subjects of sport and the classics, and therefore unpredictable; but reputedly benevolent after his lunch time sessions—out of term, naturally—with his cronies in the local pub; and a formidably good teacher, and a ladies’ man, but a bachelor—and, for God’s sake, what did all that add up to?
“Well, David?” said Willis. “The national interest, then?”
It added up at the moment to the reduction of David Roche almost to a tongue-tied Sixth Former with doubtful prospects in Higher Cert.
“Yes … Well, I’m told you were one of the executors of the will of Major Nigel Alexander George Audley, Mr Willis—“
Note i. Father, ed. Eton and Balliol College, Oxford; major, Prince Regent ’ s Own South Downs Fusiliers (T.A.), killed in action, France, May 1940 .
“—and Legal Guardian of David Longsdon Audley—“
Audley, David Longsdon —
Willis looked at him blankly for a moment. “What?”
“You’re David Audley’s legal guardian?” repeated Roche.
“I was , yes.” The schoolmaster emphasised the past tense.
“You were a friend of his father’s?”
Willis nodded. “Yes.”
“And you taught the son—at his prep school?”
Another nod. “Yes.”
“And here at Immingham?”
“Yes.”
Roche waited in vain for something more than that third successive ‘yes’, until it became obvious that in spite of being self-confessedly talkative Willis was now determined to be monosyllabic.
“So you knew him quite well?”
Willis bent down to examine the grass, probing it with his fingers as though he was looking for something. And so he was, of course, thought Roche. But it wasn’t in the grass.
“Who?” Willis didn’t look up, though.
“The son.”
Willis straightened up slowly. “Why do you want to know?”
“The national interest, Major.”
Willis faced him. “I told you, I don’t like being called ‘Major’—and particularly at this precise moment, I think.”
“Why not—at this precise moment particularly?”
“Because I suspect it’s to remind me that I once held the King’s Commission—‘Right trusty and well-beloved’, and all the rest, Captain .”
The envelope would be required. Stocker had known that all along.
“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten that allegiance,” said Willis. “It’s simply that there are other allegiances—like that of a legal guardian, for example. And a teacher’s too … ‘in loco parentis’ covers both—‘in the place of a parent’, if you have no Latin, Captain.” Willis paused. “How would you say ‘in the national interest’ relates to ‘in loco parentis’, morally speaking?”
Roche waited. The briefly monosyllabic Willis had been a little unnerving, but now that the man had started to talk again he could afford to wait. “I concede the classical precedents. It would have presented no problem to a Roman father, and certainly not to a Spartan one … But nowadays they encourage children to inform on their parents behind the Iron Curtain, and we regard that as an attribute of barbarism. And I don’t see why the boot shouldn’t be on the other foot as well, in all honesty.”
The whole drift of Willis’s soliloquy was fascinating, in that he’d taken it for granted Audley was the subject of a security investigation of some kind. But what was surprising was that Willis himself didn’t seem in the least surprised.
“What makes you think I want you to ‘inform’ on him, as you put it?” he inquired innocently.
Now Willis did seem a touch surprised. “My dear fellow, I can’t imagine you want me to ‘inform’ on his father! Apart from the fact that Nigel’s been dead these sixteen—seventeen—years, I hardly think his … gentlemanly activities, such as they were—his gathering of rosebuds—were ever likely to be of the slightest national interest, or of any other sort of interest, except perhaps sociological, as a footnote to the 1930s. So that only leaves young David, and you clearly wish
“Well, David?” said Willis. “The national interest, then?”
It added up at the moment to the reduction of David Roche almost to a tongue-tied Sixth Former with doubtful prospects in Higher Cert.
“Yes … Well, I’m told you were one of the executors of the will of Major Nigel Alexander George Audley, Mr Willis—“
Note i. Father, ed. Eton and Balliol College, Oxford; major, Prince Regent ’ s Own South Downs Fusiliers (T.A.), killed in action, France, May 1940 .
“—and Legal Guardian of David Longsdon Audley—“
Audley, David Longsdon —
Willis looked at him blankly for a moment. “What?”
“You’re David Audley’s legal guardian?” repeated Roche.
“I was , yes.” The schoolmaster emphasised the past tense.
“You were a friend of his father’s?”
Willis nodded. “Yes.”
“And you taught the son—at his prep school?”
Another nod. “Yes.”
“And here at Immingham?”
“Yes.”
Roche waited in vain for something more than that third successive ‘yes’, until it became obvious that in spite of being self-confessedly talkative Willis was now determined to be monosyllabic.
“So you knew him quite well?”
Willis bent down to examine the grass, probing it with his fingers as though he was looking for something. And so he was, of course, thought Roche. But it wasn’t in the grass.
“Who?” Willis didn’t look up, though.
“The son.”
Willis straightened up slowly. “Why do you want to know?”
“The national interest, Major.”
Willis faced him. “I told you, I don’t like being called ‘Major’—and particularly at this precise moment, I think.”
“Why not—at this precise moment particularly?”
“Because I suspect it’s to remind me that I once held the King’s Commission—‘Right trusty and well-beloved’, and all the rest, Captain .”
The envelope would be required. Stocker had known that all along.
“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten that allegiance,” said Willis. “It’s simply that there are other allegiances—like that of a legal guardian, for example. And a teacher’s too … ‘in loco parentis’ covers both—‘in the place of a parent’, if you have no Latin, Captain.” Willis paused. “How would you say ‘in the national interest’ relates to ‘in loco parentis’, morally speaking?”
Roche waited. The briefly monosyllabic Willis had been a little unnerving, but now that the man had started to talk again he could afford to wait. “I concede the classical precedents. It would have presented no problem to a Roman father, and certainly not to a Spartan one … But nowadays they encourage children to inform on their parents behind the Iron Curtain, and we regard that as an attribute of barbarism. And I don’t see why the boot shouldn’t be on the other foot as well, in all honesty.”
The whole drift of Willis’s soliloquy was fascinating, in that he’d taken it for granted Audley was the subject of a security investigation of some kind. But what was surprising was that Willis himself didn’t seem in the least surprised.
“What makes you think I want you to ‘inform’ on him, as you put it?” he inquired innocently.
Now Willis did seem a touch surprised. “My dear fellow, I can’t imagine you want me to ‘inform’ on his father! Apart from the fact that Nigel’s been dead these sixteen—seventeen—years, I hardly think his … gentlemanly activities, such as they were—his gathering of rosebuds—were ever likely to be of the slightest national interest, or of any other sort of interest, except perhaps sociological, as a footnote to the 1930s. So that only leaves young David, and you clearly wish
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