Mystery and Mayhem and St Marks

Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's

by

Joel

Some of the Characters Appearing or Mentioned: Mark Henry Foster The story-teller Tristan (Tris) Price-Williams His well-proportioned boyfriend Gordon Foster Father of Mark and Francis: Fiddles for a living Maria (Angelica Matteoli) Foster Mother of Mark and Francis: Teaches singing Francis Michael [Microbe] Foster Alias Toad: just growing and wondering Ivo Richie Carr Mark's cousin: chunky and cheeky with it Adam Benjamin Carr Ditto, as his twin Albert Tomkins A Head Porter with an elephantine memory Jason Knott An Assistant Porter with long antecedents Dr Safar Al-Hamed A knowledgeable Music don Charles Fane-Stuart The 'Servant of the Chapel' and Footlights star Rev Dr Basil Henson A very astute Chaplain Dr Eric Mays Master of St Mark's College H.E. Sheik Sayed Al-Hamed Erstwhile Ambassador for a Middle-Eastern State James Al-Hamed A new Modern Languages don Aubrey Fullerton QC A celebrity Law don Francesco Matteoli Designer and uncle of Mark and Francis Aldo Leopardi Companion of Uncle Francesco: Charles's father Mirabelle Fane-Stuart Mother Oliver Jensen A Musical undergraduate with allure Hon Jeremy (Tosspot) Foskett A supercilious dilettante student

1. [Part One] My First Few Days

Dad and Mum came with me, Tris and our clobber to Cambridge to see me settled in. Toad kicked up a fuss but was firmly told his schooling was much more important and I promised he could come and stay at half-term if that was allowed.

Dad said this visit would be a cathartic experience for him and he hoped that after all these years his feelings about the place would diminish and go. Because of the position of the College we had to park on the other side of the river having come along the Backs. I had 'gone up', as the saying is, a day earlier as I had to sort out the Chapel rota for playing at services and I wanted some time before the rest of the Freshers arrived to try out the organ again and really get settled in. Tris had decided to come with us as otherwise he would have had to lug his stuff to Cambridge by train as his father was appearing in a case in Liverpool and his mother hated driving on the M25 and M11. Charles had said he'd also be up a day or so early and there was a large limousine, with a chauffeur, already parked and a host of bags and cases being ferried in over the bridge by two young lads.

Tris said he would arrange the unpacking of the car when the boys came back with the trolley so I took Mum and Dad to the Porter's Lodge so I could introduce Dad again to Old Albert as well as collect my keys. Old Albert took one look at me and the crooked smile appeared. "Good morning, Mr Foster." He looked past me, "Mrs Foster, Mr Foster, you are very welcome." He came round and shook Mum's hand, then Dad's. "I'm glad you play the violin and not that wretched saxophone your father thought he could play! He was a good man, though, and loved the College. And I remember you coming for that recital. You said it was the first time you'd had a proper dress suit."

Dad was silent for a moment. He shook his head. "You remembered that!

I'd forgotten it until now - or rather, I'd pushed it out of my memory as it was all too painful. I was so proud and I played my very best. For Dad! And now I want to hear my son play."

Mr Tomkins bowed. He'd dredged up a memory for Dad and Dad had to go to the Chapel now. I needed to play my best, too.

Just at that moment two figures came up to the Lodge door. One was Jason Knott, the other caught sight of Dad.

"Gordon!" he said delightedly, "I'm so glad to have caught you. Mrs Foster, so pleased to see you. And where's Mark?"

It was Dr Al-Hamed. He was carrying a violin case. He and Dad began to talk excitedly once he'd established I was there as well. He had a big grin on his face and I guessed why he had been hovering. Jason led Mum and me to the Chapel and, as he unlocked the door, he gave me a set of keys with an engraved tag, 'Mark Foster'. Chapel, staircase door, organ, my rooms.

"If you need anything, let me know. I'll check with Mr Price-Williams and see that the boys put your things in your set."

Mum and I went up to the organ loft and I turned the blower motor on. I looked at Mum. She had a music case with her. Out came copies of Mendelssohn's 'Elijah'. She had sung the soprano solos with the local choral society last Easter. I opened the book at the beginning of Part II, 'Hear Ye, Israel'. I set quiet stops and began the adagio opening. Mum's voice, though hushed, filled the Chapel. At the crescendos we raised the temperature, as it were, and the glorious music rang out. After the recitative and change of key we were in our element. I had played for her practices but now my mother and I were performing as one. At the end we carried on with the chorus, Mum singing the soprano part and me playing the accompaniment and filling in the chorus parts. Gradually we were joined by three other parts as three others joined us in the loft. Dad sung bass with Dr Al-Hamed taking the tenor part. Tris had left the boys dealing with the luggage and was joining in singing the alto part in his upper range - using falsetto for the high D's. At the alto entry 'Though thousands languish...' his clear, counter-tenor voice was perfect. We finished with those heavenly chords leading down to the final cadence in perfect harmony.

I turned and smiled. I knew I was at home. Dr Al-Hamed beckoned to my father and they went down as Tris and I said how wonderful Mum's singing had been.

"Only as good as the acoustics and my accompanist!" she said giving me a kiss as I turned on the organ bench.

"I think Dr Al-Hamed has planned something," said Tris, "We'd better go down and see."

As we got down the stairs we saw the Chaplain and Charles sitting together in the middle of the Chapel with an older grey-haired man. Dad was with Dr Al-Hamed next to the grand piano and he was tuning the violin which Dr Al-Hamed had brought with him. The three of us joined the Chaplain and Charles who had great smiles on their faces. "Marvellous," whispered the Chaplain, "Thanks. Let me introduce the Master." He gave my mother and me a courtly nod of the head.

At that moment Dr Al-Hamed sat at the piano and played the four quiet chords opening Cesar Franck's Violin Sonata. Dad came in on the fifth chord with that winding little tune, so hesitant but full of melodic and harmonic promise. Gradually the interplay between piano and violin worked its magic. Time flew as the two instruments gently parried and thrust until the end of the movement came almost imperceptibly. The second movement, almost harsh at its inception began and flowed its course. The two players were complimenting each other with cut and thrust now and their enjoyment of playing together. The third movement, taking up hints of that opening theme increasing the intensity of the passion as it ebbed and flowed so that Dad's playing of the ending - molto lento - was so heartfelt. This was only surpassed by the fervour and passion of the final movement where each player pushed the other to heights I had never experienced before when hearing Dad play. The rippling piano part, then the more violent runs and the sheer abandon of the slow violin phrases above, gave one a real insight how two musicians could conquer all emotions especially with such rapturous playing. After that concluding phrase there was complete silence in the Chapel. Without thinking I had put out both hands and was gripping my mother's left hand and Tris's right hand. Dad put the violin down on top of the grand piano and he and Dr Al-Hamed embraced . Two supreme artists had displayed their talents to the full.

They came down the side aisle to where we were sitting.

Dad was smiling though I could see his cheeks had been wetted by tears.

"I have exorcised any bad feelings I have harboured about this place over the years." He looked at the Chaplain who nodded. "If you would like, Dr Henson, I would like to come and give a recital here again." He turned to Dr Al-Hamed. "If Safar will accompany me?"

The Master stood. "There will be no hesitation. The recital must take place. This morning's music gives me great hope for the future in the College." He turned to me. "Mr Foster, we chose well." He gripped my mother's arm. "Madam, I have heard many sing in this Chapel but with all honesty I have rarely heard anything as beautiful and musicianly as your singing, so ably accompanied by your son. You must come, too, and give your own recital." He turned to the Chaplain. "I must go now, there is trouble brewing as usual, but thank you for telling me I would have a treat this morning. I feel much more able to cope with all my problems now." He bowed and went out.

So, my first experience of meeting the Master. Not over the usual sherry, that would come later with other Freshers. But he had set his seal of approval on my appointment and Mum and Dad had been invited formally to perform. The Chaplain, Dad and Dr Al-Hamed were exchanging amused and pleased looks. They were then huddled round the piano talking and arranging things while I introduced Charles to his 'Aunt'. He was on his best behaviour, no over-doing the dramatics. They kissed warmly and then he announced that Mother would be meeting Aldo and Uncle Francesco on Saturday week as he would be receiving his degree at the ceremony in Senate House then.

"Mother is in the States overseeing the interior restoration of a huge house on the Hamptons, but she is flying over for three days and Father and Francesco will be coming over on Friday. So we shall have to see how they gel."

Tris and I exchanged grins at the 'Father'. We would meet Mother, too.

On the way round the quad to my set, which I would be taking possession of today, with Mum and Charles deep in conversation, Tris confessed he had phoned Dr Al-Hamed after Tris and I had discussed Dad's phobia about St Mark's. Dad's playing had been unplanned but Dr Al-Hamed had thought the only way to overcome things was to confront them head on. It had worked.

I am afraid Mum had a fit of the giggles when she saw my rooms and the layout. She admired the main room and approved of the kitchen and the study but couldn't contain herself when she saw the four-poster. When I saw the Toad again he would be in for a mild reproof. The ornate bed had a Manchester United duvet cover on it which I had last seen adorning the Toad's own double bed!

As we stood, with the three of them laughing, Jason knocked on the door.

"Young Mr Foster presents his compliments and wishes you to borrow that to remind you of him." He couldn't maintain a straight face either and sniggered. I gave him as stern a look as possible. He turned to Mum. "I took the liberty of listening to your singing and I would like to thank you." He turned back to us. "If you would like to accompany me to the Chaplain's rooms there is a light lunch prepared. Dr Al-Hamed will be joining you."

He and Mum led the way with Mum obviously asking him all sorts of questions only someone like Jason could answer - probably, who did the laundry? who made the beds? who checked the lads ate enough and properly and didn't drink too much? and, definitely, who checked they had clean undies?!

Dad, the Chaplain and Dr Al-Hamed were already there. Dad was admiring the violin. When we were all in, Dr Al-Hamed explained it was very new. One of his craftsmen had recently finished it and he wanted it tested. Not only that.

"When I told my father about your experience here with your own father and that you were coming at last to bring your own son here he said the violin is his gift. Please accept it. He also said he was most impressed when you came to Ulvescott to give your opinion on Mr Garside's other work."

Poor Dad. The tears did flow then. He said the violin was one of the best he'd ever played. It needed playing in but had the potential tone and response to be a masterpiece. How could he accept such a gift?

"By playing as you did today," Dr Al-Hamed said. "The recital is already set up for the end of term when you have checked your diary. You must play it then, too."

"And I will come to Ulvescott to play to your father again, too."

"And Mark must come, too. We've recently installed a very nice two-manual organ there for my father's friend Dr Thomson to play. Dr Thomson and his sons are the Trustees of the estate and my father and he are very old friends. I should say Dr Thomson is my surrogate father as well, but that's a long story." Dr Al-Hamed smiled.

"The Thomson saga is a long one," said the Chaplain, laughing, "And now your son is joining us as well, as Dr Porter says he wants to retire soon."

Dr Porter? Yes, I'd heard that name. He must be Ivo's French tutor.

Mum said she would come just before Easter, if that was convenient, and she would send in a programme to be approved. Perhaps it could be combined with some items for the choir and organ as well. The Chaplain looked as happy as a sandboy.

After lunch Dad had to inspect my rooms as well. His fit of the giggles was over the frieze of organ stops. Even more when he opened a cupboard in the passage in the kitchen and found several ancient looking, dusty organ pipes. Another guffaw occurred when he saw the four-poster and the MU duvet. Back in the main room he tapped the very fine oak panelling and said it was probably put up to disguise the original stone wall and there were probably niches behind as one or two places sounded hollow. At least it made the room seem warmer. As ever practical, and knowing I had the habit of leaving unwanted lights on at home: "Who pays for the gas for the fire?"

Charles was there listening. "The Pennefather Bequest," he said, "Mark and I are lucky that we are both warmed by the old boy's last wishes. 'To those occupying my rooms and those of the Servant of the Chapel I bequeath in perpetuity coals and kindling of like kind'. That man has complained that we do not use coals and it is an unjustified expense. Mr Fullerton said that 'kindling of like kind' could be interpreted as the product of coal or other naturally occurring fuel and anyway 'coals' was also a generic term."

'That man' being Pinch-Bum who was still stirring up trouble.

Mum and Dad were both thunderstruck when confronted with the decor of Charles's rooms. Whatever had been left over from the previous American venture was now displayed as an even further descent, or ascent, depending on one's particular aesthetic sense, into riotous colours contrasting or conflicting with heavily patterned fabrics strewn across chairs, window seats and even making up a very flamboyant table covering. There were vases of hot-house flowers everywhere, too, adding a strong sickly scent to the smell of new textiles.

"I am afraid Mother has at last reached the nadir of anything resembling taste in her customers," he hastily said as we stood and gawped, "These last Americans had the idea of a baronial hall. Luckily it was not in the Scottish style or we would be covered in dubious tartans of every shade." He sighed and held up his hands in a resigned gesture. "What she will have left over this time is anybody's guess. Last I heard she was buying vast amounts of fake ancient Egyptian artefacts from Harrods." He was almost looking overwhelmed by it all himself. "No doubt a recumbent Sphinx, covered in sequins with lapis lazuli eyes, will be here by Christmas!"

Poor Charles. But he was enjoying it. He was off again. He regaled my parents with a few scurrilous tales of errant dons and did hint at the sad demise of his Ponsonby predecessor in his post. Tris and I left him to it as Tris wanted to show me his rooms. This was somewhat of a shock. He was going to be in the top floor rooms that had been both my Grandfather's, Augustus's originals, and the recently deceased Bryce's. I asked if he was worried.

"Why should I be? Old Augustus was in here, your Grandfather was in here and there have been quite a few in the rooms since. What happened to Bryce was nasty but he's gone. The rooms have been repainted and I've got new furniture and furnishings from somewhere around College. I'll be happy here knowing your Grandad slept here." He stood in front of me and hugged me. "And we'll sleep together in here sometimes as well. And if Bryce doesn't like it he can go to Hell!"

I clutched him tight as he went rigid.

"Shouldn't have said that," he whispered, "But if he was as nasty as he seemed he's probably there, or on the outskirts."

Both he and the twins were staying in College instead of being in one of the outhouses as all three were in the choir and all three had volunteered for College offices in clubs. Ivo was overseeing the Chapel rota, Adam was now Secretary of the Rugger Club and Tris was the same for the Basketball Club. So, all four of us, plus Charles would be on the same staircase. Matt Thyssen the senior organ scholar, now in his Third Year, was below Tris and we had to wait and see who Oliver Jensen was. His name was already painted on the board at the entrance. He was having Tris's old rooms above mine and was another Fresher like me.

Dad was in a much happier mood when it was time to leave. He said he had had strict instructions from Francis to book his descent on the College at his half-term in just over three weeks time. In fact, he'd checked with the Chaplain who said he would see the Bursar and there should be no problem as he would probably be a student in any case in a couple of years time. 'Thank you, Dad!', I thought. I'll have to cope with a week of inquisitiveness and curiosity about everything. He'd probably want to skateboard round the quad and climb some of the pinnacles on the tower trying to get the Dean to coach him or, worse, accompany him. Still, I always had the Thugs and Tris who seemed better able to control him than me!

That evening Tris, Charles and I went for a meal at the Caf‚ Rouge and we all agreed life could be worse. Tris and I slept together in the four-poster. Perfect. I said that the next night we would try his bed. He laughed. "I'll have to sleep on top of you.

It's definitely a single! Interesting, though. If this was old Pennefather's bed, why did he have a double?"

As soon as we got into bed Tris seemed rather distant and silent. "I've got something to tell you," he said at last. "I wondered a lot last year if we would last together. You being at home and me here. I worried in case you would find someone else. I will confess I've been tempted. Batman, that's Carl, did ask me last term if I'd like to have a weekend in Manchester with him. He's got a pal who was working in security for a gay set-up there and wanted some advice. Would I like to go with him and, perhaps?...." He shook his head. "I like Carl very much but I did say no. He said he didn't think I would say yes but he just asked. He said he realised I was faithful and he liked me even better for that, and he wants to meet you.... So,......."

I said that I had also wondered. In any case, did he think we were too young, or too foolish, to think our relationship would last. If he said he didn't want it to go on I would be devastated, but I would realise his life was important to him.

"You're more than I could ever wish for," he said. "I did fancy Sammy Patel a bit at school and there was Ginger Pubes himself, Pat O'Keefe!"

I slapped his back. "Slut!" I said, "You're bloody insatiable as it is without sharing it around."

"And what about you ogling Milton's bull-dick. I bet his would be bigger than Sammy's and Pat's put together!"

"Oh, so you measured both, did you!"

"Only in my mind comparing them with this....."

So that night was spent in careful contemplation of the love we felt for each other. At the end of a long and most satisfying final joint wank I whispered, "I just want you....."

Next day was near pandemonium. The place seemed to be crawling with Freshers just hatched and here I was, a day-old chick, with little to do but look at lecture lists and College notices and read the myriad invitations to partake of sherry and other concoctions from College dignitaries and Societies. Tris as an old hand disappeared into the scrum of eighteen-year-olds leaving home, not necessarily for the first time as quite a few would have spent the better part of their lives, so far, in boarding schools, but milling around, sorting themselves out. He manned a table handing out information and I escaped to the Chapel and played contentedly for a couple of hours until hunger told me I'd better look for food. Hall was in full swing. I knew nobody, but at last Tris came in as I was just choosing whether I wanted a) lasagne, b) toad in the hole, or c) vegetarian quiche. Thinking of Francis I chose toad in the hole and was gratified to see three quite plump sausages on my plate. I then realised it was Sean who was serving and we exchanged conspiratorial grins as I noted two sausages on the plate of a rather large young man, rugger or boatie I assumed, in front of me.

I sat at a table beginning to fill up and Tris came along with a real beauty. Dark dirty- blond-haired, not like me, blue-eyed, not like me, full kissable lips, just like me, a dimple in his chin, which I lacked and a real killer smile, as they say in some of the raunchier stories I'd found on the Web recently, just like mine. What business had Tris in talking to such trash!! Especially after our discussion last night and after....!! And flaunting him in front of me!! If he thinks he's?......

"Hi, Marky," he said, also with a real killer smile, "This is Oliver Jensen. I found him looking lost on our staircase. Oliver, this is my greatest friend, Mark Foster. We were at school together, we're neighbours at home..." He left out 'lovers' for the moment. "...he's new, too, he's the new Pennefather Organ Scholar and he's in the set below yours."

The smile was dazzling. "Oh, Mark, I am pleased to meet you," he said in a really pleasant lowish voice, "Tristan rescued me. I'm afraid I'm quite lost. Flew in from Singapore last night and all my luggage is delayed. Still, I've got a bed and food." The smile, full headlights, again. "Lovely to meet you!" He put his tray down and gave me a firm handshake and then sat beside me. Tris was settling opposite and was staring and smiling at him.

Ouch. I would have to speak to Tristan. No hanky-panky with the likes of him - not unless I'm present. But then, perhaps I'm judging everyone by how Tris and I feel about each other, exclusively gay, horrid word. What's his name Oliver is most probably straight as an arrow and will curl up into a ball of fright once he find two of his stair-mates are, wait for it, l-o-v-e-r s! And how will he take to Charles? Flamboyance personified! And I would think dear Adam, if our surmises are correct, might be flattered enough to ask the lad if he would care for a dish of tea in a quiet nook. Only wank-mag Matt would be able to converse with him without... ...Oh, Oliver, I mustn't make rash conjectures... My sausages are getting cold while my sausage is getting warm, and warmer....

"...And Marky's Dad was here yesterday with his Mother and they are going to give recitals, right Marky?"

I mentally shook myself awake. I was expected to answer and the way he was gabbling on his brain wasn't in gear either. "That is true," I managed to utter; change the subject I thought. "You said Singapore?" I raised the ending in true Estuary English manner. I felt a fool.

"Yes, spent my last holiday there with Dad. He's with the British Council and I've followed him around the world during school holidays. Bit of a bore really, no roots. Hope I can settle here after ten bloody years at boarding school. 'Spose it's much the same but without the masters nagging."

Another Public School twit. No, he seemed too nice to be a hearty. Of course Tris had to ask.

"Are you joining the Rugger Club? I play and I'm Secretary of the Basketball Club, too."

Dear Tris. Showing off our macho credentials, eh?

"Might. But I was made to play and I usually got dropped or picked last. Basketball sounds OK. Never tried that seriously, though. And you're Secretary? Yep, I think I may go for that. I think I'm tall enough."

Yeah, just on six feet of loveliness! Oh Tris, if the boy's not straight you've made a conquest. Or, you'd better not have made a conquest!! Oh, wake up, Marky - you are getting your knickers in a twist!

"What particular things are you interested in?" I asked before Tris asked him what his waist size was to fit him out with basketball shorts and would he like to borrow a hardly worn jockstrap?

"I love singing," he said, as he forked in a soggy piece of vegetarian quiche. Green Party, Save the Planet, Friends of the Earth.... My little brain was listing possible put-downs and reasons for not liking him. What did he say? Singing? "Yes, the Chaplain said I must be in the choir. Do you run it?"

My heart did a flip. Tris you're nowhere now!

"I, apparently, have to train the choir ready for some of the Christmas services this year," I said with new-found authority, "According to the list that Matt Thyssen left in my pigeon-hole today I'm preparing the choir for one of Bach's Christmas Cantatas. It's the one for Christmas Day." I turned and looked at Tris. "He noted the requirements so you'll sing the tenor aria, OK?"

"Just like that? No try out?"

I shook my head. "I don't know it, but I will by next week and we'll start then. I've got to find a soprano, alto and bass as well." I looked at Oliver.

The lovely smile. "I sing bass."

"As I don't know your voice you'll have to try out. My cousin is in the choir and he sings bass, too. Competition!"

Tristan looked at Oliver. "What are you reading?"

"Music."

Oh, my God! Here's me, going to read Maths, with someone reading Music in the choir! But then, out of the sixteen in the choir, some must be reading it as well. Another question.

"Why did you choose St Mark's?"

"Oh, my Grandfather was here," he said, "In fact sometime just before Pennefather died."

My knees went a bit weak, good job I was sitting down and it wasn't only the smile. "What!" I gasped out, "My Grandfather was here then, too!"

He laughed. "Family ties are very important here he told me. His Father was here before him, but Dad went to the other place, much to his disgust."

The 'other place' I knew was Oxford.

Tris's ears had pricked up. "Is your Grandfather still alive?" he asked.

"Very much so!" he said, "He was a Fellow at one of the other colleges here but he's retired down to Dorset. Useful as I was stuck in school at Blandford and it wasn't too far to visit."

"Blandford!" I said, even more overwhelmed, "Do you know the Carr twins?"

"What!" he burst out laughing, "Ivo the Terrible and Adam Ant the hard man! I was in their House! I knew they were here. Where?"

"I'm their cousin and they are in the set above you. Adam's the bass!"

"Oh, my God! Last thing Ivo did was put me in detention for turning up for dinner wearing my slippers. I'd forgot and I was hungry! Anyway, he thought I was a slacker as I didn't want to play in the House rugger team and Adam used to make me go running instead. I'd better keep out of their way." He winced. "They're in the rooms above?

And you're their cousin?"

I nodded. This was becoming more than interesting. His Grandfather must have known mine and the Thugs had kept him in order! Tris was sitting grinning his head off, even more so when a stately figure edged it's way through the students either coming or going. It was Charles, Servant of the Chapel arrayed in his gown of office and bearing a tray with, I noted, toad in the hole with four plump sausages.

"Budge up a bit, precious one," he said to Tris, "I had forgotten that dealing with so many sweet young things made one's gastric juices flow overtime and naughty young Knott has been much too engaged in sorting out the problems of so many of the lost and bewildered he did not prepare my mid-morning nourishment and I am famished!" He sighed and shook his seemingly even more luxuriant mane of silvery hair. He looked across at me and smiled, then took in Oliver who was on the end of the bench next to me. "I see dear Mark has already made contact, Oliver my cherished one. You should nurture his friendship - I am not divulging any College secrets when I praise him -," He put a be-ringed finger to his lips. "- he entranced the Master with his playing yesterday and he is planning to attend Divine Service at eleven o'clock Sunday morning and Mark is commanded to play the incoming and outgoing voluntaries." He was almost skittish. He nudged Tris. "I do not want a repetition of last year's activities when you and certain others,.." A hint of asperity entered his voice. "...had to be roused from their slumbers to take their appointed places."

I thought, no Saturday night pub-crawl and monumental piss-up! But I couldn't very well not comply with student traditions, especially if they led to meeting Brad, Whippet and Carl. I would be a little abstemious. In fact, after the hangover experienced with the Sixth Form bash, I was quite determined not to repeat that ordeal. I could still remember the little man hammering away in my skull looking for a way out!

Tris, as usual, was one step ahead. "You know Oliver then, Charles?"

He held up a finger. "Mother's Aunt Laura is..." The finger moved and pointed across and tapped out rhythmically. "...Oliver's grandmother's cousin. It was Oliver's grandfather who encouraged me to apply for the post here. He thought I would be most fitted for it. So I have known Oliver since he was that high." He pointed down to the top of the refectory table.

Oliver pouted. "Charles, don't tell them all that. And I suppose you got me those rooms on your stair so you could keep an eye on me? I knew Grandad had written to you."

Charles was unperturbed. "My dear, the rooms were vacant." The hands went up, a half sausage speared on his fork. "The enchanting Tristan was moving on to more rarified heights and naughty young Knott had a readily alterable list in his hand. A reprimand for not cleaning the Chapel brass over the vacation was withheld for the moment and Oliver Jensen was painted on the staircase board." He wiped the sausage in the glutinous brown gravy on his plate and held it up again.. "I did spend time this morning soothing a sorrowful young man who was having to carry something called a drum kit up three flights on Stair A. Perhaps the only consolation is that he now inhabits the set above you know who!

I suppressed the urge to laugh out loud. Fortuitous, most probably, but Charles's feud with 'you know who' - the College's own Lord Voldemort - was beginning to hot up again. The 'noisy Carr twins' now augmented by an unnamed student bashing his drums daily as well as his bishop!

Lunch proceeded at a leisurely pace while we heard a little more about Oliver - his main instrument was the oboe - and the impending visit of Mother, Father and Uncle Aldo. It wasn't clear whether Oliver had been apprised of the whole story but he did rather gape when he heard that my Uncle Francesco was the head of the Matteoli fashion business.

"I've arranged for Mother to have her usual suite at the Arundel," said Charles when he was turning his attention to the fruit crumble slathered in thick yellow custard. I had chosen the treacle tart as at least the top was open and unknown fruit was not disguised. "I thought it better to have them all separated so Father and Uncle Francesco will be at the Garden House." He spooned up a generous portion of the dripping confection.

"We are all invited to the evening dinner." He looked at Oliver. "You will receive the official notification forthwith, sweet one. Great-aunt Laura was most insistent on being present as well. I have found a smaller guest-house for her as we should be all present. Your grandfather and grandmother are coming as well but they will be staying with friends." He looked from Oliver across to me and then turned to Tris. "They were most helpful in Mother's hour of need. I have much for which to be grateful as far as they are concerned. Mother's mother passed away ten years ago and was never reconciled to her daughter's misdemeanour." He shook his head, the mane swirled. "I was not allowed to meet her, sad to say." He really did look sad and was silent as he took another large segment onto his spoon and then munched through it.

Oliver had finished his lunch and sat looking at Charles. "Dad sends his best wishes. He said to tell you to get your hair cut."

Charles put down his spoon. "Your father should keep his opinions to telling the Sudanese or Filipinos or whoever to read Shakespeare or Henry James and not to comment on one's appearance. He was a source of embarrassment to me when Mother arranged for him to address the school on his experiences and he spent almost the entire hour expounding on the iniquities of female circumcision and the need for male circumcision in hot climates. As the great majority of the school were white, Anglo-Saxon Protestants from the colder reaches of the old Empire and almost exclusively entire except for three or four Americans, there was a certain amount of raucous merriment."

Oliver laughed. "Nothing compared to when he came to my school and informed us that the best singing he'd heard was from eunuchs in India and that the Vatican should still employ castrati in the Papal choir for their purity of tone. I had to endure several days of ribald humour after that." He looked at me. "And certain comments from your cousins, too! Of course, Dad rather likes his drink and there's not much else to do in the evenings in all those places he's been stationed. Mum left him because of that...." His face fell. "....She's married to an Australian now and has a second family. Just leaves me and Eddie to cope with Dad." I saw Charles nod. "Eddie's my younger brother and he's at Blandford, too. He's coming up to sixteen and a bit of a loner."

I thought of Toad. He was certainly not a loner. "My brother's the same age. Perhaps they could meet."

He looked a bit more cheerful then. "He's very musical and is just single-minded. It's OK as the school has a good reputation for music but...." Oh, my, he did a real copy of Charles's hands up, palms out gesture. "...but, as the saying goes, he ought to get out more."

Lunch over we parted. Oliver to hunt down his lost luggage, Charles to sundry duties in the Chapel, Tris back to his Fresher-helping stall and me to the music shop in Green Street to hunt down the score of the Bach and see if there were any organ pieces which caught my fancy. Then I must sort out what I would play on Sunday before and after the service. Bach before, the second 'Komm Heiliger Geist' from the Eighteen and, for going out, the Karg- Elert, 'Praise the Lord, O My Soul'. The thoughts of that sixteen foot Bombarde, with full organ, double-pedalled for the last two bars, grandioso e festoso, cheered me immensely, and it should be rousing enough to send anyone on their way! Even the Master!

The evening meal in Hall was enlivened somewhat when two of the Freshers were summarily ejected by one of the Porters for chucking bread rolls. Tris said they'd probably heard it was the thing to do but such things were reserved for the more exuberant drinking and dining clubs - and talk of the Devil, why was he here a day early? 'He' was pointed out to me. The Honourable Jeremy Foskett, Tosser to his mates, was in earnest conversation with a large, blond young man who seemed to hang on his every word.

"I have the feeling Jeremy is something to do with drugs in the College," Tris said to me later when we were sitting in the comfort of my rather luxurious main room and drinking a small glass of brandy from a bottle I'd found stashed away in the back of the kitchen cupboard. It did have a label round its neck 'To Mark - hope you enjoy this place as much as I did, Dingley'. If this was the standard I thought I would.

"Why's that?" I asked, savouring the VSOP.

"Those questions he was asking last term. Had I found anything or taken anything from Brinley's room and that he was owed money. Brinley did have that cocaine hidden away and I wonder if there was more." He shook his head. "I didn't take it, but someone else might have. And then he was drugged with that powerful sleeping stuff and I wonder if that was because he knew too much. All very puzzling."

My Sherlock Holmes deerstalker pressed down over my ears and my magnifying glass was at the ready. "Yes, and the inquest, you said, found he'd got cocaine in his system as well as the Luminol." I mentally sucked on my Meerschaum pipe having remembered the name. "We need someone with access to drugs and a knowledge of how pills and capsules are made and knowledge of poisons. Jeremy may be connected with the first but you say he's never done any work and he's on the Arts side anyway, so anything scientific seems out. So, who?"

"Dunno," Tris said, "That's for you, Hercule!"

The deerstalker slid off, but the little grey cells had nothing to work on.

"I need more information," I said with quiet assurance.

Bed-time approached and Tris announced his room would be cold and uninviting and the double-bed was comfortable and if I allowed him in he might show me how advanced he was now he was starting his Second Year in Jurisprudence, but his Sixth in Practical Sexology. OK, we did get to have a few hours sleep but we loved and laved and sucked and wanked before that.

In any case we were up and about in the morning quite early and as we'd brought a box of breakfast things we were having boiled eggs and toast at about quarter to nine when there was an almighty thump on the outer door. I opened it and in pushed Ivo and Adam.

"Good, breakfast is ready," said Ivo. "Auntie said you'd got plenty of grub."

The kitchen was then invaded and more bread was put in the toaster and four more eggs out of my now depleted dozen were set to boil.

"When did you arrive?" Tris asked.

"Last night, late. I must say, Tris, your Mum's a bloody good cook! " said Adam helping himself to a liberal daubing of butter onto a piece of toast I'd reserved for myself. "Couldn't start back before we'd told her all about you and shag-nasty here and your capers in Italy. Told her the heat really got to your loins and you and he had the pool-boy thrice nightly. At least in your dreams!" He laughed. "Bloody hell, I could have shagged him myself if he'd had the right equipment!" His chair rocked dangerously as he thrust his pelvis back and forth in desire or demonstration.

Ivo sighed. "Take no notice of him. If he saw a girl with no tits and a hairy chest it would set him off. Anyway, Auntie sends her love and Uncle Gordy says you're to do some work sometimes in between whoring and frolicking. Why he calls us the Thugs I do not know, I just said you'd have the Master's daughter on her knees by next Tuesday and he twisted my arm right up my back and said no son of his would take so long."

"Oh, and more news," said Adam, "The Toad is going frog-hopping this weekend as recompense for not accompanying you and he says he wants his duvet back in three years time unstained by youthful juices. Anyway, if the French economy collapses by Monday we'll know who to blame."

"God, and we slept in your bed the night before last," said Ivo. " I asked Auntie why she put starch in the washer when she boiled your sheets and why did they smell so funny? She gave me a very old-fashioned look and said she hadn't washed them since you left and anyway she always just used Persil, but the buggers were so stiff and stinky it was like sleeping between layers of cardboard like a dosser! So endeth the news. Believe what you want and what's the news here?"

"All's well," I said, ignoring all the jibes and outright lies. "Charles has got the family here next week and we're all invited to a celebratory dinner. And we've met a friend of yours. Oliver Jensen."

"Oh Christ!" breathed Ivo, "Sweet Polly Oliver! Everyone in the Sixth Form was after his cute little butt. I never got a look in as he wouldn't play rugger." He laughed and pointed his egg-spoon at Adam. "This hulk used to take him running. 'To the woods, to the woods'," he warbled in a falsetto voice, "And used to come back with a smile on his face and a wet patch on the front of his running shorts."

"Fuck you, Delilah!" Adam said, "I fell in the stream when I slipped and those kids just stood and laughed. Anyway, he wouldn't play your rough games because he played the oboe and didn't want his teeth kicked in like that other poor kid." Adam laughed. "God, he was hung, fifteen, and he had a dong like a donkey and balls to match!"

"He has offered to sing bass," I said.

"That fits," said Ivo. He pointed the spoon again at Adam. "I don't know how that thing sings so low when his danglies don't even dangle."

Having witnessed Adam's hirsute pendulous knackers more than once that was a further lie.

"Did you play the skin flute with young Polly, with him trying out your miniature oboe, on your excursions?" asked Ivo of his brother. "He'd show you some intricate fingering, no doubt, and I expect he had to tell you to suck and not blow."

Tris was giggling to himself. "That's one thing you two wouldn't have tried out, I suppose. With him saying it was a sixty-nine and you insisting, c'est vraiment, soixante- neuf, je suppose?"

"Oh my God," said Ivo, "This is usually a double act. But, just join in. My pleasure."

I was curious. "And did anyone ever get into Oliver's favour?"

"Cuz, you are being coy," said Adam, laughing, "Many tried but I never heard that anyone succeeded. I do remember though, I thought of him a good few nights, but I wasn't really into the younger generation."

"He's truly beautiful," said Tris, "He's just like my Marky. Truly beautiful."

Adam smiled and nodded. Yes, Adam, I thought, you're wondering.

Ivo thrust the last piece of toast into this mouth and stood. "Come on, bro, we'll go and invite Trixie Fifibelle to breakfast." He hoicked his brother up, who was still dipping his toast soldiers into the remnants of his second egg. "Leave that to fester - we can finish the rest of the food parcel when we get him down here." He turned to Tris. "Is that a pack of bacon there? Two slices each in a toast sarny for him and me and you'd better boil a couple of eggs for the prodigious infant."

They clattered off out of the kitchen. Tris and I went to the main door and listened. There was a great thumping going on at the door above. I realised they were using the golf club which for some unknown reason had been residing in a cast-iron umbrella stand in the small passage between my two doors.

"Open up, open up, in the name of the Lord!" I heard Ivo bellow.

A door opened and I heard a rather despondent voice say, "Oh, I thought it might be you".

"Come on, breakfast is served," said Adam. "Come as you are. We'd better carry you as your little feet will get cold."

There was a slight scuffle and a cluttering down the stairs. Oliver was carried head first into my main room and stood up looking a bit dazed and confused. All he was wearing was a pair of past their sell-by date boxers and a look of bewilderment. As he stood the boxers slid indecorously to his ankles and, yes, it was true, young Oliver had the equipment of an Olympian God to match his Olympian beauty.

"Pull your knickers up, young man!" Ivo commanded, "You'll give this lot palpitations if you stand around like that. Adam, do your duty as you must have done many times with all those sprogs you were hammering!"

Adam bent down and swiftly yanked the boxers up Oliver's legs and covered his dignity.

I went through to my bed-room and came back with a dressing gown. "Better have this before you freeze. They have no decorum, that pair. Anyway, it's true, there is breakfast if you want it."

Oliver nodded and smiled. My heart melted and I saw Tris staring. "Thanks, I'd love something to eat. I was still asleep so I suppose I've missed breakfast in Hall."

I rushed into the kitchen just in time to rescue some very crisp bacon.

We all sat and there was silence while we finished off what was left.

[Notes: There are some idiosyncrasies about Oxbridge pronunciation. For example, the Cambridge College named Gonville and Caius has the second of it's founders pronounced as 'keys' - always a good way to get visitors to Cambridge flummoxed. Also, Magdalene in Cambridge and Magdalen in Oxford are both pronounced 'maudlin'. If you ever visit Cambridge look for the statue of Henry VIII above the gateway to Trinity College. In his left hand he holds the Orb and in his right - no, not the Sceptre one might expect, but a wooden chair-leg. Some naughty students at some time pinched the Sceptre and substituted the chair- leg which is renewed when it looks too worn. Also, remember Trinity College has produced more Nobel Prize-winners than the whole of France.]

To be Continued: