Matricide at St. Martha's by Ruth Dudley Edwards Page B

Patriarchy; the fight for visibility”.’
    ‘Interesting?’
    ‘It’s not just interesting, it’s empowering. Once the scales have fallen from your eyes, everything becomes clear and you feel you can fulfil your potential and share in releasing the spirit of the sisterhood.’ Her eyes radiated devotion in a manner reminiscent of Sandra; it made her look rather attractive. ‘Otherwise… ’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t like the rest of what I’m doing. It has nothing to do with me or my experience.’
    ‘What’s your subject?’
    ‘History.’
    ‘What? You mean you don’t like any of the other courses?’
    ‘Most of them are given by men, for heaven’s sake.’
    ‘Well, you must have known before you came here that the university teaching staff is predominantly male.’
    ‘I didn’t realize what that meant, then. That was before I understood. I was brainwashed at school. Can you believe that I chose St Martha’s because it was particularly strong in constitutional history.’ She snorted.
    ‘Isn’t it?’
    ‘That’s not the point. It’s all right for what it is but it’s irrelevant. Why should I waste myself on the study of male political ideology?’
    ‘Know your enemy?’
    ‘Well, yes, there is that,’ she said grudgingly. ‘But it’s very hard to get Dr Windlesham to address herself to the centrality of misogyny in the development of constitutional theory. Like, you know, how the Irish constitution encourages women to stay at home and outlaws abortion, and the American constitution, by guaranteeing freedom of speech, deliberately encourages pornography.’
    ‘Deliberately? I hardly imagine the founding fathers had that in mind.’
    ‘They were men, weren’t they? And slave owners at that.’ She pushed her cereal plate away savagely, her cheeks pink with outrage.
    ‘Well, you seem to be enjoying the course anyway, and presumably Dr Windlesham has taken some of your ideas on board.’ He rather doubted it. Remembering that old harridan grimly reading her medieval constitutional documents throughout dinner, he doubted if she was likely to be much affected by changing intellectual fashion. His companion’s snort confirmed his guess. ‘It’ll be different next year when Bridget gets the centre going.’
    ‘What centre?’
    ‘The Alice Toon Centre for Women’s and Black Studies.’
    Amiss put on his enquiring look. ‘Tell me about it. I’m too new to know anything.’
    ‘St Martha’s has been left a lot of money and it’s all going to go to that.’
    ‘Really? I wouldn’t have thought the Mistress would be very keen.’
    ‘Who cares what she thinks. She and her sort have had their day.’
    Amiss repressed the observation that that didn’t sound like a very sisterly pronouncement. ‘But doesn’t she control the way the money is spent?’
    ‘Bridget’s going to win that battle. She’s got us – Sisters in Love.’
    ‘In love with…?’
    ‘Sisterhood of course.’
    ‘And how do you demonstrate it?’
    Her mischievous smile was almost flirtatious. ‘You’ll see.’
    There was a general pushing back of chairs and Amiss and his companions stood up along with everyone else. ‘Fancy a drink sometime?’ he asked.
    She looked at him dubiously. ‘Maybe.’
    ‘You didn’t tell me your name.’
    ‘Pippa.’
    ‘Nice to meet you,’ he said quickly. ‘See you around.’
    ‘Was that the date-raped Pippa?’ he asked the Bursar, as they went to converse with Plutarch.
    ‘The very same. I worried for you when I saw you sitting together. You should have sought the safety of high table. Control your passionate impulses, my lad. Confine them to your cat.’
    ‘You don’t understand my cat. Plutarch accuses one of date rape if one so much as gives her the time of day, as you will shortly find out if you are intent on this mad scheme of taking her for a walk.’
    ‘Rubbish, cats are putty in my hands. We got on famously last night. You’ll see. She’ll jump to my word of