A Tale of One City - NaNoWriMo 2020

A Tale of One City - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chardonnay entered the conference room ahead of the greying bloke who’d accosted her in the corridor. She supposed she should be grateful that he’d brought her here rather than showing her the door. It was foolish of her to get lost before she’d even attended the job interview. But what was even more stupid was her body’s reaction to her middle-aged guide. She’d always crushed on Sean Connery as he looked in those Highlander films from the nineties, and this bloke was the spitting image of the character Juan Ramirez, with his minimalistic beard and salt and pepper hair.

She stumbled to an abrupt halt. Five middle-aged people sat facing her from the other side of a broad conference table. Five of them! With their smart business suits and distinguished faces, the four men and one woman all stared at her like she’d dragged the hay in from the countryside. Her ‘Juan Ramirez’ walked past her, skirted around the table, and joined the other interrogators, taking the empty chair between the four men and single woman.

‘Juan Ramirez’ exchanged a few inaudible words with his co-conspirators and then turned back to her. ‘Miss Brogan, would you like to take a seat?’

‘Okay.’

He straightened. ‘My name is Doctor Charles Thorpe-Hamilton, and I am the chairman of the library committee of the Stukeley Archaeology and Ethnology Library.’ He gestured to the people at his side. ‘Professor Adam Woodward is the Universal Professor of Archaeology, Doctor Steven Sloan is the Curator of the Cambridge Museum of Archaeology and Evolution, Doctor David Goldsmith is a Senior Lecturer in Biological Anthropology, and Doctor Wang Xiaohong is a Senior Lecturer in Social Anthropology.’

The woman on his other side coughed.

He turned to her with a grimace. ‘And may I introduce Ms Thistledown-Smythe from the University of Cambridge Human Resources Department.’

The woman turned to Chardonnay with a thin smile. ‘Welcome to Cambridge, dear.’

‘Thank you.’

Doctor Thorpe-Hamilton leaned forward. ‘Now, Miss Brogan, please tell us why we should offer the position of chief librarian of the Stukeley Archaeology and Ethnology Library to someone with absolutely no knowledge or interest in archaeology or anthropology?’

Chardonnay blinked. She’d been expecting questions about her qualifications as a librarian, her experience working in the University of Bradfield Library when she was a student there, and her later experience of running the public library in Thornthorpe for the past five years. This question about subjects she knew nothing about blindsided her.

She swallowed. ‘My knowledge of archaeology is admittedly somewhat limited. However, I have a great deal of experience in modernising old library systems so that they are fit for purpose in the modern age.’

A balding man with a red bow tie leaned forward — Doctor Sloane, she thought. ‘You think our library needs modernising?’

‘Well, I haven’t had a chance to take a look around your library yet to see what I could do, but—’

‘You haven’t even done your research.’ Doctor Sloane shook his head. ‘This is the University of Cambridge. Our library systems are state of the art. If, and I say if, we offered you a position here, we would need to find someone to educate you in the more advanced and complex hardware installed here, rather than relying on you to … update us.’

‘Well, be that as it may, I have extensive experience working with educational library systems, first at the University of Bradfield and later at Mexford Community College, where I interned before gaining a permanent position at Thornthorpe Library.’

Doctor Sloane snorted. ‘A community college? That’s hardly Oxbridge now, is it? And you’ve still told us nothing about your extensive experience with either archaeology or anthropology.’

‘Well, er… I don’t have any specific experience with archaeology, though I’ve certainly processed requisitions, new book orders, and shelved books on archaeology, evolution, ethnography, anthropology, and sociology during my time at the University of Bradfield.’

Doctor Sloane threw his hands in the air. ‘I don’t know why we’re wasting our time here. This … girl clearly knows nothing about what we do here.’

Chardonnay shuffled in her seat. ‘Excuse me, but I was led to understand that you wanted me to administer your library, not dig in the dirt with my bare hands and drag out bones for you to study.’

Doctor Thorpe-Hamilton appeared to be trying to hold in a laugh, and Chardonnay glanced away from him in shame. Coming here had been a huge mistake. This man knew Rupert, her best friend’s boyfriend. Soon everyone she knew would learn about what a fool she’d made of herself today.

A cough brought her attention back to the interviewers, and Doctor Thorpe-Hamilton once again leaned forward. ‘Let’s move on to other things that you do know about.’ He glanced down at some notes. ‘I see from your application that your interests are hiking and poetry.’ He straightened. ‘Tell us why you enjoy hiking.’

At last, a question she felt qualified to answer. ‘I’ve never understood why people spend a fortune to travel to other places like America or India on holiday when there is so much beautiful countryside right on our doorstep. I love climbing to the top of hills in the Lake District and admiring the view from the peaks or walking across the baren wasteland of the North Yorkshire Moors.’

‘Yes’ — Doctor Thorpe-Hamilton nodded — ‘and I notice you’re a member of Ramblers.’

She straightened. ‘I’ve been a dedicated member for years and attended many of their protests. I think it’s disgusting that one percent of the people in this country own ninety-nine percent of the land and then try to block access to that wonderful wilderness and keep it all for their own pleasure.’

Doctor Sloane smirked and exchanged a glance with Doctor Thorpe-Hamilton. ‘You’re politically opposed to greedy, money-grabbing landowners, eh?’

‘Well, I think that land can’t really be owned by anyone. It’s eternal, like the sun and the stars. And access to England’s most scenic areas shouldn’t be restricted by the wealthy elite just because their great-great grandfathers came across with the Norman Conquest and hit my ancestors on the head with an axe.’

Doctor Sloane chuckled, and Doctor Thorpe-Hamilton coughed. ‘Enough about hiking. Tell us about your poetry.’
Her cheeks flushed. Poetry was something very personal to her, and she’d only included it in her resume at Sara and Charles’ insistence. Charles said that the committee would be looking for a well-rounded candidate, and just one outside interest would make her less appealing when they came to make their decision. ‘Well, I’ve always written poetry since I was a little girl. Initially, I was drawn to poetry by the works of Emily and Anne Bronte. My friend Emily is a huge Bronte fan, and she used to read poems aloud to me at school.

‘At first, I just copied their poems and imitated the way they created their rhythms and rhymes. After a time, I became interested in other poets, like Emily Dickinson, Vita Sackville-West, and Sylvia Plath. The more poetry I read, the more interested I became, until I eventually found that I was creating my own style.’

Doctor Thorpe-Hamilton crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. ‘Hearing is believing. Can you recite one of your poems for us?’

She almost fell off her seat. ‘Recite my poetry?’

Doctor Sloane leaned forward. ‘If you can. If you have even written any original poetry.’

She squared her shoulders. ‘Okay, well, I wasn’t expecting to have to do this, so I hope I don’t fluff this up.’ She quickly scanned through her memory for something that wasn’t too sexually explicit or offensive. Scary Love was definitely not a poem she could read aloud. Much too sexual. Silly Boys probably wouldn’t go down well in this male-dominated room. The poem she wrote about globalism and pollution inspired by Robert Frost shouldn’t be too offensive, though.’
She cleared her throat and raised her voice.

Apocalypse, by Chardonnay Brogan

Some say a rock will fall from space.
Some say a bug
will decimate the human race
and leave this Earth a poisoned place.
The truth’s ignored with but a shrug.
Rainforests gasp their dying breath
‘cause exploitation is a drug.
Through Nature’s death
our graves we’ve dug.

Doctor Thorpe-Hamilton raised an eyebrow. Doctor Smythe smirked. Professor Adam Woodward snorted in his sleep, and she realised he’d nodded off. Ms Thistledown-Smythe straightened in her seat, nodded, and gave Chardonnay a broad smile. At least she’d gained one fan in the room.

***

Once the last inept candidate for the chief librarian post had shuffled out of the conference room, Charles moved to the other side of the table so he could better address his colleagues. ‘So, thoughts?’

As expected, Steven Sloane was the first to straighten and speak his piece. ‘Clearly, the only interviewee worth considering was Rudolph Fitzroy. The rest were a complete waste of our time.’

Wang Xiaohong turned to face him. ‘Why do you say that? The girl seemed competent, and she at least has experience of running a library as well as the right qualifications.’

Sloane shook his head. ‘Qualifications. Can you even hear yourself? A scrap of paper from some backwater, red-brick university and experience watching a half-dozen old ladies read oversized books in a flyspeck village.’

David Goldsmith leaned forwards. ‘And what experience or qualifications does Fitzroy have that you think makes him so perfect for the role?’

Sloane smirked. ‘Why, it’s obvious. He completed a degree in archaeology here—’

‘He got a third,’ interrupted Wang.

‘It was still an honours pass. Also, he has extensive excavation experience with Hodder and Tilley, and he has worked in the University Library since graduating in oh-nine.’
Goldsmith shook his head. ‘He’s only an assistant there. He hasn’t even had experience running a department.’

‘We all have to start somewhere,’ opined Sloane. ‘And his experience means that he’s well acquainted with the university’s inter-departmental library systems and all the procedures involved in keeping the Stukeley Library going.’

Wang scratched his nose. ‘Wasn’t there some kerfuffle involving Fitzroy about a year back?’
Sloane waved his hand dismissively. ‘Just some misunderstanding with some silly undergraduate girls. He was acquitted at the disciplinary hearing.’

Charles was not so convinced about Fitzroy’s innocence. While Fitzroy was an undergraduate, Charles had heard more than one female student complain about his behaviour. And where smoke polluted the air, toxic flames were all too often uncovered. He turned to the professor. ‘Adam, what are your thoughts.’

When the professor did not respond or even open his eyes, Goldsmith gave him a gentle nudge.

‘What?’ the professor glanced around. ‘Are we done now?’

‘I asked for your opinion,’ said Charles.

‘Opinion?’ The professor blinked. ‘Why, the job’s Fitzroy’s, of course. He’s the only one who has actually picked up a trowel.’

While Charles had reservations about Fitzroy, he could not deny that the man had the most experience of all the candidates. Although he did not possess a formal qualification, he did have extensive experience in the university library and had also worked in the Stukeley Library while still an undergraduate. It was his experience there that had landed him the university library role. ‘All right,’ he addressed the room. ‘I am inclined to support the appointment of Fitzroy to the role. Since Adam and Steven both prefer him to the other candidates, that’s a three to five vote.’
A cough from across the table drew all their attention.

‘Ms Thistledown-Smythe, did you have something to add?’

She squared her shoulders. ‘Don’t you want to hear my opinion?’

Charles smiled. ‘May I remind you that you are only here as an observer. Any decision taken here will be made by members of this department and of the library committee.’

She smirked. ‘A committee composed of five men, you mean.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

She gestured to the men beside her. ‘The reason the Vice-Chancellor asked me to come here today is your appalling statistics.’

‘Statistics? What are you talking about?’

She leaned forwards. ‘Seventy-four percent of the senior positions in the archaeology department are occupied by males. Sixty percent of your students are female. The fact that the student statistics are not reflected in the staff statistics implies some serious, and quite illegal, biases.’

Charles clenched his fists. ‘How dare you? You saw how we came to a decision today. There was only one female applicant, and she knew nothing about our library or archaeology.’

Ms Thistledown-Smythe folded her arms and glared at everybody around the table. ‘What I saw was that there was only one candidate who possessed an actual qualification for library management. A graduate qualification, as it happens. There was also only one candidate with experience running a library.’

Sloane sneered at her. ‘Fitzroy has experience of library work. Extensive experience. In this university and in the Stukeley Library.’

She straightened. ‘Your nephew Fitzroy, you mean?’

He paled. ‘How…’ He waved his hand in dismissal. ‘Our relationship is irrelevant.’

‘And nepotism is just as contrary to university regulations as preferential treatment given to male job applicants.’ She stood. ‘Let me make this abundantly clear to everybody in this room. If the unqualified, male, close relative of a member of this committee is appointed to a senior position in this department in preference to a better qualified and more experienced female candidate, the Vice-Chancellor will be expecting five resignation letters on his desk the day after.

‘If said resignation letters are not immediately forthcoming, legal action will be taken against the archaeology department, and press releases will be made available to explain the university central administration’s position. Needless to say, once you’ve lost your posts here, appointments in other educational establishments may prove difficult to secure after the Woke media has finished tearing apart your reputations.’ She turned to face Sloane. ‘Even in some backwater, red-brick university in a flyspeck town.’