'How would you explain - well, say a photograph like the one you showed me?'

Lewis took out the pa.s.sport photo again.

'Not too difficult, surely? You're a well-known man, sir - quite a distinguished-looking man, perhaps? So let's just say one of your admiring undergraduettes sees you at a railway station and says she'd like to have a picture taken with you. You know, one of those "Four colour photos in approximately four minutes" places. Then she could carry the pair of you around with her, like some girls carry pictures of pop stars around.'

Storrs nodded. 'Clever idea! I wish I'd I'd thought of it. Er ... can I ask thought of it. Er ... can I ask you you a question?' a question?'

'Yes?'

'Why are you still only a sergeant?'

Lewis made no comment on the matter, but asked a final question: You're standing for the Mastership at Lonsdale, I understand, sir?'

Ye-es. So you can see, can't you, why all this business, you know ... ?'

'Of course.'

Storrs' face now suddenly cleared.

"There are just the two of us: Dr Cornford - Denis Cornford - and myself. And may the better man win!'

He said it lightly, as if the pair of them were destined to cross swords in a mighty game of Scrabble - and called through to Angela, his wife.

CHAPTER T THIRTY-FIVE.

Keep your eyes wide open before marriage, half shut afterwards (Benjamin Franklin, Poor Richard's Almanack) Poor Richard's Almanack) IN O OXFORD THAT same early evening the clouds were inkily black, the forecast set for heavy rain, with most of those walking along Broad Street or around Radcliffe Square wearing raincoats and carrying umbrellas. The majority of these people were students making their way to College Halls for their evening meals, much as their predecessors had done in earlier times, pa.s.sing through the same streets, past the same familiar buildings and later returning to the same sort of accommodation, and in most cases doing some work for the morrow, when they would be listening to the same sort of lectures. Unless, perhaps, they were students of Physics or some similar discipline where breakthroughs ('Breaks-through, if we are to be accurate, dear boy') were as regular as inaccuracies in the daily weather forecasts. same early evening the clouds were inkily black, the forecast set for heavy rain, with most of those walking along Broad Street or around Radcliffe Square wearing raincoats and carrying umbrellas. The majority of these people were students making their way to College Halls for their evening meals, much as their predecessors had done in earlier times, pa.s.sing through the same streets, past the same familiar buildings and later returning to the same sort of accommodation, and in most cases doing some work for the morrow, when they would be listening to the same sort of lectures. Unless, perhaps, they were students of Physics or some similar discipline where breakthroughs ('Breaks-through, if we are to be accurate, dear boy') were as regular as inaccuracies in the daily weather forecasts.

But that evening the forecast was surprisingly accurate; and at 6.45 6.45 p.m. the rains came. p.m. the rains came.

Denis Cornford looked out through the window on to Holywell Street where the rain bounced off the surface of the road like arrowheads. St Peter's (Dinner, 7.00 for 7.30 p.m.) was only ten minutes' walk away but he was going to get soaked in such a downpour.

"What do you think, darling?'

'Give it five minutes. If it keeps on like this, I should get a cab. You've got plenty of time.'

'What'll you be doing?' he asked.

'Well, I don't think I'll be venturing out too far, do you?' She said it in a gentle way, and there seemed no sarcasm in her voice. She came up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders as he stood indecisively staring out through the sheeted panes.

'Denis?'

'Mm?'

'Do you really want to be Master all that that much?' much?'

He turned towards her and looked directly into her dazzlingly attractive dark eyes, with that small circular white light in the centre of their irises - eyes which had always held men, and tempted them, and occasioned innumerable capitulations.

'Yes, Sh.e.l.ly. Yes, I do! Not quite so badly as Julian, perhaps. But badly enough.'

'What would you give - to be Master?'

'Most things, I suppose.'

'Give up your work?'

'A good deal of that would go anyway. It would be different work, that's all.' 'Would you give me up?' me up?'

He took her in his arms. 'Of course, I would!' You don't really mean-?'

He kissed her mouth with a strangely pa.s.sionate tenderness.

A few minutes later they stood arm-in-arm at the window looking out at the ceaselessly teeming rain. 'I'll ring for a cab,' said Sh.e.l.ly Cornford.

On Mondays the dons' attendance at Lonsdale Dinner was usually fairly small, but Roy Porter would be there, Angela Storrs knew that: Roy Porter was almost always there. She rang him in his rooms at 6.55 6.55 p.m. 'Roy?' p.m. 'Roy?'

'Angela! Good to hear your beautiful voice.' 'Flattery will get you exactly halfway between nowhere and everywhere.' 'I'll settle for that.' You're dining tonight?' Yep.'

'Would you like to come along afterwards and cheer up a lonely old lady.' 'Julian away?'

'Some Brains Trust at Reading University.'

'Shall I bring a bottle?'

'Plenty of bottles here.'

'Marvellous.'

'Nine-ish?'

'About then. Er ... Angela? Is it something you want to talk about or is it just... ?'

"Why not both?'

You want to know how things seem to be going with the election?'

'I'm making no secret of that.'

You do realize I don't know anything definite at all?' 'I don't expect you to. But I'd like to talk. You can understand how I feel, can't you?' 'Of course.'

'And I've been speaking to Julian. There are are one or two little preferments perhaps in the offing, if he's elected.' one or two little preferments perhaps in the offing, if he's elected.'

'Really?'

'But like you, Roy, I don't know anything definite.' 'I understand. But it'll be good to be together again.' 'Oh, yes. Have a drink or two together.' 'Or three?'

'Or four?' suggested Angela Storrs, her voice growing huskier still.

The phone rang at 7.05 p.m. 'Sh.e.l.ly?' Yes.'

You're on your own?' You know I am.' 'Denis gone?' 'Left fifteen minutes ago.'

'One or two things to tell you, if we could meet?' 'What sort of things?'

'Nothing definite. But there's talk about a potential benefaction from the States, and one of the Trustees met Denis - met you, you, I gather, too - and, well, I can tell you all about it when we meet.' I gather, too - and, well, I can tell you all about it when we meet.' 'All 'All about it?' about it?'

'It's a biggish thing, and I think we may be slightly more likely to pull it off, perhaps, if Denis ...' 'And you'll be doing your best?' 'I can't promise anything.' 'I know that.' 'So?' 'So?'

'So you're free and I'm free.'

'On a night like this? Far too dangerous. Me coming to the Master's Lodge? No chance.'

'I agree. But, you see, one of my old colleagues is off to Greece - he's left me his key - just up the Banbury Road - lovely comfy double-bed - crisp clean sheets -central heating - en suite en suite facilities - mini bar. Tariff? No pounds, no shillings, no pence.' facilities - mini bar. Tariff? No pounds, no shillings, no pence.'

You remember pre-decimalization?'

'I'm not too too old, though, am I? And I'd just love to be with you now, at this minute. More than anything in the world.' old, though, am I? And I'd just love to be with you now, at this minute. More than anything in the world.'

You ought to find a new variation on the theme, you know! It's getting a bit of a cliche.'

'Cleeshay', she'd said; but however she'd p.r.o.nounced it, the barb had found its mark; and Sir Clixby's voice was softer, more serious as he answered her.

'I need you, Sh.e.l.ly. Please come out with me. I'll get a taxi round to you in ten minutes' time, if that's all right?'

There was silence on the other end of the line.

'Sh.e.l.ly?'

Yes?'

'Will that be all right?' right?'

'No,' she replied quietly. 'No it won't I'm sorry.' The line was dead. I'm sorry.' The line was dead.

Just before nine o'clock, Cornford rang home from St Peter's: 'Sh.e.l.ly? Denis. Look, darling, I've just noticed in my diary ... You've not had a call tonight, have you?'

Sh.e.l.ly's heart registered a sudden, sharp stab of panic. 'No, why?'

'It's just that the New York publishers said they might be ringing. So, if they do, please make a note of the number and tell 'em I'll ring them back. All right?'

'Fine. Yes.'

'You having a nice evening?'

'Mm. It's lovely to sit and watch TV for a change. No engagements. No problems.' 'See you soon.' 'I hope so.'

Sh.e.l.ly put down the phone slowly. 'I've just noticed in my diary', he'd said. But he hadn't, she knew that She'd looked in his diary earlier that day, to make sure of the time of the St Peter's do. That had been the only entry on the page for 26.2.96.

Or, as she would always think of it, 2/26/96.

Just before ten o'clock, Julian Storrs rang his wife from Reading; rang three times.

The number was engaged.

He rang five minutes later.

The number was still engaged.

He rang again, after a further five minutes.

She answered.

'Angie? I've been trying to get you these last twenty minutes.'

'I've only been talking to Mum, for Christ's sake!'

'It's just that I shan't be home till after midnight, that's all. So I'll get a taxi. Don't worry about meeting me.'

'OK.'.

After she had hung up, Angela Storrs took a Thames Trains timetable from her handbag and saw that Julian could easily be catching an earlier train: the 22.40 from Reading, arriving Oxford 23.20. Not that it mattered. Perhaps he was having a few drinks with his hosts? Or perhaps - the chilling thought struck her - he was checking up on her?

Hurriedly she rang her mother in South Kensington. And kept on kept on kept on talking. The call would be duly registered on the itemized BT lists and suddenly she felt considerably easier in her mind.

Morse had caught the 23.48 from Paddington that night, and at 01.00 sat unhearing as the Senior Conductor made his lugubrious p.r.o.nouncement: 'Oxford, Oxford. This train has now terminated. Please be sure to take all your personal possessions with you. Thank you.'

From a deeply delicious cataleptic state, Morse was finally prodded into consciousness by no less a personage than the Senior Conductor himself.

'All right, sir?'

'Thank you, yes.'

But in truth things were not all right, since Morse had been deeply disappointed by his evening's sojourn in London. And as he walked down the station steps to the taxi-rank, he reminded himself of what he'd always known - that life was full of disappointments: of which the most immediate was that not a single taxi was in sight.

CHAPTER T THIRTY-SIX.

Tuesday, 27 February Initium est dimidium Jacti (Once you've started, you're halfway there) (Latin proverb) (Once you've started, you're halfway there) (Latin proverb) AN UNSHAVEN M MORSE was still dressed in his mauve and Cambridge blue pyjamas when Lewis arrived at 10 o'clock the following morning. Over the phone half an hour earlier he had learned that Morse was feeling 'rough as a bear's a.r.s.e' - whatever that was supposed to mean. was still dressed in his mauve and Cambridge blue pyjamas when Lewis arrived at 10 o'clock the following morning. Over the phone half an hour earlier he had learned that Morse was feeling 'rough as a bear's a.r.s.e' - whatever that was supposed to mean.