Paths of Glory

When he woke the following morning—if he had ever slept—he tried to dismiss her from his thoughts and prepare for the day’s lessons. He dreaded the thought of forty minutes with the lower fifth, having to listen to their opinions of Walter Raleigh and the significance of his importing tobacco from Virginia. If only Guy wasn’t serving as a diplomat on the other side of the world, he could ask his advice about what to do next.

To George, the first lesson that morning felt like the longest forty minutes in history. Wainwright almost made him lose his temper, and for the first time Carter minor got the better of him, but then thankfully the bell tolled. But for whom, he wondered? Not that any of them would have heard of Donne—except perhaps Robert Graves.

As George made his way slowly across the quad to the common room, he rehearsed the lines he’d gone over again and again during the night. He must stick to the script until every one of his questions had been answered, otherwise Andrew would work out what he was up to, and mock him. A hundred years ago George would have challenged him to a duel. Then he remembered which one of them had a boxing blue.

George strode into the main block trying to look confident and relaxed, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As he opened the common room door, he could hear his heart thumping. But what if Andrew wasn’t there? He didn’t think he could go through another lesson with the lower fifth until at least some of his questions had been answered.

Andrew was sitting in his usual place by the window, reading the morning paper. He smiled when he saw George, who poured himself a cup of tea and strolled across to join him. He was annoyed to find that a colleague had just taken the chair next to Andrew, and was busily discussing the iniquities of the school timetable.

George perched himself on the radiator between them. He tried to remember his first question. Ah, yes…

“Good show last night,” said Andrew as he folded his newspaper and turned his attention to George.

“Yes, good show,” George repeated lamely, even though it wasn’t in his script.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

“Had a splendid time,” said George. “Turner’s quite a character.”

“He obviously took a shine to you.”

“Oh, do you think so?”

“Certain of it. I’ve never seen him so animated.”

“Then you’ve known him for some time?” ventured George.

“No, I’ve only been to Westbrook a couple of times, and he hardly opened his mouth.”

“Oh, really?” said George, his first question answered.

“So what did you think of the girls?” asked Andrew.

“The girls?” repeated George, annoyed that Andrew seemed to be asking him all his own questions.

“Yes. Did you take a fancy to any of them? Marjorie clearly couldn’t take her eyes off you.”

“I didn’t notice,” said George. “What about you?”

“Well, it all came as a bit of a surprise, to be frank with you, old chap,” admitted Andrew.

“A bit of a surprise?” said George, hoping he didn’t sound desperate.

“Yes. You see, I didn’t think she had the slightest interest in me.”

“She?”

“Ruth.”

“Ruth?”

“Yes. On my two previous visits, she didn’t give me a second look, but last night she never stopped chatting. I think I might be in with a chance.”

“In with a chance?” George bobbed up.

“Are you all right, Mallory?”

“Of course I am. Why do you ask?”