Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less

Harvey stood paralyzed, waiting for the result. Even Stephen felt a little sympathy for him. None of Harvey’s guests dared to speak for fear they might be wrong.

“The result of The King George VI and The Queen Elizabeth Stakes.” Once again the loudspeaker boomed out and silence fell over the whole course:

“The winner is No. 5, Rosalie.”

The rest of the result was lost in the roar of the crowd and the bellow of triumph from Harvey. Pursued by his guests, he raced to the nearest lift, pressed a pound note into the lift-girl’s hand and shouted, “Get this thing moving.” Only half of his guests managed to jump in with him. Stephen was among them. Once they reached the ground floor, the lift gates opened and Harvey came out like a thoroughbred, past the champagne bar, through the rear of the Members’ Enclosure into the Winners’ Enclosure, and flung his arms around the horse’s neck, almost unseating the jockey. A few minutes later he triumphantly led Rosalie to the little white post marked “FIRST.” The crowd thronged around him, offering their congratulations.

The Clerk of the Course, Captain Beaumont, stood by Harvey’s side, briefing him on the procedure that would be followed when he was presented. Lord Abergavenny, the Queen’s Representative at Ascot, accompanied Her Majesty to the Winners’ Enclosure.

“The winner of The King George VI and The Queen Elizabeth Stakes—Mr. Harvey Metcalfe’s Rosalie.”

Harvey was in a dream world. Flashbulbs popped and film cameras followed him as he walked toward the Queen. He bowed and received his trophy. The Queen, resplendent in a turquoise silk suit and matching turban that could only have been designed by Norman Hartnell, said a few words, but for the first time in his life Harvey was speechless. Taking a pace backward, he bowed again and returned to his place accompanied by loud applause.

Back in his box the champagne flowed and everybody was Harvey’s friend. Stephen realized this was not the moment to try anything clever. He must bide his time and watch his quarry’s reaction to these changed circumstances. He stayed quietly in a corner, letting the excitement subside, and observed Harvey carefully.

It took another race before Harvey was half back to normal and Stephen decided the time had now come to act. He made as if to leave.

“Are you going already, Professor?”

“Yes, Mr. Metcalfe. I must return to Oxford and mark some scripts before tomorrow morning.”

“I always admire the work you boys put in. I hope you enjoyed yourself?” Stephen avoided Shaw’s famous riposte, “I had to, there was nothing else to enjoy.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Metcalfe. An amazing achievement. You must be a very proud man.”

“Well, I guess so. It’s been a long time coming, but it all seems worthwhile now…Rod, it’s too bad you have to leave us. Can’t you stay on a little longer and join my party at Claridge’s tonight?”

“I should have liked that, Mr. Metcalfe, but you must visit me at my college at Oxford and allow me to show you the university.”

“That’s swell. I have a couple of days after Ascot and I’ve always wanted to see Oxford, but I never seem to have found the time.”

“It’s the university Garden Party next Wednesday. Why don’t you join me for dinner at my college on Tuesday evening and then we can spend the following day looking at the university and go on to the Garden Party?” Stephen scribbled a few directions on a card.

“Fantastic. This is turning out to be the best vacation I’ve ever had in Europe. How are you getting back to Oxford, Professor?”

“By train.”

“No, no,” said Harvey. “My Rolls Royce will take you. It’ll be back well in time for the last race.”

And before Stephen could protest, the chauffeur was called for.

“Take Professor Porter back to Oxford and then return here. Have a good trip, Professor. I’ll look forward to seeing you next Tuesday at 8 P.M. Great meeting you.”

“Thank you for a wonderful day, Mr. Metcalfe, and congratulations on your splendid victory.”

Seated in the back of the white Rolls Royce on his way to Oxford, the car which Robin had boasted he and he alone would travel in, Stephen relaxed and smiled to himself. Taking a small notebook from his pocket he made an entry:

“Deduct 98 pence from expenses, the price of a single second-class ticket from Ascot to Oxford.”

Chapter Fifteen

“BRADLEY,” SAID THE senior tutor. “You’re going a bit gray at the edges, dear boy. Is the office of Junior Dean proving too much for you?”

Stephen had wondered whether any of the Senior Common Room would think the change in the color of his hair worthy of comment. Dons are seldom surprised by anything their colleagues do.

“My father went gray at an early age, Senior Tutor, and there seems to be no way of defying heredity…”

“Ah well, dear boy, you’ll look all the more distinguished at next week’s Garden Party.”