Maxwell’s House Read Online Free PDF Page B

parents. Your responsibility only goes so far, you know.’
    ‘In loco parentis, Sylv. That’s the phrase. How’s your Latin?’
    ‘Non-existent,’ she admitted. ‘Except for bits of the body, but that one I do know. Teachers are, under the law, said to be in loco parentis – in place of parents. But that’s during the day, surely? Nine to four?’
    He looked at her, sure, steady as she was. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I only know she was one of mine and she’s dead. And you know what?’
    ‘No. What?’ She smiled at him, recognizing that certain light that shone from his eyes.
    ‘I’m going to do something about it. Care to help?’
    They sat as the mock coal glowed flickering orange on the ceiling. Maxwell had removed his shoes, his tie and as much of the front he wore for the world as he was ever likely to. Sylvia Matthews curled up at the feet of the Great Man – her Alexander to his Aristotle; except that she had no worlds to conquer and his philosophy was born at the chalk face – a quarter of a century of civilization against the barbarian hordes.
    ‘Shouldn’t you be chewing a meerschaum by now?’ she asked.
    ‘Indeed, Watson.’ He flared his nostrils much after the manner of Basil Rathbone by way of Arthur Wontner. ‘A three-pipe problem and a seven and a half per cent solution.’
    She frowned up at him. ‘I’m sure that’s clever, Max, but I haven’t actually ever read any Conan Doyle.’
    He patted her head. ‘Nor I Gray’s Anatomy,’ he said. ‘Of course, if this were the ’50s, we’d be wearing trenchcoats and drinking tea and talking about “chummie” in terribly plummy voices.’
    ‘Weren’t you at Cambridge in the ’50s?’ she asked.
    He swiped her round the head with his scarf end. ‘’60s, dear girl,’ he said. ‘Early ’60s, I’ll grant you, but ’60s nonetheless. When you were screaming over the Fab Four, I was struggling with tripos complexities. And no, before you ask; I did not know Burgess and Maclean! How old do you think I am?’
    She patted his knee. ‘You’re timeless, Max,’ she said. ‘So what do we know?’
    ‘Jennifer Antonia Hyde.’ Maxwell leaned back on the settee. ‘Date of birth 16.3.76. God, I took a trip to the American Revolution Exhibition at Greenwich that year. Quite good. A bit expensive.’
    ‘Max!’ She brought him back to the present.
    ‘Sorry. I digress. Eight GCSEs. Currently taking Biology, Chemistry and History to A level.’
    ‘Form tutor?’
    ‘Janet Foster, spinster of this parish and Head of Art.’
    ‘Divorcee.’
    ‘Just a figure of speech,’ Maxwell said. ‘A woman of discernment, vision, finesse. And I’ve just remembered the old besom owes me five quid.’
    ‘When did Jenny … you know … When did it happen? Precisely?’
    ‘Well, that’s the bitch of it.’ Maxwell got up and freshened their drinks. ‘I was taking those three weeks in Cornwall and despite the assurances of the inventory they sent, the cottage telly was on the blink. I even missed the last
Taggart
episode as a result.’
    ‘It was the hotelier,’ she told him.
    ‘Yes, of course.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Had to be, really. Anyway, I pestered the owners who lived down the road and they got an engineer in. It was that night I saw
Crimewatch
.’
    ‘Didn’t you see a newspaper?’
    ‘You know I don’t read newspapers, Sylv,’ he said. ‘In the beginning God made newspapers for us British to wrap our fish and chips up in. Now that some Eurocrat has stopped all that, they have no function in society whatsoever. Anyway, you know I like to switch off entirely in the summer. Back to nature for a bit. You can reach out and touch the past. But you were here.’
    ‘Yes, I was. I didn’t get off till the following week.’
    ‘Tell me, then.’
    ‘Well, it was on the Saturday lunchtime news. I’d got it on for the weather forecast. I couldn’t believe it. It was awful. The next day, of course, the Sundays were full of it.