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“Sorry,” he said, and it happened again.
Tom stood up and went to the door. “Ann, do we have any sandwiches or sausage rolls or something to feed a starving police officer?”
“I’ll be fine,” Charlie mumbled, red with embarrassment.
“You’ll be even finer with something to eat,” Ravensbourne said. Charlie smiled, though in truth he still found her disconcerting.
“I spoke to the parents of both Kaylan and Rico,” Charlie said. “There are some things I need to check, and then I want to look at the files, as we discussed.” Ravensbourne looked sideways at Charlie. “Those things concern the college, ma--boss, so I thought I could ask Tom about them straight away.”
Ravensbourne raised her eyebrows at Charlie’s use of Tom’s given name, but said nothing. The secretary knocked on the door and opened it, bringing a plate of neatly cut triangular sandwiches and a slice of chocolate cake. Charlie’s stomach growled again.
“Eat something, so we can hear ourselves think,” Ravensbourne commanded. Tom caught Charlie’s eye, and winked. Charlie ate two triangles as quickly as he could, trying not to drop crumbs. Then he took a swallow of tea and recounted what he’d learned from Mrs Sully and the Pepperdines.
“Mrs Sully said that she didn’t think Kaylan was very good at art, and the family expected him to follow his father into computers. But he came here. I’ll be honest, Mrs Sully did go off on a few tangents, but I’d still be interested to find out whether Kaylan is the kind of talented student you want to attract. There doesn’t seem to be any doubt that he’s keen, but is he any good?”
Tom leaned forward, hands crossed on the table. “I could look at his application, though, as you know, I’m a printmaker, not a painter. But we ask to see their sketchbooks as well as finished works. It’s all on the computer. There should be a transcript of his grades from his high school and a letter from his teachers.”
“The thing is,” Charlie went on, “Mr Pepperdine said that Rico was barely literate, but was desperate to study art in Europe. No one wanted him, because of his difficulties, including this place. But then the Pepperdines got a call out of the blue saying he could come here, in exchange for fifty-thousand dollars. The Pepperdines paid up, and here he is, or was.”
“Fifty-thousand dollars? On top of the fees and living costs?” Tom’s voice had risen by at least an octave.
“Donation to college funds,” Charlie said. “I was wondering whether Kaylan, who pays his own way to spite his parents, might also be making a donation. And whether there are any other students contributing above and beyond the standard fees.”
Tom had his head in his hands, shaking it from side to side.
“It could be legitimate,” Ravensbourne said.
“It could be,” Tom replied. "But then I’ve been here pretty continuously since I did my PhD, and I have never heard of such donations. We need them, sure. We’re always short of money. Making art is much more expensive than you think. Keeping up this bloody building costs a fortune. Every year some developer or other comes to beg us to sell it, but no, we carry on.” He looked out of the huge window at the courtyard beyond. A few students were standing around talking, despite the grey skies. The fountain played. The piles of leaves were scattering themselves ready to be swept up again the next day.
“The only reason, the only reason, we keep going is that we attract enough international students, paying eye-watering fees, to balance the books. And the only reason we can do that is because we have the reputation of it being bloody hard to get a place. Letting sub-standard students in, even for fifty grand each, undermines the whole financial structure.” Tom shook his head again, and pushed his hair back behind his ears.
“Easy enough to find out,” Ravensbourne said. “You must have a finance office. Just ask them.”
Tom’s face cleared. He stroked his beard, put his hair behind his ears and reached for the phone. When it was answered, Tom said, “David, Tom Pennant. I wonder if you could pop along to my office for a moment. Something rather odd has come up.”
Charlie thought Tom made a convincing college principal, and wondered what his colleagues would think if they had seen him in the Rainbow Club with his sleeves rolled up, drinking rum. Then he remembered the wife and children.
David, when he arrived, was a thin, harried-looking man with a comb-over and an elderly suit. Tom made quick introductions. Charlie enjoyed David's look of surprise at the contrast between Ravensbourne’s rank and her appearance.
“There is a suggestion,” Tom said, passive voice all the way, “that the college is in receipt of funds from some international students, extra to the fees and living costs. Voluntary donations. Possibly in exchange for, shall we say, a relaxation of admission criteria.”
David had looked harried before. Now he looked as if the demons were gripping his ankles to begin pulling him into the fiery pit.
“That would be quite wrong, Principal. Against all college policies,” he said.
“I know that, David,” Tom enunciated with great care, spitting the words out between clenched teeth. “My question is whether it happened.”
16
Fiery pit
Tuesday 4.30pm
David scurried off, as if pursued by the hounds of hell, expressing complete certainty that no such donations had been made, but promising to check anyway. Immediately. Charlie took the opportunity to eat the rest of the sandwiches, and to consider whether he could manage the cake, before Tom asked the obvious next question.
“Who did the Pepperdines say called them to ask for money?”
“Mr Pepperdine couldn’t remember. I don’t know if he genuinely couldn’t remember, or if it was the shock of learning that Rico was dead. He did say that he got an official Llanfair College of Art invoice, and bank details, and that’s how he paid. But Mrs Sully, Kaylan’s mother said that Kaylan was in touch with Vitruvious before he came here, more than once. So that’s where I wanted to start. With his file.”
