“You’re being ridiculous,” I said. “We’re here to teach the pupils, not to determine their sexual orientation. It seems to me that Call-me-Jo and Harrington are far too interested in things that are not remotely their business. I’ll deal with my pupils in my way, as I’ve always dealt with them, which means that unless their predilections affect their Latin homework, I shall ignore them completely. And I’ll thank you and the other Suits not to interfere.”

That would have worked against Dr. Blakely. Ye gods, it was my Bell Tower voice, the one that reduces boys to pulp. But La Buckfast held my gaze.

“I’m sorry you think of it that way,” she said. “But this isn’t a suggestion. You’re a fine form master, Roy, but I think you have a blind spot regarding certain members of your form. Nowadays, it’s considered unwise for a teacher to spend quite so much time with the boys. After all, isn’t that the mistake made by your friend Harry Clarke?”

“Who told you that? Was it Harrington?”

La Buckfast shook her head.

“John’s at a seminar today. But you’ll see him on Monday, of course.” She smiled, and once more I saw a gleam of that feline, disconcerting charm. “Believe it or not, Roy, I sympathize,” she said, and touched my shoulder. “Perhaps you ought to take a break. You’re really looking quite unwell.”

The old Straitley might have protested. But I was feeling a little tired. Do I spend too much time with my boys? In Harry’s day, to spend time with boys was a natural, even a good, thing to do. How quickly things change. There were School trips; field days; informal chats over tea and cake. To be a St. Oswald’s Master was to be available at all times; to be at the same time a teacher; social worker; detective; confessor; father; sometimes, even a friend. At least, Harry Clarke was all those things. Others, like myself and Eric, settled for a lesser role. But even we had our share of that. In my case, it’s my Brodie Boys—Allen-Jones, Sutcliff, Tayler, McNair. Where would I be without them? Where would they be without me?

“I’ll take it under advisement,” I said.

She smiled. “I think it’ll do you good. Take the weekend off. Clear your head. Get a bit of perspective.”