don’t have to take it here.” Lisa leaned forward and handed me the essay.
“Where were you?” I asked.
“I was a first-year student at King’s, London,” she said. “I finished the year. But I didn’t want to live in London. My parents have a house there and I wanted some independence. Anyway, I got a place here and they gave me credit for the year.”
“But not credit for this second-year course?”
Lisa frowned. “No,” she said. “But hey look, Professor, I’m sure you can help me, can’t you. I can make it worth your while.” She slowly crossed her legs, exposing her thighs.
‘I’ll look at the essay,” I said, averting my eyes. “Even though students are allowed to submit an essay rather than take an exam for the course, I’m not sure about this. I’ll read your work and let you know. Come and see me tomorrow.”
Lisa stood up and smiled. “Thanks, Professor,” she said. “You won’t regret it.”
She shut the door behind her. I looked down from my office window at the students below. I saw Lisa walk off towards the Student Union. She glanced up. I retreated behind the curtains. The phone rang. It was Victoria, my wife. “Darling,” she said. “Don’t forget to pick up the wine. You know Daddy’s very particular.” Victoria’s father was coming to stay for the weekend.
“I know,” I said. “I’ll get some claret like we had last time. Should I get a magnum? The Buzzard seems to like big bottles of the stuff.”
“Please don’t call him the Buzzard.”
“But he does look like a buzzard. A craggy buzzard.”
My father-in-law – Sir William Dormouse – was over eighty, but still very vigorous. He had inherited an enormously draughty, crumbling castle on the Welsh border. The family was traditionally loyal to Wales. He had been educated at Shrewsbury School and was still active in the Old Salopian Club. Even though he was rather snobbish about my background ‘in trade’, as he called it, it pleased him to know that I too had been educated at Shrewsbury and that I had read theology at Cambridge. His great-great-grandfather, the second baronet, had been a don at Trinity some time in the early nineteenth century. When the elder brother had died in a hunting accident, he had given up his fellowship and returned to live the life of a country squire. The family had remained there, sending their children over the border to public school. Victoria had been to Cheltenham Ladies’ College and then on to Girton; her brothers had followed their father to Shrewsbury and Trinity. Victoria and I had met when she was an undergraduate and I was struggling with my PhD.
At dinner that night, I told my father-in-law about the RAE. Our two Siamese cats circled the table, hoping that we might share our sherry trifle with them. “The RAE takes place every few years,” I explained. “The purpose is to assess the research output of each academic.”
“Must be very time-consuming reading all that stuff,” Sir William said.
“Well, it is. At least for all the members of the Committee.”
“You’re on the Committee?” he asked.
“Not me. It’s composed of about a dozen experts in each field. They spend about a year reading each person’s best work.”
“Damn boring.”
“It must be. But it’s all very important, because money is distributed on the basis of the results.”
“Do you get any extra?”
“No, the department does. The Vice-Chancellor is obsessed by the RAE. It’s all he can think about. The same applies to the Dean and the heads of departments.”
“Harry’s department did jolly well last time,” Victoria interjected .
“Good for them!” he said. “How much extra money did you get?”
“Actually, we got less. You see, all the departments improved like we did. So there was less money to go around.”
“Damn stupid,” my father-in-law said. ‘Don’t see the point. Claret’s good; I’ll have another glass, there’s a good girl.”
After
“Where were you?” I asked.
“I was a first-year student at King’s, London,” she said. “I finished the year. But I didn’t want to live in London. My parents have a house there and I wanted some independence. Anyway, I got a place here and they gave me credit for the year.”
“But not credit for this second-year course?”
Lisa frowned. “No,” she said. “But hey look, Professor, I’m sure you can help me, can’t you. I can make it worth your while.” She slowly crossed her legs, exposing her thighs.
‘I’ll look at the essay,” I said, averting my eyes. “Even though students are allowed to submit an essay rather than take an exam for the course, I’m not sure about this. I’ll read your work and let you know. Come and see me tomorrow.”
Lisa stood up and smiled. “Thanks, Professor,” she said. “You won’t regret it.”
She shut the door behind her. I looked down from my office window at the students below. I saw Lisa walk off towards the Student Union. She glanced up. I retreated behind the curtains. The phone rang. It was Victoria, my wife. “Darling,” she said. “Don’t forget to pick up the wine. You know Daddy’s very particular.” Victoria’s father was coming to stay for the weekend.
“I know,” I said. “I’ll get some claret like we had last time. Should I get a magnum? The Buzzard seems to like big bottles of the stuff.”
“Please don’t call him the Buzzard.”
“But he does look like a buzzard. A craggy buzzard.”
My father-in-law – Sir William Dormouse – was over eighty, but still very vigorous. He had inherited an enormously draughty, crumbling castle on the Welsh border. The family was traditionally loyal to Wales. He had been educated at Shrewsbury School and was still active in the Old Salopian Club. Even though he was rather snobbish about my background ‘in trade’, as he called it, it pleased him to know that I too had been educated at Shrewsbury and that I had read theology at Cambridge. His great-great-grandfather, the second baronet, had been a don at Trinity some time in the early nineteenth century. When the elder brother had died in a hunting accident, he had given up his fellowship and returned to live the life of a country squire. The family had remained there, sending their children over the border to public school. Victoria had been to Cheltenham Ladies’ College and then on to Girton; her brothers had followed their father to Shrewsbury and Trinity. Victoria and I had met when she was an undergraduate and I was struggling with my PhD.
At dinner that night, I told my father-in-law about the RAE. Our two Siamese cats circled the table, hoping that we might share our sherry trifle with them. “The RAE takes place every few years,” I explained. “The purpose is to assess the research output of each academic.”
“Must be very time-consuming reading all that stuff,” Sir William said.
“Well, it is. At least for all the members of the Committee.”
“You’re on the Committee?” he asked.
“Not me. It’s composed of about a dozen experts in each field. They spend about a year reading each person’s best work.”
“Damn boring.”
“It must be. But it’s all very important, because money is distributed on the basis of the results.”
“Do you get any extra?”
“No, the department does. The Vice-Chancellor is obsessed by the RAE. It’s all he can think about. The same applies to the Dean and the heads of departments.”
“Harry’s department did jolly well last time,” Victoria interjected .
“Good for them!” he said. “How much extra money did you get?”
“Actually, we got less. You see, all the departments improved like we did. So there was less money to go around.”
“Damn stupid,” my father-in-law said. ‘Don’t see the point. Claret’s good; I’ll have another glass, there’s a good girl.”
After
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