just the Pilkingtons. They’re ghastly. I wouldn’t miss their party for anything.”
On the day, I reluctantly drove to the party, picking up Magnus on the way. He lived in a small flat near the university. It was littered with books and potsherds from the Middle East. In the dining room was a massive Assyrian sculpture. When he brought it home from Iraq, customs thought it was a bomb and Magnus was detained at the airport. On the way, he told us that he had just had a Christmas present from his aunt. She sent hima hundred pound premium bond. “If I win,” he announced, “I’ll take the early retirement deal.”
“But Magnus,” Victoria said, “it’s like the lottery. The odds are about twenty thousand million to one.”
“That bad?” he asked.
“Nobody ever wins the big prizes, Magnus,” I said. “Well, somebody does. But it won’t be you.”
Cars were lined up outside the Pilkingtons’ bungalow, stretching down the street. Their house was part of a small, modern estate on the outskirts of St Sebastian’s. When we rang the doorbell, one of the department postgraduate students opened the door. I noticed that the hall carpet had not improved. The dining room was crowded with members of the university. In the corner, I noticed Wanda talking to Jenny Sloth and the Provost of St Sebastian’s Cathedral. Victoria marched over to say hello. I felt a stab of pride. Victoria was wearing a wine-red velvet dress. I happened to know she had bought it at an Oxfam shop in Knightsbridge, but it had once been very expensive. It was cut simply and showed off her dark slenderness to perfection . She looked like an elegant butterfly among the dowdy polyester moths of the other wives.
Magnus and I took glasses of wine from the dining room table. “Probably cheap plonk,” Magnus muttered. He was right. Maureen Pilkington was handing out canapés from a large tray. They seemed to be pieces of cheese and pineapple on orange sticks. Magnus took three. I shook my head. They did not look worth getting fat for. Maureen greeted us as she passed. “Look Magnus,” I said, “I promised Victoria I’d go see the downstairs loo. I’d better get it over with.”
“But we just arrived.”
“I know. But Victoria thinks the colour is extraordinary. She said I had to look.”
Magnus looked amused as I made my way through the crowd. The door was ajar and I entered. Victoria was right, their lavatory was the colour of chewed bubblegum. I wondered what it said about Pilkington’s anal obsessions. On the way out, I saw Barraclough leaving. As in the past, he was making a brief appearance. I didn’t look forward to running into the Registrar, and hovered over the drinks table. Magnus had refilled his glass,and was looking for alternative hors d’oeuvres in the kitchen. He came out with a plate loaded with plastic-looking vol- au-vents . Throughout the evening, I managed to avoid Wanda and the Sloths. They were also keeping their distance. By the time we were ready to leave, Magnus had drunk at least six glasses of wine and looked increasingly morose. On the way home, he warbled: “An old don’s life is not a happy one.”
On Saturday, Victoria and I went Christmas shopping in London. We bought a large stilton for my father-in-law from Fortnum and Mason, ties for Victoria’s brothers from a shop in the Burlington Arcade, and scarves from Liberty for the sisters-in-law. There were also tokens for the five nephews and nieces. As we walked up South Audley Street, we passed a travel agency which was advertising skiing holidays in Aspen, Colorado. “Harry, why don’t we go?” Victoria said. “You deserve a treat.”
Inside the shop we looked at several brochures, and eventually decided on a seven-night package holiday including meals. The hotel, the Aspen Siesta, was next to the ski lift and overlooked the town. We were to arrive at Heathrow on 27 December and fly to Denver and then on to Aspen. I hadn’t skied since I was at
On the day, I reluctantly drove to the party, picking up Magnus on the way. He lived in a small flat near the university. It was littered with books and potsherds from the Middle East. In the dining room was a massive Assyrian sculpture. When he brought it home from Iraq, customs thought it was a bomb and Magnus was detained at the airport. On the way, he told us that he had just had a Christmas present from his aunt. She sent hima hundred pound premium bond. “If I win,” he announced, “I’ll take the early retirement deal.”
“But Magnus,” Victoria said, “it’s like the lottery. The odds are about twenty thousand million to one.”
“That bad?” he asked.
“Nobody ever wins the big prizes, Magnus,” I said. “Well, somebody does. But it won’t be you.”
Cars were lined up outside the Pilkingtons’ bungalow, stretching down the street. Their house was part of a small, modern estate on the outskirts of St Sebastian’s. When we rang the doorbell, one of the department postgraduate students opened the door. I noticed that the hall carpet had not improved. The dining room was crowded with members of the university. In the corner, I noticed Wanda talking to Jenny Sloth and the Provost of St Sebastian’s Cathedral. Victoria marched over to say hello. I felt a stab of pride. Victoria was wearing a wine-red velvet dress. I happened to know she had bought it at an Oxfam shop in Knightsbridge, but it had once been very expensive. It was cut simply and showed off her dark slenderness to perfection . She looked like an elegant butterfly among the dowdy polyester moths of the other wives.
Magnus and I took glasses of wine from the dining room table. “Probably cheap plonk,” Magnus muttered. He was right. Maureen Pilkington was handing out canapés from a large tray. They seemed to be pieces of cheese and pineapple on orange sticks. Magnus took three. I shook my head. They did not look worth getting fat for. Maureen greeted us as she passed. “Look Magnus,” I said, “I promised Victoria I’d go see the downstairs loo. I’d better get it over with.”
“But we just arrived.”
“I know. But Victoria thinks the colour is extraordinary. She said I had to look.”
Magnus looked amused as I made my way through the crowd. The door was ajar and I entered. Victoria was right, their lavatory was the colour of chewed bubblegum. I wondered what it said about Pilkington’s anal obsessions. On the way out, I saw Barraclough leaving. As in the past, he was making a brief appearance. I didn’t look forward to running into the Registrar, and hovered over the drinks table. Magnus had refilled his glass,and was looking for alternative hors d’oeuvres in the kitchen. He came out with a plate loaded with plastic-looking vol- au-vents . Throughout the evening, I managed to avoid Wanda and the Sloths. They were also keeping their distance. By the time we were ready to leave, Magnus had drunk at least six glasses of wine and looked increasingly morose. On the way home, he warbled: “An old don’s life is not a happy one.”
On Saturday, Victoria and I went Christmas shopping in London. We bought a large stilton for my father-in-law from Fortnum and Mason, ties for Victoria’s brothers from a shop in the Burlington Arcade, and scarves from Liberty for the sisters-in-law. There were also tokens for the five nephews and nieces. As we walked up South Audley Street, we passed a travel agency which was advertising skiing holidays in Aspen, Colorado. “Harry, why don’t we go?” Victoria said. “You deserve a treat.”
Inside the shop we looked at several brochures, and eventually decided on a seven-night package holiday including meals. The hotel, the Aspen Siesta, was next to the ski lift and overlooked the town. We were to arrive at Heathrow on 27 December and fly to Denver and then on to Aspen. I hadn’t skied since I was at
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