Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less

“Well, that is excellent news.”

“Look, gentlemen, I’m staying here at the Randolph Hotel. It would be my great pleasure if you could all have tea with me later this afternoon.”

Robin and Stephen were thrown for a moment. He’d done it again—the unexpected. Surely the man realized that on the day of Encaenia the Vice-Chancellor did not have a moment free to attend private tea parties.

Robin recovered first.

“I’m afraid that would be difficult. One has so many responsibilities on a day like this, you understand. Perhaps you could join me in my rooms at the Clarendon Building? That would give us a chance to have a more private discussion?”

Stephen immediately picked up the lead:

“How kind of you, Vice-Chancellor. Will 4:30 be convenient?”

“Yes, yes, that will be fine, Professor.”

Robin tried not to look as if he wanted to run a mile. Although they had only been standing there for about five minutes, to him it seemed a lifetime. He had not objected to being a journalist, or an American surgeon, but he genuinely hated being a Vice-Chancellor. Surely someone would appear at any moment and recognize him for the fraud he was. Thank God most of the undergraduates had gone home the week before. He began to feel even worse when a tourist started taking photos of him.

Now Harvey had turned all their plans upside down. Stephen could only think of Jean-Pierre and of James, the finest string to their dramatic bow, loitering uselessly in fancy dress behind the tea tent at the Garden Party in the grounds of Trinity College, waiting for them.

“Perhaps it might be wise, Vice-Chancellor, if we were to invite the Registrar and the Secretary of the University Chest to join us?”

“First-class idea, Professor. I’ll ask them to be there. It isn’t every day we’re visited by such a distinguished philanthropist. I must take my leave of you now, sir, and proceed to my Garden Party. An honor to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Metcalfe, and I look forward to seeing you again at 4:30.”

They shook hands warmly, and Stephen guided Harvey toward Exeter College while Robin darted back into the little room in Lincoln that had been arranged for him. He sank heavily into a seat.

“Are you all right, Daddy?” asked his elder son, William.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Do we get the ice cream and Coca-Cola you promised us if we didn’t say a word?”

“You certainly do,” said Robin.

Robin slipped off all the paraphernalia—the gown, hood, bow tie and bands—and placed them back in a suitcase. He returned to the street just in time to watch the real Vice-Chancellor, Mr. Habakkuk, leave Jesus College on the opposite side of the road, obviously making his way toward the Garden Party. Robin glanced at his watch

. If they had run five minutes late the whole plan would have struck disaster.

Meanwhile, Stephen had done a full circle and was now heading toward Shepherd & Woodward, the tailor’s shop which supplies academic dress for the university. He was, however, preoccupied with the thought of getting a message through to James. Stephen and Harvey came to a halt in front of the shop window.

“What magnificent robes.”

“That’s the gown of a Doctor of Letters. Would you like to try it on and see how you look?”

“That would be great. But would they allow it?” said Harvey.

“I’m sure they won’t object.”

They entered the shop, Stephen still in his full academic dress as a Doctor of Philosophy.

“My distinguished guest would like to see the gown of a Doctor of Letters.”

“Certainly, sir,” said the young assistant, who was not going to argue with a Fellow of the University.

He vanished to the back of the shop and returned with a magnificent red gown with gray facing and a black, floppy velvet cap. Stephen forged on, brazen-faced.

“Why don’t you try them on, Mr. Metcalfe? Let’s see what you would look like as an academic.”

The assistant was somewhat surprised. He wished Mr. Venables would return from his lunch break.