Page 112 of Fire Must Burn

‘I was,’ said Danielli. ‘A year behind Bruce.’

‘I was unaware that they let people like you in there,’ said Lady Cater.

‘Tall people?’ replied Danielli. ‘There is an unofficial quota. They hand you a helpful guide to the shorter doorways so you can avoid concussion.’

‘So you knew my son.’

‘I didn’t know him well, but I knew him, as well as some of his friends. I remember he was in a little satirical singing group with Kevin Pickard and— oh, who was the third one?’

‘Anthony Danforth,’ she replied, hesitating slightly on the name.

‘Tony, of course,’ he said.

‘Anthony Danforth?’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘I saw his name on a list of Cambridge men who went to Spain. Did he and Bruce join together?’

‘We think Danforth may have put the idea in Bruce’s head,’ said Lady Cater.

‘Really? You wouldn’t by any chance have any way of reaching him, would you?’ asked Mrs Bainbridge. ‘I’d love to get his account of what happened.’

‘No, I do not,’ said Lady Cater. ‘I have no intention of ever speaking to that … that … I’m sorry, there are no polite words.’

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘It does sound like you blame him for what happened.’

‘What happened to our son can neither be changed or rectified,’ said Lady Cater huffily.

‘Of course,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘So it wasn’t the incident at Cambridge that propelled him into Spain.’

‘There was no incident,’ said Lady Cater in exasperation.

‘What about your younger children? Did they go on to Cambridge as well? I understand it’s a family tradition.’

‘We thought after Bruce died that the school would hold painful associations for the other two children, and we were quite unhappy with how it was becoming overrun by leftists,’ said Lady Cater. ‘Nathaniel, my second, went to Oxford instead. As for Charlotte, well, she wanted to go to Cambridge in spite of everything. She idolised her brother and wanted to do everything he did, but we put our foot down.’

‘Where did she end up going?’

‘We sent her to Manchester to stay with some relatives and go to university. She loved it there, fortunately. You should hear her talk about it. She can do the funniest impressions of the locals. She did them at Christmas parties here, and her accent was spot on.’

‘She sounds quite entertaining,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘Would it be possible—’

From outside the doors, a man’s voice was heard, speaking gruffly to someone. They heard the maid’s voice in reply. A second later, a man burst through the door, the maid quivering behind him. He was in his sixties but robust and energetic, his grey hair slicked back with pomade, his moustache full andimmaculately shaped. It wasn’t hard to recognise him as the subject of the last portrait on the wall of Caters.

‘Francesca, what the devil do you think you’re doing?’ he said to his wife, ignoring the others.

‘Arnold, this is Mrs Gwendolyn Bainbridge and Mr Salvatore Danielli from the BBC,’ she said, flinching slightly. ‘They’re interested in Bruce’s story.’

‘Are they?’ he said, finally deigning to look at them. ‘Are they indeed?’

He walked towards Danielli, who rose to meet him. Lord Cater looked up at him, examining his face, unintimidated by his height.

‘Danielli,’ he said. ‘You’re an Eyetie, aren’t you?’

‘English,’ said Danielli. ‘Born and raised here.’

‘Not English in my book,’ said Cater. ‘We just fought a war against your people.’

‘I know,’ said Danielli. ‘I was part of it.’

‘For which side?’ asked Cater.