The Betrayals(96)

‘Nothing.’ The tastes of tobacco and brandy scald his tongue. He taps his cigarette on the rim of an abandoned wineglass, although it’s hardly burnt down. ‘You said I’d regret not coming to see you. So what’s up?’

‘Oh, Léo …’ Emile laughs, but it doesn’t take away the mockery. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Honestly, did you imagine …? I wanted to catch up, that’s all. Get your impressions of Montverre face to face.’ He looks away, brushing a bit of ash from his trouser leg. ‘I feel for you, Léo, getting shoved back into this bloody place.’

‘It hasn’t been so bad,’ Léo says, but he isn’t sure Emile hears him.

‘Personally, I’d go mad.’ There’s a pause. Emile takes a gulp of brandy, throwing his head back with uncharacteristic abandon. He’s staring out of the window at the dark outline of the Square Tower against the night sky, visible behind the reflected candles. It’s never occurred to Léo before that Emile had any strong feelings about Montverre, let alone this deep hatred; and perhaps, after all, he’s mistaken, because Emile turns smoothly and refills both their glasses. ‘It takes one back to the days of one’s youth, doesn’t it? Worse for you, I imagine. Had you met our Magister Ludi before you came here?’

‘What?’ The blood rushes to his face and his heart at once. He doesn’t want to talk about Claire. He’ll betray himself. ‘No. When would I have met her?’

‘Oh, I wondered if … You were Carfax’s friend. Close.’

Léo shakes his head. He must have been the only person in the world not to know that she was Carfax’s sister, and a de Courcy; but then, he spent all those years trying not to think about Montverre, turning the page of the newspaper whenever he saw it mentioned.

‘Ah well. I hadn’t either. I’ll have to get to know her better after the Midsummer Game.’ He sips his brandy daintily, as if it was his first glass. ‘She gave me quite a turn when I saw her at the window. Nothing like her photo in the Gambit, but then I suppose they were trying to make her look pretty. Uncanny, isn’t it?’

There’s something about Emile’s tone that sets his teeth on edge. ‘What is?’

‘Don’t be disingenuous, Léo.’ Emile runs a finger through a candle flame; tiny flares of smoke curl upwards like diacritics. ‘How are you two getting on, by the way? You haven’t said much about her in your more recent letters. Has your dislike mellowed?’

‘Somewhat.’

‘As I remember, your dislike of Carfax mellowed significantly.’

Léo’s thighs twitch, telling him to get to his feet; but that might give him away. He drinks, and drinks again, dipping his nose into the glass. The brandy makes his lips tingle. He’s lost his tolerance for alcohol. ‘Tell me more about your new job,’ he says.

‘Oh, it’s planning, mainly. Strategy, implications, all that sort of thing. Not much actual culture, but that suits me … I have a finger in a few different pies.’ Emile pushes the brandy bottle towards him, sliding it across the tablecloth. ‘Consulting.’

‘About this place?’

‘Well – partly. The Chancellor is wondering how we can make the grand jeu pay its way.’ There’s a pause, a change in Emile’s voice. ‘We’ll see. It depends. If I can make some progress while I’m here …’ He smiles, a complicit, sly smile that seems to include Léo in the joke: but there’s no joke that Léo knows of, only this odd sudden silence. Abruptly he’s aware of the empty wine bottles and dripping candles, the grease on the stained tablecloth. The alcoholic bonhomie drains away, leaving a gritty tidemark around the inside of his skull.

He hears himself say, ‘What are you doing here, Emile? You’re early for the Midsummer Game.’

‘My goodness. I’m sensing that you’d rather I was somewhere else.’

He doesn’t answer. He watches Emile’s smile waver and reset.

‘Well, dear boy, I wanted to get a sense of the school in its natural state. Be a fly on the wall, as it were. Not that your letters haven’t been extremely useful.’

‘My letters? That was all … gossip and parish notices.’

‘Don’t be so modest. Some of them were very articulate. Tomorrow you must tell me more about the Magister Ludi. Did she really say that the Party were … I can’t remember the exact phrase. Parasites? Thugs?’

‘No.’

‘Oh. Then am I mistaken?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Emile! What does it matter? She’s only a teacher. It’s only a school. You don’t understand. You don’t belong here.’

‘And you do?’

He gets to his feet. The room rocks a little before it settles. ‘I’m going to bed. I’m drunk.’

‘Yes, you do seem to be.’ There’s a pause. Léo makes his way to the door, floating a little as if he’s walking through water. As he reaches for the handle, Emile shifts in his chair. ‘Just one thing, Léo,’ he says. ‘You are still to be relied upon, aren’t you?’

‘What?’

‘I understand that this must have been hard for you. It must have seemed like exile. And of course you did put the Old Man’s nose out of joint, there’s no denying that. But now you’ve done your time, and if you play your cards right, it may not be entirely wasted.’