Mr Campion's Farewell by Mike Ripley

Author:Mike Ripley [Mike Ripley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canongate Books
Published: 2014-02-23T16:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

The Student of Owling

After his adventure with the emotionless archaeologist as he thought of it, though that did strike him as a chapter heading out of a John Buchan story, Mr Campion felt in need of both a bath and a strong drink. St Ignatius, true to its principle of satisfying the body before ever troubling the mind, provided both and by the time he was be-gowned and striding down to hall, he was refreshed and looking forward to his companion at High Table, assuming that the Master had remembered to invite him.

Fortunately, Dr Livingstone’s memory had not failed him; or it had been nudged by the imperious Gildart, who officiated at college dinners even out of term and was probably secretly delighted to have another diner to look down upon or scowl at should he pass the port the wrong way or use the wrong cutlery. Even though both scenarios were highly unlikely, Gildart (Junior) struck Campion as having his father’s dedication to waiting patiently for years, if not decades, to pounce on someone committing such a flagrant breach of etiquette.

It was the Head Porter who, with silent dignity, pulled back a chair so that Campion could be placed next to a small, rotund, ancient frog of a man with long, unkempt white hair seated next to the Master, twirling an empty sherry glass between finger and thumb.

‘You must be Campion,’ said the benign amphibian. ‘I’m Christmas at King’s.’

Mr Campion’s face cracked into a huge grin.

‘Do you know, I’m not quite sure what to say to that?’

‘Don’t rise to the bait, Albert,’ said the Master. ‘Casper does that just to get his retaliation in first, rather like me introducing myself as “I am the Dr Livingstone you presumed”. To be absolutely accurate –’

‘Or as pedantic as usual,’ interjected the squat visitor.

‘– allow me to introduce Professor Casper Christmas of King’s College, an establishment you will find by turning left out the college gates and after a few yards its rather ostentatious architecture will present itself on the opposite side of the street.’

‘I’ve just remembered why I visit St Ignatius so rarely,’ said Professor Christmas, with a well-practised wrinkling of his brow. ‘The food is passable, the wine cellar excellent and the staff are –’ Here he flounced his long white mane and winked at the statuesque Gildart standing to attention in the wings. ‘– impeccable, dedicated and notoriously underpaid. But, my dear chap, the Fellows … Suffice it to say they leave an awful lot to be desired. I believe you had the misfortune to be an undergraduate here?’

Mr Campion settled into his chair, and into the game.

‘My parents knew from the cradle that I was not clever enough for King’s,’ he said, putting on what Amanda called his “innocent owl” expression, ‘and of course, Oxford was out of the question …’

‘Naturally.’

‘… and then someone suggested St Ignatius as the nearest thing to a respectable Borstal and they took me in out of charity and sheltered me for three years, but were less successful when it came to reforming me.

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