‘It says here that blue movies have been shown,’ said the Principal. ‘in periods properly allocated to Current Affairs.’
‘Wentworth did show them Women in Love,’ said the Head of English.
‘Well never mind. There’s just one more point I want to mention. ‘We are not going to conduct an Evening Class in First Aid with particular reference to the Treatment of Abdominal Hernia for which it was proposed to purchase an inflatable doll. From now on we are going to have to cut our coats to suit our cloth.’
‘On the grounds of inflation?’ asked Dr Board.
‘On the grounds that the Education Committee has been waiting for years for an opportunity to cut back our budget,’ said the Principal. That opportunity has now been given them. The fact that we have been providing a public service by keeping, to quote Mr Morris, “a large number of mentally unbalanced and potentially dangerous psychopaths off the streets” unquote seems to have escaped their notice.’
‘I presume he was referring to the Day Release Apprentices,’ said Dr Board charitably.
‘He was not.’ said the Principal. ‘Correct me if I am wrong, Morris, but hadn’t you in mind the members of the Liberal Studies Department?’
The meeting broke up. Later that day Mr Morris sat down to compose his letter of resignation.
Chapter 19
From the window of an empty bedroom on the first floor of the Vicarage, Eva Wilt watched the Rev St John Froude walk pensively down the path to the church. As soon as he had passed out of sight she went downstairs and into the study. She would phone Henry again. If he wasn’t at the Tech he must be at home. She crossed to the desk and was about to pick up the phone when she saw the ivy. Oh dear, she had forgotten all about the ivy and she had left it where he was bound to have seen it. It was all so terribly embarrassing. She dialled 34 Parkview Avenue and waited. There was no reply. She put they phone down and dialled the Tech. And all the time she watched the gate into the churchyard in case the Vicar should return.
‘Fenland College of Arts and Technology,’ said the girl on the switchboard.
‘It’s me again,’ said Eva, ‘I want to speak to Mr Wilt.’
‘I’m very sorry but Mr Wilt isn’t here.’
‘But where is he? I’ve dialled home and…’
‘He’s at the Police Station.’
‘He’s what?’ Eva said.
‘He’s at the Police Station helping the police with their enquiries…’
‘Enquiries? What enquiries?’ Eva shrieked.
‘Didn’t you know?’ said the girl ‘It’s been in all the papers. He’s been and murdered his wife…’
Eva took the phone from her ear and stared at it in horror. The girl was still speaking but she was no longer listening. Henry had murdered his wife. But she was his wife. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t have been murdered. For one horrible moment Eva Wilt felt sanity slipping from her. Then she put the receiver to her ear again.
‘Are you there?’ said the girl.
‘But I am his wife.’ Eva shouted. There was a long silence at the other end and she heard the girl telling someone that there was a crazy woman on the line who said she was Mrs Wilt and what ought she to do.
‘I tell you I am Mrs Wilt. Mrs Eva Wilt.’ she shouted but the line had gone dead. Eva put
