“I have just found this in New Court, Skullion,” said the Dean, suddenly conscious that there was a certain ambiguity about his appearance.
“Oh ah,” said Skullion in the tone of one who has his private doubts. The Dean let go of the contraceptive hurriedly.
“As I was saying…” he began only to stop as the thing slowly began to ascend. Skullion and the Dean watched it, hypnotized. The contraceptive reached the ceiling and-hovered there. Skullion lowered his eyes and stared at the Dean.
“There seem to be others of that ilk,” continued the Dean.
“Oh ah,” said Skullion.
“In the New Court,” said the Dean. “A great many others.”
“In the New Court?” said Skullion slowly.
“Yes,” said the Dean. In the face of Skullion’s evident doubts he was beginning to feel rather heated. So was the contraceptive. The draught from the door had nudged it next to the light bulb in the ceiling and as the Dean opened his mouth to say that the New Court was alive with the things, the one above their heads touched the bulb and exploded. In fact there were three explosions. First the contraceptive blew. Then the bulb, and finally and most alarmingly of all the gas ignited. Blinded momentarily by the flash and bereft of the light of the bulb, the Dean and Skullion stood in darkness while fragments of glass and rubber descended on them.
“There are more where that one came from,” said the Dean finally, and led the way out into the night air. Skullion groped for his bowler and put it on. He reached behind the counter for his torch and followed the Dean. They passed through the Screens and Skullion shone his torch into New Court.
Huddled like so many legless animals, some two hundred contraceptives gleamed in the torchlight. A light dawn breeze had risen and with it some of the more inflated contraceptives, so that it seemed as though they were attempting to mount their less active neighbours while the whole mass seethed and rippled. One or two were to be seen nudging the windows on the first floor.
“Gawd,” said Skullion irreverently.
“I want them cleared away before it gets light, Skullion,” said the Dean. “No one must hear about this. The College reputation, you understand.”
“Yes, sir,” said Skullion. “I’ll clear them away. Leave it to me.”
“Good, Skullion,” said the Dean and with one last disgusted look at the obscene flock went up the stairs to his rooms.
Mrs Biggs had a bath. She had poured bath salts into the water and the pink suds matched the colour of her frilly shower cap. Bath night for Mrs Biggs was a special occasion. In the privacy of her bathroom she felt liberated from the constraints of commonsense. Standing on the pink bath mat surveying her reflection in the steamed-up mirror it was almost possible to imagine herself young again. Young and fancy free, and she fancied Zipser. There was no doubt about it and no doubt too that Zipser fancied her. She dried herself lovingly and put on her nightdress and went through to her bedroom. She climbed into bed and set the alarm clock for three. Mrs Biggs wanted to be up early. She had things to do.
In the early hours she left the house and cycled across Cambridge. She locked the bicycle by the Round Church and made her way on foot down Trinity Street to the side entrance of Porterhouse and let herself in with a key she had used in the old days when she had bedded for the Chaplain. She passed through the passage by the Buttery and came out by the Screens and was about to make her way across New Court when a strange sound stopped her in her tracks. She peered round the archway. In the early morning light Skullion was chasing balloons. Or something. Not chasing. Dancing seemed more like it. He ran. He leapt. He cavorted. His outstretched arms reached yearningly towards whatever it was that floated jauntily beyond his reach as if to taunt the Porter. Backwards and forwards across the ancient court the strange pursuit continued until just as it seemed the thing was about to escape over the wall into the Fellows’ Garden there was a loud pop and whatever it was or had been hung limp and tatterdemalion upon the branches of a climbing rose like some late-flowering bloom. Skullion stopped, panting, and stared up at the object of his chase and then, evidently inspired by its fate, turned and hurried towards the Screens. Mrs Biggs retreated into the darkness of the Buttery passage as Skullion hurried by and then, when she could see him heading for the Porter’s Lodge, emerged and tiptoed through the contraceptives to the Bull Tower. Around her feet the contraceptives squeaked and rustled. Mrs Biggs climbed the staircase to Zipser’s room with a fresh sense of sexual excitement brought on by the presence of so many prophylactics. She couldn’t remember when she had seen so many. Even the American airmen with whom she had been so familiar in the past had never been quite so prolific with their rubbers, and they’d been generous enough in all conscience if her memory served her aright. Mrs Biggs let herself into Zipser’s room and sported the oak. She had no intention of being disturbed. She crossed to Zipser’s bedroom and went inside. She switched on the bedside light.
Zipser awoke from his troubled sleep and blinked. He sat up in bed and stared at Mrs Biggs brilliant in her red coat. It was evidently morning. It didn’t feel like morning but there was Mrs Biggs so it must be morning. Mrs Biggs didn’t come in the middle of the night. Zipser levered himself out of bed.
“Sorry,” he mumbled groping for his dressing-gown. “Must have overslept.” Zipser’s eye caught the alarm clock. It seemed to indicate half-past three. Must have stopped.
“Shush,” said Mrs Biggs with a terrible smile. “It’s only half-past three.”
Zipser looked at the clock again. It certainly said half-past three. He tried to equate the time with Mrs Biggs’ arrival and couldn’t. There was something terribly wrong with the situation.
“Darling,” said Mrs Biggs, evidently sensing his dilemma. Zipser looked up at her open-mouthed. Mrs Biggs was taking off her coat. “Don’t make any noise,” she continued, with the same extraordinary smile.
“What the hell is going on?” asked Zipser. Mrs Biggs went into the other room.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” she called out in a hoarse whisper.
Zipser stood up shakily. “What are you doing?” he asked.
There was a rustle of clothes in the other room. Even to Zipser’s befuddled mind it was evident that Mrs Biggs was undressing. He went to the door and peered out into the darkness.
“For God’s sake,” he said, “you mustn’t do that.”
Mrs Biggs emerged from the shadows. She had taken off her blouse. Zipser stared at her enormous brassiere.
“Darling,” she said. “Go back to bed. You mustn’t stand and watch me. It’s embarrassing.” She gave him a push which sent him reeling on to the bed. Then she shut the door. Zipser sat on his bed shaking. The sudden emergence of Mrs Biggs at half-past three in the morning from the shadows of his own private fantasies into a real presence terrified him. He tried to think what to do. He couldn’t shout or scream for help. Nobody would believe he hadn’t invited her to… He’d be sent down. His career would be finished. He’d be disgraced. They’d find the French letters up the chimney. Oh God. Zipser began to weep.
In the front room Mrs Biggs divested herself of her bra and panties. It was terribly cold. She went to the window to shut it when a faint popping noise from below startled her. Mrs Biggs peered out. Skullion was running round the Court with a stick. He appeared to be spearing the contraceptives. “That’ll keep him busy,” Mrs Biggs thought happily, and shut the window. Then she crossed to the gas fire and lit it. “Nice to get dressed in the warm,” she thought, and went into the bedroom. Zipser had got back into bed and had switched off the light.
“Wants to spare me,” Mrs Biggs thought tenderly and climbed into bed. Zipser shrank from her but Mrs Biggs had no sense of his reluctance. Grasping him in her arms she pressed him to her vast breasts. In the darkness Zipser whimpered. Mrs Biggs’s hand slid down his pyjamas. Zipser squeaked frantically and Mrs Biggs’s mouth found his. To Zipser it seemed that he was in the grip of a great white whale. He fought desperately for air, surfaced for a moment and was engulfed again.