“I know I did. And I got it. Between the eyes.” He was ready to turn and face them now, the faintest of smiles wry at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry! I know when I’m licked. Even if I never had much practice, I can still be a sporting loser when there’s no help for it. I apologise, Tim, it was a dirty trick. It won’t happen again. Ever.”
“I tried to warn you,” said Phil in a very low voice.
“I know you did. I ought to have remembered that most women never bet anything that really matters to them, except on certainties. I won’t forget again.”
“Simon,” she said impulsively, gripping Tim’s hand tightly, because of course Tim didn’t understand, and probably never would, “settle for what you can get. There is something that belongs to you. I know it isn’t what you wanted, but it’s too good to throw away.”
Simon came across the room to her, took her chin in his hand, and kissed her. “God bless you, Phil! I’ll take any crumb that’s offered. But I don’t deserve a damn’ thing, and I won’t ask for anything again. After to-morrow, I promise, you won’t be bothered with me any more.”
CHAPTER XI
MONDAY MORNING
« ^
PADDY CAME DOWN next morning pale and quiet, but resolutely calm, and very much in command of himself and circumstances. There were the blessed, beastly, ordinary details of returning to school to be taken care of, and no drama at all, and no opportunity for introspection. He had worked out his own course overnight, even before his mother had looked in almost guiltily to kiss him good-night all over again, and found him composed and ready for sleep. He had been glad to be visited, all the same; it’s fine not to need comfort, but it’s nice to know that it’s ready and waiting if you should want it.
“I hope I wasn’t rude, Mummy. I didn’t mean to be. I was a bit pushed, not having any warning.”
“I know. Don’t worry, you weren’t rude.” She tucked him in, a piece of pure self-indulgence, for Paddy had never looked so adult and self-sufficient as he did now. He smiled up at her with understanding and affection, but very gravely.
“Mummy—will he be all right?”
“He’ll be all right. We’ll see that he is.” She was quick to know what he wanted. It was she who made a point of inviting Simon to drive in with them to the station, and so gave Paddy himself the opportunity of seconding the invitation.
“Yes, do come. Of course there’s plenty of room. My trunk’s gone on ahead, there’s only a small case to take.” So there were four of them in the Mini on the way to the station, Simon in the front seat beside Tim, the pair of them taciturn as yet; Paddy and his mother in the back, cosy and a little disconsolate together. There’s something at once damping and heartening about the beginning of a new term.
“It was a lovely holiday, darling, I’m sorry it’s over. Don’t forget to write every week-end. There’ll be ructions if you don’t.”
“I’ll be chivvied into it, don’t worry. But I wouldn’t forget, anyhow. Cheer up, it won’t be long till Christmas.” It seemed an age away, but he knew from experience how soon it would be sitting on the doorstep. He nuzzled Phil’s shoulder briefly and happily; and presently a corner of his mind defected flightily to consider the Middle School’s football prospects for the new season, even before he had taken care of all his responsibilities here at home.
They disembarked beside the blonde wooden fence of the station approach, and unloaded the suitcase with due ceremony, already worrying vainly about whether anything had been forgotten.
“I’ll say good-bye here,” said Simon, with the right lightness of tone, if not of heart. “I’ve got a call I want to make in the town. So long, Paddy, have a good journey. And a good term!”
“Thanks very much!” He had saved it until then, to give it its maximum effect. He gripped Simon’s hand with warmth, but still with some reserve. “Good-bye,—” His face flamed, but the blue eyes never wavered. “—Uncle Simon!”
Simon turned away briskly, and walked the length of the light-brown barrier with an even pace and a jaunty bearing, balancing with care the great, hollow ache of Paddy’s charity within him; and alongside the extreme end of the platform a lean quiet man was propped against the fence with arms folded, watching the lower school starlings gather and shrill greetings, and the self-conscious young cock-pheasants of the sixth stroll from their parents’ sides to knot themselves into world-weary conversations with their own kind. They had about as much control over their sophistication as over their feet, and their graces were as endearing as one’s first-born’s fledgling efforts on the amateur stage. The in-betweens, like Paddy, had the best of both worlds, rollercoasting without pretence from lofty dignity to uninhibited horseplay, and back again. They could even stand and wait, as Paddy did, warmly linked with their parents, and openly happy to have them close for a few more minutes; for they had outgrown homesickness and quite forgotten the ancient dread of tears, but had not yet grown into that extreme state of senior self-consciousness which scorns to have had a human origin at all, and prefers not to have its parents around for fear they shall somehow fall short of the ideal image.
“On the whole,” said George Felse, turning from the spectacle with the small, private smile still on his lips, “I must say they inspire me with a degree of self-satisfaction. Wouldn’t it be simpler, though, to put boy and trunk and paraphernalia into the Land- Rover, and just drive them the twelve miles there, and tip ’em out?”
“They wouldn’t consider it for a moment. This always has been the school train, and it always will be. It’s better for the little ones,” said Simon. “By the time they get there the ice is well and truly broken, and they’ve been doused a couple of times, and got over the cold and the shock, even begun to enjoy it. Twelve miles is just long enough.”
“I see,” said George, falling into step beside him, “you’ve got the basic knowledge necessary to a father.”
“But not the other basic requirements. Cigarette?” They halted for a moment over the lighted match, faces close, and again fell into step together. Simon drew in smoke hungrily, and let it go in a long, soundless sigh. “Yes—I promised you a solution, didn’t I?”
“You promised, at least, to let me know whether you could provide one or not. When you’d asked your final question.”
“I’ve asked it. And it’s been answered.” He walked for a minute in silence, his eyes on the ground. “Not that I really have anything to tell you. You already know—don’t you?”
“I’ve known all along,” said George, “who put him there. I didn’t know who’d killed him until Miss Rachel mentioned that you were sitting on the lawn talking to her about Paddy, the afternoon he was there in the garden, picking plums. Only a few hours before he died. And even now,” he said with intent, “I couldn’t prove it.”
“I shouldn’t worry,” said Simon. “You don’t have to prove it. Paddy turned me down.”
Silence for a moment. They walked together equably, down the cobbled paving of a narrow street leading towards the town. Behind them, in the heathy fringes of the uplands, a train whistle sounded.
“If Paddy had opted for me—but I see I was mad ever to think he might—I’d have kept my mouth tight shut and ridden it out, and let you prove it if you could. I’d have taken him and got out. But he turned me down. Flatter than I’ve ever been turned down in my life, and harder. And now, do you know, on the whole I find myself preferring it this way. My instincts are incurably on the side of justice, after all.” He dug his hands deep into his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the sudden cold wind from the sea. “I gathered last night that you knew already Paddy was—or rather used to be—mine.”