He looked round the room as if pleading for enlightenment. 'I mean, you know, like really 'believe' it?'
'I think—' began the Master but Jake rode over him. He didn't know or care whether the writer in residence was trying to do more than, demonstrate the impartiality of his contempt and/or simply draw attention to himself: he (Jake) saw in him a slight physical resemblance to the little bastard from Teddy Hall, who was little in worth, not size, but who by some association led him to think of Chris at the Workshop and even of Rosenberg. Rage and dizziness struck him together.
'Of course I don't believe it, you....' He stopped just in time to avoid technically calling the Master what he had been about to call the writer in residence. 'I was asked to put a case and I put it, that's all. No doubt they do think, the youngsters, it's be more fun to be under the same roof, but who cares what they think? All very well for the women no doubt, it's the men who are going to be the losers—oh, it'll, it'll happen all right, no holding it up now. When the first glow has faded and it's quite normal to have girls in the same building and on the same staircase and across the landing, they'll start realising that that's exactly what they've got, girls everywhere and not a common-room, not a club, not a pub where they can get away from them. And the same thing's going to happen to us which is much more important, Roger's absolutely right, all this will go and there will be women everywhere, chattering, gossiping, telling you what they did today and what their daughter did yesterday and what their friend did last week and what somebody they heard about did last month and horrified if a chap brings up 'a topic' or an 'argument'. They don't mean what they say, they don't use language for discourse but for extending their personality, they take all disagreement as opposition, yes they do, even the brightest of them, and that's the end of the search for truth which is what the whole thing's supposed to be about. So let's pass a motion suggesting they bugger off back to Somerville, LMH, St Hugh's and St Hilda's where they began and stay there. It won't make any bloody difference but at least we'll have told 'em what we think of 'em.'
Only then, when he had in a sense finished, did Jake become aware of just how hard Lancewood had been squeezing his arm, of the pantomime of apology, helplessness, agreement and doubtless more that the writer in residence was putting on, and of what sort of silence had fallen. The Master thanked him with preternatural composure but Jake felt he couldn't very well stay after what he had said and how he had said it, matters on which he was already not quite clear. His headache drove and twisted at his brows. He asked to be excused, hurried out and stood in the main SCR with both hands on the back of a chair. Lancewood was only a couple of seconds behind him.
'I'll just see you over to your rooms.'
'No I'm all right, you go back.'
'Don't be silly, it'll only take a second.'
'No Damon, if you don't go back straight away they'll think there's something really wrong. Tell them, say it's side-effects of some new pills. Please, Damon.'
'If you're really sure. But we'll talk later.'
'Yes. Yes, we will. Thanks.'
As Jake approached his staircase he met Ernie coming out of it. The porter gave one of his fiercest winks.
'There you are after all, sir,' he said. 'I told your visitor you probably wouldn't be arraigned for a bit, with the College Meeting and all, but she said she'd wait if that was allayed, and
I couldn't find it in my heart to say her nay. She really does you credit, Mr Richardson, at your time of life —take a bay!'
'What? Oh yes.'
He hurried into his sitting room, unable to venture even a surmise.
'Hallo, Jake,' said a strange girl in a green trouser-suit.
21—I Can Help You
The next moment he saw it wasn't a strange girl at all but Kelly, smiling, coming up and shaking hands. It bothered him, made him think himself senile, that even with the trouser-suit due he hadn't recognised her at first, though he tried to cover this.
'Kelly, how nice to see you. What are you doing in Oxford?'
'Paying a call on you, Jake. Actually I've been staying with an aunt in Woodstock, so I thought I'd look you up on my way back to London.'
'Jolly good idea, I could do with a bit of lively company. I've just come out of a meeting of such boredom....'
'You don't look well, Jake. I know one isn't supposed to say such things, but you don't.'
'Had a rotten night. I feel as if I hadn't slept a wink.'
'Bad luck. Of course if you're used to sleeping with someone else it is that much more difficult on your own.'
'Yes,' he said, keeping to himself the fact that his troubles had come about in the opposite way. 'How did you track me down?'
She smiled again. 'Oh, I'm good at that sort of thing. Remember how I ran you to earth in Burgess Avenue?'
'Finding me here must have been a damn sight more difficult.'
'Not really, Jake. Not to me.'
'You're a clever girl.' He looked at his watch. 'We could go out and have some tea soon.'
'It's a little early, isn't it?'
'I suppose it is, but I've got to be back here at five o'clock to talk to some undergraduates.'
'Can't you put them off?'
'Not possible, I'm afraid.'
'You could ring them up,' she said coaxingly, nodding towards the telephone on his desk.
