two ways of getting to the inner side. One, the bars might very well be wide enough apart to allow him to wriggle through; he was small-boned and agile, and cats can get through wherever their whiskers will pass, as every student knows. Two, the gate did not reach to the summit of the archway, and its surmounting spikes were purely decorative, and could be circumvented with ease. He had no doubt that he could climb it if necessary.
The shadowy bulks of walls and trees loomed immense in the remnant of the light. It appeared to Bossie as still fairly light, for his eyes had grown accustomed to it, having spent some waiting hours adjusting as twilight fell and night came on. But in fact it was a very respectable darkness, as large and awe-inspiring as the silence that was its natural music. There was nothing stirring, not a soul living but himself, and the infinitesimal, furtive night- life of bird and beast. The shrubbery at his back felt like a forest, virgin and strange, but not unfriendly. He was not afraid. When he had stood motionless for some minutes, listening and watching, and was sure he was solitary, he slipped across to the solid reassurance of the wall, worked his way along it to the archway, and slid into the deep embrasure to consider his mode of entry. It was almost disappointingly simple. On the cat principle, he was convinced he could go wherever his head could go, and his head passed between the bars with ease. Sideways, lissom as an eel, Bossie followed his head into the cloister.
It was annoying, after that achievement, to discover that the gate, though meticulously latched, had been unlocked all the time!
Willie Swayne’s Land-Rover was parked in the drive of Sam Jarvis’s cottage, filling the narrow space from clipped hedge to grass-verged rose-bed. The front door of the house was open, and several people were involved in obviously valedictory exchanges just within. George drew up behind the Land-Rover and got out of the car, with Toby hard on his heels.
Barbara Rainbow, with a cotton scarf wreathed round her curls, and her long, elegant body swathed in clinging sweater and black slacks, was talking and laughing in evident familiarity with Jenny Jarvis, as if they had known each other for years. And Jenny was holding before her a small, elaborate casket of polished wood and delicate gilt, and shaking her head deprecatingly over it. Behind them Sam and Willie hovered, complacent.
‘He doesn’t deserve it,’ Jenny was saying, turning the musical box about admiringly in her hands, ‘and you only promised to show it to him, not to give it! I should think better of it now, if I were you.’
She had her own ideas as to why Barbara had created this occasion to call on Bossie again, and bring Willie the Twig with her. A pity they’d picked this particular night, and missed him. Bossie was transparent, for all his intellect, and Barbara was a clever woman. Being in love at Bossie’s age can be excruciating, but is sometimes surprisingly easily cured. At twelve nobody breaks his heart on the unattainable, and one glance at Willie the Twig in sole possession would have ended that episode. Barbara had even gone to some trouble to ditch all her glamour, though the result happened to be every bit as alluring as when she was in full war-paint.
‘There are ten of these things,’ said Barbara, ‘and I am not going into business, that’s flat. Whoever buys the collection won’t miss this one. And at least we can be sure it’ll be appreciated.’
That was when Toby appeared, to be greeted with delight and drawn into the group at once, so that Barbara and Willie were deterred from completing their farewells and leaving. George, an ambiguous figure at this hour, when he might or might not be on duty, waited for the social exchanges to come to a natural end.
‘Lovely to see you again, Toby,’ said Jenny, and kissed him heartily. ‘I hope you’re hungry? I know you said you couldn’t make it for dinner, but I kept some for you, anyhow. Mrs Rainbow, you remember Toby Malcolm? We brought him with us to your house-warming.’
‘Of course I remember,’ said Barbara cordially. ‘He was the best dancer in the room, we did a real exhibition tango together. And of course you already know Willie Swayne—’
‘Ever since he clouted me for pinching birds’ eggs when I was thirteen,’ acknowledged Toby, having sized up the situation between these two in one shrewd glance. ‘And then showed me where to watch for otters. Has he taken you there yet? He doesn’t show everybody!’ One minute flame of male rivalry, mutually understood and enjoyed, subsided again peacefully. Toby couldn’t help erecting his plumes for anyone as stunning as Barbara, and Willie, secure in possession, could only be flattered. ‘Mr Felse gave me a lift up,’ Toby went on, reverting to business as soon as was decent. ‘I shall have to cadge a ride back in the morning. He wants to talk to Bossie again.’ He amended, firmly stressing his own involvement : ‘
‘I doubt if you’d get anything more out of him, George,’ said Sam. ‘But anyhow, bad luck, he isn’t here.’
‘Not here?’ Toby was almost absurdly taken aback. ‘After a tumble like the one I hear he took, I didn’t think he’d be out of the house yet.’
‘He went back to school today,’ explained Jenny. ‘The doctor said he could, he’s perfectly fit. And he rang up this afternoon from Audrey Mason’s, and said could he stay overnight there and go to a birthday party with her Philip. Audrey’s often had him before, and of course nothing had been said earlier, because they didn’t expect him back so soon. He’s quite all right with them, you know.’
‘And he knew I was coming tonight?’ demanded Toby, outraged and disbelieving.
‘I told him. But he still wanted to stay. I was surprised myself,’ admitted Jenny.
Toby turned and looked at George, and suddenly and violently shook his head. ‘I can’t believe it. Not just like that! There’s got to be a catch in it. He’s up to something!’
‘What do you mean? What could he be up to?’ But Sam was willing to believe in the possibility of all kinds of complications where his son was concerned. ‘He intended staying after school in any case,’ he recalled, frowning. ‘He told me this morning, a whole bunch of his class were going to tour the abbey—’
‘The abbey!’ blurted Toby, and gaped at George in wild speculation.
They had all caught the unease by then, and were staring in doubt and misgiving. George said quietly: ‘I think. Jenny, it would be a good idea to ring Mrs Mason. No point in trying to be diplomatic, time could be important. If he’s there, well and good, it’s just his mother fussing, wanting to make sure he’s all right, and behaving himself. If he isn’t, and hasn’t been… well, then it’s out in any case. Then I’ll take over.’
Jenny looked back at him steadily, and steadily turned pale. Without a word she crossed to the telephone and made the call, and all of them watched in intent silence.
‘Hullo, Audrey? This is Jenny Jarvis. Can I have a word with our Bossie?’ Quite a crisp, practical voice, and then the tight, white look as she listened, and they knew what she was hearing, mild wonder and an immediate disclaimer, and the sharp curiosity not yet expressed. ‘He isn’t there? You haven’t seen him, and you weren’t expecting him! I know, it does sound crazy, but don’t hang up. Yes, I was under the impression he was with you, but there isn’t time just now to go into it. Maybe you can help. Wait, I’ve got someone else here to speak to you.’ She held out the receiver to George, her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Nothing, of course! He isn’t there. She knows
