“My parents send me a bottle for my birthday every year,” Walden said, “from their nearest farm shop, I believe. They’ve gone frightfully rural in retirement. Strawberries-and-cream infusion, very girly. I rather like it. Would you like to try some?”

They had a G&T apiece in Walden’s sitting room, and then, since the gin was quite good, they had another. Walden dug a packet of biscuits out of her kitchen cabinets, which Mark demolished. If he’d just been on a planar patrol, it was no wonder he was hungry. “Midnight feast!” he said. “Funny, isn’t it, being an alum—makes you feel old as the hills, watching all these kids living your old life. And then sometimes you turn around and you’re back to being a teenager.”

Walden raised her brows. “A strong gin in the middle of the night makes you feel like a teenager? Dear me.”

“I didn’t say I was a good boy, Dr Walden.”

“And what kind of boy were you, exactly?”

“Oh, a little bastard,” Mark said, “like they all are. You know the type, you’ve taught enough of them.”

Walden snorted. “I only wondered if you’d admit it.”

“I’ve got no delusions. Another round?” said Mark, nodding at her empty glass. “Are there more biscuits anywhere?”

“I might have some cheese and crackers left,” Walden said. “Just a single for me, please.”

They talked about nothing much; staffroom gossip led naturally to generalised Chetwood memories and then on to family. It turned out Mark had actually overlapped at school with Walden’s older brother John, though he didn’t think they’d ever spoken. And then—well, it was Saturday night, and Walden didn’t have to get up for chapel in the morning. One hour stretched to two. Mark was reasonably amusing company, the gin was the good stuff that Walden didn’t get to drink socially very often, and there was something charmingly silly about the student-ness of it all.

At nearly 1 A.M. they both seemed to realise at once that they were being absurd. Mark stood up with a groan. “It’s only just down the road to my rental, at least.”

Walden gave him a look of alarm. “You’re not planning to drive.”

“I’m all right, I’m all right,” he said, and then glanced down at his glass with a grimace, “no, you’re right, I’m not. Shouldn’t have had that last one.”

“You’ll send that Audi into a ditch,” said Walden, “and that’s the best-case scenario. More likely you’ll end up wrapped around a tree. Absolutely not.”

“Why, Sapphire, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Some of those trees are several centuries old,” said Walden primly. “The big oak at the end of the avenue is under a preservation order. The paperwork if you splattered yourself all over it would be frightful.”