Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less

15

‘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.’

‘Oh yes,’ replied Stephen, who had been thinking of nothing else. ‘I’d quite forgotten about that.’

He returned to his rooms where the rest of the Team were assembled and waiting for their next briefing.

‘Wednesday is the day of the Encaenia and the Garden Party,’ began Stephen without as much as a ‘Good morning, gentlemen.’ His students made no protest. ‘Now the one thing we’ve learned about our millionaire friend is that when we take him away from his own environment he still continues to assume he knows everything. We’ve now shown that his bluff can be called, as long as we know what’s going to happen next and he doesn’t. It’s only the same skill he used when promoting Prospecta Oil — always keeping one step ahead of us. Now, we’re going to keep two steps ahead of him by having a rehearsal today and a full dress rehearsal tomorrow.’

‘Time spent on reconnaissance is seldom wasted,’ muttered James. It was about the only sentiment he could recall from his Army Cadet days at Harrow.

‘Haven’t had to spend much time on reconnaissance for your plan, have we?’ chipped in Jean-Pierre.

Stephen ignored the interruptions.

‘Now, the whole process on the day will take about seven hours for me and four hours for you, which includes the time required for makeup; we’ll need an extra session on that from James the day before.’

‘How often will you need my two sons?’ asked Robin.

‘Only once, on the Wednesday. Too many runs at it will make them look stiff and awkward.’

‘When do you imagine Harvey will want to return to London?’ inquired Jean-Pierre.

‘I rang Guy Salmon to check their timetable and they’ve been instructed to have him back at Claridge’s by 7 pm, so I’ve assumed we have only until 5.30.’

‘Clever,’ said Robin.

‘It’s awful,’ said Stephen. ‘I even think like the man now. Right, let’s go over the whole plan once again. We’ll take it from the red dossier, halfway down page 16. When I leave All Souls...’

On Sunday and Monday they carried out full rehearsals. By the Tuesday they knew every route Harvey could take and where he would be at any given moment of the day from 9 am to 5.30 pm Stephen hoped he had covered every eventuality. He had little choice. They were only going to be allowed one crack at this one. Any mistakes like Monte Carlo and there would be no second chance. The dress rehearsal went to a second.

‘I haven’t worn clothes like this since I was six years old and attending a fancy-dress party,’ said Jean-Pierre. ‘We’re going to be anything but inconspicuous.’

‘There’ll be red and blue and black all around you on the day,’ said Stephen. ‘It’s like a circus for peacocks. No one will give us a second look, not even you, Jean-Pierre.’

They were all nervous again, waiting for the curtain to go up. Stephen was glad they were on edge: he had no doubt that the moment they relaxed with Harvey Metcalfe, they would be found out.

The Team spent a quiet weekend. Stephen watched the College Dramatic Society’s annual effort in Magdalen gardens, Robin took his wife to Glyndebourne and was uncommonly attentive, Jean-Pierre read Goodbye Picasso by David Douglas Duncan, and James took Anne to Tathwell Hall in Lincolnshire, to meet his father, the fifth earl.

Even Anne was nervous that weekend.

‘Harry?’

‘Doctor Bradley.’

‘I have an American guest dining with me in my rooms tonight. His name is Harvey Metcalfe. When he arrives will you see he is brought over to my rooms, please.’

‘Certainly, sir.’

‘And one small thing. He seems to have mistaken me for Professor Porter of Trinity College. Don’t correct the mistake, will you? Just humor him.’

‘Certainly, sir.’

Harry retreated into the Porter’s Lodge shaking his head sadly. Of course, all academics went dotty in the end, but Dr Bradley had been afflicted at an unusually tender age.

Harvey arrived at eight. He was always on time in England. The head porter guided him through the cloisters and up the old stone staircase to Stephen’s rooms.

‘Mr Metcalfe, sir.’

‘How are you, Professor?’

‘I’m well, Mr Metcalfe. Good of you to be so punctual.’

‘Punctuality is the politeness of princes.’

‘I think you’ll find it is the politeness of kings, and, in this particular instance, of Louis XVIII.’ For a moment Stephen forgot that Harvey wasn’t a pupil.

‘I’m sure you’re right, Professor.’

Stephen mixed him a large whiskey. His guest’s eyes took in the room and settled on the desk.

‘Gee — what a wonderful set of photographs. You with the late President Kennedy, another with the Queen and even the Pope.’

That touch was due to Jean-Pierre, who had put Stephen in contact with a photographer who had been in jail with his artist friend David Stein. Stephen was already looking forward to burning the photographs and pretending they had never existed.

‘Let me give you another to add to your collection.’

Harvey pulled out of his inside coat pocket a large photograph of himself receiving the trophy for the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes from the Queen.

‘I’ll sign it for you, if you like.’

Without waiting for a reply, he scribbled an exuberant signature diagonally across the Queen.

‘Thank you,’ said Stephen. ‘I can assure you I will treasure it with the same affection as I do my other photographs. I certainly appreciate you sparing the time to visit me here, Mr Metcalfe.’

‘It’s an honor for me to come to Oxford, and this is such a lovely old college.’

Stephen really believed he meant it, and he suppressed the inclination to tell Harvey the story of the late Lord Nuffield’s dinner at Magdalen. For all Nuffield’s munificence to the university, the two were never on entirely easy terms. When a manservant assisted the guest’s departure after a college feast, Nuffield took the proffered hat ungraciously. ‘Is this mine?’ he said, disdainfully. ‘I wouldn’t know, my lord,’ was the rejoinder, ‘but it’s the one you came with.’

Harvey was gazing a little blankly at the books on Stephen’s shelves. The disparity between their subject matter, pure mathematics, and the putative Professor Porter’s discipline, biochemistry, happily failed to arrest him.

‘Do brief me on tomorrow.’

‘Surely,’ said Stephen. Why not? He had briefed everyone else. ‘Let me first call for dinner and I’ll go through what I’ve planned for you and see if it meets with your approval.’

‘I’m game for anything. I feel ten years younger since this trip to Europe — it must’ve been the operation — and I’m thrilled about being here at Oxford University.’

Stephen wondered if he really could stand seven hours of Harvey Metcalfe, but for another $250,000 and his reputation with the rest of the Team...

The college servants brought in shrimp cocktail.

‘My favorite,’ said Harvey. ‘How did you know?’

Stephen would have liked to say, ‘There’s very little I don’t know about you,’ but he satisfied himself with, ‘A fortunate guess. Now, if we meet up at 10 tomorrow morning we can take part in what is thought to be the most interesting day in the university calendar. It’s called Encaenia.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Well, once a year at the end of Trinity Term, which is the equivalent of the summer term in an American university, we celebrate the ending of the university year. There are several ceremonies followed by a magnificent Garden Party, which will be attended by the Chancellor and Vice-Chancellor of the University. The Chancellor is the former British Prime Minister, Harold Macmillan, and the Vice-Chancellor is Mr Habakkuk. I’m hoping it will be possible for you to meet them both, and we should manage to cover everything in time for you to be back in London by 7 pm.’

‘How did you know I had to be back by 7?’

‘You warned me at Ascot.’ Stephen could lie very quickly now. He was afraid that if they did not get their million soon he would end up a hardened criminal.

Harvey enjoyed his meal, which Stephen had planned almost too cleverly, each course featuring one of Harvey’s favorite dishes. After Harvey had drunk a good deal of after-dinner brandy (price £7.25 per bottle, thought Stephen) they strolled through the quiet Magdalen Cloisters past the Song School. The sound of the choristers rehearsing a Gabrieli mass hung gently in the air.

‘Gee, I’m surprised you allow record players on that loud,’ said Harvey.

Stephen escorted his guest to the Randolph Hotel, pointing out the iron cross set in Broad Street outside Balliol College, said to mark the spot on which Archbishop Cranmer was burned at the stake for heresy in 1556. Harvey forebore to say that he had never even heard of the reverend gentleman.

Stephen and Harvey parted on the steps of the Randolph.

‘See you in the morning, Professor. Thanks for a great evening.’

‘My pleasure. I’ll pick you up at 10 am Sleep well — you have a full day ahead of you tomorrow.’

Stephen returned to Magdalen and immediately called Robin.

‘All’s well, but I nearly went too far. The meal was altogether too carefully chosen — I even had his favorite brandy. Still, it’ll keep me on my toes tomorrow. We must remember to avoid overkill. See you then, Robin.’

Stephen reported the same message to Jean-Pierre and James before falling gratefully into bed. The same time tomorrow he would be a wiser man, but would he be a richer one?