By Royal Command

  ‘It must be a pleasant feeling in a way, though,’ said James. ‘Knowing what your future holds. Not having a mother and a father, my future is a little more uncertain. There’s no family business. There’s nobody who really expects anything of me.’

  ‘You’re free to make your own life,’ said Andrew.

  ‘But who knows what might happen?’ said James. ‘Think of all those young men, before the Great War, who were just like you. They thought they knew the exact paths their lives would run along, but they ended up getting blown to bits in muddy trenches.’

  ‘When you put it like that,’ said Andrew, suddenly rubbing his name out and clearing the window, ‘then my life doesn’t seem quite so bad.’

  They arrived at the clinic to find a large black Rolls-Royce parked on the forecourt, with a uniformed driver standing proudly next to it under an umbrella.

  ‘That’ll be Miles’s people,’ said Andrew as they climbed out of the taxi. ‘His father’s rolling in it.’

  Once inside the clinic they were directed to the sun terrace to wait for Miles. Despite the cold weather and the drizzle several patients were sitting out under umbrellas in Bath chairs, wrapped in blankets. By himself, off to one side, sat a man with a shaved head, his back turned to the others, staring out at the mist-shrouded mountains. He was wearing a high cravat tied round his neck and white cotton gloves, presumably to hide scars.

  As James came out on to the terrace the man turned and looked at him.

  He had had extensive surgery to his face. There was livid purple and yellow bruising around his ears and neckline, dotted with nasty black scabs, but the skin on his face was smooth and tight so that he appeared to be wearing a mask. The surgeons had done a very good job – if James hadn’t known that the man must have once been disfigured in some way, he would not have been able to tell. He looked bland and incurious. Even his eyes showed no emotion.

  We learn so much about a person from their face. We can read every line on it. Yet it was almost as if this man had no face at all. It was impossible to read him.

  James turned away, unnerved by the direct stare, and when, a few moments later, he glanced back, the man was still looking at him. He sat very still. He might have been a mannequin, a dummy in a shop window, for all the animation he showed.

  James was relieved when the uneasy mood was broken by the arrival of Miles, hobbling awkwardly out on to the terrace on his crutches accompanied by his parents. His mother was wearing a long fur coat; his father sported a gleaming top hat and a magnificent set of bristling whiskers. If he had been wearing the fur coat he would have looked like some sort of exotic wild animal.

  ‘James,’ Miles shouted, smiling broadly. ‘I’m so glad you came.’

  He tried to shake hands without falling over, and then introduced his parents. His mother was a little distant, but his father seemed genuinely pleased to meet James and shook him briskly by the hand.

  ‘I was worried I’d be leaving without seeing you again,’ said Miles. ‘I never properly thanked you for saving my bacon. I behaved like an ass, I’m afraid, but I was very scared and trying not to show it.’

  ‘Well, it was all rather terrifying,’ said James.

  ‘Come off it,’ said Miles. ‘You don’t fool me; you weren’t scared for a moment.’

  Before James could protest any further Mr Langton-Herring slapped him across the back.

  ‘You must look us up when you are back in England, young man,’ he said. ‘I should very much like to show you our appreciation for looking after Miles.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said James. ‘But you really don’t need to go to any trouble.’

  Mr Langton-Herring leant close to him.

  ‘Let me give you a word of advice, young fellow-my-lad,’ he said with a friendly wink. ‘Learn to accept praise when it’s sent your way, and be gracious when someone offers thanks. Nobody likes false modesty, eh?’

  ‘I shall remember that,’ said James.

  ‘See that you do,’ said Mr Langton-Herring, and he led the little group back through the clinic to the front entrance.

  On the way James asked Miles who the man with the shaved head was.

  ‘Oh, that would be the Graf von Schlick,’ said Miles. ‘They operated on him the other day. It all went very well, but he’s had a bit of bad news. His wife died in some sort of an accident in Vienna.’

  ‘Poor chap,’ said James.

  ‘He was in a motorcar smash,’ Miles explained. ‘Pretty badly burned. They operated on the other driver at the same time. Sadly he didn’t make it.’

  ‘I think I saw them,’ said James. ‘Before the operation. It must have been them. One of them was raving about his cousin, Jürgen .’

  It was still drizzling when they came back outside. Miles was helped into the Rolls-Royce. There were waves and shouted farewells and then the car slid almost silently out of the forecourt. James noticed for the first time another car that had been hidden behind it, a black Lagonda. A driver was sitting at the wheel cleaning his nails with a penknife. Miles was obviously not the only patient being let out today.

  As he walked back towards the taxi with Andrew, James glanced up to see the Graf von Schlick emerging through the big brass-studded double doors of the clinic. He was wearing a long, black astrakhan overcoat that came almost down to the ground, black leather gloves and a black fur hat covering his bald head. Once more he stared at James with that disconcerting blank look.

  A second man came out and muttered something. It was the manservant with the swollen eyelids. He took hold of the Graf by the elbow and led him down the steps.

  So it must have been the Graf ranting about his cousin that night in the private room, and now his manservant was taking him home.

  It wasn’t clear, though, if the servant was supporting him or leading him.

  The man in the astrakhan coat kept his eyes fixed on James all the way to the Lagonda. He got in, the doors slammed and the car sped off in a spray of dirty water. ‘Does he know you?’ asked Andrew as they followed in their taxi.

  ‘The Graf? I don’t think so,’ said James. ‘That is, I mean to say – no, he doesn’t know me at all. Or at least I don’t know him. I saw him once before when I was at the clinic. It was night time; he was delirious.’

  ‘Well, he was certainly giving you a look,’ said Andrew.

  ‘Yes,’ said James. ‘It’s strange. I can’t help thinking that he’s somehow familiar. That I knew him before I came here. I’m confused, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘He spooked me a little,’ said Andrew.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about him,’ said James. ‘We’re never going to see him again. In a few days we’ll be back at Eton.’

  Andrew made a strangled noise. ‘Damn you, James,’ he said. ‘I’d managed to forget all about school.’

  Part Two: ETON

  10

  Bloody Bentinck

  ‘I don’t see you for four months, James, and you come back looking older. Older but no wiser, I might add. I hardly recognise you.’ James’s messmate, Pritpal Nandra, was sitting by the fire in his room, warming his feet.

  ‘Well, you haven’t changed a bit, Pritpal,’ said James, sitting down opposite his friend. ‘Except you’re perhaps a little fatter.’

  ‘Less of your cheek,’ said Pritpal. ‘I’ll have you know that I have actually lost some weight. I have taken up ping-pong and I am becoming quite a master at it. For once there will be something that I am better at than you.’

  It was James’s first evening back at school. He had arrived an hour earlier and gone straight to his room to unpack before meeting his housemates. Everything was very familiar and yet somehow slightly different at the same time. He was conscious that he had been away and missed part of the year. There were subtle changes. Pritpal had some new pictures on his wall and some new furniture. He was at home here, settled nicely into the routine at Eton, and James felt slightly awkward, like an outsider.

  In a moment, though, James
’s other messmate, Tommy Chong, came in, swearing loudly as he launched into a story about being attacked by an over-friendly dog in Judy’s Passage. Soon they were all three eating toast and drinking tea and it was as if James had never been away.

  ‘I am most upset that you never received any of my letters in Mexico,’ said Pritpal.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said James. ‘I think I caught up on most of the gossip in Austria. You know, when you’re here at school, everything seems hugely important, but when you’re away it doesn’t seem to matter so.’

  ‘Ah, the great globetrotter is sneering at us feeble, provincial stay-at-homes,’ said Pritpal.

  ‘I didn’t mean it to sound that way,’ James apologised. ‘I suppose it’s the same anywhere. You get caught up with the small things.’

  ‘And I suppose your time in Mexico was all fighting crocodiles and finding lost treasure,’ said Pritpal with a snort.

  James shrugged. He had said enough. ‘So what’s so important that I might have missed out on here?’ he said, changing the subject.

  ‘There’s Roan, the new boys’ maid, for one,’ said Tommy Chong, smiling broadly.

  Before Christmas there had been a fire in the house and Katey, the previous boys’ maid, had never recovered from the shock. She had left while James was away and Roan had replaced her.

  The two messmates suddenly came alive, stumbling over each other to sing Roan’s praises.

  ‘She is very young –’

  ‘I think she is eighteen –’

  ‘Teddy Mackereth says she is sixteen –’

  ‘Much younger than Katey –’

  ‘Much prettier, too –’

  ‘All the boys are in love with her –’

  ‘She calls us all darling –’

  ‘She’s Irish, and knows all the folk songs –’

  ‘You feel that she really cares about us boys –’

  ‘All right, all right,’ said James, holding up his hands for them to stop. ‘I think I get the picture. You quite like her. Yes? So life at Codrose’s is perfect.’

  ‘It would be if it wasn’t for “Bloody” Bentinck,’ said Tommy in a hushed tone.

  ‘The new House Captain?’ said James. ‘He was here before I left. I remember him as being strict, but he didn’t seem that bad. Surely he can’t be as bad as “Bloody Bill” Marsden, he’s the worst teacher in the school.’

  ‘Why do you think Theo Bentinck has been named after him?’ said Pritpal. ‘He is even more fond of beating boys than Bloody Bill.’

  ‘You were so busy playing the great detective before Christmas you didn’t realise what was going on,’ said Tommy. ‘Bentinck has got worse and worse.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said James. ‘He can’t be as bad as everyone makes out.’

  Tommy let out a harsh grunt. ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he said.

  Pritpal cast a nervous glance towards the door. ‘Maybe he didn’t dare do very much while you were around, James. You may not know it, but a lot of boys here are scared of you. Even the older ones. You have a reputation of your own.’

  ‘Me?’ said James.

  ‘Yes, you,’ said Pritpal. ‘Don’t look so surprised. You have always known how to look after yourself. Even in your first year here you knew how to deal with bullies and cheats. But while you have been away Bentinck has got himself into a position of power and nobody dares stand up to him any more.’

  ‘Well, don’t look at me,’ said James, holding up his hands in surrender. ‘I don’t want any more trouble. I aim to keep my head down and get on with it. There’s rowing to look forward to, and cricket, running, fives…’

  ‘Not to mention Latin, science, French, art…’ said Tommy with a grin.

  ‘Yes,’ said James wearily. ‘And that.’

  ‘Well, don’t say you haven’t been warned,’ muttered Tommy, darkly. ‘You may not find it so very easy to keep your head down. We all try to stay out of trouble, but Bentinck has a genius for catching us at crimes we never even knew we were committing. The other day he beat me for laughing at breakfast.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ said James.

  ‘He accused me of laughing at M’tutor.’

  ‘At Codrose? Were you?’

  ‘No, I was laughing at a joke, but I couldn’t prove it.’

  ‘And what about Codrose? He must know what’s going on.’

  ‘Bentinck sucks up to him,’ said Pritpal. ‘And, besides, Codrose likes it this way. The house is quiet, the boys shuffle around staring at the floor, scared that if they so much as breathe loudly they will be punished. Codrose likes the rule of law.’

  There was a knock and a moment later, almost as if he had been listening outside the door, Bentinck himself came in.

  James had barely been able to remember what the boy looked like. He’d been built up into such an ogre that James was mildly surprised to see that he looked quite normal. He was of average build and height with dull brown hair and wire-framed spectacles. He had a peach fuzz across his top lip, pale skin spotted with pimples, a small, slightly pinched mouth and a pointed chin.

  He wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. His face would never be used to frighten small children. To James he was just another boy.

  But it still wouldn’t do to get on the wrong side of him now.

  ‘Ah, Bond,’ he said. Traditionally everybody at Eton addressed each other by their first names, but with Bentinck it was obviously different.

  If that was the way he wanted to play it, James would follow suit.

  ‘Hello, Bentinck,’ he said. ‘Did you enjoy the holidays?’

  ‘That is no concern of yours,’ said the older boy dryly. His voice had a grating, nasal quality to it, almost as if it had never properly broken.

  ‘I was only being polite,’ said James. ‘Is that a crime?’

  ‘It is not,’ said Bentinck. ‘But cheek is.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that I was being cheeky,’ said James. ‘I certainly didn’t mean to be.’

  Bentinck stared at James. Weighing him up. ‘You think you’re something, don’t you, Bond?’ he said, and walked further into the room as if he owned it. ‘Quite the little hero. Well, it means nothing to me, do you understand?’

  James shrugged. Kept his mouth shut.

  ‘I gather you were showing off again in Austria,’ Bentinck went on. ‘Well, if you try and show off around Codrose I’ll take you down a peg or two and make you regret it. I am top dog here. Don’t ever forget that.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said James, and he smiled affably at Bentinck.

  ‘I want you to tidy my room for me.’

  ‘All right,’ said James. ‘I’ll come as soon as I have finished my tea.’

  ‘No,’ said Bentinck, turning on his heel and marching out of the room. ‘You will come now.’

  The door slammed shut and Pritpal jumped up. ‘Are you going to let him talk to you like that, James?’ he said, flapping his hands in the air.

  ‘Yes,’ said James. ‘Why not? He’s quite within his rights. Us younger boys have to do whatever the older boys ask of us.’

  ‘He’s trying to make you feel small.’

  ‘He can try as hard as he likes,’ said James. ‘But right now I don’t feel small. If anyone’s small it’s him. He’s the one wasting all his energy. It’ll take more than a silly schoolboy tyrant to get to me, Pritpal.’

  ‘But we were hoping…’

  James stood up. ‘It’s nothing, Pritpal. It’s boring. Nothing worse. He can’t hurt me.’

  ‘He will hurt you,’ said Tommy. ‘You can see he wants to.’

  ‘He can try,’ said James. ‘But he’ll fail.’

  He turned his back to the fire to soak up a little more of its warmth and then set off for Bentinck’s room.

  It was chilly in the corridor and James shivered. He decided to get a jumper from his room and quickly ducked in. He was expecting the room to be empty and nearly crashed into someone as he came through the doo
r. He tottered to an abrupt halt inches away from a girl.

  James was very aware that he was standing too close to her, but when it became quickly obvious that she wasn’t going to move he shuffled backwards.

  ‘You must be James Bond,’ she said, looking him up and down with a raised eyebrow. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  ‘And you must be Roan, the new boys’maid,’ said James. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, too.’

  And his messmates hadn’t been making it up.

  Roan was indeed a lot prettier than the previous maid.

  She was about the same height as James, but two or three years older, with wavy black hair and skin as white and smooth as a marble statue. Her huge eyes were deep and dark, but they shone with an intense brightness, like polished glass. Her wide mouth was curled up at one end in a slight, mocking smile.

  ‘So you’ve heard a lot about me, have you?’ she said with a singsong Irish accent. ‘All good, I hope.’

  ‘We’re not used to having young, pretty maids here at Eton.’

  ‘Would you listen to him?’ said Roan, shaking her head. ‘Young and pretty, am I? Well, I’m older than you, darling, and as to pretty? You shouldn’t be thinking about such things. Your mind should be on your schoolwork, all that Latin and cricket.’

  ‘I didn’t mean anything by it,’ said James. ‘I was just stating a fact. You are pretty. In the same way that the sky is blue and ice is cold.’

  ‘It wasn’t very blue today,’ said Roan. ‘I’d say it was grey. Now, I suppose you’ll be wanting your room back.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said James. ‘I’m not staying. I have to do a chore. If you’re busy…’

  ‘Truth be told,’ said Roan, picking up a dustpan and brush, ‘I wasn’t sure you were definitely coming back this half. I’ve not touched anything in here. It’s all just as you left it, though a bit tidier, mind. I think Katey must have been a bit short-sighted. She never saw all the dirt and the dust. And, my, you boys sure can create a lot of dirt.’