The sun wasn’t hot yet, but Pauline didn’t need her cardigan. She’d left the farm a bit earlier than usual, to be sure of catching the one bus which stopped at the top of the lane.

It was a good time of day for a brisk walk. There were only the sheep and cows to gaze after her, as she strode it out, as if they knew she didn’t really belong with them. Pauline was feeling good. Her hands were blistered from the bailer twine: her uncle Dick hadn’t yet invested in one of the new-fangled bailers which leave the fields looking like some giant has served up slices of swiss roll. But the evening sun and exercise was doing her good, as was her aunt Nora’s cooking. She enjoyed being with them: they didn’t make her feel as if she was imposing, and she didn’t feel entirely useless, despite the farm lads’ comments about not keeping up vith them, stacking the bales. It was all good natured, of course: their jokes at her expense simply served to communicate their amused appreciation of her determination to ’muck in’. And she was well aware that her aunt Nora could do with not having anyone else in the kitchen – except for the ritual washing up, after supper.

She enjoyed feeling the healthy aches in her muscles, and her skin was nicely tanned already. The time was going too quickly. Nevertheless, she had other things on her mind that morning. She was going over in her mind the structure of her ’little talk’, and making mental notes about what could be left out, if she ran out of time.

She reached the main A420 in plenty of time to catch the bus, and decided against trying for a lift, as she usually did, so that she could concentrate entirely on her mental preparation.

When Prof. Hodgkins had knocked on the door of her temporary office, and politely asked if she could spare him "a minute", her heart had skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected to be spoken to by the big man himself. She jumped up from her desk, but he smiled, and suggested she "look in" at his office, perhaps at about coffee time.

She reflected, after he’d left her, that he seemed extremely courteous and friendly. He was actually giving her the opportunity to prepare herself, before being forced into what would presumably be a polite but serious academic interrogation. She frantically checked through her papers, to refresh her memory about the details of some of the more interesting results of the Sussex group’s recent research.

When she knocked on his secretary’s door, at precisely eleven, she’d freshened herself up, and felt guite "on the ball", academically. She took several deep breaths, before knocking on the professor’s door, when the secretary smiled, and told her to go on in. After all, this was one of those rare opportunities to make an impression, and perhaps open a door to some future position

Prof. Hodgkins welcomed her in, rising to shake her hand, and motion her into one of the easy chairs, moving away from the more formal desk setting.

’Welcome to Oxford, ah, Miss Green ... may I suggest a coffee ...?’ He had already gone to the door, to pop his head through and politely ask his secretary for ’coffee for two’.

’Thank you very much, Professor Hodgkins ... yes, thank you, I’d love a coffee ...’

And when he smilingly returned to repeat his gesture towards the easy chair, and they had respected protocol by sitting down at precisely the same moment, in the democratically, symmetrically placed chairs, she added, ’But please, call me Pauline ’

’Ah ... Pauline, then ...’ he frowned, remembering, ’Pauline ... so our, ah, records must be in error: I believe we have you registered as, ah, Miss Gay Green.’

She laughed politely, and explained, ’Well, the records are quite right: there’s no need to disturb the computer with an update. It’s just that I’m usually called Pauline. I’m afraid the name my parents gave me turned out to have been rather an unfortunate choice.’

’Ah, yes ... I see ... I must say, I’ve always thought it rather a pity, in fact, that: such a pleasant, ah, English name – and such a simple, expressive English adjective should have, ah, assumed such, ah, such unfortunate connotations.’

’Yes, I suppose it is rather a pity.’

’In fact, ah, one would once have, ah, described your laugh as, ah, "gay laughter", but I suppose one would have to, ah, find a synonym which, ah, rendered the same impression, without, ah, offending.’

The secretary rescued them from a slightly embarrassed pause, by knocking lightly on the door, and bringing them a tray of coffee and biscuits.

’Thank you very much, Jane, you, ah, know my weakness for, ah, a biscuit or two with my morning coffee. May I offer you a biscuit, Miss, ah ... Pauline ...?’

’Thank you very much, yes.’

And so they focused their attention on the business of stirring their coffee, and choosing a biscuit. The professor returned to the social line of conversation, saying they were delighted to be able to offer their hospitality, in the form of an office, at least while its rightful owner was away on a sabatical, and that he hoped she would feel free to use the facilities. He supposed she had been shown the library – and "more importantly" – the postgraduate students’ and staff coffee room. They laughed together, over this standard joke.

’I’ve, ah, always considered the coffee room, ah, as of vital importance, ah, to the academic process! It is one of the, ah, unfortunately rare occasions that, ah, we have to, ah, exchange ideas and so on, in, ah, a relatively congenial atmosphere. I confess that I, ah, rather regret not being able, ah, to pop in to the coffee room, ah, as often as I once did ... but ... ’ And he waved his hand towards his desk, to indicate that he was no longer free to indulge in the pleasures of academic discussion, with his bureaucratic burdens of office.

He followed up his standard opening with a clearly equally standard invitation to luncheon at his college, if she was free ...

’Hall being, ah, one of the other, ah, relatively congenial settings, for, ah, the exchange of, ah, philosophic considerations between, ah, fellows of, ah, various persuasions ... such as my dear friend Philips, a distinguished, ah, lawyer, who invariably enlightens us with, ah, words of wisdom on the grafting of apple trees, or, ah, the cultivation of cucumbers!’

Pauline smiled her acceptance of his offer, laughing inwardly at her previous frantic preparation for a grilling about matrix elements, the s-level calculations and second-order Coulomb effects! The courteous Oxford professor continued with his set speech, about trying to make sure that every visitor who spent more than a week with them, at the Nuclear Physics department, was introduced to the "more refined" side of Oxford college life, and that he personally liked to extend his invitation to lunch to the ’fresh blood’ which passed through his department. Pauline had no doubts about his being genuine: she could tell that he made the same speech to everyone, regardless of their being man, woman, or "Gay". In fact, she rather regretted her having temporarily distracted him, at the beginning.

As he rose to indicate that he had concluded his little ritual courtesy, he confirmed that he would ’collect’ her, at a quarter past twelve, in order to have time for an aperitive in the fellows’ bar, before luncheon was served. He added something about guests not being expected to conform to the college protocol concerning gowns, and Pauline mumbled something to the effect of being sorry she hadn’t thought to bring her Cambridge gown.

’Ah, yes, of course, you are a Cambridge man – I beg your pardon! A Cambridge woman. Ah, may I ask, ah, which college ...?’

’Queens’ ’Ah! Yes, of course, Queens’. The mathematical bridge, Erasmus, and so on. I don’t, ah, suppose you, ah ... I happen to know your, ah, homonym ... Dr. John Green…?’

’How extra-ordinary! Dr. Green was my director of studies! I’m very much indebted to him …’

’Really’? How extra-ordinary, indeed. Fine man, Green. You’11 have to tell me the latest news, then. Splendid!’

They laughed together, recognising the allusion to Dr. Green’s pronunciation of that particular word. When Prof. Hodgkins expressed surprise that Queens’ had ’gone co-ed’, Pauline explained that she was in fact one of the first women to be admitted to Queens’.

As she was leaving, he called after her, ’Oh, I was almost forgetting.’

She stopped, by the door, to step back into the room.

’We usually invite anyone who is engaged in theoretical research to, ah, give a little talk, if they are spending any length of time with us. Nothing, ah, too complicated – but just to break the ice, ah, in a manner of speaking, and, ah, to create the, ah, opportunity for, ah, a more formal, ah, exchange ... But we can discuss the, ah, details, over luncheon. Until, ah, a quarter past twelve, then ...’

And she mumbled her thanks, as she closed the door behind her.

"Give a little talk"!

The phrase rang in her head. She’d never ... and how was she, a mere post-grad., supposed to "give a little talk" to these professors, whose books and papers she was struggling to understand?!

This was a week ago. She was now half way through her time at Oxford, and the "little talk" had been advertised on the coffee room not;ice board for this morning. She’d had difficulty appearing relaxed while accepting the hospitality of the fellows’ "hall". Luckily, the professor’s set speech about the history and little-known curiosities of the college was intended to be listened to vith a minimum of interaction. He had referred to "the little talk" only to emphasise the importance of being brief and concise, and not to assume that the audience knew more than she did. ’It is as well to assume, ah, that we, ah have never actually, ah, seen a nucleus ...!’

She had suggested, when pressed, the title "Second Order Coulomb Effects, and the Nolan-Schiffer Anomaly", although the learned professor expressed regret that she was unable to invent a less daunting string of words.

The time of the talk, or "seminar", as it was called, was set for half-past eleven. This ensured that people could be "reminded", over coffee, and that there was no risk of the audience being trapped for more than an hour – or an hour and a half at the very outside. On the other hand, if things went well, discussion could reasonably be adjourned to the restaurant.

It also meant that Pauline had time to prepare her notes, check the transparencies which she’d worked on for the last few days, and make sure that the overhead projector was working, in the room which was set aside for such presentations. She also carefully checked her supply of coloured pens for the white board, and reassured herself that her writing, and the wording on the transparencies, could be easily read from the back of the room. She noticed that the room vas prepared for an audience of about twenty, and wondered if she’d abandon the formal style of presentation if, as she expected, only three or four people turned up. After all, she’d never published anything, so why should anyone waste an hour on her seminar?

She hadn’t reckoned on Professor Hodgkin’s discrete but effective diplomacy, however. She realised afterwards that the audience of fourteen was entirely due to his "casual comments" to colleagues and research students. Fourteen was actually quite a respectable number, in the circumstances. Another example of the typical Oxbridge courtesy, she thought to herself, reflecting on the subtle ways in which Oxford and Cambridge still managed to distinguish themselves in terms of an almost forgotten old English grace – even in the unlikely realms of modern nuclear physics.

When she re-entered the room, after a much-needed coffee, she found Prof. Hodgkins already seated in the middle of the front row, with a familiar face beside him. It was David Brock, the co-author of the standard work on angular momentum techniques for nuclear physics calculations! How on earth was she, at twenty-one, supposed to "give a little talk" with the two of them there to pick her up on every little mathematical slip – or hand-waving?!

She felt herself beginning to sweat, and asked if they minded if she opened a window. Professor Hodgkins jumped to his feet, commenting on the unseasonably hot weather, and went to turn up the air conditioning. She went to shuffle through her notes, yet again, and Prof. Brock addressed her with a good natured comment about a proposal of his to insist on summer seminars being arranged "on the river", in future.

’I rather fancy myself, at punting,’ he laughed, ’it’s all a question of having a feel for the Clebsh-Gordon coefficients, when calculating one’s orientation factors!’

Pauline laughed politely, grateful for the way in which these rather over-awing giants of the world of international physics managed to reassure her that they were, in fact, members of the same species.

The rest of the audience arrived in two or three groups, greeting those already present, as they took their seats. When Professor Hodgkins judged that everyone had arrived, he rose to his feet to introduce Pauline, and to repeat the title of her talk, adding, as he presumably did on every such occasion, ’And so I’m, ah, sure that you will, ah, all join with me in, ah, welcoming Miss Green, and, ah, in assuring her that we, ah, may be assumed to be, ah, as someone once said, ah, "infinitely receptive, but infinitely ignorant" about, ah, ...’ and here he looked at the piece of paper in his hand, again, ’ah ... Second Order Coulomb Effects, and, ah, the Nolan, ah, Schiffer Anomaly.’

There was the predictable dry laughter of the audience, and whispered comments about never having heard of the Nolan-Schiffer Anomaly, and would it have something to do with gauge invariance, while Pauline felt the moment of silence reaching up towards her, and threatening to take her by the throat.

What a wonderful invention the overhead projector was, she thought. One had a way of beginning one’s performance which was guaranteed to allow a few moments, at least, for finding one’s voice. She flicked on the switch, and Professor Hodgkins jumped to his feet, again, to show her the switch which dimmed the lights in the room. The audience turned its attention to the screen, and Pauline read, yet again, the title oi her talk.

’I must apologise immediately,’ she began, clearing her throat, ’for the title: but I hope you will bear with me if I start by repeating some of the more-or-less well known theories about nuclear structure, before going on to discuss the more recent work which has been published on the Nolan-Schiffer anomaly, and presenting some of the recent results of our research at Sussex, based on the Sussex matrix elements... Please do interrupt me if I am taking things for granted which I should explain, or if I am being too pedantic about things which I am sure are more familiar to some of you than they are to me.’

There was a polite silence as she presented her first schematic diagram of the nucleus. She had tried not to commit the common error of crowding too much detail, and scribbled formulae, on her first slide. She simply wanted to illustrate the concept oi proton and neutron ’clouds’ with experimentally verified characteristic radiuses.

Professor Hodgkins immediately cleared his throat, to comment. ’Ah, excuse me if I, ah, interrupt you before you, ah, have had a chance to, ah, elaborate ... but I see you have, ah, included figures for the, ah, size of the, ah nucleus.’

Pauline’s heart was pounding. What a nightmare!

The professor continued, slowly and seriously, but slightly turning in his seat, now, to address the question generally, to the assembled experts on nuclear physics. ’I had no idea the, ah, nucleus, was, ah, as big as that, did you?’

Pauline coloured up, as she hastily turned to check the exponential she’d copied on to the transparency, while the audience murmured about the Oxygen nucleus, and scattering experiments.

’No, no!’ he continued, ’I’m sure your data are correct, it’s just, ah, that it’s some time since I, ah, actually …’

Pauline found her reference, and emphasised that she’d taken the oxygen nucleus as her example, because she wanted to lead up to the specific case of the Nolan-Schiffer work, which was based on the oxygen closed-shell, as reference data. Nevertheless, she felt a bit thrown, and attacked her next slide rather hastily, in such a way as to discourage further interruptions.

There was a silence, as she removed the slide of equations she’d prepared to summarise the various shell-model theoretical frameworks, and as she was about to replace it with the next transparency, something happened.

Maybe it was simply that she’d started to read ’The Age of Reason’, and had an image of Ivich in her mind, "seeing herself" opposite a bald chap who was talking about coelenterata. Maybe it was a closing of a psychological parenthesis, opened when she’d stood at the back of the room, earlier, to check the readability of her transparencies. The fact was, she suddenly saw herself seeing herself, from the back of the room.

It was almost like the times you get a delay on the line, for a transatlantic phone call, or an echo, rather, so that you hear your own voice just after having said something. She continued with her presentation, but she felt an absurd, overwhelming desire to talk nonsense. There was this presence, at the back of the room, which pulled her away from herself, insisting that the person talking at the front of the room, and placing this transparency on this overhead projector was an other. She was free, smiling inside, somewhere, to say anything which came into her head, so long as she stayed inside the shell of respectable tone and gesture, and more or less inside the space of mathematical physical words and phrases. Free; foolish; arbitrary; in a nightmare or a dream; in a delimited reality, like a photon in a box, or, perhaps, like Sylvia Plath, screaming in a bell jar.

What would happen if she turned to the presence at the back, and recited her poem?

What if?