The two men walked along the corridor to Liz Manning’s office and Martin popped his head round the door. ‘Are we too late, Liz?’ he asked, seeing that she was putting on her coat and her handbag was sitting on the desk.
‘No, come in, feast your eyes and make your choice,’ said Liz, who was Graham Sutcliffe’s secretary.
Simmons and Martin looked at the three paintings propped up against the wall. ‘Tough choice,’ said Simmons.
‘Modern art is always... challenging,’ said Martin, stroking his chin.
‘Or maybe it’s someone having a laugh,’ muttered Simmons. ‘This one looks like a cat’s litter tray.’
‘I think that’s Graham’s favourite,’ whispered Liz.
‘Then it’s mine too,’ announced Simmons.
‘Yep, I’ll go with that,’ agreed Martin. ‘Mark that down as two more for the cat’s litter tray, Liz.’
‘It’s called Serenity,’ said Liz in a stage whisper, wide-eyed and pointing with her finger to the adjoining office door to warn them that Graham Sutcliffe hadn’t yet left.
At that moment the door opened and Sutcliffe appeared with his overcoat on, briefcase in hand. ‘Hello, you two. Still here?’
‘We were trying to decide on a painting, Graham,’ said Simmons. ‘We’ve both gone for Serenity.’
‘Good, that was my feeling too... it has a certain something... a haunting quality, I thought.’ Sutcliffe took a long, admiring look at the painting before smiling enigmatically and sweeping out.
Martin took up stance in front of the painting, put a hand on one hip and a forefinger to his lips before saying, ‘You know... I think he’s hit the nail on the head... a haunting quality.’
‘Out of here, you two,’ said Liz.
Martin and Simmons left the building together after deciding on a beer, and walked slowly up to the Greyfriars Bobby pub, where they found the bar in the lull between after-work drinkers leaving and evening crowds arriving. Martin plumped himself down at a table while Simmons ordered beer and brought it over.
Martin took a slurp and grunted appreciatively. ‘Seems like Graham’s got it in for your Gavin.’
‘Gavin and the establishment are natural enemies, and you don’t get any more establishment than Graham.’
‘Or more “anti” than Gavin by all accounts.’
‘He doesn’t do much forelock-touching,’ agreed Simmons, who was developing a growing liking for Gavin. ‘But he’s more than just your average rebel without a cause.’
‘So what was the mugging incident all about? Or were you just protecting him from Graham?’
‘No, he really didn’t start the fight. He screwed up his cell cultures the other day and responded in typical Gavin style. He threw all the toys out the pram and went off on an all-day bender. He ended up getting mugged.’
‘Was he badly hurt?’
‘Three broken ribs and a face like he headbutted the Forth Bridge, but he still came into the lab to set up an experiment.’
‘Good for him.’
‘I was impressed too. I think that’s really why I stuck up for him when Graham started having a go.’
‘Oh what a tangled web we weave...’
Simmons smiled. ‘Don’t we just. What do you think of the new journal club proposal?’
Martin took a sip of his beer. ‘There aren’t many arses in the department that Peter Morton-Brown hasn’t kissed in the last two years. This is just his latest ploy to get himself noticed. He’s sure as shit not going to do it through scientific brilliance. I was on his first-year assessment panel. As an investigator he couldn’t find his dick in his trousers.’
‘Destined for high office then.’
‘It can only be a matter of time before he appears on telly, assuring the great British public that there is absolutely nothing to be alarmed about.’
‘Mmm,’ said Simmons. ‘The trouble is we’ll now be aiding and abetting him, recommending that our own students attend and saying what a good idea it all is.’
‘Gavin might provide an interesting take on that...’
‘Please! I don’t even want to think about it...’ said Simmons.
‘Really?... I thought you might find it strangely haunting...’
Six
‘You’re late,’ said Jenny Simmons, standing at the sink as her husband came into the kitchen and wrapped his arms round her waist from behind. She moved her neck slightly away from his embrace as if to underline her annoyance.
‘Sorry. There was a staff meeting and then I had a beer with Jack.’
‘You two are a bad influence on each other.’
‘Staff meetings are a bad influence on both of us. I think they must be sponsored by the brewing industry. Sutcliffe was having a real go at Gavin and it really pissed me off.’
‘If you ask me, it’s about time someone had a go at Gavin. Worrying about that boy seems to take up so much of your time these days. Is he really worth the hassle?’
‘There have been times when I did wonder myself but yes, I think he is. I’m beginning to think... he’s got it.’
‘Got what? A chip on his shoulder the size of Ben Nevis?’
Simmons shushed her. ‘I know you two got off on the wrong foot but —’
‘The wrong foot!’ exclaimed Jenny. ‘The first time he came here he got hopelessly drunk and was sick all over the cat!’
‘Like I say, the wrong foot, and I’m not pretending that he doesn’t have shortcomings. He has. Lots. But just lately I think I see a glimpse of... that special something in him.’
‘What special something?’
‘The something that makes you a researcher. The thing that makes you more than just someone who can remember a lot of facts and figures and pass exams. You either have it or you don’t, and so many people who end up in research don’t.’
‘That’s a bit of a sweeping condemnation.’
‘Maybe, but it’s true. Don’t worry: they don’t know they don’t have it. They don’t even know it exists, and what you never had you never miss. You can have degrees coming out your ears, but if you don’t have that extra something that enables you to think in a certain way, you’re never going to do anything more than dot other people’s is and cross other people’s ts, however much you dress it up — and many do become quite adept at dressing it up.’
‘I take it you have this something?’ asked Jenny, turning to look at her husband.
Simmons let her go. ‘I thought I did, but these days I’m not so sure. I seem to spend most of my time on administrative chores, form filling and writing reviews. I bitch about it but maybe I’m using it as an excuse because I’ve run out of ideas...’
‘Oh, come on. You’re a top man in your field. You have the respect of your peers. You have a list of publications as long as your arm, and in journals that many of them would kill to get their work into, so stop talking nonsense. You’ve always been too modest for your own good. However well you did, it was never good enough for you. That’s one of the reasons I married you. I knew you were never going to end up stalking the corridors of power in a smart suit, checking the New Year Honours list to see if you were on it, but you were clever, funny, imaginative, honest — perhaps too honest for the environment you’re in — and you genuinely cared about sick people and what might make things better for them. That makes you an ace person in my book — unless of course, you don’t get your arse up the stairs in the next thirty seconds and read our children a story, in which case, I just might divorce you and bring in a man in a suit.’
Simmons smiled and nodded. ‘On my way.’
Later, as they sat having dinner, Jenny asked, ‘Have you heard about the extent of Gavin’s injuries yet?’