Grantchester Grind by Tom Sharpe Read Free Book Online Page B

myself, Professor,’ he said, producing a card from his breast

    pocket. ‘My name is Karl Kudzuvine, Personal Assistant to Edgar Hartang of Transworld

    Television Productions and Associated Enterprises.’
    He spoke in a strong American accent and the card certainly did say he was Karl

    Kudzuvine, Personal Assistant and Vice-President of TTP etc. There were a number of

    telephone and fax numbers and an address in London with another in New York.
    As Vice-President and Personal Assistant to Mr Hartang it is my privilege to say how

    inspirational I found your comments on the need for Private Influence in Donational

    Usage. I want you to know that Edgar Hartang shares your opinions without reservations

    and I am instructed to say that he will appreciate meeting with you to discuss this

    issue at your convenience on Wednesday twelfth at twelve forty-five over lunch.’ And

    before the dumbfounded Bursar could explain that he hadn’t said a single thing about

    Donational Usage or Private Influence, and in any case he wasn’t a Professor, the

    extraordinary American had seized his hand and shaken it, had said he’d been deeply

    honoured to meet him, and had hurried from the hall. The Bursar watched him get into an

    enormous car, with black windows and what appeared to be a satellite dish on the roof. As

    it disappeared into the night he read the words ‘Transworld Television’ on the side.
    The sight galvanized the Bursar. He wasn’t sure that he knew who Mr Edgar Hartang was

    but he was evidently a person with money to burn on huge cars. The Bursar went back down

    the hall to the financial expert from Peterhouse, who was arguing with several

    Principals of Poly-Techs who found the idea of any private interference in

    educational policy deeply offensive.
    ‘I wonder,’ said the Bursar in his most ingratiating manner, ‘I wonder if I might

    borrow your lecture notes for a moment. I found what you had to say remarkably to the

    point.’
    ‘More than some did,’ said the lecturer, looking grimly at the backs of the retreating

    Principals. ‘You can have the whole lecture. I’ve got it on hard disk and can print it out

    any time.’
    The Bursar went back to his hotel room and read the lecture very carefully. He didn’t

    fully understand the financial jargon, but as far as he could make out, the man was

    arguing that benefactors had the right to control the educational policy of

    establishments they’d funded. It might well have been entitled ‘He Who Pays the Piper

    Calls the Tune’. It was not a doctrine the Bursar found at all unreasonable. All he

    wanted was funds.
    On the way back to Cambridge by train he read the lecture several more times and

    memorized its more salient points. Next day in his office he altered two letters in one

    word on the title page and removed the author’s name and made several copies.
    The following Wednesday at 12.30 precisely he entered the headquarters of Transworld

    Television Productions near St Katherine’s Dock and was surprised to find himself

    confronted by Mr Kudzuvine. He was standing behind the reception desk and appeared to

    have grown a ponytail. He also seemed to have developed a sizeable pair of breasts. On the

    other hand he was wearing the same blue dark glasses, light brown polo-neck and black

    blazer with chrome buttons. Even more disconcerting was the sight of two more Kudzuvines,

    this time without ponytails or breasts, coming towards him through a metal frame that

    looked just like an airport metal-detector.
    ‘I’ve come to see Mr Hartang,’ the Bursar told the person he could see now that it was

    definitely female behind the counter.
    She checked the computer screen and handed him a plastic card. ‘If you will just follow

    the brothers,’ she said. The Bursar turned to find the two large men just behind him. The

    next moment he was emptying his pockets of any metal objects and his briefcase had

    disappeared through an