Heads You Win - Page 30

“I can tell you exactly how she will feel,” said Sasha. The headmaster raised an eyebrow. “She’ll want me to enter for the prize. But then she’s always been far more ambitious for me than she is for herself.”

“Well, you don’t have to reach a decision before the beginning of next term. However, it might be wise to give the matter some serious thought before you make up your mind. Never forget the school motto, ‘paulatim ergo certe.’”

“I’ll try not to,” said Sasha, daring to tease the headmaster.

“And while you’re at it, please warn your mother that I’m taking my wife to Moretti’s for dinner on Saturday evening to celebrate our wedding anniversary, so I hope it’s not her night off.”

Sasha smiled, rose from his chair, and said, “I’ll let her know, sir.”

He decided to take a walk around the school grounds before heading home to tell his mother why the headmaster had wanted to see him. He strolled out onto the close to see that a cricket match was taking place on the square. The school were 146 for 3. Despite his fascination with figures, Sasha hadn’t mastered the subtle nuances of the game. Only the English could invent a game where logic couldn’t determine which side was winning.

He continued walking around the boundary, occasionally glancing up when he heard the smack of leather on willow. When he reached the other side of the ground, he decided to go behind the pavilion so he wouldn’t distract the players. He’d only gone a few yards when his reverie was interrupted by the sound of a girl’s voice coming from the nearby copse. He stopped to listen more carefully. The next voice he heard was one he recognized immediately.

“You know you want it, so why pretend?”

“I never wanted to go this far,” protested the girl, who was clearly crying.

“It’s a bit late to tell me that.”

“Get off me, or I’ll scream.”

“Be my guest. Nobody will hear you.”

The next thing Sasha heard was a loud cry that sent the starlings perched on top of the pavilion scattering high into the air. He ran into the copse to see Tremlett lying on top of a struggling girl whose skirt was pushed up around her waist, her blouse and knickers on the ground by her side.

“Mind your own business, Russki,” said Tremlett, looking up. “She’s only a local tart, so get lost.”

Sasha grabbed Tremlett by the shoulders and dragged him off the girl, who let out an even louder scream. Tremlett cursed Sasha as he picked up his shoes and, remembering the broken nose, sauntered off through the copse.

Sasha was kneeling by the girl’s side, handing her her blouse, when the cricket master and three boys came running out of the back of the pavilion.

“It wasn’t me,” protested Sasha. But when he turned around, expecting the girl to confirm his story, she was already running barefoot across the grass, and never looked back.

* * *

“It wasn’t me,” repeated Sasha after the cricket master had marched him straight to the headmaster’s study and reported what he had witnessed.

“Then who else could it have been?” demanded the headmaster. “Mr. Leigh found you alone with the girl, who was screaming before she ran away. Nobody else was there.”

“There was someone else,” said Sasha, “but I didn’t recognize him.”

“Karpenko, you don’t seem to realize how serious this matter is. As things stand, I have no choice but to suspend you, and place the matter in the hands of the police.”

Sasha stared defiantly at the headmaster and repeated, “He ran away.”

“Who did?”

“I didn’t recognize him.”

“Then you must return home immediately. I strongly advise you to tell your mother exactly what happened, and let’s hope she can bring you to your senses.”

Sasha left the headmaster’s study and made his way slowly home, any thoughts of Trinity or the LSE now far from his mind.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” said his mother when he walked into the kitchen.

He sat down at the table, head in hands, and began to tell her why he’d come home early that afternoon. He’d reached, “I was kneeling by her side…” when there was a loud banging on the front door.

Elena opened it to find two uniformed policemen towering over her. “Are you Mrs. Karpenko?” the first officer asked.

Tags: Jeffrey Archer Historical
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