Word of Honour

'Aubrey. You'll stretch your jacket out of shape like that.'

Aubrey straightened, guiltily, and whipped his hands out of his pockets. 'Hello, Caroline,' he said and all his rehearsed lines vanished from his mind. 'Hello, Caroline,' he repeated.

She stood there, cool and elegant, in the middle of the pavement. Pedestrians swirled around her as if she were an island in a raging torrent.

'I didn't think you'd be interested in sleight of hand, even when the artist is of the calibre of Manfred.'

'The Great Manfred,' Aubrey said.

Caroline studied him for a moment. Her face was thoughtful, but distant. His hopes of an immediate rapprochement shrivelled the longer the pause went on. 'You always did like correcting people,' she said eventually. 'Still, when you're right all of the time, it must be tempting.'

Bad start, Aubrey thought. I've made a very bad start. He considered his options and quickly abandoned thoughts of running away, fainting or claiming that he was, in fact, his own evil twin. 'Sorry,' he said, instead.

Caroline smiled and Aubrey took it like a hard blow to the chest. He was astonished that he didn't actually stagger back a few steps. 'Good,' she said. 'That's an improvement, anyway.'

'Improvement?'

'How quickly you were able to say sorry. When I first met you, it didn't seem to be in your vocabulary.'

'I'm aware of my shortcomings.'

'Another improvement.'

'In fact, it's hard to see past them, sometimes.'

'Oh dear. Now you're starting to sound maudlin. And that's a step backward.'

'Hmm. What about melancholic?'

'No. That sounds like someone who'd loll about under a tree and write bad poetry.'

'Brooding?'

'Ugh. If you're brooding, you belong in a chicken house.'

'Good point. Would you settle for genuinely apologetic and embarrassed for treating you so badly in Lutetia?'

'Boorish, insensitive, manipulative?'

'All that.'

'Scheming, big-headed, arrogant?'

'Yes, yes.'

She studied him. Her eyes were very dark blue and there was no-one else in the entire city. 'I can go on.'

And I'd be quite happy if you did. 'I'm sure you can.'

'I don't want to, not really.' She looked away. 'Do you know that I can't banter with anyone else like this?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'They can't keep up. Or they get confused. Or offended.'

He shrugged. 'Words. The better one can juggle them, the better off one is.'

'I agree. And I enjoy the sparring with you.'

'Ah.'

'That's why I don't think I can have anything to do with you.'

Aubrey actually looked over his shoulder. 'Are you talking to me?'

'Of course.'

'I'm sorry. I thought I was keeping up well, but that last conversational leap was a jump too far.'

'What do you mean?'

'You were saying how much you enjoyed being with me.'

'Talking to you.'

'Which usually entails being in proximity.'

She frowned, then nodded. 'Granted.'

'Which, to my mind, was sounding promising. And then you popped me on the jaw with "I can't have anything to do with you".' Aubrey put his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels for a few seconds.

Caroline looked at the sky. 'Why do I feel a sports metaphor coming on?'

'I shan't disappoint you.' He cleared his throat. 'Cricket. It's like being bowled up a series of delightful long hops and then, when you're quite expecting another, getting a searing bumper that takes your head off.'

'There. Feel better now that's out of your system?'

'Much. Thanks.'

Caroline smiled, then frowned, then settled for something in between that made Aubrey's heart ache. 'Do you see what I mean?' she said.

'About not seeing each other? No.'

'About having fun.' She put her hands together. 'But the reality is that I have other things to do in my life. Fun can wait.'

'No. Life should be fun. Life is fun.' Even when you're balanced halfway between life and death? 'Surely there is more to life than fun. Mindless fun.'

'Not mindless fun. Intelligent fun. Thoughtful fun. Complex, thrilling, challenging fun.'

'It sounds to me as if you're addicted to stimulus.'

Aubrey blinked. 'I suppose so. The notion had never occurred to me.' He considered it for a moment. 'There are worse flaws in a human being.'

'Do you know how many human failings can be excused that way? As long as a wicked person can find someone more wicked, he can wave his deeds away by saying, "Well, there are worse. "' Aubrey put his hands together and studied them for a time. They fitted neatly and they'd stopped trembling. 'How did we get here? Talking about the nature of good and evil?'

'We could trace back our conversational steps, if you like, but that's looking backward.'

Aubrey rubbed his chin. Where was George? 'No chaperone tonight?'

Caroline made a face. She obviously intended it to be a grimace, but Aubrey found it delightful. 'Chaperone? Please, Aubrey. We live in modern times, not the dark ages. Why should a young woman need an escort? To watch over me like a sheepdog? What an antiquated custom.'

'Of course. Ridiculous.'

'In fact, we have a speaker at the next meeting of the Eastside Suffragists on this very topic. Would you care to come?'

'Naturally,' he said automatically, as he generally did whenever Caroline requested anything. 'Perhaps we could have dinner afterwards. Or a stroll. Something.'

She frowned. 'It's a serious political meeting, Aubrey, not a rendezvous. I thought you took the cause seriously.'

'I do. I have. I shall.' George, Aubrey thought, now would be a good time to appear. He stood on tiptoes and looked through the doors of the theatre, over the heads of the people crammed into the foyer. Cigar smoke made it difficult to see, and Aubrey knew his jacket would need a good airing when he got home.

'You're looking for George?' Caroline asked.

'He's getting the tickets.' And he's taking his time about it.

'Really? I thought he'd come along with the sole purpose of chatting to that girl over there.'

Aubrey swivelled. Not far away, George was talking to a young blonde woman. She wore long gloves and she held a handbag so tiny that Aubrey couldn't imagine it had any use apart from providing a home for a pair of dormice.

'He's been there for some time,' Caroline said. 'And he's making sure he speaks to her mother, too.'

'That's Jane Evans. Not the mother. That's Mrs Evans. Her husband, Jane's father, is Justice Evans, the judge.'