“You never burst in, Nigel,” Crane told him, “you come without phoning because you’re dealing with something that can’t be put off.” He leaned back in his wide leather chair and folded his long sinewy hands. “As my American students would say, ‘What’s up?’”

Livingston decided to get to the point without preamble. “I want your honest, absolutely confidential opinion of Philip Whitcomb.”

Crane shrugged. “Absolutely confidential?”

“Of course.”

“Then I have to say,” Crane hesitated, “that it’s hard to say. A good, even very good teacher. Knows his subject. Loves it. The man is transformed when he discusses or reads poetry. Almost a visionary aura about him. Too much, for my taste. After all, the poets were mere mortals. I doubt they read their own poetry with all the histrionics Philip manages to contrive. But I do know he’s made students whose idea of poetry was of the ‘Roses are red, Violets are blue’ category begin to understand the concept of what makes a poem a classic. For that I am grateful, and students ought to be so.

“On the other hand, outside the classroom I find him quite dull. Can’t speak without blushing or stuttering, all wrapped up in his flower garden . . .I’m sure he’d rather plant flowers than eat. How he managed to get engaged to be married I’ll never know. I suspect Valerie did all the courting, not the other way around.”

“My impression exactly.” Livingston weighed his next question, then asked it carefully. “If Philip is so persuasive in class, does he have any problems with students falling in love with him?”

Crane’s face darkened. “Not anymore.” “Not anymore?” Livingston pounced on the words. “What do you mean?”

The headmaster obviously wished he had not been so blunt. “Perhaps I’m being unfair. After all, it was a long time ago. Eleven years, as a matter of fact. Philip was still quite young then, in his early thirties, I should think. A student started following him around like a puppy. He was flattered, I gather, and spent private time with her— something absolutely forbidden. There must be no individual relationships between students and teachers at Saint Polycarp’s. Apparently Philip tired of the girl and started avoiding her. You can imagine how I felt when she burst into my office and announced she was carrying his baby.”