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easily to the change of subject.
    â€˜Silly old bugger’s muddled his notes,’ whispered Bill Bascomb to Alice O’Brien.
    â€˜Doesn’t make much difference as far as I can see,’ she whispered back. ‘It’s all a load of garbage.’
    â€˜True,’ whispered Bill. ‘But it’s supposed to be Jane Austen tomorrow. Will we have to sit through it all again, or do you think he’ll manage to switch back to Mrs Gaskell?’
    The lecture came gently but rhetorically to an end — for Professor Belville-Smith was rather proud of his perorations — and so did the polite applause. Professor Wickham shuffled again to the stage and said — as he always did — that the lecture had given them all a lot to think about, just as if he hadn’t stopped thinking on academic subjects twenty years before. The students drifted off towards their dining halls, and Professor Wickham and Lucy steered Belville-Smith towards the Betjeman-esque palace which housed the administration; they were all invited to one ofthe Vice-Chancellor’s walk-about lunches, where one stood up clutching plates of food chosen because of its peculiar difficulty to eat with a fork. The intellectual highspot of the English Department’s year was over.

CHAPTER IV
PARTY: ONE
    L UCY W ICKHAM looked around her long sitting-room, and down into the sensible little black dress that she was bursting out of. Was everything ready? The furniture had been pruned, and little tables had been taken from the stack and dotted around the room with ashtrays and plates of standard goodies on them. There was the plate of little biscuits with the tinned smoked oysters on; there were the cheese and gherkin refreshers; there were the cashew nuts and the bacon pops. And on the dining table which had been pushed into a corner there were the glasses, Australian standard sizes, all hired from Beecher’s Hotel. Was anything else needed?
    â€˜Just one glass when they arrive for the academics,’ she said to her son Richard. Richard was ten, and premature beyond all imagining, and had insisted on officiating with the drinks for the early part of the evening.
    â€˜Just one for the whole evening?’ asked Richard.
    â€˜Well, no. I don’t suppose that’s possible. But leave them empty for as long as you can.’
    â€˜All right. But I can’t see how I stop them coming to ask for more. What should I say to them then?’
    â€˜Tell them you’re not yet sure whether there’s enough to go round. Say they weren’t expected.’ Lucy thought for a moment. ‘And no spirits for them. Just the red wine. For God’s sake don’t ask them what they want — just give themthe red as soon as they arrive.’
    â€˜OK. I’ll give them the Oliver Twist treatment,’ said Richard, and sipped a glass of sherry experimentally.
    Lucy looked around the room again: cheese twisties, potato crisps, peanuts, pretzels. Would the Turbervilles be expecting salted almonds? She looked at her husband coming in: when there were guests to see it, she’d have to straighten that tie. He enjoyed these little public humiliations.
    â€˜Now, the academics, Bobby. If we must have them, you’ll have to take full charge of them. If you get the first two or three over to the corner there, they’ll probably all go there as soon as they arrive. That will get them nicely out of the way of the real guests, and they’ll be a long way away from Richard and the bar.’
    â€˜Yes, dear, I’ll do my best. But you can’t trust some of them. That O’Brien woman just goes off and introduces herself to people.’
    â€˜Just leave her to me. I’ll take care of the old man. I don’t imagine he’s the wandering type, so I’ll keep him down this end. I’ll introduce him to the Turbervilles and some of the nice people. If this O’Brien comes near I’ll