Jeffrey Archer - Paths Of Glory

“Madame Matterhorn,” he replied. “It’s my intention to leave a calling card during the Easter vacation.” He took another sip of his cold coffee before asking, “And where will you be spending Easter, Miss Turner?”

“Father is taking us to Venice in April. A city that I suspect would not meet with your approval, Mr. Mallory, as it languishes only a few feet above sea level.”

“It’s not only elevation that matters, Miss Turner. ‘Underneath day’s azure eyes, ocean’s nursling, Venice lies, a peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite’s destined halls.’”

“So you admire Shelley,” said Ruth as she placed her empty cup back on a side table.

George was about to reply when the clock on the mantelpiece struck once to indicate that it was half past the hour. Andrew rose from his place and, turning to his host, said, “It’s been a delightful evening, sir, but perhaps the time has come for us to take our leave.”

George glanced at his watch: 10:30. The last thing he wanted to do was take his leave, but Turner was already on his feet, and Marjorie was heading toward him. She gave him a warm smile. “I do hope that you’ll come and see us again soon, Mr. Mallory.”

“I hope so too,” said George, while still looking in Ruth’s direction.

Mr. Turner smiled. He might not have defeated Mallory, but one of his daughters certainly had the measure of him.

G EORGE DIDN’T WANTAndrew to discover what he was up to.

He couldn’t get Ruth out of his mind. He had never come across such serene beauty, such delightful company, and all he had managed to do, when left alone with her, was stare into those blue eyes and make a complete fool of himself. And the more she smiled at Andrew, the more desperate he had become, quite unable to come up with a witty comment, or even to manage polite conversation.

How much he had wanted to hold her hand, but Mildred had kept distracting him, allowing Andrew to retain Ruth’s attention. Did she have any interest in him at all or had Andrew already spoken to her father? During dinner he had watched the two of them deep in conversation. He had to find out what they had talked about. He had never felt so pathetic in his life.

George had observed smitten men in the past, and had simply dismissed them as deluded fools. But now he had joined their number and, even worse, his goddess appeared to favor another creature. Andrew isn’t worthy of her, George said out loud before he fell asleep. But then he realized that neither was he.

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?”

“Well, it’s just that you keep repeating everything I say.”

“Everything you say? Do I?” said George, sitting back down on the radiator. “Then you’ll be hoping to see Ruth again, will you?” he ventured, at last getting in one of his questions.

“Well, that’s the funny thing,” said Andrew. “Just after dinner, the old man took me to one side and invited me to join the family in Venice over Easter.”

“And did you accept?” asked George, horrified by the very idea.

“Well, I’d like to, but there’s a slight complication.”

“A slight complication?”

“You’re at it again,” said Andrew.

“Sorry,” replied George. “What’s the complication?”

“I’ve already committed myself to a hockey tour of the West Country at Easter, and as I’m the only goalkeeper available, I don’t feel I can let the team down.”

“Certainly not,” said George, having to jump up again. “That would be damn bad form.”

“Quite,” said Andrew. “But I think I may have come up with a compromise.”

“A compromise?”

“Yes. If I were to miss the last match, I could take the boat train from Southampton on the Friday evening and be in Venice by Sunday morning, which would mean I could still spend a whole week with the Turners.”

“A whole week?” said George.

“I put the idea to the old man, and he seemed quite agreeable, so I’ll be joining them during the last week of March.”

That was all George needed to know. He jumped off the radiator, the seat of his trousers scorched.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Mallory? You seem quite distracted this morning.”