“Yes, of course,” Mortimer replied, shaking the match out, the pipe clenched firmly in his teeth. “I rather liked Teddy myself. Wasn’t with us long, but made an indelible stamp on everyone he came across, even the little tikes we’re trying to turn into ladies and gentlemen. It isn’t far away. I’ll walk over with you. Need a breath of air anyway.”
Mortimer greeted Holly warmly and, after Quayle introduced the soldier as a friend, they walked past the chapel towards the lines of trees that gave the staff houses some privacy from the main school.
“Not much left, of course, after the blaze. Tell you the truth, we haven’t got round to rebuilding yet, so the site is pretty bare.”
It was. The only evidence of a fire were scorched branches in the upper levels of the big tree that stood sentinel on the plot. Mortimer stopped on the edge of the site, as if unwilling to cross onto the ground where Edward Morton had died. Only Holly moved forward, stepping slowly over the rough ground, fighting the tears that were welling up inside her.
“We packed up what bits were about,” Mortimer said gruffly. “Things in his desk and what have you. They were returned to England. Not much else, I’m afraid.”
“Did he ever watch the boys play cricket?” Quayle asked.
“He did, as a matter of fact. Used to sit beneath the trees over by the scoreboards –” He turned and pointed past the trees towards the main field “– and if the weather turned he would stay and move into the old pavilion. Had a spot there he rather liked. Became his, sort of. Gone now of course.”
“Sorry?” Quayle asked
“It’s gone. We took it down last year. We broke ground with the new one only last month. The old boys have been very generous, and this new one will be just the job. Of course, as you know, the real money came from Teddy. It was a very handsome endowment.”
“I didn’t know that,” Quayle said, “but it doesn’t surprise me.”
“Even so, we’re a little bit short. But I dare say we’ll muddle through.”
Quayle felt the first fingers of concern. The house was all gone, the pavilion gone. Anywhere that Teddy spent time and may have left something was reduced to rubble and memories.
“Do you have a chess club for the boys?”
“Certainly do. Teddy was a stalwart there. It’s over above the tuck shop, opposite the middle school dining hall. Nine o’clock from my office outside the quad. Now, that hasn’t changed since he was last there. Even the furniture is the same.” He gave a short brittle laugh.
Holly was moving back towards them, head down and arms crossed, lost in her thoughts.
“Thanks for your help,” Quayle said. “We’ll just have a bit of a wander around, if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” Mortimer said. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.” And, with that, he smiled a goodbye at Holly and strode off towards his office. his tweed sports coat flapping as he took long ungainly strides.
Half an hour later they were walking through a set of cloisters that ran between the chapel and the main quadrangle, groups of boys and girls parting to allow them through.
“Daddy would have loved it here,” Holly said. “It’s like Eton moved somewhere warm and friendly.”
Quayle smiled across at her. He was directing them towards the chess club. He had to begin somewhere and it seemed as good a place as any.
The building was wood, one side of which had once been the science labs, its exterior made up of white clapboard walls and heavy sash windows. The door was open and, inside, a flight of worn stairs climbed past a notice board full of upcoming events for the members. At the top, windows overlooked a grassy square and the modern low slung building that was the middle school dining hall. Beyond that, four desks took up the central floor area of the small room and two boys sat at a chessboard, arguing heatedly about the legality of a move that the black player had completed.
“That’s absolute bull crap! You took your hand off the bloody piece and that’s the move over! You can’t just move the fucking thing again!”
“Says who? Anyway, my hand was still on it shithead! Checkmate!”
The other boy shook his head, as if he was forever committed to playing with morons.
“Hi,” Quayle said.
They both turned to see the figures in the door. They hadn’t heard a thing. Usually the stairs creaked signalling arrivals, particularly masters. But not this time.
Quayle walked over and took a quick look at the board. “Not over yet. King to knight four will also put him into trouble.”
The boy grinned and pounced. “Thanks, sir!” Then looked round to sneak a frank and appraising look at Holly.
“Mind if I have a look around?” Quayle asked them. He had seen it already. Up on the wall. A photograph. A group of boys, six or seven smiling faces, and in the middle of them, holding the trophy, was Teddy Morton. The likeness was good; the camera had caught the twinkle in his eyes, the proud smile. His boys had cleaned up.
“Please do, sir.” Then he turned to Holly. “Would you like a game?”
She smiled, shaking her head – and, as Quayle pointed to the picture, she moved across to join him. The silence was palpable as she ran her fingers gently over the image.
The boys stood uncomfortably now, not understanding what was happening. She felt it and turned to them.
“My dad,” she said.
One of the boys understood instantly. He had played in this room as in his eighth year and remembered Mr Morton well. He also remembered the fire.
“We better be going,” he said, and shot a look at the other that said ‘let’s leave her to it.’ Then, they quickly reset the pieces on their board and took the stairs three at a time.
After they were gone, Quayle stepped up beside
