The Morning Gift

‘Well, that’s settled your basic subjects then,’ said Dr Felton. ‘Parasitology, Physiology and Marine Biology. Which leaves you with your special option. With your father’s record I imagine that’ll be Palaeontology?’

For a moment, Ruth hesitated and Dr Felton, already aware that silence was not Miss Berger’s natural state, looked up from the form he’d been completing.

‘Professor Somerville teaches that himself,’ he went on. ‘It’s usually oversubscribed but I think we could squeeze you in. He’s a quite brilliant lecturer.’

‘May I take it, then? Would it be all right?’

‘I’m sure it will be. There’s a field course too; we usually have it in the spring, but with the Professor having been away we’re holding it in October.’

He frowned because the field course was officially full, the last place having been taken by Verena Plackett a few days before, but Dr Felton did not intend to let this stop him. There were no nudists reading Schopenhauer on the curving, foam-fringed sands of Bowmont Bay.

‘I don’t think I’ll be able to go to that. The Quakers are paying my fees but there won’t be anything extra for travel. My parents are very poor now.’

‘Well, we’ll see,’ said Dr Felton. There was a hardship fund administered by the Finance Committee on which he sat, but it was better to say nothing yet.

‘You are so kind,’ she said, lacing her fingers in her lap. ‘You can’t imagine what it means to be here after . . . what happened. I remember it all so well, you know. The smells and everything: formalin and alcohol and chalk . . . I didn’t think I should come to university, I thought I should work for my parents, but now I’m here I don’t think anything could get me away again.’

‘It was bad?’

She shrugged. ‘One of my friends was thrown down the steps of the university and broke his leg. But here it is all going on still, people trying to understand the world, needing to know about things . . .’

‘Sea slugs,’ said Dr Felton a trifle bitterly. ‘They won’t even reproduce!’

‘Ah, but that’s difficult . . . compatibility.’ She glanced up, testing the word, and he marvelled again at her command of English. ‘Even in people it’s difficult and if one is both male and female at the same time that cannot be easy.’

Dr Felton agreed, obscurely comforted, and sent her to the Union where one of the third years was waiting to show newcomers round. When she had left, accompanying her handshake with that half-curtsy which proclaimed the abandoned world of Central Europe, he drew her form towards him and looked at it with satisfaction. Quin was always complaining that students these days were without personality. He’d hardly be able to level that charge at his new Honours student. Quin, in fact, would be very pleased. Whether he would feel the same about Verena Plackett, whose application form lay beneath Ruth’s, was another matter.

‘Vell?’ said Mrs Weiss, and cocked her head in its feathered toque at Ruth, determined to extract every ounce of information about her first day at college.

‘It’s going to be wonderful,’ said Ruth, setting a pot of coffee in front of the old lady, for she had not yet given up her evening job at the Willow Tea Rooms.

Everyone was in the café, including her own family, for Ruth’s return to her rightful place among the intelligentsia demanded celebration and discussion. They had heard about the niceness of Dr Felton, the majesty of Dr Elke and her parasites, the beauty of the river and the Goethe-loving sheep.

‘And Professor Somerville?’ enquired her father, who had only just arrived, for on Fridays the library stayed open late.

‘He isn’t back yet. He went to Scotland to try and join the navy,’ said Ruth, frowning over the slice of guggle she was bringing to Dr Levy. She had been certain that a man of thirty should not have to go to war. ‘But everyone says he is the most amazing lecturer.’

The lady with the poodle now arrived, and in deference to her the conversation changed to English.

‘You haf met the students?’ Paul Ziller enquired.

‘Only one or two,’ said Ruth, vanishing momentarily into the kitchen to fetch the actor’s fruit juice. ‘But there’s a girl starting at the same time as me – Verena Plackett. She’s the daughter of the Vice Chancellor and I expect she could choose any course she liked, but she’s doing the Palaeontology option too which shows how good it is.’

Ziller put down his cup. ‘Wait!’ he said, raising a majestic hand. ‘Her I haf seen!’

The eyes of the entire clientele were upon him.

‘How haf you seen?’ enquired Leonie.

Ziller rose and made his way to the wicker table on which lay the piles of magazines which the Misses Maud and Violet, bowing to the need of the refugees for the printed word, now brought downstairs. Ignoring Woman and Woman’s Own provided by the poodle-owning lady, and Home Chat, the contribution of Mrs Burtt, he sorted through the copies of Country Life, selected the issue he wanted, and began to turn the pages.