Free Grantchester Grind by Tom Sharpe Page B

stirred in his chair. He wanted the salary the Fellowship would bring

    with it but he felt it only honest to tell this strange person what he truly thought. ‘I

    think you ought to know,’ he said, ‘that I have grave reservations about Porterhouse

    College. It has, I am sorry to say, an exceedingly unpleasant reputation and I am by

    no means certain I want to go there.’
    In front of him Lady Mary was smiling, if you could call what she was doing smiling. Her

    yellow teeth gleamed. There could be no mistaking her feelings. ‘My dear Dr Osbert, I

    trust you won’t mind my calling you that, but your opinion of Porterhouse so entirely

    concurs with my own feelings about the College that I am prepared to say now that the Sir

    Godber Evans Memorial Fellowship is yours if you will do me, and of course my late

    husband, the honour of accepting it.’
    She sat back in her chair and allowed Purefoy to savour the approval she had given him.

    Purefoy Osbert thought about it.
    ‘I am afraid I need to know rather more before giving my answer,’ he said firmly. ‘I am

    grateful to you for the offer but my area of concern is not in vague hypotheses and, to be

    frank, I need to know why I am being offered this post and what the actual nature of your

    intention is. I have been told it is to prepare material for a biography of your late

    husband, but in view of the salary or stipend…’ There was no doubt now about Lady Mary’s

    beam. It was radiant. In fact had she been anyone else, and Purefoy Osbert more

    perceptive and sensible to the feelings of any woman other than Mrs Ndhlovo, he would

    have said she had fallen in love with him. Instead he listened while she explained the

    purpose of the Fellowship.
    ‘I have created it and am offering it to you because my husband’s work at Porterhouse

    did not receive the recognition it deserved. We…he had intended to make the place one of

    academic excellence and met a quite astonishing degree of opposition from the

    Fellows. I want him to have the posthumous recognition and esteem he deserves. And I want

    to see his policies put into effect.’
    ‘But I don’t really see that I can make any positive contribution,’ said Purefoy.
    ‘I am sure that your presence will be a first step,’ said Lady Mary, leaning forward

    across the desk very earnestly. She paused and stared with those pale blue eyes into his.

    ‘And, of course, for the purpose of a biography you need to find out everything about his

    life and, I may say, his death. You may find it fanciful of me but I am not happy with the

    official explanation and I want to know exactly what happened. The truth, Dr Osbert,

    that is all. I acknowledge that I am supposed to be a weak and fallible woman but this is

    a world dominated by men and that is their opinion. For once I am prepared to accept that

    judgement. I am asking you to establish the facts of the matter. If you uncover certain

    evidence that proves my darling Godber’s premature death was due to natural causes I

    shall accept your verdict. All my life I have had to accept unpalatable truths and I have

    done so on the basis of facts, some of them quite terrible’ Purefoy Osbert already knew

    that. The evidence for her past idealism was there on the walls in the signed portraits of

    some of the twentieth century’s most murderous leaders. Even Purefoy Osbert, who had

    never taken a very great interest in politics or politicians, was conscious of their

    presence. Lady Mary’s ideals were evidently those he was used to at Kloone.
    ‘I am sure you are quite the right person for the position,’ she went on. ‘Mr Goodenough

    will provide you with any additional information you need. There are a number of

    documents you will find most informative.’ And on this practical note she ended the

    interview. There was no point in setting out her real aims now. It was much better to let

    him get to work quickly. Which was what she told Mr