Black Chalk

Tallest was in the room, he had finished reading two magazines and they lay at his feet, the London Review of Books and Literary Review. Next he opened an old book with no dust jacket and Jack showed enormous interest in its title. When Tallest wearily displayed its cover, The Prince, Machiavelli, Jack declared it Tallest’s greatest ever joke.

Dee tamped her pipe tobacco and brushed its chaff from her trousers, tartan and held up with bright red braces ‘It feels weird for one of us to be drinking and the others not,’ she said. ‘Like a funeral in reverse.’ She struck a match and held it to her pipe. Chad watched the jump of the flame as he finished what was left in his glass.

Jolyon looked at the clock and began to perform calculations in his head. ‘Another quarter-bottle in the next hour,’ he said, ‘and then a final quarter just before you’re due to start, Chad.’

Each of Chad’s eyes seemed to be trying to focus on a different object. But then a thought gripped him and held him rigid for a moment. ‘Hey, Jolyon, what’s happening with Mark?’ he said. ‘Is the guy still following you?’

‘He is,’ said Jolyon, ‘but yesterday brought an exciting new development.’

‘Really?’ said Jack, with a burst of enthusiasm. ‘What did he do?’

‘He tidied my room.’

‘He did what?’ said Chad.

Jolyon looked only perplexed, not overly concerned. ‘Yesterday afternoon I went out to buy some cigarettes. And while I was out, I decided I might as well go to the bookshop. And then when I got back, my room had been tidied.’

‘He broke in and tidied your room?’ said Dee. She looked around. It was certainly neater than usual.

Jolyon shrugged. ‘Maybe I should start thinking about locking my door. But I was only going to be two minutes getting cigarettes.’

‘Did he take anything?’ said Emilia.

‘No. Nothing.’

‘Just tidied up?’

‘That’s right.’

Chad let out a boozy bar-room snort. ‘Did he do a good job?’ he said.

‘Superb,’ said Jolyon.

‘Man, that does it for me,’ said Chad. ‘That guy is a freak.’

XLII(ii) Jack and Jolyon stood either side of Chad as they walked him.

In Jolyon’s room, Chad had finished the drink in a single gulp. Now he looked up at the latticed windows surrounding back quad and smiled as their diamonds of lead softened and the glass shifted woozily as if in a heat haze. The flags at the side of the tower were still and the rosettes of the college crest took on the appearance of eyes above a beaming chevron mouth. They walked through the passageway beneath Loser’s Leap and the chill of old stone soothed him. The world was cushioned and soft, he felt a sense of velvet, of feather-down and candlelight. He thought about his date later, remembering the milk running down Mitzy’s honey-nut legs, cute enough. This feeling had been mounting for days, Mitzy becoming sweeter the more he reasoned it through.

They walked back into the light and Chad felt Jolyon steady him gently at the elbow. The liaison officer had been insistent on the subject of dress code. Only subfusc was appropriate and the borrowed suit was snug to Chad’s body while the black gown above it flapped loosely as they walked. The white bow tie pinched the white shirt to his neck but it felt less uncomfortable now. The grass of the lawn was vivid in the late-winter sun and the heels of Chad’s dress shoes rang out in the stone theatre of front quad.

The liaison officer was waiting halfway up the steps. ‘Good show, good show,’ he said. ‘Brought some friends for moral support. Excellent, excellent. More the merrier.’ With a sweeping gesture he indicated the door to the Great Hall. ‘Shall we?’

As the liaison officer led the way, Jolyon removed something from his pocket and handed it to Chad. ‘Technically I’m not supposed to give this to you until after,’ he said. ‘But I thought it might bring you luck,’ he said.

Chad turned over the small piece of paper he had pulled from the pot five days earlier. ‘LUCKY JIM’ it said in large letters. ‘Thanks, Jolyon,’ he said, putting it in his pocket.

‘You’re going to do great, Chad,’ said Jolyon, ‘don’t worry about a thing. And if anything happens, I’ll be there, OK?’

Chad nodded gratefully.

‘Come on then,’ said the liaison officer, beckoning. ‘The rest of you should go in now. The warden’s ready to begin introductions. I’ll take care of Mr Mason here in the vestibule.’ He closed the ornate door and then he and Chad were alone amid the tawny panels and gold-framed oils. ‘Any jitters, Mr Mason?’ he said.

‘No way, José,’ said Chad.

The liaison officer flinched at the odd choice of words. But Susan Leonard really was a hugely well-endowed institution. And if one of their presumptuous Americans truly desired to give a speech in the Great Hall, then he supposed everyone was just bloody well going to have to fall into line.