Clandestine

Chapter 22 - Back to school

I took up residence at Oxford when it donned on me that I should probably let someone at the university in on my plan. After all, I’m sure that seats in graduate school at Oxford would be well sought after and the university might be apprehensive about granting a space to a 65-year-old retiree who merely wanted to chase a lost pathway from his youth.

I spent the winter and spring of 2001 applying for admission to Oxford. I decided the law was not the right program for me. Instead I decided to pursue a master’s degree in Political Science. In order to secure an offer of place I had to take an interview with the Dean of Admissions. I arrived at Brasenose College, home of the Political Science department, and waited for my appointment with Dean Jonathon Martin. As fate would have it the dean was not able to receive me and it was then that I made one of the few mistakes in covert judgments that I ever made in my life.

I returned to the cafeteria at Brasenose, hungry, tired, and impatient. My years of training could protect me no longer. For my entire life when people sat down beside me I instantly made up a new name and a false identity. Sometimes my caginess was intended and at times it was just practice. Yet here at Oxford my guard had been let down.

“Andy Murray,” a gentleman proclaimed as he sat across from me at the cafeteria table. “I’m a graduate student in economics,” he continued.

“Callum O’Donovan,” I proclaimed.

“Do you have a child starting at the school?” Andy asked.

“No, Andy, I’m the child. I have applied for entry into graduate studies at Oxford in Political Science,” I said.

Andy looked at me with amazement. He was an engaging young man and, as I was starting to perk up from my tuna fish sandwich, I felt compelled to let him in on my story. He revelled in my tale about leaving the woman I loved to attend Oxford in the 1950s before entering the army for my military service. I left out all my clandestine activities from 1955 to the present day but my yarn entertained Andy. He left the table and wished me well. He even said he would put in a good word for me with the dean.

I did not get to meet Dean Martin (the educator, not the entertainer) that afternoon. It was two days later that I had a phone conversation with him wherein I convinced him that my decision to study Political Science was sincere and not a flight of fancy. I committed to work hard at my studies and do my best to keep up with the group. On the basis of my charming interview I was accepted and would start in September of 2001. I thanked Professor Martin and looked forward to the opportunity. Just before I hung up the phone Dean Martin let me know that he had been introduced to my file by Andy Murray who apparently was a bit of a legend at the College. I would soon find out all about Andy’s job at Oxford.

Spring in England is rainy and it seemed to drench Oxford every day. Eleanor and I settled in nearby Kidlington and we enjoyed playing house in our new rented flat. The most nervous moment of my life was Easter weekend when we invited Eleanor’s daughters, Rachel and Sarah, to England for the weekend. There wasn’t enough room in our little flat so we rented 3 rooms at a bed and breakfast in London for the weekend where we would enjoy a few days of shopping, eating, and getting to know each other.

Rachel arrived from Edinburgh on Thursday evening. She was a lovely, brown-eyed young woman with an effervescent smile. Eleanor and her daughter shared stories about the university and Rachel’s new adventures. We sat in the drawing room, enjoying a glass of wine and chatting. Rachel was very sweet to me, pretending to be fascinated by Australia. Eleanor went through the photos we’d had developed from our trip.

Sarah and her husband Stewart met us on Friday afternoon. They currently live in Glasgow. Stewart is an engineer and travels frequently for his work. Sarah is much more serious than Rachel and, although she may have missed out on Eleanor’s wicked sense of humour, physically there is no mistaking her lineage. Stewart was a quiet, well-behaved man with impeccable manners. He spoke softly and, as I can often be quite silent as well, we struck an instant kinship.

We had made a booking at a lovely restaurant for dinner. The afternoon passed quietly in the garden while we sipped lemonade and caught up. The five of us eventually made it to dinner and settled into a delightful conversation, with Rachel and Eleanor doing most of the talking. One item on the menu reminded the girls of their father and I could see immediately the love they had for their dad. I made sure not to come on too strong; I simply listened to the family discussions and revelled in the family life that I had never been a part of in the past.

Just as the dessert was about to be passed out to the table, Sarah tapped a glass and asked to make an announcement. “Stewart and I would like to announce that we are expecting a child in October,” she proclaimed.

There was joy around the table. I could tell that the announcement came with a bit of melancholy given that their father would not be alive to see his grandchild, but Rachel and Eleanor were both giddy with excitement. I congratulated Sarah and Stewart.

As we headed back to our cosy bed and breakfast I asked Eleanor how I had performed during the course of the evening. She assured me that I had passed the test and not to worry. It was a terrifying experience for me. I was enthralled with the possibility of having someone to care about. My mind raced towards the future, a place in which I had spent very little time. I imagined seeing Sarah’s baby, shopping for shower presents, and being available for babysitting.

The rest of the weekend passed with increasing comfort. Eleanor had planned several enjoyable outings and we dined and laughed. In the evenings we played cards together and laughed as a family. For me, it had been a long time coming.

We returned to Oxford and I had plenty of time to prepare for my freshman year. I was scheduled to commence school on Monday September 18th and I thought I would spend the summer buried under a pile of books, preparing my ever addling brain for an onslaught of readings and an environment packed with young co-eds eager to change the world.

My days with Eleanor truly made the rest of my life seem like a distant memory. I had temporarily forgotten all of my travels and clandestine missions and had instead focussed on quiet walks, gentle evenings, and lovely meals. Eleanor and I were not always joined at the hip during the day but every night we returned to our flat to make dinner together. Sliding in beside each other in the kitchen we chopped salads and prepared stews, making us feel connected and in love. I thought it would last forever and it may well have if I had not received a phone call in June of 2001, which would again throw a wrench into my plans.