t going to be outdone.  I was placed by Miss Anstruther-Lamb, with James Tanner the other side of her.  She said she had been highly amused by the article and her sister-in-law had phoned to find out if she could be hired for the Women’s Institute Barn Dance as the bouncer.  James said she could do the same next time there was a contentious meeting of the Fellows’ Council.

 

            On the first Friday Charles said the takings were such that all the debts for setting  up both the ‘Celebration’ and the Dining Room should be covered by half term if things went on as they had so far.

            So term began.  I didn’t feel rushed but there were the incessant demands of the lectures, the Chapel, giving organ lessons to Jason and working at problems.  I revelled in the mind-bending aspects, especially in the topics in Pure Mathematics.  Not that I found Applied dull - just most of the time I felt the greater challenge of the Pure.  I wasn’t too keen on the computing components though I liked the logical puzzles involved in programming.   James Tanner was a stern taskmaster.  No, not in a nasty way but work was work in tutorials and I had to concentrate as we explored the main paths and the byways.  He was true to his word and on several Thursdays Fiona and Dina joined us.  Fiona was a steady worker and I thought Dina blossomed over the weeks gaining a lot more confidence.  I wasn’t always the leader as I often got caught up with trying an inviting sideways alley.  James would grin and said that would all come later.

 

            I was also practising hard, not only for the Thursday night recital but also for the FRCO which I was determined to take after Christmas.  Oliver and I got on so well, too.  The ‘Hold’ command was rarely used but it sustained us when it happened.  I was more fortunate in that Tris managed to come down to Cambridge quite a few weekends, but Zack spent a long weekend over his half term with Oliver.  It was me then who had to make myself scarce after their initial meeting and greeting each other.  Luckily Toad said he had been neglecting Laurent and needed to hear French properly spoken so spent his half term holiday in Lille.

 

            Our evening ‘Nine o’clock Knock’ sessions were the highlight of most days.  We all said we needed the relaxation they gave and we didn’t have to pursue the relentless pubbing, partying, pool playing in the JCR, and so on during the week which so many of the undergraduates seemed to spend their time doing.  We saved our energies for the Friday and Saturday visits to the Club and the circle of friends there grew.   Logan and Anthony, though maintaining they were straight, became eager devotees and Logan even did his stint on numerous week-nights as employed drinks-carrier in his Henderson kilt.  He said he didn’t dare go ‘commando’ as he should and he was glad of the Lycra cycle-short undies as the legs gave the gropers somewhere to stick their five pound notes!

 

            We all missed Whippet and his laconic asides but Brad and Carl were around as much as possible and kept a firm hand on the running of the Club to the owners’ relief.  A quiet word here and there and everything ran smoothly.  Brad’s son Tony announced that now he had his degree he was going to join the Police.  I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone so happy as Brad when Tony told us this.  His constant companion, Terry, was working at Police Headquarters, so all was settled there.

 

            In College Charles was the star.  Rising and it suited him.  Once things settled as far as the exhibition and general running of College affairs he returned to his History of the College and one of the delights of our NOK sessions were the anecdotes, usually scurrilous, of the past happenings in the College.  He had found out much more about the cellar.  The ‘four boys of the town’ weren’t the first.  The goings-on in the cellar had been spied on by the Servant of the Chapel who had been ejected one night as he had protested too much about the unseemly dress and behaviour of two of the boys ‘quod nudi in convivis saltare didicerunt’  - dancing naked at the feast.  He went to town on his hatred of, but also his desire for, the ringleader who was the elder of the two Lascelles involved - ‘gratuito potius malus atque crudelis erat’  - he was nasty, mean and bloodthirsty.  As Charles said, the poor lad was obviously torn between wanting to be part of the revels and feeling guilty, - ‘odi te quia bellus es, Lascellus’ - I hate you because you are beautiful, Lascelles.

           

            Tris came down as much as possible.  He was busy, too.  Late one Friday afternoon I was busy rehearsing the choir with a new anthem for Sunday when he turned up.  I was so glad to see him my slight disquiet about one of the more rhythmic passages dissolved.  I think the choir sensed the freedom I then imparted to the beat and I beamed at them as the final chord died away.  On their dismissal Fiona came across.  “Your friend needs loosening up,” she said to Tris, giving him her usual welcoming kiss.  “His beat was a bit stiff until you came in.”   She laughed as she realised the possible double-entendre and Dina poked her in the back..  “Watch it!  You’re talking to boys now!”

 

            We weren’t going to the Club that evening as there was a birthday party with a disco booked in and the noise was likely to be horrendous.  The four of us arranged to meet up later to go into town for dinner and, I must say, I enjoyed those young ladies’ company and the conversation in any case.  No desires.  Just true companionship.  Both were well ensconced with their boyfriends Louie and Toby who were doing their teacher training in London and would be in Cambridge the next day.

 

            Oliver was also absent that night.  He’d gone to visit an old aunt who lived in Peterborough so Tris and I would have the night to ourselves.

 

            Back in the set we sat on the sofa and chatted.  I said how I missed him so much during the week.  He nodded and then laughed.  “Same here, but one bit of news from Microbe, I forgot to tell you...  Minky’s in the club!”   I gasped at that.  Microbe?  He sensed my concern.  “No, it’s OK, it’s not him.  It’s the skinhead or whatever.  Been performing without and she forgot to take the pill.”  He laughed.  “From the forlorn look on Pugsy’s face on Wednesday I think Shelley’s withdrawn her favours in that direction as well.  Can’t be helped, better safe than sorry!”

 

            I just thought ‘Thank God it’s not Francis!’

 

            We were just getting ready to go out when my mobile went off.  I thought it might be Frankie seeing if Tris had told me about Minky.  It wasn’t.  It was Ivo.  Phoning from Rothenia!  After the usual chit-chat especially as he’d had an e-mail earlier in the term with an attached photo of him/Adam touching up Frankie  - of course, from Frankie, and was now wanting six copies of the recently produced postcard - he dropped a real bombshell.

 

            “You know ‘Tory and I announced our engagement at Easter,” he said in more level tones.  I said I did and I hoped they liked the engagement present - Tris and I had clubbed together and sent a voucher for tea at the London Ritz.  “Well, we’re getting married on December the twentieth.  In St Mark’s Chapel.  Phoned the Chaplain earlier this afternoon.  Family and friends. You’ll play, please?”

 

            I was too flabbergasted and also excited to say anything but “What?”

 

            Ivo just went on.  “A case of got to.  Jumped the gun a bit.  Adam’s over the moon.  Going to be an Uncle.”

 

            “And ‘Tory?”

 

            “Can’t wait!  We’re so happy!  Must go.  Talk to you later.  You can send the cards care of the Legation.”

 

            I turned to Tris who had been all ears.  “‘Tory’s expecting!”

 

            He rushed and grabbed me.  “Wonderful news!  Makes me feel a bit broody!”

 

            We clutched each other laughing - joyful with the news and with our own joint happiness.  A new generation was on the way!!

 

            The four of us toasted the impending baby’s head that night as the Thugs had been so much a part of College life and I knew most of the young ladies had lusted after them.  At least, that was Adam’s often stated view!   Tris and I were slightly pissed as we made our way back to College and left the girls at the ‘Bitch Niche’, so we arrived back in quite a merry mood and as soon as the door closed on us we grappled each other on the sofa in the main room.  A trail of discarded clothes then led to the bedroom where a joyful half an hour produced a glorious first climax for both.  I remembered what had been said at Ulvescott Manor about ‘premature’ births and the statement Mum had made about me.  I was still burbling on about ‘runs in the family’ when I entered Tris for the second time that night.

 

            “After that,” he murmured as we descended from the ecstatic heights, “If I were female I’m sure I would be pregnant.”  He paused.  “Perhaps, someday we could find someone to give us the eggs and a womb....  One each.”

 

            I kissed him as tenderly as I could.  “I would want nothing finer than to help raise your child...”

 

            “...And yours,” he murmured as we held each other tightly.

 

            The news of Ivo and ‘Tory’s impending marriage spread fast.  Uncle Francesco insisted he was to be involved with the reception and although Sir Harry Machin, ‘Tory’s Dad, was loaded, he and his wife said they would share.  Aunt Sophie and Uncle George were so excited - their first grandchild!  And, the parents would be married, not like.. ....Here several cohabiting pairs were mentioned including their local vicar’s son, who seemed to have spread his sperm widely among willing young ladies who lasted a few months and were then rejected or ejected, and was reputed to have sired at least three offspring by the time he was twentyone.

 

            Anyway the date of our recital was more important than idle gossip.  I polished up my playing of Oliver’s Prelude.  I did suggest that one sequence of chords might be easier to manipulate with a couple of tied notes and a slight rearrangement of the chords and pedal passage underneath.  Gwilym was most helpful.  He insisted he would help with page-turning and registration where necessary.  I also practised hard on a couple of Scarlatti Sonatas for the harpsichord alone and Oliver and I worked assiduously on his pieces where I would accompany him.  I had three other short organ pieces planned but having chosen to end the first half with Rheinberger’s Sonata No 4 in a minor I decided that the finale would be the Liszt Fantasia and Fugue on B A C H.

 

            The Thursday arrived and there was an absolutely full house.  Mum, Dad and Toad were there as well as Tris’s parents.  Oliver’s grandparents came up and at last we met his father.  A very ebullient character who charmed everyone with his wit and wisdom.  Only Steady Eddie wasn’t there as he was still in school down in Dorset.  As I looked down over the organ loft rail before I started with the Prelude I was gratified to see a whole phalanx of friends from the Club.  At the end of one row were Brad, Inspector Woolpit and the urbane figure of  Assistant Commissioner McKenzie with his wife, daughter Fiona and sons Zack and Brandon.  Zack smiled up at me, he knew the secret of the As.  Mr McKenzie and Whippet were able to be there as he had been speaking at a conference in Cambridge that day and he needed his aide-de-camp with him.

 

            I was really elated as I reached the end of the Liszt with those enormous chords.  The whole programme had gone so well.  Being on the floor of the Chapel with the harpsichord was quite a new experience for me rather than being up above all the time in the organ loft.  I felt the audience were with me as I played my Scarlatti pieces.   There were smiles of appreciation too of the works with oboe as Oliver’s mastery of that recalcitrant instrument was so evident.  There had also been that prolonged applause after the Prelude when he was urged to make his way forward and be acknowledged as the composer.  I saw Zack’s eyes on him as he bowed down below and I stood up above.

 

            After the recital there must have been over forty people who crowded into my main room.  As usual, Charles had insisted he oversaw the catering and Liam, Sean and Curt were busy supplying drinks and tidbits, under the watchful eye of Jason, as the conversation flowed and everyone met everyone else.  I saw Mum surrounded literally by about six of the lads from the Club, including Logan, Anthony, Danny and Jonty.  I dreaded to think what tales were being spread and hoped that she might think the others were also undergraduates.  But being Mum she’d know and egg them on to tell all!  Frankie was in deep conversation with Whippet, Carlo and Dave and I saw Whippet give him a plastic carrier bag which he’d had with him when he came to my set before the recital.  Dad was well away laughing with Oliver’s father and the other Jensens.  Oliver was, of course, with Zack and his mother, while Fiona and Brandon were escorting their father round the throng and had the Master and Mrs Mays enthralled in some tale.   Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dr Anstruther-Lamb chatting to a very relaxed, beautifully turned-out in new Matteoli gear, Raphael, with Gabe and Josh dancing attendance and old Dr Sinclair holding onto Gabe’s arm for support for his old legs.  I’d invited Jak and Max as well and Max and James Tanner were chatting and laughing about something while Tris was in earnest conversation with the law trio from the bungalow.

 

            But, it was while I was talking to Mrs Henson, the Chaplain’s wife, that disaster struck.  I love olives.  Big, succulent olives.  There had been a dish passed round before and I’d savoured the two dark Kalamata olives stuffed with pimento I’d speared.  As I was talking another dish came round.   I selected a good-sized specimen and, as Mrs Henson said something, popped it into my mouth and bit.

 

            Wow!!!  There was no soft centre of pimento.  I bit down very hard on a stone.  There was an audible crack - at least to me - and I fished out half an upper molar.  True, that tooth had been filled a couple of years previously after another minor mishap - caused by a plum stone that time.  As the piece of tooth came out I nearly shrieked.  Pain hit me.  The whole of the side of my face seemed on fire.  Mrs Henson took one look at the bloodied ivory in my fingers and assessed the situation.  “Come with me,” she said and led me from the room.  She led me as I was almost blinded by the pain.  There is something about nerves in teeth that seems to transcend other sorts of pain.   A kick in the goolies is bad enough and some medical student had told me gall bladder pain was worse than childbirth, but I wasn’t into thinking about comparisons at that moment.  She took me back to the Chaplain’s House where, as a qualified nurse, she set about looking to see what damage was done and giving me two very strong pain-killers.

 

           “There’s about half the tooth still there and the whole central pulp is exposed and that’s where the nerve is,” she said.

 

            I knew.  That nerve was suffering from exposure and it was complaining bitterly.  She gave me a small bottle.

 

            “There’s four more of those tablets in there.  Two when you go to bed and two in the morning.  I’ll contact Mr Armstrong now and see if he’s got an emergency slot tomorrow.  Come and see me after breakfast but I advise you not to eat anything.”

 

            Mr Armstrong - lovely name for a dentist who needed pulling power - answered immediately.  Yes, one thirty tomorrow afternoon.  Don’t be late!

 

            I went back to the gathering but could hardly speak.  At least the pills had reduced things to a dull ache.  I didn’t dare drink or eat anything else.  Charles was full of apologies.  He should have had the dishes labelled.  Not his fault I murmured as best I could.  Tris was most distraught - he had wondered at my absence - but thought I’d needed to go to the loo with after-performance nervous loosening!.  Everyone else was most sympathetic but what should have been a happy finish to our triumph was something I just wanted to end as quickly as possible.  Luckily, all the London lot had to leave and that broke the party up somewhat.  I mumbled to Fiona and Dina what had happened and they said don’t worry about the morning lectures they would take notes.  We had that arrangement anyway.  If any of us were absent then the others would make a second, carbon, copy.

 

            I sloped off to bed and Tris came in to bid me goodnight before he went off.  I would have loved him to stay but he had a nine o’clock lecture next morning and wasn’t coming at the weekend as he’d promised to play in an Old Boys’ match on Saturday.  Anyway, by that time, the effect of the pills had really kicked in and I felt very groggy.  Oliver was so solicitous.  In fact, he had to help me undress and I was soon under the duvet having swallowed two more of the blessed pills and was well asleep when he had seen all off the premises and got into his own bed.

 

            In the morning he left me alone and went for his usual run with the others.  I was still dozy when he returned.  I had some warm water with the third lot of pills and dozed again.  Mrs Henson had came across just after nine as I hadn’t turned up but I was still asleep.  I woke up about eleven and found Liam sitting by the bed reading one of my detective novels.  Mrs H had commandeered him and he was my guardian until I could get to the dentist at one thirty.  Oliver was back from his own lectures just after twelve and he came with me to Mr Armstrong’s surgery.  I was in the chair at one fifteen and had an injection, and at one thirty the rest of the stump was extracted and the bleeding hole plugged.

 

            “I’ll give you an antibiotic just in case and take something like paracetamol - nothing stronger.  It was a big tooth and you rammed the root well up when you bit so the whole of the bone will be a bit tender for a couple of days.”  He smiled.  “Not too bad, though, I had one of St Edmund’s front row forwards in yesterday morning.  He lost his front row during Wednesday’s game - wasn’t wearing a mouthguard.   Had the same myself when I was a student.”  He opened his mouth and I could see his top four teeth were false.  “You can have a plate, too, but wait a while.  Losing one’s not too bad.”

 

            Cheerful!  I was reminded of the Private Eye columns of the taxi drivers who had ‘that so-and-so in the back’.  Still, all I had now was a completely numb face and what felt like a gaping chasm when my tongue explored my loss.

 

            I got back to my set to find a neat set of copied notes with the day’s problems from Dina.  I dozed a bit then set to work.  I got through the straightforward problems but at the end of the notes for the second lecture there was a real bastard.  It looked deceptively simple as so many problems in Pure Maths do.  A statement requiring a proof with an answer likely to open up all sorts of possibilities.

 

            In the end I left it.  I’d had to cancel an extra tutorial with James Tanner because of the dental appointment so in penance I had a go at the next chapter of his manuscript.  I felt more at home and was thoroughly enjoying the mental gymnastics as he’d chosen some entertaining as well as intriguing problems to follow his exposition.  I remembered the introduction to the work in this chapter from what we’d done last year and I could see where this was leading.  I was totally engrossed in my own little world when Oliver came back.

 

            “How did it go?”

 

            “OK,” I said, “Got a hole the size of Everest and a dull ache.”

 

            He didn’t think my analogy was at all good and made comments about my paucity of expression.  I was too weak to deal with him in a Thuggish manner and just said I was hungry, so he offered to make a bowl of soup for me.  I managed that and said I didn’t feel like going to the Club that evening and I was intrigued with this problem I couldn’t do so I would have another go at it.  I still got nowhere and put it down to the tooth and the effect of the pills.  I nagged at the problem in my head all day Saturday and, feeling a lot better, went to the Club with Oliver and the Aussie pair and the change did me good.  It was either that or the three drams of whisky Brad insisted I had as, in his opinion, that was a sovereign remedy for any kind of ache, tooth or otherwise.  I think the sight of Logan bringing over each potion in his kilt helped as well.

 

            Sunday morning it was my turn for playing for the service.  Whether it was the peace of the organ loft, or the sermon, but it was like the time I had the idea how to solve the code.  Again, it was a visiting preacher.  This time the theme was on different interpretations and he quoted from Ecclesiasticus about something that was translated into another tongue.  ‘Another tongue’.  It must be like that other problem I’d solved.  Look at it from a completely different angle.  It then struck me that by using about four different known results the jigsaw would be completed.  I was doubtful.  Surely a problem as complex as that wouldn’t have been set?  Perhaps I was making a real mountain out of a molehill.  I then had to stir my stumps and concentrate on being an organist as the Chaplain had taken over and was announcing the last hymn.

            After lunch in Hall Oliver and I went for a walk along the river.  He said I was quiet.  Was it my tooth, or lack of it?   I said I was still mulling over a rather recalcitrant problem and I thought I might have a rather tortuous solution.  He just laughed and said I’d better write it out when I got back.  He had plenty of work to do so I wouldn’t be disturbed.

 

            I spent about two hours setting out the proof as carefully as I could.  I’d never had to tackle anything like this so I thought I really was going round the houses.  I thought James Tanner would have a good laugh when he saw my circuitous efforts and show me in about half a dozen lines rather than in the three pages it had taken me.

 

            Monday morning I met up with Fiona and Dina as usual and, after asking how I was, we sat through three lectures, scribbling frantically.  As we walked back to College for lunch I asked how they had got on with the extra problem.

 

            “What extra problem?” Fiona asked.

 

            “That one at the end of Mike Maples’ lecture,” I said.

 

            Dina was looking at me strangely.  “Those were my notes.  He only set the usual three problems and they were on the printed sheet...”

 

            Fiona butted in, “....Yep, and they weren’t too bad.  You just had to use the results he’d gone over.”

 

            “I know,” I said, “I managed those but I’ve spent the whole weekend over that fourth one and James Tanner will laugh his socks off at the cack-handed way I’ve tackled it!”

 

            Dina said quite firmly.  “There was no fourth problem set.  Dr Maples put up something which had cropped up in his doctorate and he’d never been able to solve it.  I just copied it down out of interest.  Sorry, but I didn’t note there was no solution...”

 

            “But you’ve solved it?” asked Fiona, “You’re sure?”

 

            I nodded.  “I think so.”  I said about the sermon and the different translations so I’d looked at it ‘translated’ as it were.  Four different approaches were needed to get through all the steps.  They were agog.  We went back to my set and we sat at the dining table and I explained what I’d done.

 

            “It looks OK to me,” said Fiona.

 

            “Explain that bit,” said Dina.

 

            I went through that bit of the proof again.  Both girls nodded.  “It makes sense,” said Dina.

 

            “You’re seeing the Prof at two?” asked Fiona.  I nodded.  “We’re coming too.  I for one want to know if you’re right.”  Dina nodded as well..