Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less

“Would you care to come through to the fitting room, sir?”

Harvey disappeared. Stephen slipped out onto the road.

“James, can you hear me? Oh hell, for God’s sake answer, James.”

“Cool down, old fellow. I’m having a deuce of a time putting on this ridiculous gown, and in any case, our rendezvous isn’t for another seventeen minutes.”

“Cancel it.”

“Cancel it?”

“Yes, and tell Jean-Pierre as well. Both of you report to Robin and meet up as quickly as possible. He will fill you in on the new plans.”

“New plans. Is everything all right, Stephen?”

“Yes, better than I could have hoped for.”

Stephen clicked off his speaker and rushed back into the tailor’s shop.

Harvey reappeared as a Doctor of Letters; a more unlikely sight Stephen had not seen for many years.

“You look magnificent.”

“What do they cost?”

“About £100, I think.”

“No, no. How much would I have to give…?”

“I have no idea. You would have to discuss that with the Vice-Chancellor after the Garden Party.”

Harvey took a long look at himself in the mirror, and then returned to the dressing room while Stephen thanked the assistant, asked him to wrap up the gown and cap and send them to the Clarendon building to be left with the porter in the name of Sir John Betjeman. He paid cash. The assistant looked even more bewildered.

“Yes, sir.”

He was not sure what to do, except continue praying for Mr. Venables’s arrival. His prayers were answered some ten minutes later, but by then Stephen and Harvey were well on their way to Trinity College and the Garden Party.

“Mr. Venables, I’ve just been asked to send the full D. Litt. dress to Sir John Betjeman at the Clarendon Building.”

“Strange. We kitted him out for this morning’s ceremony weeks ago. I wonder why he wants a second outfit.”

“He paid cash.”

“Well, send it around to the Clarendon, but be sure it’s in his name.”

When Stephen and Harvey arrived at Trinity College shortly after 3:30, the elegant green lawns, the croquet hoops having been removed, were already crowded with over a thousand people. The members of the university wore an odd hybrid dress: best lounge suits or silk dresses topped with gowns, hoods and caps. Cups of tea and crates of strawberries and cucumber sandwiches were disappearing rapidly.

“What a swell party this is,” said Harvey unintentionally mimicking Frank Sinatra. “You certainly do things in style here, Professor.”

“Yes, the Garden Party is always rather fun. It’s the main social event of the university year, which as I explained, is just ending. Half the senior members here will be snatching an afternoon off from reading examination scripts. Exams for the final-year undergraduates have only just ended.”

Stephen observed the Vice-Chancellor, the Registrar and the Secretary of the University Chest carefully, and steered Harvey well away from them, introducing him to as many of the older members of the university as possible, hoping they would not find the encounter too memorable. They spent just over three-quarters of an hour moving from person to person, Stephen feeling rather like an aide-de-camp to an incompetent dignitary whose mouth must be kept shut for fear of a diplomatic incident. Despite Stephen’s anxious approach, Harvey was clearly having the time of his life.

“Robin, Robin, can you hear me?”

“Yes, James.”

“Where are you?”