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Well, they needn’t expect any help from me, thought Keith. But I may as well let him go on a bit before I turn him down.

‘I know you will be glad to learn that your mother has agreed to be president of the appeal.’ He paused. ‘With that in mind, I hoped you’d agree to be the student chairman.’

Keith made no attempt to respond. He knew only too well that once the old man got into his full stride, there was little point in interrupting him.

‘And as you don’t have the arduous responsibility of being a prefect, and do not represent the school in any of its teams, I felt you might be interested in taking up this challenge...’

Keith still said nothing.

‘The amount the governors had in mind for the appeal was £5,000, and were you to succeed in raising that magnificent sum, I would feel able to inform the college you’ve applied to at Oxford of your stalwart efforts.’ He paused to check some notes in front of him. ‘Worcester College, if I remember correctly. I feel that I can safely say that were your application to receive my personal blessing, it would count greatly in your favor.’

And this, thought Keith, from a man who happily climbed the steps of the pulpit every Sunday to rail against the sins of bribery and corruption.

‘I therefore hope, Townsend, that you will give the idea your serious consideration.’

As there followed a silence of over three seconds, Keith assumed the headmaster must have come to an end. His first reaction was to tell the old man to think again and to look for some other sucker to raise the money — not least because he had absolutely no interest in either cricket or in going to Oxford. He was determined that the moment he had left school, he would join the Courier as a trainee reporter. However, he accepted that for the moment his mother was still winning that particular argument, although if he deliberately failed the entrance exam, she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

Despite this, Keith could think of several good reasons to fall in with the headmaster’s wishes. The sum was not that large, and collecting it on behalf of the school might open some doors that had previously been slammed in his face. And then there was his mother: she would need a great deal of placating after he had failed to be offered a place at Oxford.

‘It’s unlike you to take so long to come to a decision,’ said the headmaster, breaking into his thoughts.

‘I was giving serious consideration to your proposal, Headmaster,’ said Keith gravely. He had absolutely no intention of allowing the old man to believe he could be bought off quite that easily. This time it was the headmaster who remained silent. Keith counted to three. ‘I’ll come back to you on this one if I may, sir,’ he said, hoping he sounded like a bank manager addressing a customer requesting a small overdraft.

‘And when might that be, Townsend?’ inquired the headmaster, sounding a little irritated.

‘Two or three days at the most, sir.’

‘Thank you, Townsend,’ said the headmaster, rising from his chair to indicate that the interview was over. Keith turned to leave, but before he reached the door, the headmaster added, ‘Do have a word with your mother before you make your decision.’

‘Your father wants me to be the student rep for the annual appeal,’ said Keith, as he searched round for his pants.

‘What do they want to build this time?’ asked Penny, still looking up at the ceiling.

‘A new cricket pavilion.’

‘Can’t see what’s wrong with this one.’

‘It has been known to be used for other purposes,’ said Keith, as he pulled on his trousers.

‘Can’t think why.’ She pulled at a trouser leg. He stared down at her thin naked body. ‘So, what are you going to tell him?’

‘I’m going to say yes.’

‘But why? It could take up all your spare time.’

‘I know. But it will keep him off my back, and in any case it might act as an insurance policy.’

‘An insurance policy?’ said Penny.

‘Yes, if I were ever spotted at the racecourse — or worse...’ He looked down at her again.

‘...in the slips cradle with the headmaster’s daughter?’ She pushed herself up and began kissing him again.

‘Have we time?’ he asked.

‘Don’t be so wet, Keith. If the First Eleven are playing at Wesley today and the game doesn’t end until six, they won’t be back much before nine, so we have all the time in the world.’ She fell to her knees and began to undo his fly buttons.

‘Unless it’s raining,’ said Keith.

Penny had been the first girl Keith had made love to. She had seduced him one evening when he was meant to be attending a concert by a visiting orchestra; he would never have thought there was enough room in the ladies’ loo. He was relieved that there was no way of showing the fact that he had lost his virginity. He was certain it hadn’t been Penny’s first sexual experience, because to date he hadn’t taught her a thing.

But all that had taken place at the beginning of the previous term, and now he had his eye on a girl called Betsy who served behind the counter in the local post office. In fact lately his mother had been surprised by how regularly Keith had been writing home.

Keith lay on a neatly laid-out mattress of old pads in the slips cradle, and began to wonder what Betsy would look like in the nude. He decided that this was definitely going to be the last time.

As she clipped on her bra, Penny asked casually, ‘Same time next week?’

‘Sorry, can’t make it next week,’ said Keith. ‘Got an appointment in Melbourne.’

‘Who with?’ asked Penny. ‘You’re surely not playing for the First Eleven.’

‘No, they’re not quite that desperate,’ said Keith, laughing. ‘But I do have to attend an Interview Board for Oxford.’

‘Why bother?’ said Penny. ‘If you were to end up there, it would only confirm your worst fears about the English.’

‘I know that, but my...’ he began, as he pulled up his trousers for a second time.

‘And in any case, I heard my father tell Mr. Clarke that he only added your name to the final list to please your mother.’

Penny regretted the words the moment she had said them.

Keith’s eyes narrowed as he stared down at a girl who didn’t normally blush.

Keith used the second edition of the school magazine to air his opinions on private education.

‘As we approach the second half of the twentieth century, money alone should not be able to guarantee a good education,’ the leader declared. ‘Attendance at the finest schools should be available to any child of proven ability, and not decided simply by which cot you were born in.’

Keith waited for the wrath of the headmaster to descend upon him, but only silence emanated from that quarter. Mr. Jessop did not rise to the challenge. He might have been influenced by the fact that Keith had already banked £1,470 of the £5,000 needed to build a new cricket pavilion. Most of the money had, admittedly, been extracted from his father’s contacts, who, Keith suspected, paid up in the hope that it would keep their names off the front pages in future.

In fact, the only result of publishing the article was not a complaint, but an offer of £10 from the Melbourne Age, Sir Graham’s main rival, who wanted to reproduce the five-hundred-word piece in full. Keith happily accepted his first fee as a journalist, but managed to lose the entire amount the following Wednesday, thus finally proving that Lucky Joe’s system was not infallible.

Nevertheless, Keith looked forward to the chance of impressing his father with the little coup. On Saturday he read through his prose, as reproduced in the Melbourne Age. They hadn’t changed a single word — but they had edited the piece down drastically, and given it a very misleading headline: ‘Sir Graham’s Heir Demands Scholarships for Aborigines.’