Part 3 (1/2)

'Who invented ca.n.a.l locks and the segmented arch?'

'The Chinese.'

'Who invented printing?'

'The Chinese.'

'The magnetic compa.s.s?'

'The Chinese.'

'And are these things irrelevant, Lydia? To a person living in England?'

'No, sir.'

He smiled. Satisfied. 'Good. Now that we've cleared up that point, let us move on to a study of the Han dynasty. Any objections? '

Not one hand went up.

Theo knew Li Mei was at the window upstairs. The tapering tips of her fingers rested on the gla.s.s, as if she would touch him through it. But he didn't turn. Or even glance up at her.

He stood beside the school gates, his tall frame very upright, his back melting in the fierce heat radiating off the wrought-iron gates as the afternoon showed no promise of relief. It wasn't the high temperatures that bothered him. It was the humidity. Throughout the summer it battered you down and robbed you of any energy until you cried out for the bright clear days of autumn. But it was the end of the school day and as always his light brown hair was freshly combed, his gown discarded and replaced by a crisp linen jacket. A headmasterly smile, cool yet approachable, firmly in place to greet mothers as they arrived to collect their children. The amahs amahs and chauffeurs he ignored. and chauffeurs he ignored.

He did not approve of mothers who were too busy drinking tea or taking tennis lessons or playing endless rounds of bridge to collect their offspring themselves, but sent servants to do the job. Any more than he approved of fathers who poisoned their daughters' minds. Mr Christopher Mason sat clearly in that category. Theo experienced a familiar ripple of frustration. What chance did this great country have when men like that, men who worked in the administration itself, regarded China's remarkable history as a waste of time? As not worth knowing. It disgusted Theo.

'h.e.l.lo, Mr Willoughby. Looks like rain again tonight.'

'Good afternoon, Mrs Mason. I do believe you're right.'

The woman who had stopped in front of him was short and smiling, a dimple in each cheek like her daughter. Her fair hair was pulled back by a velvet ribbon and her round face was flushed with exertion. Little drops of sweat beaded her upper lip and glinted in the light.

Theo smiled. 'Did you enjoy your ride?'

Anthea Mason laughed, leaning against her bicycle, which was a bright green tandem, one hand fiddling with the bell so that it gave off little chirrups. 'Oh no, I never enjoy the ride here, it's uphill all the way.' She was wearing a light cotton blouse and cycling slacks, but both looked creased and damp. Her blue eyes sparkled with antic.i.p.ation. 'But that means the trip home is a breeze. Especially with Polly on the backseat.'

Theo decided to bring up the subject of Chinese history. 'Mrs Mason, there is something I feel I should . . .'

But her gaze was already scanning the regimental rows of pupils in navy uniform, all lined up in the courtyard under the watchful eye of Miss Courtney, one of his junior teachers. The school was a handsome redbrick building with a wide driveway at the front, a lawn on one side, and the courtyard on the other. It was a place of freshly waxed floors and clean blackboards.

'Ah, there's my girl.' Mrs Mason lifted a hand and waggled her fingers at her daughter. 'Yoo-hoo, Polly. Crumpets for tea, sweetheart.'

Polly blushed furiously with embarra.s.sment, and on this occasion Theo did feel sorry for her. She detached herself from her companions and came over, dragging her heels. Beside her walked Lydia, their heads close together, one smooth and golden, the other a ma.s.s of long unruly copper waves stuffed under her boater. They were whispering to each other, but years of practice had enabled Theo to develop a batlike ability to decode a pupil's barely audible mutterings.

'Oh my G.o.d, Lyd, you could have been killed. Or worse.' Polly's voice was breathless, her eyes wide, her hand clenched round her friend's thin arm as if she would drag her from the mouth of h.e.l.l.

'I wish you'd seen him, the way he-' Lydia stopped abruptly, aware of Theo's eyes on them. 'Bye, Polly,' she said casually and stepped to one side.

'h.e.l.lo, Lydia,' Mrs Mason called out in a cheery voice, though Theo saw her regard the girl with concern. 'Would you like to come home with us for tea? I could call over one of the rickshaws.'

'No, thank you, Mrs Mason.'

'We're having crumpets. Your favourite.'

'I'm sorry, I can't today. I'd love to but I have some errands to run.'

'For your mother?'

'That's right.'

Polly was staring at her, plainly worried. Theo couldn't work out what was going on. But his attention was taken by a request from Anthea Mason as she placed one smart two-tone shoe on her pedal.

'Oh, Mr Willoughby, I almost forgot. My husband asked me to mention that he'd like a few words, and would be grateful if you could meet him at the club tomorrow evening.' She shook her head prettily and laughed, as if to make light of the summons. 'You men, where would you be without your billiards and brandy?'

Then off she pedalled with her daughter on the seat behind her, both pairs of legs going in unison, and as Theo stared after them his smile slipped. His shoulders slumped.

'd.a.m.n,' he murmured under his breath.

He turned and almost fell over Lydia, who was hovering behind him. They were both momentarily confused. Both apologised. She ducked her head, hid under her straw hat's brim. But too late to prevent him from seeing her face. She had been standing, as he had been, staring after the disappearing tandem as it wove its way with a tinkling bell through the busy street. But what shocked Theo was the expression in her amber eyes. They were full of such naked longing. The intensity of it created a little stabbing pain like an echo in his own heart.

What was it she wanted so badly?

The bicycle? He was well aware that the girl was poor. Everyone knew that her mother was one of the Russian refugees, with no man to earn a decent wage for the family; well, not a permanent man anyway. But this wasn't about the bicycle. No, Lydia wasn't that sort. So was it for Polly she yearned? After all, he'd known more than a few schoolgirls who had fallen in love with someone of their own s.e.x, and certainly they were close, those two. He looked down thoughtfully at the straw boater. He noticed it was yellowing with age and was stained in numerous places on the crown where she had dumped it down carelessly or gripped it with a grubby hand when the wind blew in off the great northern plain. If it were anyone else, he'd tell her to ask her parents to buy a new one instantly.

So was it the mother she wanted?

Hardly. Her own mother, though she rarely came to the school unless specifically requested, was far more beautiful and infinitely more enticing than the homely Mrs Mason. But then his own taste in women always ran to the dark and exotic. Even when he was a boy and could pop his penny in the peepshows or peer secretly at his father's book on the paintings of Paul Gauguin. A sudden influx of cars and parents demanded his attention, a flurry of smiles and polite handshakes, so it was not until ten minutes later when the courtyard was almost empty that he glanced around and found the young Russian girl still at his elbow.

'Good heavens, Lydia, what are you doing still here?'

'I've been waiting. I wanted to ask you something, Headmaster.'

Theo chuckled to himself. He'd noticed before that pupils were very free with his courtesy t.i.tle when they wanted something from him. Nevertheless he smiled encouragingly. 'What is it?'

'You know all about China and Chinese ways, so . . .'

He snorted a derisive laugh. 'I've only been here ten years. It would take a lifetime of study to know China, and even then you'd only have scratched the surface.'

'But you speak Mandarin and you know a lot.' Her eyes held his and there was an urgency in them that intrigued him.

'Yes,' he agreed quietly. 'I do know a lot.'

'So can you tell me the name of something, please?'

'That depends on what this something something is.' is.'