We met again downstairs and shuffled off for our medicals. I didn’t bother trying to hide my dislike of doctors because Dr Foster didn’t bother trying to hide her dislike of patients. To me, she looked slightly incongruous with her white coat and stethoscope. I always felt closely fitting black leather, a short hunting crop, and a stern expression were more her natural accoutrements.
I filled out endless medical paperwork. My life had been comparatively blameless so far, but despite that, I was vaccinated for and against everything, and I mean everything. I was encouraged to give blood regularly – an investment for the future.
We trooped back to the Hall, rubbing the bits that still throbbed and sat while Dr Bairstow gave his welcome speech.
‘Congratulations to those of you here today. You constitute the best of the candidates interviewed, but only the best of you will complete your training. You should be aware that not all of you will make the grade. You have tough times ahead of you. Of course, you may resign whenever you wish. There is no compulsion; you are all volunteers. If you wish to leave, you will be asked again to sign all the confidentiality documents you signed today and, again, the consequences of divulging any information of any kind to anybody will be made very, very clear to you.’
He paused and eyed us all individually. I made myself stare calmly back.
‘We work in conjunction with the University of Thirsk, whence some of you graduated. We enjoy considerable autonomy, but, at the end of the day, we are answerable to them for our funding. They in turn answer for us to a small and discreet government body who, as far as I can tell, answer to no one below God.
‘You, however, answer to me.’
He paused again for this to sink in.
‘Our public image is of a charmingly eccentric historical research organisation which is of no harm to anyone but itself. This view is particularly prevalent in the village, especially as the echoes of our latest explosion die away. Strive to maintain this image please, ladies and gentlemen.
‘I hope to get to know you all better over the coming months.’ His eyes crossed slightly and he said, in the voice of one who has committed something distasteful to memory, ‘Please remember my door is always open.’ Then he was gone.
We grappled with yet more hand-outs, schedules, organisational schematics, and even more forms to complete. The concept of the paperless office never really made much headway at St Mary’s. I leafed through the papers in my folder until I found my timetable. The first lecture started at 0900 tomorrow morning with Chief Farrell, whom I remembered, followed by a session with the Head of IT, Miss Barclay, whom I didn’t.
I suppose that because, with the exception of Smartarse Sussman, I’d rather liked everyone I’d met so far, I was lulled into a false security when it came to Barclay. My own fault. I could have kept my mouth shut. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I’m stupid and never learn. Third in command at St Mary’s after Dr Bairstow and Chief Farrell, in contrast to everyone else’s easy-going style, she was unpopular, self-important, and lacking the sense of humour gene.
We assembled, bright-eyed and enthusiastic, the next morning. Chief Farrell, calm and authoritative was easy listening and pretty easy on the eyes as well. Izzie Barclay was another matter, rendering her subject so completely devoid of interest and relevance that you could practically hear people’s eyes glazing over. I listened with only half an ear while watching her pose in the sunshine so everyone could admire the glints in her red hair.
Without warning, she wheeled and pounced. ‘You! Stevens! What did I just say?’
If he did have any idea of what she’d been boring on about, it fled straight out of his head with the sharpness of her question. He stared at her; a small furry woodland animal hypnotized by a ginger cobra. The silence lengthened.
I looked up. ‘You were describing the position of a point as relative. No point can ever be regarded as solid or fixed but must always be viewed in relation to everything else.’
More silence. ‘Is your name Stevens?’
Good God, it was like being back at school.
‘No,’ I said, helpfully. ‘I’m Maxwell.’
‘I suppose you think you’re clever.’
More silence.
‘Answer me.’
‘I’m sorry; I didn’t hear a question there.’
Mercifully, the clock struck, signifying the end of the lecture and lunchtime. No one moved.
At last, she stepped back. ‘Dismissed.’
So that was my card marked; second period on the first day. Way to go, Maxwell.