‘I want that essay on my desk at ten o’clock on Friday,’ Maggie Mackenzie said sharply, ‘or else. You’ll thank me for this later, you know.’
I doubted that I would, but I kept quiet as there was no point in antagonizing her further, and at least she seemed to be giving some thought to my future which was more than anyone else was, including myself.
As I hurried away I heard an odd lowing sound coming from Martha Sewell’s room. I paused to listen and detected more animal noises, followed by some distressed sobbing. I hesitated outside her door, and then knocked.
It was opened by Jay Sewell. Behind him I could see Martha sitting at her desk. She was wearing a grey poncho that seemed to have been made out of felted squirrel fur and was holding her hand to her forehead in an attitude of despairing grief.
‘We lost Buddy,’ Jay explained.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said politely. Buddy had been sick a couple of days ago and now he was dead. It seemed a rather sudden demise. I still didn’t understand who Buddy was, of course.
‘We have no children of our own,’ Jay said, tears welling up in his eyes, ‘and Buddy was like a son to us.’ I didn’t really want to be this intimate with the Sewells and the sight of a distraught Martha, not hitherto prone to any emotion at all, was unnerving. Jay had somehow manoeuvred me into the room by now and at the sight of me Martha started sobbing even more. I put out a reluctant hand and patted her on the shoulder and said solicitously, ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
She stood up suddenly, knocking me to one side, and shrieked at her husband, ‘We have to find him, we have to find Buddy.’
‘He’s not dead, then?’ I asked cautiously.
Martha looked at me in horror. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘What does Buddy look like?’ I said hastily. ‘Maybe I’ve seen him.’
‘He’s very handsome,’ Jay said.
‘And he has beautiful blue eyes,’ Martha added, calming down a bit and dabbing delicately at her nose with a tissue.
‘Well, green, really,’ Jay corrected gently.
‘Nonsense,’ Martha said, ‘they aren’t green. Perhaps a hint of green,’ she conceded. ‘Aqua might be a more accurate word. I could compromise on aqua.’
Jay didn’t seem willing to compromise. ‘Not aqua exactly,’ he said frowning, ‘cerulean maybe.’
‘Cyan,’ Martha offered, like a bridge player making a last, rather outrageous, bid.
‘Cyan?’ Jay said contemplatively. ‘How about glaucous?’ Whoever Buddy was, he was going to have crumbled into dust before Jay and Martha managed to decide on the colour of his eyes.
‘Let’s just say bluey-green, shall we?’ I suggested helpfully.
‘Greeny-blue,’ Jay Sewell said, making a final stand.
Professor Cousins put his head round the door. ‘I heard a commotion. Is there anything I can do?’ He caught sight of me and smiled and said, ‘I would introduce you, but I can’t remember your name.’ He laughed at Jay. ‘I can’t even remember my own name, let alone hers.’
‘Cousins,’ Jay said seriously, ‘your name is Cousins.’
‘I was joking,’ Professor Cousins said, somewhat abashed.
‘They’ve lost Buddy,’ I explained. ‘He’s like a son to them. And he has bluey-green, greeny-blue eyes.’
‘And a gorgeous coat,’ Martha said.
‘A Crombie? I had a Crombie once,’ Professor Cousins said nostalgically. ‘It was gorgeous.’
Martha wasn’t listening, she was growing lyrical. ‘It was like melted milk chocolate. We almost called him Hershey,’ she added sadly.
‘Really?’ Professor Cousins said politely.
‘A little light-hearted fun,’ Jay said solemnly.
‘You could ask the Salvation Army,’ Professor Cousins said. ‘I’m told they’re very good with missing persons.’
Jay and Martha turned to look at him. ‘Buddy’s a dog [or dorg],’ Jay said carefully.
‘A pedigree Weimaraner,’ Martha elaborated.
‘Weimaraner,’ Professor Cousins said, ‘as in Weimar Republic?’
‘I’ve got an essay to do,’ I said, beating a quiet retreat.
‘Keep an eye out for Buddy,’ Jay shouted after me and I heard Professor Cousins murmur, ‘Oh, what a horrible idea,’ as I shut the door behind me.
Detour
I FINALLY MANAGED TO ESCAPE FROM THE ENGLISH DEPARTMENT and into the cold and inadequate daylight of the real world. I had got as far as The Grosvenor pub on the Perth Road when I realized that someone was kerb-crawling me. When I stopped, a familiar rusting shape drew to a halt alongside me and the passenger door of the Cortina opened. ‘Want to go for a hurl?’ Chick asked.