‘I don’t know,’ said James. ‘What’s the alternative? To just give it all away?’
‘That’s never going to happen,’ said Dandy. ‘Nobody’s ever going to give away their wealth off their own bat; sometimes you just have to take it.’
‘You sound dangerously like a communist,’ said James with a smile.
‘Maybe I am at that, Bucko,’ said Dandy. ‘But this country could do with a mighty kick up the backside.’
‘You think so?’
‘Ah, the French had it right. Vive la révolution!’
‘So what do you think we should do?’ said James. ‘Chop King George’s head off, or put him up against a wall and shoot him like the Tsar?’
Dandy smiled and nodded his head. ‘Maybe. Do you think anything’s ever going to change in this bloody country as long as you have a king?’
‘Does anything need to change?’ said James.
‘God, yes,’ said Dandy.
‘What about the little princesses we saw the other day?’ said James. ‘Would you behead them, too?’
‘You can’t think about the individual, Bucko. In the great scheme of things, the great sweep of history, two little girls don’t account for a great deal. You have to think about the bigger picture.’
‘I still don’t think it could ever be right,’ said James.
‘Sometimes you have to do the right thing for the wrong reasons,’ said Dandy. ‘Or do the wrong thing for the right reasons, if you catch my meaning.’
‘I’m not sure that I do,’ said James. He was intrigued and wanted to carry on the conversation, but Dandy fell quiet and didn’t say anything else until they arrived at their destination: a group of barns and ugly concrete sheds on the outskirts of Slough.
Dandy pulled in through the gates, parked the lorry in a yard and handed James a sheet of paper.
‘Here’s the order,’ he said. ‘I’ll go into the shed and pick up the supplies; you take that in and get it signed off. We don’t need to pay; the college deals with them direct. We just need to get the truck loaded up.’
James crossed the muddy yard to the office and went inside.
A man with a red drinker’s nose and watery eyes sat behind a counter reading the Racing Post and smoking a cigarette. James handed him the list and he gave it a once-over.
‘Fertiliser, weed-killer, sulphur powder, silver paint. It’s all there waiting to be picked up.’ He licked his lips, signed the list and stamped it, then he handed a receipt to James to sign.
‘So Eton’s getting the boys to do all the work now, I see?’
‘I’m just helping out a friend,’ said James.
‘Well, don’t go too near some of them sacks, son. It’s nasty stuff, a lot of it. That’s the thing with plants and flowers, if you want them to look lovely and fresh and colourful it seems you’ve got to cover them with all sorts of poisons and chemicals these days. Potassium chlorate, potassium permanganate, saltpetre, sulphur powder, I don’t know – ’spect you know all about that from your science classes but it’s not my idea of gardening. Still, it pays my keep, so I’m not complaining.’
James went out just as Dandy and another man were loading the last of the sacks on to the back of the lorry. He scrambled up into the cab and waited for Dandy, who appeared a minute later and started up the lorry.
‘There’s a lot of it,’ said James as they set off back to Eton.
‘There’s a lot of grounds at the school,’ said Dandy. ‘It owns half the land around here.’
‘I suppose once you’ve shot the King you’ll burn the school down,’ said James.
‘Maybe I will,’ said Dandy.
‘Well, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of boys willing to help.’
The two of them laughed, then Dandy turned to James with a serious look on his face.
‘You’re keen on our Roan, aren’t you, James?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ah, don’t think I haven’t noticed, Bucko.’
‘Noticed what?’
‘I saw the way you were looking at her in the park, like a lovesick mooncalf.’
‘I wasn’t,’ James protested.
‘Weren’t you, now? Well, let me tell you something, James. You can’t be too careful around that one. She’s probably told you she’s a witch? Well, you’d better believe it. Watch out for her. Keep away from her. A girl can cause you a great deal more pain than a bullet.’
James bumped into Pritpal when he got back to Codrose’s. He had hardly seen anything of his two messmates since Bentinck had punished them over the bread incident. They seemed to be avoiding him and James took the opportunity to ask Pritpal about it.
‘We were looking forward to you coming back,’ said Pritpal sadly. ‘We thought you were going to be our saviour, our knight in shining armour, but instead you have only made things worse.’
‘That’s not fair,’ said James. ‘It isn’t my fault that Bentinck’s a damned sadist.’
‘You like trouble, James,’ said Pritpal. ‘You need excitement in your life, and danger, but we don’t. And now your love of danger is going to make life impossible for us.’
‘So you’re going to have nothing to do with me?’
Pritpal couldn’t look at him. He scratched his nose and stared at the floor.
‘I have never been so miserable in my life,’ he said. ‘I used to enjoy school. Life was fun, but not any more. I dread waking up in the mornings and having to face another day, another day of creeping around in fear, another day pretending to like games, another day of trying to join in, to please Bentinck.’
‘If there was anything I could do,’ James protested, ‘I would do it. But what can I do?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Pritpal. ‘I wish I did. I think it’s best, though, if in the meantime you do nothing. Nothing at all.’
He walked away, his head bowed. At that moment Bentinck appeared, marching down the corridor with two other boys from Library in tow. Pritpal cringed out of his way and flattened himself against the wall.
When Bentinck came to James, James found himself standing stiff and straight, as if to attention.
As soon as he realised that he was doing it he hated himself. And he hated Bentinck for making him feel this way. But he let the boys pass without doing or saying anything.
He walked wearily towards his room. On the way he passed the corridor where Roan’s room was and he made a quick decision. He checked to see that there was nobody around and then knocked on her door.
‘Who is it?’
‘James Bond.’
In a moment Roan’s face was in the open doorway, her dark eyes shining.
‘And just what can I do for you, young man?’ she said, the ghost of a smile playing around her full lips. ‘Knocking on a girl’s door like this.’
‘I need someone to talk to,’ said James.
‘And you want to talk to me?’
James shrugged.
‘Come in, then, you daft beggar.’
James went in and sat down on a hard wooden chair by the window. The room was very similar to his, but Roan had tried to make it her own with a few personal items: a picture of Ireland on one wall, a patchwork quilt on the bed, a little woven rug on the floor.
‘So what’s the matter with you, then?’ she asked, sitting down on the bed.
‘I’m confused and I don’t have anyone else to talk to.’
‘What about your friends?’
‘They’re avoiding me like the plague. They think I’ll get them into trouble.’
‘And will you?’
‘It’s Bentinck, he’s got the whole House terrified.’
‘Ah, you mustn’t worry about him. He thinks you’re a threat to his power and he’s scared of you.’
‘He’s taking it out on my friends. They can’t stand up to him.’
‘And is it them you’re feeling sorry for, or yourself?’
‘Well…’ James sighed. ‘Both.’
‘It’s a m
ean old world sometimes, darling. And we none of us know the best way to cope with it. And you, you’re just a boy, you can’t be expected to always know what to do.’
‘I used to think I did.’
‘You’re growing up, James. You’re finding out that things aren’t as simple as you thought. You’ve been running hard, James, I can see that in you, and when you’re running things are simple. It’s when you stop running they get complicated. Why do you think men throw themselves into their work, or go happily off to war, or try to walk to the North Pole or climb the highest mountain? They’re escaping real life, James, with all its problems. Problems that can’t be sorted by running or fighting.’
‘It’s the only way I know,’ said James.
‘You’re a blunt object, aren’t you, darling? Oh, I’m not saying you haven’t got any hidden depths. Because I know there’s a lot going on beyond that cool surface of yours. You’re a lot more grown-up and interesting than most boys your age. But you’d still rather take on the world with your fists than with your brain, or with your heart. You’ve got to learn to use your heart, because, if you don’t, it’ll become weak. And a weak heart is easily broken. If someone wants to hurt you badly, they’ll aim their arrows at that heart of yours.’
James was very aware of the nearness of Roan in the small room. He had a powerful urge to lean forward and kiss her, but he remembered what Dandy had said. But why had he said it? Was he trying to keep James away so that he could have Roan to himself? And what did Roan feel for the Irishman?
‘I saw Dandy today,’ he said casually.
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Did you know him before?’ James asked. ‘I mean before you came to Eton?’
Roan jumped up off the bed.
‘Come along, you need to go to your room, James. It’s too risky you staying here. If Bentinck knew you were consorting with a common maid again, he’d probably beat you and every other boy in the House. He’d probably try to beat me as well, but if he did, it’d be the last thing he ever did on this earth.’
James went to the door. Just as he was about to leave, Roan stopped him.
‘Be careful around Dandy,’ she said.
‘That’s exactly what he said about you,’ James replied as he went out of the room, more confused than when he’d come in.
17
Science is Not a Boring Subject
James was standing with a boisterous gang of Eton boys waiting to buy a flower from the old woman on Barnespool Bridge who set up her stall there every year. This was another ritual of the Fourth of June celebrations.
James remembered how last year the day had been ruined by his friend Mark Goodenough trying to kill himself when he found out that his father had been murdered. He prayed that today would be different.
As he paid for his flower and slotted it into the buttonhole in his lapel, he thought about how easily he was slipping into the unchanging routine of Eton, how quickly he was accepting its strange traditions. Already he felt an old hand at this. This was his world now, his life for the next four years.
He watched three boys in Pop strut past in their gaudy waistcoats, lording it up over the lesser boys. He looked ahead to the time when he would be one of them, having been witness to countless other Eton rituals along the way.
And then what? He had no father’s footsteps to follow in, no expectations from his parents. His future was a blank book, and he could write in it whatever he wanted.
There was his Aunt Charmian, of course, who had looked after him ever since his parents had died, but she led an unconventional life herself and had never tried to steer James in any particular direction or map out his future for him. It wasn’t that she didn’t care; it was rather that she had always encouraged James to be his own man.
He would be seeing his aunt later. She was coming to Eton just as she had last year. James checked his brand-new watch. She would be here soon. He was going to meet her by the Burning Bush, the elaborately decorated streetlamp that was a handy local landmark.
As he was heading back up the High Street he met Pritpal and Tommy coming the other way. They both looked rather shifty.
They said hello and James assured them that he wasn’t angry with them for avoiding him.
‘I know how hard it must be for you,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry if I’ve made things worse. I promise I’m going to do something about it, and in the meantime, I’m going to try my damnedest to stay out of trouble. You’re going to see a new James Bond. Your friendship means a lot to me, and I’d hate to foul things up.’
Pritpal smiled sheepishly. ‘It’s all right, James,’ he said. ‘I was feeling particularly low when I saw you yesterday. It is not fair of us to blame you.’
‘All the same,’ said James, ‘I’m going to be considerably more level-headed in future. I shall be the model schoolboy. No more adventures.’
Tommy laughed. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘Just you wait and see,’ said James and he carried on up the High Street. He had not gone more than ten paces, however, when he was stopped in his tracks, as solidly as if he’d just walked into a brick wall.
Suddenly all the promises he had made to his friends seemed very hollow.
Standing outside Spottiswoode’s, staring at the display in the shop window, was a familiar figure. A woman. She had her back to him, but it was a back he would never forget.
No, it couldn’t be her. He must be imagining it.
He moved into the shade of a building and waited for the woman to turn around so that he could be sure.
He studied her carefully, taking in all the details. The stout black shoes, the grey stockings and skirt, the matching jacket that was too small for the stocky, muscular, peasant frame, its seams straining as if about to burst apart. The chunky head sitting like a boulder on the broad shoulders. The hair, grey like the rest of her, and cut short…
Colonel Sedova. Known within the Russian secret service as Babushka, the grandmother.
It couldn’t be anyone else.
The only thing different was the hat. A ridiculous round shapeless object decorated with flowers that looked utterly out of place on that solid grey foundation.
Come on… Turn around. Let me get a good look at you.
A noisy group of parents and sightseers in festive mood came along the pavement and swept past Spottiswoode’s. When they had gone, so had the figure in grey.
James cursed and knocked his fist against his forehead. It couldn’t have been Sedova. What would she be doing here at Eton? He had last seen her disappearing down a tunnel beneath London after a day of bloodshed and carnage. James had destroyed her plans to build a massive decoding machine and could have shot her. In the end he had decided that there had been enough killing for one day and he had let her go.
Had that been a terrible mistake?
What was going on?
A tangle of confused thoughts swam up from the murkier depths of his brain where he had kept them pushed down out of the way. If only he could make sense of them. It was as if there was something important going on in a room, but he was trapped on the other side of the door, and no matter how hard he battered on it he couldn’t get in.
There was an odd assortment of people inside the room. The Invisible Man, Theo Bentinck, Dandy O’Keefe, Roan Power, Graf von Schlick, Prince Edward, and now Sedova.
It was quite a party.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice someone waving at him until he had virtually walked into them.
‘James. You’ve got your head in a cloud!’
It was Charmian, standing outside School Library, shaking her head.
James grinned and said hello, kissing her on the cheek, all dark thoughts instantly forgotten. Charmian was wearing a simple narrow-waisted cream-coloured suit and a man’s hat tilted down over one eye. She couldn’t have looked more different from the other mothers and aunts, who had taken the opportunity to show off their most expensive summer dre
sses and jewellery.
‘And look who’s here,’ said Charmian.
There was such a crowd that James hadn’t noticed a girl standing patiently at Charmian’s side.
She was about sixteen, pretty and self-assured, but with a rather sad, faraway look about her.
With a shock James realised it was Mark Goodenough’s sister, Amy. They had shared many adventures together last summer in Sardinia when James had rescued her from the hands of a crazed Italian count.
‘Amy,’ he said, and her face brightened into a smile as he gave her a quick kiss.
She looked different, older, more of a woman and less of a girl.
James felt slightly awkward. He hadn’t really kept in touch after the summer; there had been too much going on in his life. They had exchanged a couple of letters at first, but perhaps because their time together had been so intense, so filled with danger and fear, it had made it harder for them to keep up any kind of proper relationship back in the real world.
‘So, what are you doing here?’ James asked.
‘I have a cousin,’ said Amy, making a face. Even her voice was different, lower, more grown-up sounding. ‘A horrid little boy called Philip. Well, I call him a cousin, he’s actually more of a third cousin twice removed or something; it just seems easier to call him a cousin. His parents are out in India and couldn’t make it today. That’s him over there with my aunt and uncle.’
She nodded to where a skinny little fourth-former stood chatting to a well-dressed man and woman.
‘Actually, he was just an excuse,’ Amy went on. ‘I really wanted to see you. I called Charmian and she told me where you were meeting.’
‘It’s lovely to see you,’ said James, hoping it didn’t sound forced or false. ‘Are those the relatives you live with now?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You and I are in the same boat.’ Amy smiled, but the sad, distant look returned to her eyes.
‘I’ve not been back here since Mark left,’ she said quietly. ‘It all seems like another life, now.’