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  She took a key out of her housecoat but before she handed it over she said, ‘Then that will be one pound, in advance.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Sebastian. He reached into his trouser pocket, only to find it was empty. He tried another pocket, and then another, but there was no sign of his money. He finally fell to his knees, opened his suitcase, and began frantically searching among his clothes.

  Mrs Tibbet placed her hands on her hips, her smile no longer on display. Sebastian rummaged in vain among his clothes until he finally gave up, collapsed on to the bed and prayed that Tibby would be more sympathetic than the headmaster.

  The headmaster checked into his room at the Reform Club and had a quick bath before changing into his dinner jacket. He checked his bow tie in the mirror above the washbasin, then returned downstairs to join his host.

  Nick Judd, the chairman of the Old Boys, was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and led his guest of honour into the reception room, where they joined other members of the committee at the bar.

  ‘What will you have to drink, headmaster?’ asked the chairman.

  ‘Just a dry sherry, please.’

  Judd’s next words disconcerted him. ‘Allow me to be the first to congratulate you,’ he said after he’d ordered the drinks, ‘on the school being awarded the top scholarship to Peterhouse. A worthy accolade to crown your final year.’

  The headmaster said nothing, but realized that the three lines he had crossed out of his speech would have to be reinstated. The news of Clifton’s expulsion needn’t come out until later. After all, the boy had won the scholarship, and that wouldn’t change until he had spoken to the admissions tutor at Cambridge in the morning.

  Unfortunately, the chairman wasn’t the only person to refer to Clifton’s achievement, and by the time the headmaster rose to deliver his annual report, he saw no reason to let the assembled gathering know what he had planned to do the following day. He was surprised that the announcement of the top scholarship received such prolonged applause.

  The speech was well received, and when Dr Banks-Williams sat down, so many Old Boys came up to the top table to wish him a happy retirement that he nearly missed the last train back to Beechcroft. No sooner had he settled down in his first-class compartment than his thoughts returned to Sebastian Clifton. He began to write down a few words for his address to morning assembly: ‘standards’, ‘decency’, ‘honour’, ‘discipline’ and ‘respect’ came to mind, and by the time the train pulled into Beechcroft, he had completed the first draft.

  When he handed in his ticket, he was relieved to see his wife sitting in the car waiting for him, despite the late hour.

  ‘How did you get on?’ she asked, even before he’d pulled the car door closed.

  ‘I think I can say my speech was well received, given the circumstances.’

  ‘The circumstances?’

  By the time they had reached the headmaster’s house, he had told his wife all about the unfortunate encounter with Clifton that had taken place on the train to London.

  ‘And what do you intend to do about it?’ she asked as he unlocked the front door.

  ‘He’s left me with no choice. I shall announce at morning assembly that Clifton has been expelled, and therefore sadly will not be taking up his place at Cambridge in September.’

  ‘Isn’t that a little draconian?’ suggested Mrs Banks-Williams. ‘After all, he may well have had a good reason for being on the London train.’

  ‘Then why did he leave the carriage the moment he saw me?’

  ‘He probably didn’t want to spend the whole journey with you, my dear. After all, you can be quite intimidating.’

  ‘But don’t forget, I also caught him smoking,’ he said, ignoring her comment.

  ‘Why shouldn’t he? He was off the premises, and no longer in statu pupillari.’

  ‘I made it quite clear that school rules would apply to him until the end of term, otherwise he would have to face the consequences.’

  ‘Would you care for a nightcap, my dear?’

  ‘No, thank you. I must try and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow isn’t going to be easy.’

  ‘For you, or for Clifton?’ she enquired before turning the light out.

  Sebastian sat on the end of the bed and told Mrs Tibbet everything that had taken place that day. He left nothing out, even showing her the letter the headmaster had written.

  ‘Don’t you think it might be wise to go home? After all, your parents will be worried to death if you’re not there when they get back. And in any case, you can’t be certain the headmaster is going to expel you.’

  ‘Believe me, Mrs Tibbet, Hilly-Billy will have made up his mind, and he’ll announce his decision at assembly tomorrow.’

  ‘You should still go home.’

  ‘I can’t, after letting them down. The one thing they’ve always wanted was for me to go to Cambridge. They’ll never forgive me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ said Mrs Tibbet. ‘My father always used to say, if you’ve got a problem, sleep on it before you make a decision you might later regret. Things always look rosier in the morning.’

  ‘But I haven’t even got anywhere to sleep.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Mrs Tibbet said, placing an arm around his shoulder. ‘You can spend the night here. But not on an empty stomach, so once you’ve unpacked, come down and join me in the kitchen.’

  30

  ‘I’VE GOT A PROBLEM with table three,’ said the waitress as she barged through the door and into the kitchen.

  ‘What sort of problem, Janice?’ asked Mrs Tibbet calmly, cracking two eggs and dropping them into a large frying pan.

  ‘I can’t understand a word they’re saying.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Mr and Mrs Ferrer. I think they’re French. All you need to know is un, deux and oeuf.’ Janice didn’t look convinced. ‘Just speak slowly,’ said Mrs Tibbet, ‘and don’t raise your voice. It’s not their fault they can’t speak English.’

  ‘Would you like me to have a word with them?’ asked Sebastian as he put down his knife and fork.

  ‘Can you speak French?’ asked Mrs Tibbet, placing the pan back on the Aga.

  ‘Yes I can.’

  ‘Then be my guest.’

  Sebastian rose from the kitchen table and accompanied Janice back to the dining room. All nine tables were occupied, and Janice walked across to a middle-aged couple who were seated in the far corner of the room.

  ‘Bonjour, monsieur,’ said Sebastian. ‘Comment puis-je vous aider?’

  The startled guest gave Sebastian a puzzled look. ‘Somos español.’

  ‘Buenas dias, señ or. Cómo puedo ayudarle?’ said Sebastian. Janice waited while Mr and Mrs Ferrer had finished speaking to him. ‘Volveré en uno momento,’ said Sebastian, and returned to the kitchen.

  ‘So what do our French friends want?’ asked Mrs Tibbet, as she cracked two more eggs.

  ‘They’re Spanish, not French,’ said Sebastian, ‘and they’d like some lightly toasted brown bread, a couple of three-minute boiled eggs and two cups of black coffee.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes, directions to the Spanish Embassy.’

  ‘Janice, you serve their coffee and toast while I take care of the eggs.’

  ‘And what can I do?’ asked Sebastian.

  ‘There’s a telephone directory on the hall table. Look up the Spanish Embassy, then find a map and show them how to get there.’

  ‘By the way,’ Sebastian said, placing a sixpence on the table, ‘they gave me this.’

  Mrs Tibbet smiled. ‘Your first tip.’

  ‘The first money I’ve ever earned,’ said Sebastian, pushing the coin across the table. ‘So now I only owe you three and six.’ He left the kitchen without another word and picked up the telephone directory from the hall table. He looked up the Spanish Embassy and, after finding it on a map, he told Mr and Mrs Ferrer how to get to Chesham Place. A few moments later he returned to the kitc