Next weekend came, as Jonty had predicted, both too soon and too tardily. He’d left Orlando in Cambridge, working on his lecture for the mechanical engineers, but brought a cartload of apprehension with him. Even the normally comforting sight of his sister’s town house couldn’t work its usual magic, nor could the effusive welcome she gave him at the door. Saunders was already there—a tall, slim, handsome youth who didn’t seem too perturbed at Jonty’s arrival. He apologised profusely for having missed him at the school, then launched into a gruesome discussion of his brother’s symptoms, which delighted Georgie and Alexandra, even if it was slightly worrying for their parents. Jonty was certain Lavinia was trying to assess whether Saunders might still be infectious.
Whether Lavinia had made a conscious effort to dress like her mother, in a rich blue that exactly matched her eyes, Jonty wasn’t sure, but she definitely went out of her way to ensure he was at ease over afternoon tea. His favourite sandwiches and cakes, the blend of leaves he preferred, and a deft oiling of the conversational wheels all made things go smoothly. They weaved their way through the subjects of rugby, playing conkers, the toys most suitable for enterprising schoolboys, and the Cambridge colleges best suited to lads like Saunders who had a decent brain. It all led them eventually to the topic of investigation. As promised, Georgie—and his sister—were regaled with the details of the latest case for Stewart and Coppersmith, and how their mother had played a vital role in finding the solution. It had been a suitably bowdlerised version of the story, in places.
Saunders listened with what seemed to be genuine interest, his initial awkwardness having soon disappeared in the face of Lavinia and Ralph’s hospitality. He asked a few highly pertinent questions about the nature of amateur detection and the moral dilemmas concerned therewith, though not before he and Georgie were sworn to silence about any aspects of the case that related to their school and its employees.
Inevitably, the conversation turned to other cases Jonty had dealt with. Ralph, who’d clearly been briefed by his wife to depart when given some secret signal, suggested his children would like to have the special treat of helping the cook make Christmas puddings, a treat that exceeded even that of cross-examining their uncle. Once he, Lavinia, and Saunders were left to themselves, Jonty took a deep breath and began.
“Our recent case. It concerned a man making a promise to a comrade, in battle.”
Saunders nodded. “I suppose that must have been a not uncommon occurrence, Dr. Stewart?”
“Not uncommon indeed. I too was asked to fulfil a commission of sorts, by someone who later died in battle.” Jonty, well aware of the pompous note in his voice, tried to relax. “I have failed to do so these past three years, but only because I lost my memory and that promise was lost with it.”
“I see.” Saunders nodded again. “You mentioned Mr. Atherton’s promise earlier. Is that what reminded you?”
“It did. Funny how the mind plays tricks on one, shutting doors and hiding things away.” Jonty, words carefully chosen and prepared, watched Saunders for any sign of reaction. It was there, in a glance of concern, swiftly covered over. “The officer who asked me to do something in the event of his death was called Hughes. Alec Hughes.”
Again, a brief flicker of acknowledgement.
“I believe you knew him, back at your previous school.”
“Yes,” Saunders responded at last. “I knew him.”
They’d reached the crux. “He wanted me to tell you he was sorry. For what he did.”
“Sorry?” Finally Saunders showed the animation Jonty had expected. “Am I expected to forgive him?”
“I wasn’t requested to ask for forgiveness. Only to convey his apologies. I believe he was sincere in them.”
Saunders gave Lavinia an uncomfortable glance.
“I think I should go and rescue Ralph. He’ll no doubt be covered in suet by now.” She rose, smiling. “Please come and join us in the kitchen when you’ve finished talking, Saunders. Georgie will want to say a proper good-bye. Your coming here has meant so much to him.”
“I will.” Saunders waited for her to go before he and Jonty took their seats again. “Do you know what Hughes was apologising for?”
“I do.” Jonty sighed. “The most heinous of offences, in my view.”
Saunders snorted. “Most heinous? Do you really have any idea?”
“It’s not just my viewpoint, Mr. Saunders. It’s my experience too. I was a schoolboy as well, not much older than Georgie.” Jonty left the rest unspoken, a sudden light of recognition appearing in Saunders’s eyes.
“You too?”
“Me too. I understand it’s horribly common. Not that that fact makes things any easier to take.” Jonty waited; there was no point in filling the silence, especially with platitudes.
“No. No, indeed.” Saunders kept his eyes fixed on his shoes. “Tell me, Dr. Stewart, how did you get over it? Assuming you have got over it.” He looked up at last, eyes bleak.
Jonty wished he could offer a comfortably reassuring answer, but that would be cowardly. “It’s a cliché that time is a great healer, but it’s true. Things become easier, eventually, even if one can never quite forget. The memory is less painful, and one can bring about a degree of healing by letting things go.”
“Hmm.” Saunders studied his shoes again. “Is less painful the best one can hope for? Will forgiving him make a difference?”
Jonty had a sudden, clear picture of that other young man, the one he and Orlando had run to ground for murdering the person who’d abused him at school. The same person who’d misused Jonty. “ I would have spared him, you know, if he’d shown the slightest bit of remorse. If he’d used the simple word ‘ sorry’ he would still be alive.”
The case wasn’t quite the same, but the same possibility of letting oneself be eaten alive by memories remained. Would Robertson have been saved if he’d apologised? He was beyond rescue now, but there was still the living to consider.
“Could you bear to hear about one more case that Professor Coppersmith and I looked at?”
Saunders glanced up once more, this time with a wan smile. “Will it help?”
“It might.” Jonty returned the smile. “I can’t promise miracles, but it might well help a sleeping dog to lie more calmly.”
***
Jonty lit the candles and drew the curtains against the November night. Orlando would be home soon, and he wanted everything to be perfect. The red wine had been decanted; a wonderful cut of ham had been prepared; pickles, chutneys, and bread were ready to accompany the ham to the plate; and the table looked a picture. A picture that might just be titled “A spread fit for a king.” There were even sixteen little petits fours—one for each year since they’d met—set out on a serving plate ready to be scoffed once the savouries had been consumed. A spread fit for an emperor, let alone a king, and one that a certain professor was going to appreciate.
The sound of Orlando’s bicycle, with its distinctive squeaky wheel, on the road outside, somebody jumping off and leaning said bicycle against a wall, announced the arrival of the man without whom the evening was meaningless. Jonty went to open the front door for him.
“Hello, Orlando.” He waved from the step. “Have you had a good day?”
“Not bad at all, thank you.” Orlando freed his briefcase from where he’d secured it for the journey. “Looking forward to putting my feet up.”
Jonty grinned, waited for Orlando to get inside, and locked the door before saying, “Don’t get yourself too comfortable and settled. I have plans for this evening which don’t end with dinner and a drink or two.”
“What if I’m too tired?” Orlando hung up his coat, avoiding Jonty’s eye, although it didn’t seem to be because of any discomfiture. Jonty would have been prepared to put a guinea on his trying to hide a lascivious grin. Orlando’s mind often ran on entirely predictable routes.
“Too tired? Have the dunderheads been making you run round Old Court while the college bells strike?”
“No, but they’d tax any man’s brains.” He drew Jonty into an embrace. “Happy anniversary. May there be many more of them.”
“Amen to that. More anniversaries, more cases to solve, more mattresses to put through their paces.”
“I agree on all three counts. Especially the last.”
“Oh yes.” Jonty snuggled into an embrace that was growing so heated the petits fours might have to wait. “Especially the mattresses.”
If you enjoyed Lessons for Sleeping Dogs, please share your thoughts on Amazon and Goodreads by leaving a review.
For more free and discounted eBooks every week, .
Follow us on and .