Free Pecking Order by Chris Simms

bookshelves. Later pictures were looser in style with sweeping brushstrokes, successive painters seeming determined to beat the preceding artist for some original touch; a hazy, impressionistic swirl of colour here, a blurred background of moving students there. One even faded away at the edges, leaving pencil markings exposed to view. He wondered how much of the university's money had been squandered on these self-indulgent shows of vanity.
    There was a knock at the outer door, it opened immediately and Patricia let herself into the thickly carpeted room. Even in her heels she couldn't have measured much more than five feet. But that didn't prevent her making an impression whenever she walked through a door. It was all in her body language: confidence blended with just a touch of urgency. A demeanour that instantly caused most people to treat her with deference. But not Eric. He had seen this manner many times before - company bosses or politicians in the news, men in red coats mounting horses or grey-suited types getting into the first class carriage of trains. He even observed it beginning to flourish amongst the student rugby teams as they gathered outside the union buildings. It stemmed merely from class: the imperceptible link between money, power and privilege. He despised it.
    She nodded to Eric. 'Are you early, or am I late?' she asked with a breathless smile. A maroon cashmere scarf was wrapped round her neck, the ends hanging over an expensive-looking coffee-coloured trouser suit.
    'You're right on time,' he replied.
    ‘Oh, thank God for that. It was nightmare parking. Six of the spaces are taken up by skips full of rubbish from some department.'
    Eric had chained his bike next to them ten minutes before. 'They're refurbishing the biology labs - that's what all the mess is about.'
    'They've finished lectures already? We're teaching the wrong subject Eric,' said Patricia. She had crossed the room and was about to sit down beside him when the chancellor opened the door of his office. Patricia's attention instantly turned to the man and she swept past the seated Eric.
    'Chancellor Atkins, how are you?' she strode up to him, one hand outstretched.
    'Patricia, good to see you.' As they shook hands he looked round Patricia's shoulder.
    'Eric? Please, come through the both of you.' He spoke with the gentle, sonorous air of someone who has spent a lifetime wrapped safely in higher study. A lecturer, a priest, perhaps a hospital consultant.
    Eric lifted himself from the low leather armchair, both knees cracking loudly as he did so. He passed through the trail of perfume left by Patricia and shook hands with the other man.
    As they all entered the inner office the chancellor casually said to his secretary, 'Could we possibly have a tray of coffee please Lesley?'
    It wasn't a question. Once inside, the chancellor directed them towards four armchairs in one corner of the room.
    'Now this is strictly an informal meeting, but one necessitated by that infamous university grapevine.
    They each took a seat, the chancellor on one side of the coffee table, his visitors side-by-side on the other. On his cue everyone crossed their legs and with an exaggerated sigh the chancellor began. 'There's nothing quite so chaotic as the last weeks of the summer term, don't you think? I find it quite amazing to consider that, in just a short while, the students will have evaporated and we can all have time to hear ourselves think once again.' He smiled, holding one finger up. 'And continue our research uninterrupted. I for one am looking forward to a couple of weeks excavating a Beaker village just discovered on Dartmoor.'
    His two visitors nodded as the door opened and Lesley came in with a tray of coffee. Once she had poured everyone a cup, she retreated from the room.
    'Now,' continued the chancellor, methodically stirring. He lifted out the spoon, touched it against the rim of his cup so a single drip was transferred to the china, and then