Blaze of Glory

He felt Dr Tremaine's compelling gaze as he tried to frame a suitable response.

The headmaster coughed, and Dr Tremaine seemed to remember he was there. 'Headmaster! You do fine work here!' He swept his arm around the table. 'Your students! I drink to them!'

He raised his wine, drained it and studied the empty glass. 'Fine vintage, headmaster.'

'Yes, well . . .' The headmaster grasped for a conversational straw. 'Tell us, Dr Tremaine, what are you working on at the moment?'

Dr Tremaine sat back in his seat and placed his arms on the rests. 'Many things, headmaster, many things. Foremost is my work heading up a top secret research establishment. Some fascinating magical work going on there. Can't say much, though.'

'Of course,' the headmaster said.

Aubrey couldn't help himself. 'Defence-related, is it?'

Dr Tremaine narrowed his eyes. 'Why do you say that, Fitzwilliam?'

'Well, doing work for the army or the navy would be the quickest way to earn top secret status, especially with the way things are going on the continent, hints of war and such.' He paused, then plunged ahead. 'There are rumours of Holmland aggression in the Goltan states, and even that they've used new magically enhanced weapons.'

Dr Tremaine was silent for a while, then he grinned and slapped the armrest. 'Damn me, Fitzwilliam, I like the way your mind works!' He turned to the head of the table. 'Headmaster, let me know if he wants to study magic at university. I'll put in a good word for him.'

Aubrey smiled, but he didn't fail to notice that Dr Tremaine hadn't answered his question.

Dr Tremaine pounded a fist on the table, pushed back his chair and stood. 'Staggeringly good meal, headmaster!'

The headmaster rose and looked worried. 'You'll stay and talk to some of the boys?'

Dr Tremaine shook his head and picked up his cane. 'I'd love to, but I have a young lady I promised to meet at the theatre. Hopeless actress, but you can't have everything.'

The headmaster looked nonplussed, but Dr Tremaine saw the direction of Aubrey's gaze. 'You like my cane, do you, Fitzwilliam?'

Aubrey had actually been wondering how he'd look with a cane like that. It was a dashing accessory. 'Yes, sir.'

'Well, I'd love to give it to you as a reward for your stimulating company, but,' he held it up in both hands, at chest height, 'this is special. Damned nuisance, but special.'

'It's handsome, sir.'

Dr Tremaine rubbed the pearl head with a thumb and stared at it. 'My sister gave it to me. Just before she died, she made me promise that it would never leave my side. Like a fool, I agreed.'

'Is it magical, sir?'

Dr Tremaine's face was thoughtful and he didn't take his gaze away from the pearl. 'No, not unless you mean the ordinary magic of memory.' He sighed. 'Every time I look at it, I remember her.' He shook himself. 'Enough of that.' He seized the headmaster's hand. 'Goodbye, headmaster. Best of luck with the gout!'

After Dr Tremaine left, driving an outrageous open automobile, Aubrey and George strolled back to their rooms. A spindly figure appeared around the corner of the gymnasium and tottered towards them.

'I wonder what Addison wants?' Aubrey said.

Addison was by far the oldest porter at Stonelea School, being young when Aubrey's grandfather was at the school. It was rumoured he'd been in the place longer than many of the buildings.

Bandy-legged and bald as an egg, he hurried towards them. One outstretched hand held an envelope and he had a newspaper tucked under his arm. 'Master Fitzwilliam!' he called. 'Master Fitzwilliam! Letter for you!'

'On a Sunday?' George said. Aubrey shrugged and held out his hand.

It was obvious that the letter was important. The envelope was a heavy, cream paper and when Aubrey turned it over the blob of red sealing wax stood out. He scratched at it with a thumbnail and its greasy solidity spoke of someone with money, a sense of tradition and extremely good taste. Someone very familiar.

A very formal approach, Father, he thought, then he read the letter. When he had finished, he carefully folded it and placed it back in the envelope. He ran one finger along the length of the envelope, thinking. 'Thank you, Addison,' he said vaguely.

Addison tipped his cap. As he turned to go, he remembered what was under his arm. 'Your newspaper, Master Doyle.' He thrust it at George and hurried off.

Aubrey began walking towards the boarding house, thinking deeply. George fell into step beside him. As they walked past the cricket nets, he burst out, 'Dash it, Aubrey! Who's that letter from?'

Aubrey blinked. 'Sorry. I was miles away.' He stopped and rested against the fence. He looked down at the envelope he still held. 'It's from my father. It's his official stationery and seal. He wants me to do something for him.'

'Something official?'

'Yes.'

'And you're wondering why he didn't ask you last night.'

Aubrey glanced sharply at George. His friend's broad, friendly face frowned back at him. With his height, massive frame and sandy hair, George looked every inch a country bumpkin, but Aubrey knew his friend was no fool. People don't know how shrewd you are, do they? he thought.

'Am I that easy to read?' he laughed. He set off again, striding comfortably. He felt strong, eager and alive, ready to challenge the world.

'Well, it's obvious that's what you'd be thinking,' George persisted.

Aubrey stopped and turned. He thrust out his chest, drew in his chin and looked at George over imaginary spectacles. 'Obvious, Doyle?' he barked in his best imitation of the Advanced Magic master. 'Be so good as to share the obvious with us all!'

George laughed. 'One day, Mr Ellwood will catch you doing that, Aubrey, and you'll be suspended from his classes. Then you'll be sorry.'

'You cannot deny an artist his craft,' Aubrey said. 'When the impulse comes on me, the actor comes out.' He chuckled. 'But I'm still interested in why you think I was wondering about my father.'

'It's not difficult. When you look particularly thoughtful and sombre, it's usually your father you're thinking of.'

Aubrey let out a long sigh. 'You've known my family for too long.' He looked away. 'Perhaps he simply couldn't ask me face to face.'

'Of course he could. Whatever it is.'

'You know, this is the first time he's ever asked me to do something official like this. I've been impatient, but now it's come I'm feeling a little –'

'Anxious? Nervous? Petrified?'

Aubrey glanced sharply at George. 'Anxious will do, old man.'

He turned away and gazed over the oval. How do you live up to a man like Darius Fitzwilliam? he thought. It was hard enough for the men he commanded in the army. But for me, his only son?

He knew many people simply wouldn't try. Casting such a bright light makes all others seem pale and insignificant. Better to turn away, not attempt the impossible. Achieving even some portion of his success would be a fine achievement. To others, though, having the bar set at such a dizzying height meant the challenge was greater.