Full terms at Cambridge are eight weeks long, and although Sasha attempted to survive on as little sleep as possible, he still couldn’t believe how quickly his fifty-six days in office as president passed. No sooner had he stepped down from the high chair, than his supervisor reminded him that finals were fast approaching.
“And if you’re still hoping for a first,” Dr. Streator reminded him, “I suggest you now devote the same amount of energy to your studies as you did to becoming president of the Union.”
Sasha heeded Dr. Streator’s advice, and continued to survive on
six hours’ sleep a night while he spent every waking hour revising, studying past examination papers, translating long passages of Tolstoy, and rereading his old essays right up until the moment he climbed the steps of the examination hall to sit his first paper.
Charlie and Ben joined him for a quick supper every evening to discuss their own efforts, and what they thought might come up the following day. Sasha would then return to his room and continue revising, often falling asleep at his desk, and feeling less and less confident as each day passed.
“The harder I work,” he told Ben, “the more I realize how little I know.”
“That’s why I don’t work at all,” said Ben.
When Sasha handed in his final paper to the examiners on Friday afternoon, the three of them opened a bottle of champagne and celebrated long into the small hours. Sasha ended up in bed with Charlie, although it had proved quite an effort to climb up the fire escape, and he fell asleep even before she’d turned out the light.
There then followed that agonizing period when undergraduates have to wait for the examiners to decide which class of degree they consider them worthy of. A fortnight later, the three of them trooped across to the Senate House to learn their fate.
As 10 a.m. struck, the senior proctor, in his long black gown and mortarboard, walked sedately along the corridor, bearing the results in his hand. A hush descended on the undergraduates, who parted to allow him to pass, as if he were Moses approaching the Red Sea.
With considerable ceremony, he pinned several sheets of paper to the noticeboard, before turning and progressing as slowly as before in the opposite direction, only just avoiding being trampled in the stampede that followed.
Sasha protected Charlie as they made their way toward the front. Ben didn’t move, remaining at the back of the scrum, not at all sure he wanted to know the examiners’ opinion of his efforts.
Long before Sasha had reached the front, several new graduands who passed him on their way back doffed their mortarboards, while a few even applauded. A starred first was rare enough in any subject, and only one name appeared at the head of the list for the Modern and Medieval Languages tripos.
Charlie threw her arms around Sasha, having checked his result before looking for hers. “I’m so proud of you,” she said.
“And what did you get?” he asked.
“An upper second, which is about as much as I could have hoped for. It means I’ll still have a chance of being offered a research post at the Courtauld.”
They looked around to see that Ben still hadn’t moved. Charlie turned back and ran a finger down the Land Economy list. It was some time before she reached the name Cohen.
“Will you tell him,” she said, “or shall I?”
Sasha marched up to his friend, shook him firmly by the hand, and said, “You got a third.” He didn’t add that the name of Cohen, B. S., appeared near the foot of the table.
Ben let out a sigh of relief. “Should anyone ever ask,” he said, clutching the lapels of his jacket, “I shall tell them I graduated with honors, and will be joining my father at Cohen and Son.”
Their laughter was interrupted by raucous cheers coming from a small group on the other side of the hall, who were throwing their mortarboards in the air and toasting their heroine with champagne.
“Fiona obviously got a first,” said Ben. “I have a feeling you two will continue to be rivals long after you’ve left Cambridge.”
“Especially as I’ve decided to join the Labour Party,” said Sasha.
23
ALEX
Brooklyn
Alex looked out of the cabin window as the plane began its slow descent over Manhattan. A break in the clouds allowed him a fleeting glance at the Statue of Liberty, and as they’d never been properly introduced, he gave her a mock salute.
When he’d first sailed up the Hudson, he’d been unable to pay his compliments to the lady as he and his mother had been locked in the ship’s galley. But thanks to a resourceful Chinese man and the courage and determination of Dimitri, they had escaped and been able to begin a new life in America.
Staff Sergeant Karpenko had sat at the back of the plane and spent most of the flight home thinking about what he would do once he was back on American soil. If only to please his mother, he would complete his studies at NYU. She had made so many sacrifices to make sure he graduated. Although in truth, he knew that the path he wanted to tread was not one that required any letters after his name, not that he would ever be able to explain that to his mother.
He would have to devote every spare moment to his eleven stalls, and make sure they were quickly back up to scratch, and then find out if any more were available. When he had left for Vietnam they had been making a handsome profit, and expansion had been uppermost in his mind. Perhaps one day he would buy out Mr. Wolfe and own the whole of Market Square.