Lost and Found: A Novel - Chapter Five

 Lost and Found: A Novel - Chapter Five.

London/Paris 1978.

Tom Bain had come to feel sorry for the Marquis de Bouille, as far as you can feel sorry for a man who had been dead for almost two hundred years. The marquis was the only person mentioned by name in the French national anthem La Marseillaise. He was not just mentioned, but denounced as an agent of despotism, an oppressor of the people. It was to the army of Bouille  that King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette had been fleeing in 1791 to escape Paris, where they were almost prisoners of the French revolutionaries. Unfortunately their coach had been halted at Varennes, and the royal couple were sent back to the capital. With his role in the escape plot quickly discovered, Bouille was forced to flee into exile. He eventually died in London in 1800, with his body only being returned to France sixty years later.

However, the sad end of the marquis was not Tom's concern. He was researching the glory days of Bouille's career, when he was the terror of the British in the West Indies during the American War of Independence. The papers left by the marquis were in Paris and Tom was anxious to examine them for his doctoral thesis. He had hoped to get a travel grant from his Oxford college, but his application had been unsuccessful. Then Tom's father had given him some money that should just be enough to cover the costs of his trip if he was careful. Letters went back and forth across the Channel and everything seemed to have been arranged. A room in a cheap hotel had been booked and the Paris library holding the papers had been alerted to Tom's coming visit.

The cheapest way to get to Paris was by coach. So in September 1978 Tom set out from Victoria Coach Station in London. At Dover the coach went onto a large hovercraft after the passengers had disembarked and taken their seats inside the craft. The passage across the English Channel was bumpy and noisy, and because of the spray thrown up by the hovercraft, Tom could see almost nothing through the porthole beside his seat. Tom was never a good sailor, but he kept his feeling of nausea under control. Once Calais had been reached, everyone got back on the coach. Tom thought of this trip as his first real visit to France. He knew his parents had taken him on a day trip to Calais (or was it Boulogne?) when he was six or seven years old, but he could remember nothing about it.

Near Arras the coach turned off the main road and stopped at a small cafe. It was lunchtime, so the passengers would have the chance to get some food and drink. Tom did not feel hungry. On the other side of the road were some war cemeteries. The larger enclosure, filled with white crosses, contained fallen French soldiers. Beside it was a smaller British cemetery, with plain white headstones. All the fallen came from the First World War.

Tom crossed the road and wandered among the British war graves, most of which dated from 1917. One line of gravestones particularly caught Tom's attention. All the dead soldiers were from the same regiment and died on the same day. Most were privates, aged eighteen or nineteen, but one was an officer, a lieutenant, aged twenty-one, which made him two years younger than Tom. Perhaps the young officer had led his men in some desperate attack, with all of them dying together in a hail of machine gun bullets. Tom thought of his Scottish grandfather who he had never known. Private Bain of the Black Watch had been badly gassed on a French battlefield in 1917 and never fully recovered. He died in the late 1930s when Tom's father was a teenager.

Tom had noticed two English girls of about his own age on the coach. One was very pretty - and knew it - while her friend was rather plain. The pretty girl talked a lot, but her friend said little, content to be the perfect travelling companion. As the passengers got back on the coach after the cafe stop, the pretty girl seemed to notice Tom for the first time.

'Hello, I'm Julie', she said to Tom. 'My friend and I are going to Paris to look at fashions.'

'I'm Tom. Paris is certainly the right place for that.'

'My mother has a dress shop in London', continued Julie. 'In the King's Road, Chelsea. We're going to look at what there is in Paris and maybe bring back some samples, if they're not too expensive.'

'It sounds like a busy trip for you. Will you have time to look around the city?', asked Tom. 

'Of course', replied Julie. Then she lowered her voice as if somebody might overhear their conversation: 'In fact this is really just a holiday for me and my friend cunningly disguised as a business trip.'

'Lots to see in Paris', mused Tom.

'You mean the Eiffel Tower or the Louvre?', said Julie. 'Heavens, I don't care about those tourist traps. We want to go to the discos, sample some of the night life, sample some of the French men. They're so sexy - not boring like English men.'

Julie winked at her friend. Tom tried not to look too offended. He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his handkerchief as a distraction.

Julie realised what she had said, but showed no remorse. She asked why Tom was going to Paris and he told her. Julie listened politely, but Tom knew he was only confirming her prejudices about English men. Julie turned to her friend and said something Tom could not quite hear. Her friend rolled her eyes. Both girls laughed - at Tom's expense no doubt. Julie and Tom continued to talk for a little while longer, but then Julie directed all her conversation to her friend. Tom had been dismissed. He was just another boring Englishman.

Not for the first time Tom retreated into silence, defeated by the ladies. He had lost his virginity with a girl at school when he was seventeen, but had never managed any long term romances since then. A year ago Tom had been desperately pursuing a girl student at Oxford. He even took her to a college ball, but in the end she had rejected him. Which made it all the sweeter when he then met a pretty girl when he was on a holiday visit to his relatives in Wales. She had been very obliging! But once again it was all short lived, just a holiday romance. Tom had put a couple of condoms in his wash bag, but it was just hopeful bravado. For the next few weeks he expected to spend more time with a dead French aristocrat than a live French girl.

It was evening when the coach finally arrived at the terminus near the Gare du Nord in Paris. The passengers disembarked, with Julie and her friend disappearing into the city crowds without another word or a backward glance for Tom. Struggling with his suitcase, Tom got onto the metro, and, after finding himself on the wrong line twice, he eventually reached the Cardinal Lemoine metro station on the Left Bank. It was almost dark when he reached his hotel. In his best French he explained that he had already booked a room. The man behind the front desk just shrugged and said the hotel was full. Tom angrily produced the letter from the hotel which confirmed his booking. The man at the desk was not impressed. He glanced at the letter and then repeated his assertion that the hotel was full.

Tom demanded to see the manager.

'I am the manager', said the man. 'There are plenty of hotels in this area. Go and find a room in one of them.'

Tom remonstrated again. The manager looked annoyed. Finally he hissed at Tom: 'Get the hell out of here or I'll call the cops.'

Defeated, Tom went out into the dark streets. He felt exhausted, but he had to struggle along with his suitcase and find a room as soon as possible. Tom went to another hotel, but the staff said all of its rooms were occupied. August was the height of the holiday season in Paris. Surely in September there must be some hotels with vacant rooms. The third hotel that Tom tried was on a street corner. Even in the poor light cast by a nearby street lamp, Tom could tell it was a run-down place, with paint peeling from the window frames and damp stains on the outer walls. 

Tom went into the hotel lobby. It was empty except for a man seated in a chair behind the front desk. He was reading a newspaper. A lit cigarette hung from one corner of his mouth. He was a short, strongly built man, probably in his fifties. His face was lined and battered. Perhaps he had been a boxer, thought Tom. The man ignored Tom when he presented himself at the desk.

'I would like a room', said Tom.

The man continued to focus all his attention on his newspaper, only pausing for a moment to remove his cigarette, knock some ash from it onto the dirty linoleum covering the floor, and then put the cigarette back in his mouth.

'I would like a room', repeated Tom.

'I heard you', said the man.

Still keeping his eyes on his paper, the man half turned in his seat and reached back to a rack of small wooden boxes on the wall behind him. Some had keys hanging from hooks below the boxes. The man unhooked one, turned in his seat, and slapped the key down on the desktop in front of Tom.

The man now wearily got to his feet and went through the process of checking Tom in. The charge for the room was much lower than at the hotel where Tom had originally been booked, but the man insisted that Tom should pay for a week's residence in advance. As Tom sorted through the bundle of francs in his wallet, the man slumped back in his chair and returned to reading his newspaper. He just nodded as Tom put the required sum on the desktop.

There was of course no lift in this little hotel. Tom dragged his suitcase up several flights of stairs and then found his room. He could only vaguely discern its contents at first as the overhead light was defective, flickering for a while when Tom turned it on, then ceasing to function. Fortunately Tom had enough time to find a table lamp which did work. A large bed almost filled the room. There was a cracked wash basin on one wall with a grubby mirror above it. The room smelled of damp, but far worse was the smell from the toilet which was sited opposite the door to Tom's room. At the moment Tom could not have cared less. He was so tired he just put down his suitcase, fell onto the bed, fully clothed, and was soon asleep.

 

Lost and Found: A Novel - Chapter Four

 Lost and Found: A Novel - Chapter four.

London/Paris 2018.

Tom had never thought of himself as an impulsive person, but once the idea of Madeleine was planted in his mind, he felt he had to visit Paris at once. Of course he had no real hope of finding Madeleine. It was now 2018, forty years since his encounter with Madeleine in the autumn of 1978 on his first visit to Paris. The girl had not even come from that city and now no doubt lived somewhere else. Yet Tom felt that if he could at least revisit the places in Paris he had shared with Madeleine, perhaps he would rekindle some joy, some hope, in himself.

Kate had not been impressed with Tom's sudden decision to rush off to France.

'Why on earth do you want to go to Paris? And why now?', she had asked, not hiding her exasperation.

'You remember I was doing research for that article comparing British and French colonial policies in West Africa?', said Tom. 'Well, this is the perfect opportunity to look at the French source materials.'

'What article? You've never mentioned such an article to me', Kate replied. 'You know Susan and Kevin are going on that trip to Italy arranged by his company and we are supposed to look after little John. You can't go away and lay all that responsibility on me!'

Kate was failing to curb her growing anger.

'It will only be for a few days', Tom said in a quiet and even tone.

Kate was not to be appeased.

'This whole idea is ridiculous. Why Paris? Why now?'

'It just seems the perfect opportunity', Tom repeated.

'Why can't you wait until after Susan and Kevin have been on their trip? Then we could both go to Paris for a short break', Kate said in a more measured tone of voice.

Tom pretended to think about this proposal.

'It would be like that Paris trip we had just before the millennium', Kate went on.

That had been Tom's last visit to Paris, almost twenty years ago. He had been invited to attend a multi-disciplinary international conference about Western imperialism and the Third World. It was held at Nanterre University in the western suburbs of Paris. Day after day Tom sat listening to dreary papers given by sociologists, political scientists, development economists, and historians from around the globe until it was his turn to speak. All these years later, Tom could not even remember the subject of his paper. There was the usual pointless discussion afterwards, with his critics less interested in his paper than in showing how clever they were. Tom had been so glad to rejoin Kate at their hotel afterwards and go out to dinner with her.

Yes, Tom had to admit that being with Kate in Paris that time was a real pleasure. However, she could not go with him this time. This was a trip he must make alone. He was returning to a point in his life before Mary, before Kate, before the children. The feelings he wanted to recover were his alone and not to be shared with even his nearest and dearest.

For almost an hour Tom and Kate argued about his trip, but in the end Kate gave in. He could go to Paris, but only for a few days. Next day Tom threw some things into an overnight bag and made his way to St Pancras Station to catch the Eurostar train to Paris.

Now the train had exited the Channel Tunnel, leaving England, London, and Kate behind. As he gazed out across the French fields beside the track, Tom felt free and looked forward to his adventure. He was sorry to have lied to Kate. Most French colonial records were not even in Paris. They were in a special archives centre at Aix-en-Provence, hundreds of miles south of the French capital. But Tom could forgive himself, he felt, as he would be back home soon. A few days of nostalgia in Paris, then back to London and whatever challenges his new life as a retiree would pose.

Tom took out his cell phone. His children always told him that everything was on the Internet. He wondered if he could find any trace of Madeleine there. Then, for the first time, Tom realised he was not sure of her full name. Madeleine something. He was sure her surname began with a Q. He searched his mind for some memory of it, but came up blank.

Then he thought: was it Quercy? No, that was a region in southern France. But he had no better idea. Tom searched for Madeleine Quercy. To his amazement Tom found a Madeleine Quercy. However, she was a doctor in Bordeaux and even from the sparse information given on the Internet, Tom could tell she was a young doctor. Clearly not his Madeleine.

Again Tom tried to conjure up Madeleine's surname, but nothing came. Tom did a search for just Madeleine Q, and was told there were 73 million results. There was no way he could work his way through that amount of data.

Anyway, Madeleine Q had probably married at some point in the last forty years and Tom could not know her married surname. He put his phone away. Perhaps once he visited the places in Paris he had shared with Madeleine, her surname would come back into his mind. Even then Tom doubted he could track her down, even with all the wonders of the Internet.

Eventually the Eurostar train reached the Gare du Nord in Paris, arriving on time after a journey of only two and a quarter hours. Tom was impressed. Four decades ago it would have taken him much longer to get from London to Paris whatever means of transport he took. Tom ventured down into the metro and made his way to the Cardinal Lemoine station on the Left Bank. He had a vague idea that the hotel in which he stayed back in 1978 was somewhere near that metro station. Once he came back up to street level, Tom headed north towards the River Seine. He was sure the hotel was in that direction. After wandering the streets for a while, Tom had to admit that none of the buildings looked even vaguely familiar. In four decades hotels could be closed down or just change their names, not that Tom could remember his hotel's name. 

A cold, autumnal evening was beginning to close in, and Tom knew he had to find accommodation soon. Then Tom came to a hotel on a street corner which seemed to resemble the faded memory in his mind. Could this be the place? He went inside.

In 1978 Tom could read and speak French quite well, but now while he could still read it with some facility, his spoken French was at a low level, just enough to order a meal or, as now, book into a hotel. A young black woman was at the front desk. A name badge told him she was called Hortense. In his basic French, Tom asked for a room. Yes, there should be one available, said the girl, but she would check with the manager. The girl opened the door into a nearby office. There was a woman seated at a desk. Was she the manager? She could not be more than thirty years old, thought Tom. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a rather grave expression on her face. She could see Tom from where she was sitting. She did not seem impressed by the elderly man she saw. However, she nodded to Hortense, who then closed the office door and returned to the front desk.

She looked at her computer screen and began to check Tom in.

Among the many Paris tourist brochures on the desk was a brochure for Martinique, the French island in the Caribbean. Tom idly opened it. Hortense looked up from her computer screen.

'That's where I come from', she said.

'I am sure it is warmer than here', said Tom.

The girl just smiled and handed over Tom's key. His room was on the second floor. There was no lift. Tom had to struggle up the stairs with his overnight bag, which now seemed much heavier than when he had packed it back in London.

If this was the same hotel as in 1978, it had improved vastly from what he remembered. The old hotel was run down, with tatty furniture in its small, dingy rooms, and with only one bathroom and one toilet on each floor. But it was cheap; a big consideration for a poor student. Today the hotel was up to modern standards. The rooms were still small, but nicely furnished. Tom's room had two beds that almost filled the space, but an en suite bathroom, or rather shower room, had somehow been attached to the room.

Tom unpacked and then went downstairs. The hotel was too small to offer food. As Tom went out to find a cafe or a restaurant, he passed Hortense, who was talking to the woman manager. The latter was quite tall, slim, not unattractive - if only she would smile, thought Tom. But she did not smile. Instead she gave Tom another suspicious look.  

Lost and Found: A Novel - Chapter Three

 Lost and Found: A Novel - Chapter Three.

London 2018.

Fred, one of the oldest college porters, was directing his young assistant Willie as they packed Tom's belongings into boxes.

'Put the books in the small boxes', said Fred. 'If you overload the big boxes with books you'll do your back an injury when you try to lift them.'

Willie nodded his understanding, but still tried to put too many books into the small boxes. The porters loaded the boxes onto trolleys, then took them down to the lodge at the college main entrance. There a man and his van that Tom had hired loaded them and took them to his home in Wood Green.

Tom was not going to admit it, but Cora Shelton had been right. Once he threw out all the non-essential items that he had accumulated in twenty years residence in his room, the significant items could be removed in two days.

It was the second day and the room was much less cluttered. Just a desk and chairs, filing cabinets, bookcases, and some last piles of books remained. Willie was still trying to put too many books in each box. One book fell out and landed on the floor almost at Tom's feet.

He picked it up. The substantial volume was old and worn. The book was about the Portuguese seaborne empire. It was regarded as a classic work in its day and Tom still found it useful as a source. He opened the book and looked at the title page. There was an inscription across the top: 'To Tom, with all my love, from Kate.'

Tom realised it was the first book Kate had ever given him, all those years ago. He already had a copy when she gave it to him, but he had not told her. That was in the days when their love was new and passions were strong. Kate had promised Tom a new beginning.

Mary. Tom's first wife, had been another academic. Friends said they were perfect for each other as they had so much in common, but that was the problem. With similar academic interests, they were soon applying for the same university jobs. Before long they became rivals and their relationship began to suffer.

They both applied for a good job at Manchester University and Mary was successful in getting it. As a Lancashire girl it would be like coming home. Tom, however, wanted to stay in London. He was already doing part time teaching at the college of London University that would eventually give him a permanent post. For some months they travelled back and forth. Tom to Manchester, then Mary to London, but both knew this could not go on for long. Eventually Mary came down from Manchester and told Tom the bad news face to face. She had found a new lover up north and wanted a divorce. Tom did not resist. Looking back, Tom almost admired her for meeting him to break the bad news. Today she would probably have sent a text message to his phone ending their marriage.

Mary said they would remain friends. The old lie. Instead they quickly slipped out of each other's lives. Now Tom only knew her through her academic publications and the occasional awkward encounters at academic conferences. He found new love in the arms of Kate, whose passion warmed his cold isolation in 'Siberia'.

During the Blitz German bombs had destroyed several buildings at the rear of the college. The site was cleared and some prefabricated huts were constructed. They were intended purely as temporary accommodation, and a promise was made that new permanent buildings would be put up after the war. The promise was eventually fulfilled - almost half a century after the end of the Second World War. In the meantime various college departments were allocated rooms in the huts. The history department received one room, which came to be known as 'Siberia'.

New staff in the history department would be placed in this room on first arrival. If they were lucky, after a year or two, they would be moved to a better room in the history department in the main building. Cool even in summer, the room lived up to its nickname in winter. The concrete walls and metal-framed windows did not keep out the cold. The ancient portable electric heater provided by the college only warmed you if you stood directly in front of it. To add to the joy, the flat roof of the hut often leaked during heavy rain. Many times Tom had to use his metal waste paper bin to collect the water dripping down in one corner of the room.

There was a desk, three chairs, a table, a filing cabinet, and a bookcase in the room. The only attractive feature of the room was its elegant wooden parquet flooring, a remnant of its destroyed predecessor, but even this was partly covered by a cheap carpet. A grim setting in many ways, the room sometimes witnessed passionate love-making on its floor if Tom and Kate could not wait to get to Tom's flat in Camden Town. It was either in the room or in the flat that the young couple got careless. Soon Kate announced that she was pregnant. The news soon spread around the college and Tom was summoned to a meeting with the head of the history department.

Professor Leonard Grimshaw was in his fifties, tall and heavily built. Few of his colleagues had much respect for his abilities as a historian, but he was a good money man. His success in getting grants from research foundations and private donors made him popular with both the department and the college. A Catholic with five children, he liked to project himself as a good family man, a defender of firm moral values. Yet he was also a ladies man, ready to pursue any attractive female at an academic conference, and especially at conferences held abroad.

Grimshaw's interview with Tom was short and not sweet. Tom was a fool to seduce a student and a complete idiot to get her pregnant, said the professor. Tom's choice now was simple: marry the girl or be dismissed from the college. Grimshaw added that should Tom choose the latter option, the professor would personally make sure he never got another job at a British university. Tom had no choice but to take the first option, but he and Kate had always intended to marry anyway. They did not invite Professor Grimshaw to their wedding. The old hypocrite also made it clear to Tom that he would not be escaping from 'Siberia' while Grimshaw remained head of the history department.

Tom was almost ready to accept that punishment for his sins, but then fate intervened. It was discovered that Professor Grimshaw had been receiving special payments from rich donors in return for getting student places for their children at the college. Tom looked forward to seeing the professor destroyed by the scandal, but then Grimshaw suddenly died of a heart attack and the college hushed up his financial misconduct. Jerry O'Brien took over as department head, and since he disliked Grimshaw almost as much as Tom did, the new boss was happy to liberate Tom from 'Siberia'. Tom was given a small room in the main building, and after a few years he moved on to a larger one, the room he was now vacating.

The porters removed the last boxes from the room and Tom went to the departmental office to tie up a few bureaucratic loose ends now that his academic career was effectively over. As ever, Valerie was helpful and efficient. Her predecessor had been a real dragon lady, inspiring fear among the academic staff. Some of the younger ones would only dare to go into the office to check their mailboxes at lunchtime when they knew the dragon lady would not be there. Valerie, in contrast, was well liked by everybody and the soul of discretion. It was only after some years that Tom had learned she lived with someone called Terry and more years passed before Valerie admitted that Terry was not a man but another woman. Tom was not the sort of person to make moral judgements about other people's private lives, especially given the problems with his own.

However, Tom did relish the memory of one incident involving Valerie. There was once a temporary lecturer in the department called Joe Williams and he was flamboyantly gay. Once he learned of Valerie's domestic setup, he enthusiastically invited Valerie and Terry to join a Gay Pride march he was organising. Tom still smiled at the memory of the look of horror that came to Valerie's face when contemplating this suggestion.

'No', she said emphatically. 'We keep ourselves to ourselves, and that's the way we like it.'

Joe went off to a university in Australia and Valerie remained the soul of discretion.

Tom knew that Valerie was only a few years younger than himself and that she would be retiring soon. He asked her what she and Terry were going to do then.

'Oh, Terry wanted to get a house in Spain, but I said no. It's just too hot down there. We're going to move to the south coast instead.'

'Brighton?', asked Tom.

Valerie gave him a knowing smile and replied: 'No, Tom, we're buying a house in Eastbourne.'

Tom nodded, and they lapsed into silence for a moment. Then Valerie said: 'I was sorry the way Cora dismissed you.'

'Me too', said Tom, trying to smile. 'Now I have no job and trouble on the home front as well.'

'Really?', said Valerie, hoping to hear more, but Tom would not elaborate.

'Yes, it's all rather depressing', said Tom.

'Whenever I feel really down', said Valerie, 'I like to think back to those times in my life when I have been truly happy, and such memories always cheer me up.'

'Maybe I'll try that', Tom said, smiling at Valerie as he left her office.

Tom returned to his own now largely empty room and slumped in the chair behind his desk.

When was I most happy?, he thought. Early days with Mary? Most of his years with Kate? When the children were born? So many memories. But then something lit a fire in his mind. Paris. Madeleine. Her blue eyes. Her wicked sense of humour. Her yellow umbrella. In those few weeks with her so long ago Tom could say he had been totally happy. If only he could somehow reconnect with that girl and the feelings he had for her.  

 

Lost and Found: A Novel - Chapter Two

 Lost and Found: A Novel - Chapter Two.

London 2018

'Why should I loan money to Richard?' Tom Bain  almost spat out the question he was so angry. 'He's the banker for God's sake. He should be loaning money to me!'

Tom's wife Kate sighed, then remained silent for a moment to allow Tom's anger to subside.

'It would only be a short-term loan', Kate said quietly. 'Until Richard gets his big bonus at the end of the year.'

'Why does he need to put an extension on his house?', Tom went on. 'It's not as if he and Vanessa have children and need more room.'

When Tom had come home from the college he had intended to tell Kate immediately about his interview with Professor Cora Shelton and its consequences. However, no sooner had he come through the door than Kate confronted him with Richard's latest request for money. Richard was his eldest son and Kate's favourite child. He had gone to Oxford University like Tom and had done very well. Tom had hoped Richard might follow him into the academic world, but the attraction of big money in the City of London had proved too great. He had earned rapid promotion as a banker and enjoyed the sort of salary which Tom, a poor academic historian, could only dream about. Richard had met Vanessa at the bank and they had married. Their joint salaries were enough to allow them to buy a big house in Maidenhead. Then Vanessa decided to leave the bank and open an art gallery in the West End of London. It was not a success and their financial problems soon began. Richard supported Vanessa in her determination to keep the art gallery going, but several times he had been forced to get loans from his father.

'You still have all the money your father left you', Kate said to Tom.

'That's for us. For our retirement, so we can live comfortably', said Tom, but he still did not reveal that his retirement would come sooner than expected.

'You will help Richard, won't you?' Kate was almost pleading.

Tom was silent, but they both knew he would in the end loan Richard the money he wanted.

Why could Richard not be more like his sister Susan?, thought Tom. She was their only daughter and Tom's favourite child. Susan had turned down the chance to go to Oxford and instead went to the Other Place. Still, after visiting her there many times, Tom had to admit a grudging respect for the University of Cambridge. After university, Susan qualified as a lawyer at a big firm in the City, but then moved out of London to Reading with her husband Kevin, who was a computer systems consultant. They had one child, John, and Susan still worked for a local law firm. Even as a child Susan was always careful with money, and even though she and her husband had good salaries, she was never extravagant in her spending. She would never ask her father for money.

As for Kate and Tom's youngest child and second son, Andrew, he had always been totally different from his two siblings. No famous universities for him. He was more interested in outdoor pursuits and the countryside. Tom thought he might become a farmer. Instead Andrew had met Josie, a girl with similar interests, and they had set up a business in the Lake District taking tourists on hiking and climbing expeditions. Sometimes they went to Wales and Scotland as well. Tom had been ready to give them some money for the business and it seemed to be prospering.

Of course Tom knew that Josie was the business manager in the partnership. Andrew had been a placid child, always happy and cheerful. At first Tom and Kate had feared he might be retarded, but that proved not to be the case. What a comment that was on the world, thought Tom. If you were always happy and cheerful you must be mentally retarded!

And what of Kate? His wife was still looking at Tom, assuming his silence implied consent to a loan to Richard, but still not entirely sure. Kate was five years younger than Tom, the student he had seduced after his first marriage ended. Or was it the other way round? He chased her until she caught him? It was a minor scandal in the college all those years ago, but marriage had saved Tom's career.

Kate had let her own hopes of an academic career wither while she brought up the three children and managed her sometimes difficult husband. She did some part-time tutoring for the Open University, but household tasks still dominated her life.

Lately Tom had noticed that Kate seemed tired and irritable. Her once lustrous black hair seemed dull and streaks of grey had begun to show. Was she tired of her life, or just tired of him, Tom wondered anxiously.

Kate was moving towards the kitchen.

'Oh, I have some big news', Tom said, trying to sound casual.

Kate turned towards him.

'Cora gave me the boot today, and she enjoyed doing it', Tom went on.

Kate gasped.

'Why?', she asked. 'Was it because of that silly girl Jessica Jones?'

'Partly', said Tom. 'But there were other reasons too. Apparently the world has moved on and I haven't kept pace.'

'Can't you challenge her decision?', Kate demanded.

'No. I'm already over the official retirement age. Cora made it sound as though they had been keeping me on as some act of charity. Now they - she - are not feeling charitable any more.'

Kate came over to Tom and hugged him.

'My poor darling', she whispered in his ear.

'Perhaps you can get me some tutoring work with the Open University', Tom said to Kate. He tried to laugh, but failed.

Kate stood back and stared into Tom's face.

'What are we going to do?', she asked.

'Oh, don't worry about money', Tom replied. 'I'm on paid leave this term. Then there's the money my father left me.'

'Yes, you already mentioned that.'

'Perhaps we should go on a world cruise or something', said Tom.

Kate looked doubtful.

'But you hate the sea', she said to Tom. 'You can even get seasick on the ferry to the Isle of Wight.'

'They say those giant modern cruise ships are so stable they can sail through any storm and the passengers hardly notice.'

'I think that's unlikely', said Kate, no doubt picturing Tom throwing up regularly as the cruise ship crossed the oceans of the world.

'It was only a thought'. Tom said absently.

'Well, let's have something to eat, then we can discuss things further', said Kate, heading for the kitchen.

They spent the evening talking about possible futures, but Tom and Kate came to no definite conclusions.

Next day Tom realised that in his haste to flee college the previous day he had left some books he needed in his office. He was sure he could slip into the college and retrieve them without being noticed. He was wrong.

Tom collected the books from his room, but as he walked along the corridor outside he saw Professor Cora Shelton approaching. The door to the office of departmental secretary Valerie was open and Tom thought of going in there until Cora had passed by. However, he then suspected Valerie's office was probably Cora's intended destination. Cora was looking at some papers she was holding in her right hand. Perhaps Tom could slip past without her noticing him, but Cora then looked up from the papers.

'Tom, what are you doing here? I thought I sent you on leave', said Cora, blocking Tom's path.

'Oh, I was just getting some books from my room', Tom replied, trying to edge past the professor. She moved to obstruct his passage.

'Books from your room? Oh, thank you for reminding me, Tom', said Cora with an insincere smile. 'I think it would be best if you cleared all your books and other belongings out of your room now. You know how short we are of accommodation in this department. I can probably squeeze three postgraduate students into your room.'

Tom knew he would have to vacate his room eventually, but he had not wanted to be rushed.

'Yes, I'll be happy to do that', Tom said reluctantly. 'Give me two or three weeks.'

'Nonsense', said Cora. 'With the help of the college porters I'm sure you can clear the room in a day or two.'

'I'm not sure about that', Tom began to say, but Cora cut him off.

'I think you should be out by the end of this week', she said firmly.

Both Tom and Cora had raised their voices as they argued. Departmental secretary Valerie was now looking out of the doorway to her room, concerned at the commotion in the corridor.

Tom stepped away from Cora.

'Perhaps that is possible', he said weakly.

'Of course it is', said Cora as she swept past Tom and entered Valerie's office.

(TBC)