She continued to drink her tea, looking serene and beautiful. I’ve always said you can tell a great deal from a person’s coffee mug. In this case, a whole life.

“Did you stay in touch?”

She smiled. “When I told him I was pregnant,” she said, “he pleaded with me to abort it. Told me no one would have to know; even said he’d pay for it all. But I wouldn’t. In spite of everything—the Church; my parents; the scandal—I kept my baby. I didn’t tell. His family moved away, but we kept in touch. Not that I wanted to be with him—he’d shown me his true colours by then—but because I thought that maybe one day, he’d have the chance to be grateful.” She looked at the orchid on her desk. The flowers were white, veined with green. “And yes, he’s kept me close,” she said. “Perhaps he thought I’d tell his wife. Perhaps he felt that if she knew that we’d had a child, when she never would—” She paused and took a sip of her tea. “Johnny should have known better.”

I nodded. “You’re too subtle for that.”

“How nice of you to say so, Roy.”

Besides, a Head, like Caesar’s wife, must be above suspicion. This business with Spikely, whether or not the real truth ever comes to light, has already done its damage. Harrington has been muddied by this; his gloss will never be the same again. La Buckfast, however, remains untarnished; doing the absent Harrington’s job with such efficiency that, should he decide to return after all, he will find St. Oswald’s running much better than when he left.

Of course, there’s still Dr. Blakely, that overqualified imbecile. If ever it comes to replacing little Johnny Harrington, I would have thought that Blakely would be first in line for the top job. And yet, there is no mistaking the ease with which La Buckfast has made the Headmaster’s office her own, adding bright cushions to the old leather chairs; quietly shelving the ugly prints; replacing the brown rug on the floor with a scarlet sheepskin. Well, of course, she came to us as a Rebranding Guru—and the best job she has done so far is in rebranding herself.

“I like what you’ve done with the office,” I said.

“Really? I thought you didn’t like change.”

“It depends on what kind of change,” I said.

She sighed. “Oh, Roy. I hope you don’t think that this little change of personnel affects your impending retirement. I’m grateful for your help, of course, but from a purely financial perspective, Classics is a drain on resources. In today’s world of technology, Latin has become obsolete. Only a handful of schools offer it—and besides, where does it lead? Where are the job opportunities? Where are the vital skills?”