Read Online The Corpse at the Haworth Tandoori by Robert Barnard - Free Book Online Page B

convinced they can sing, or act, or paint, when they haven’t the first idea. But it’s very seldom that someone with a mediocre brain is convinced he’s one of the world’s great minds.”
    â€œOf course Stephen doesn’t think anything of the sort,” said Martha.
    â€œBut how else can one explain his determination to grace one of the world’s great centers of learning? It’s not as though he hasn’t had people trying to get the message of his mediocrity across to him in the course of his life. Schoolmasters have tried: his reports were uniformly unenthusiastic, and his exam results pretty much what those reports predicted. Family and friends have taken him aside and tried to tell him he’d be happier if he didn’t aim so high. But to no avail: the message has never got across. My grandson’s education has to culminate in Oxford, no less.”
    â€œIt’s hardly an outrageous ambition,” said Martha. “Lots of people have it, and Stephen’s father went there.”
    â€œOh, yes, indeed. If Stephen’s father hadn’t gone there he’d have had no chance at all of going there himself. Leeds offered, Reading offered, Essex—God help us—offered. But, no, it had to be Brasenose College, and sincetheir enthusiasm for the son of their undistinguished old boy was minimal, it had to be done by the usual sordid bargain which has secured mediocrities a place at Oxford over the years: the bribery in this case being a large—large to me —sum of money to refurbish the library, and the gift of one of my best paintings.”
    â€œYou swindled them,” said Stephen, the contempt in his voice undisguised. “The picture wasn’t from your red period, as you claimed.”
    â€œThe whole deal was a swindle,” said Byatt complacently. “Swindling swindlers is a venial sin in my book. And so in October Stephen will go up to Oxford, with all the prestige that that implies, and with a self-assessment as a first-rate brain. And I, who have shelled out the bribe that got him in there, will shell out his upkeep there, and probably shell out for debts he incurs by mixing with the sort of fast set outside his class that he probably thinks all brilliant young Oxonians have to be in with. What a prospect! And all because Stephen, who is the child of mediocrity, has convinced himself that he has a great brain and deserves a place among the great minds of this country.”
    Stephen sat for a moment, considering his response. Then he stood up, crumpled his napkin, and made for the door. In the doorway he turned. He had at least, Declan decided, a considerable sense of drama, of using his body and his hatred to make an effect; he looked, standing there, surprisingly large, menacing, and forceful. He directed his gaze with loathing on his grandfather.
    â€œIf I was a mediocrity I would probably worship you. Because that’s the type you attract: people who are nothing very much, and people who are weak, pliable, malleable.That’s the sort all tin-pot dictators surround themselves with. You can’t stand me around because I’m not like that. You’re willing to buy me a place at Oxford because I’m the only one here who sees you as you are: sheer poison. You’re cyanide made flesh. You’re vitriol in human shape. You kill the spirit of everyone around you. That’s why I have to get out.”
    The door banged behind him.
    â€œHe doesn’t mean it,” said Martha feebly. “He’s just going through a phase.” Her father ignored her.
    â€œWell!” he said, in a voice that sounded almost happy. “The boy is developing a vocabulary. I expect he’s set himself the task of studying the thesaurus for half an hour over breakfast. That’s the sort of thing mediocrities do.”
    And as they were toiling up the stairs when the meal was over Ranulph said nothing about the scene