my neck, thinking as I did so, that one should always try to look one's best, whatever one's age, as much as anything for reasons of good manners. The boys would certainly have made themselves tidy. So indeed should we.
Timothy arrived first, very punctually. The doorbell rang shrilly, causing my heart to pound unexpectedly.
'You go,' said Joan.
I hurried down the passage to the door, my high heels tapping emphatically on the Marley tiles. Through the dappled glass pane on the front door I could discern the shape of a head, but could not tell if it was Leo's or Timothy's.
When I opened the door and saw Timothy standing there with a quizzical expression on his face as though he wondered if he had come to the right house, I again felt the urge to kiss him. But then I decided against it. He might not like it and besides, I had to remember that before very long we would be back in the world of school. I had to remember, too, that I was not Timothy's mother, nor even his aunt, but his French teacher.
Timothy looked delightfully fresh and clean and was wearing a green jersey – a little darker than the green of my dress – which perfectly suited his eyes. I wondered if it was an accident, or if he was perhaps a little vain or if his mother had chosen the jersey for him with care.
Joan and he and I were nervously sipping sherry when flamboyant Leo arrived. Seeing Timothy away from the familiar surroundings of school certainly made me a little awkward at first.
Joan opened the door to Leo whom she already knew and he came bursting into the sitting-room with cries of "My favourite un-married auntie!" and threw his arms around my neck and gave me an enormous kiss on both cheeks. So vehement was his greeting that he nearly threw me off my balance.
Leo looked his usual splendid self. His mane of fair hair was, I noticed, carefully and, no doubt, expensively, coloured with streaks of silver and mauve. I wondered what on earth Victor would have to say about that when he saw his son at Christmas.
I need not have worried about the conversation flagging for, just as I had hoped, Leo kept us entertained all evening with excited chatter about his drama school.
Timothy was rather quiet at first but a combination of Leo and a little wine soon helped him to relax. He became slightly flushed in the face and laughed loudly at Leo's stories. In fact I had never seen him so uninhibited.
The only problem with the whole evening was that we seemed to have prepared far too much food so that Joan and I were both horrified at the thought of all the left-overs.
Timothy didn't eat as much as I had expected and Leo announced as we sat down to supper that he was on a diet.
"I can't imagine why," I said. "You have a lovely slim figure."
"It's all on account of the aardvark," he said gesticulating wildly.
None of us knew exactly what an aardvark was although Timothy had a theory that it might be some sort of a pig. In fact he was not far wrong. It is, according to my dictionary, a termite-eating, nocturnal African mammal. We were at a loss to understand what this termite-eating mammal could possibly have to do with Leo.
It was merely, he explained, that he had to perform the part of an aardvark in class at college the following week. He had spent all weekend at London Zoo, studying the creature's habits.
I was a little disappointed as I had fondly imagined my nephew cast in the role of Hamlet – or if not Hamlet, at least Hotspur.
Timothy was delighted and revealed to my amazement that he too had occasional aspirations to go on the stage.
He ought, I suggested, to join the drama group at school, but he turned away and rather pointedly changed the subject.
The boys went away together quite soon after supper and although I was sorry to see them go so early I was happy to note that Leo seemed to be taking Timothy under his wing and hoped that perhaps they would see more of each other over the holidays.
As the boys left, I slipped a little
Timothy arrived first, very punctually. The doorbell rang shrilly, causing my heart to pound unexpectedly.
'You go,' said Joan.
I hurried down the passage to the door, my high heels tapping emphatically on the Marley tiles. Through the dappled glass pane on the front door I could discern the shape of a head, but could not tell if it was Leo's or Timothy's.
When I opened the door and saw Timothy standing there with a quizzical expression on his face as though he wondered if he had come to the right house, I again felt the urge to kiss him. But then I decided against it. He might not like it and besides, I had to remember that before very long we would be back in the world of school. I had to remember, too, that I was not Timothy's mother, nor even his aunt, but his French teacher.
Timothy looked delightfully fresh and clean and was wearing a green jersey – a little darker than the green of my dress – which perfectly suited his eyes. I wondered if it was an accident, or if he was perhaps a little vain or if his mother had chosen the jersey for him with care.
Joan and he and I were nervously sipping sherry when flamboyant Leo arrived. Seeing Timothy away from the familiar surroundings of school certainly made me a little awkward at first.
Joan opened the door to Leo whom she already knew and he came bursting into the sitting-room with cries of "My favourite un-married auntie!" and threw his arms around my neck and gave me an enormous kiss on both cheeks. So vehement was his greeting that he nearly threw me off my balance.
Leo looked his usual splendid self. His mane of fair hair was, I noticed, carefully and, no doubt, expensively, coloured with streaks of silver and mauve. I wondered what on earth Victor would have to say about that when he saw his son at Christmas.
I need not have worried about the conversation flagging for, just as I had hoped, Leo kept us entertained all evening with excited chatter about his drama school.
Timothy was rather quiet at first but a combination of Leo and a little wine soon helped him to relax. He became slightly flushed in the face and laughed loudly at Leo's stories. In fact I had never seen him so uninhibited.
The only problem with the whole evening was that we seemed to have prepared far too much food so that Joan and I were both horrified at the thought of all the left-overs.
Timothy didn't eat as much as I had expected and Leo announced as we sat down to supper that he was on a diet.
"I can't imagine why," I said. "You have a lovely slim figure."
"It's all on account of the aardvark," he said gesticulating wildly.
None of us knew exactly what an aardvark was although Timothy had a theory that it might be some sort of a pig. In fact he was not far wrong. It is, according to my dictionary, a termite-eating, nocturnal African mammal. We were at a loss to understand what this termite-eating mammal could possibly have to do with Leo.
It was merely, he explained, that he had to perform the part of an aardvark in class at college the following week. He had spent all weekend at London Zoo, studying the creature's habits.
I was a little disappointed as I had fondly imagined my nephew cast in the role of Hamlet – or if not Hamlet, at least Hotspur.
Timothy was delighted and revealed to my amazement that he too had occasional aspirations to go on the stage.
He ought, I suggested, to join the drama group at school, but he turned away and rather pointedly changed the subject.
The boys went away together quite soon after supper and although I was sorry to see them go so early I was happy to note that Leo seemed to be taking Timothy under his wing and hoped that perhaps they would see more of each other over the holidays.
As the boys left, I slipped a little
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