added, ‘And since you are so sure that you will get a first, I’ll keep this safely till that time – just so you don’t proposition someone else.’
David cast a languid glance over the crowd of beautiful scantily clad young women idling by the fountain. ‘You know,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘you may have a point there.’
Susan laughed and kissed him impulsively. Some of the people milling around, who had been watching them indulgently from the time David made his very public proposal, began clapping and whistling in approval.
Back at college, Susan and David braced themselves for the academic pressure that would now be far more intense in their final years. Susan stuck to her plan of taking papers on number theory and elliptical curves, tools she would need to perfect before attempting to solve the Last Theorem. Aiming for a career in research and academics, she knew she was in for the long haul. For his course in history, David was required to write an 8,000-word dissertation on his chosen hypothesis for submission to the examination board. His was a ‘flyer’, a hypothesis based on a little-known work by Roschelli, Marco Polo’s scribe. Susan tried to dissuade him from venturing into unexplored and, therefore, potentially risky terrain. She urged him to go, instead, for something more conventional. But David’s mind was set. In fact, he was quite excited that he was onto something quite path-breaking.
‘You might as well have researched on Mary Magdalene being Christ’s wife, you know,’ Susan chided him one day during the Lent term, as they sat on a bench by the river, her head resting on his lap.
‘Thought of that, but it’s too risky,’ David said. ‘Would have upset the keepers of the faith. But mark my words – some day, someone will.’
‘Why do you have to go kamikaze?’
‘It’s not that bad, sweetie,’ David reassured her. ‘You do know, don’t you, that we have goals that are quite similar? Except for one fundamental difference.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘Well, in your case, you already have a theorem which is assumed to be valid; all you are trying to do now is substantiate that mathematically. It is widely accepted that evidence exists to support the premise. It simply needs to be found and presented in the approved manner. I, on the other hand, am dealing with a conjecture, for which there is no proof – at least, none that has been found so far – other than what Roschelli has to say. In other words, habeas corpus – no body, no case. Thankfully, Roddy believes in me.’
Roddy was Penny Rodham, a postgrad and David’s tutor.
‘I think Roddy is giving you more attention than you rightfully deserve,’ Susan remarked.
‘Is it my fault that blondes find me irresistible?’ David asked with an impish grin, prompting her to throw a punch in his direction.
When he had finished writing his dissertation, David showed it to Susan and they both went over it, scrutinizing every bit with a critical eye. The dissertation would be sent to the examination committee, which would appoint two examiners to conduct an oral examination or viva.
‘Do you think I have a case?’ David asked nervously.
‘No one could have presented the argument better,’ she said, forthright as ever.
‘That’s no answer!’ he retorted irritably.
‘That’s what you can get from a mathmo ,’ she said evenly. ‘I have a suggestion, though. Why don’t you tone it down a bit, make it more of a proposition? You know, something less definitive, that will allow you to give yourself and the examiners some slack to work with.’
They had discussed this before.
‘Can’t do that now, mia cara ,’ David told her. ‘Besides, I really believe in my theory. Don’t worry, the worst they can do is throw it out. I’ll go up to the appeals committee if that happens.’
He spoke lightheartedly enough, but the chances of getting a redressal, once the examiners had flunked you, was one in ten.
David cast a languid glance over the crowd of beautiful scantily clad young women idling by the fountain. ‘You know,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘you may have a point there.’
Susan laughed and kissed him impulsively. Some of the people milling around, who had been watching them indulgently from the time David made his very public proposal, began clapping and whistling in approval.
Back at college, Susan and David braced themselves for the academic pressure that would now be far more intense in their final years. Susan stuck to her plan of taking papers on number theory and elliptical curves, tools she would need to perfect before attempting to solve the Last Theorem. Aiming for a career in research and academics, she knew she was in for the long haul. For his course in history, David was required to write an 8,000-word dissertation on his chosen hypothesis for submission to the examination board. His was a ‘flyer’, a hypothesis based on a little-known work by Roschelli, Marco Polo’s scribe. Susan tried to dissuade him from venturing into unexplored and, therefore, potentially risky terrain. She urged him to go, instead, for something more conventional. But David’s mind was set. In fact, he was quite excited that he was onto something quite path-breaking.
‘You might as well have researched on Mary Magdalene being Christ’s wife, you know,’ Susan chided him one day during the Lent term, as they sat on a bench by the river, her head resting on his lap.
‘Thought of that, but it’s too risky,’ David said. ‘Would have upset the keepers of the faith. But mark my words – some day, someone will.’
‘Why do you have to go kamikaze?’
‘It’s not that bad, sweetie,’ David reassured her. ‘You do know, don’t you, that we have goals that are quite similar? Except for one fundamental difference.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘Well, in your case, you already have a theorem which is assumed to be valid; all you are trying to do now is substantiate that mathematically. It is widely accepted that evidence exists to support the premise. It simply needs to be found and presented in the approved manner. I, on the other hand, am dealing with a conjecture, for which there is no proof – at least, none that has been found so far – other than what Roschelli has to say. In other words, habeas corpus – no body, no case. Thankfully, Roddy believes in me.’
Roddy was Penny Rodham, a postgrad and David’s tutor.
‘I think Roddy is giving you more attention than you rightfully deserve,’ Susan remarked.
‘Is it my fault that blondes find me irresistible?’ David asked with an impish grin, prompting her to throw a punch in his direction.
When he had finished writing his dissertation, David showed it to Susan and they both went over it, scrutinizing every bit with a critical eye. The dissertation would be sent to the examination committee, which would appoint two examiners to conduct an oral examination or viva.
‘Do you think I have a case?’ David asked nervously.
‘No one could have presented the argument better,’ she said, forthright as ever.
‘That’s no answer!’ he retorted irritably.
‘That’s what you can get from a mathmo ,’ she said evenly. ‘I have a suggestion, though. Why don’t you tone it down a bit, make it more of a proposition? You know, something less definitive, that will allow you to give yourself and the examiners some slack to work with.’
They had discussed this before.
‘Can’t do that now, mia cara ,’ David told her. ‘Besides, I really believe in my theory. Don’t worry, the worst they can do is throw it out. I’ll go up to the appeals committee if that happens.’
He spoke lightheartedly enough, but the chances of getting a redressal, once the examiners had flunked you, was one in ten.
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