The Sapphire Child (The Raj Hotel #2) - Janet MacLeod Trotter Page 0,4
black gown, had ushered the adults into his study.
Andrew strained to listen.
‘Perhaps he should be allowed to explain for himself.’ It was Esmie’s voice speaking calmly over those of the men. ‘Andy is a caring boy. We don’t understand why he should have attacked George Gotley. We’re not excusing what he’s done, but there must be a reason.’
Andrew’s insides twisted at Esmie’s familiar endearment; at home he was always called Andy.
He heard his headmaster sigh. ‘He’s refused any attempt to explain himself. It’s obviously jealousy, pure and simple. The Gotley boy said it was unprovoked. He said that Andrew has always resented that George’s father is a serving officer in the Rifles.’
Andrew was furious. What a lie! George had goaded him until he could bear no more of his poisonous words. It was his father who had been a hero in the last war, not Gotley’s. Major Gotley had still been in training in 1918, whereas his father was a veteran of Mesopotamia and had been at the relief of Baghdad. Old Fritwell, the portly ex-soldier at The Raj Hotel, had told him so on many occasions.
The study door opened and Andrew quickly stood up. Mr Bishop, his round face sweating, wagged a plump finger at him.
‘Come in, Lomax,’ he ordered.
Andrew followed. His father was standing in front of the headmaster’s vast untidy desk, hands plunged in his pockets, jiggling coins. Esmie, seated, gave him an anxious smile.
‘This is your last chance to explain why you punched George Gotley,’ said Mr Bishop.
Andrew’s palms sweated. He felt breathless. ‘I’d rather not say.’
His father lost his patience. ‘For God’s sake, Andrew! I know boys fall out about things. Just take your punishment and say you’re sorry.’
‘I’ve been punished,’ said Andrew, meeting his father’s look.
‘Don’t be insolent, Lomax,’ Mr Bishop rebuked. ‘You’re on very thin ice here. If you don’t explain your behaviour, I’ll have no choice but to expel you. Nicholson’s will not tolerate wild and savage behaviour.’
Andrew gritted his teeth. His jaw was aching with the strain of not shouting at his hateful headmaster.
Esmie touched him gently on the arm. ‘I can tell you’ve been upset by something, so this is your chance to say what happened. Please, Andy.’
Andrew looked into Esmie’s kind face. Her pretty grey eyes were full of compassion and she was smiling with encouragement. She was smartly dressed in a summer frock and blue hat – he knew she was trying to impress baldy Bishop – but her flyaway brown hair was still escaping its pins and curling around her slim cheeks. His eyes stung with tears he had managed to hold back for days. She was his ‘Meemee’, the one he thought of as his real mother – not the remote woman in Scotland who sent him extravagant and useless presents on his birthday.
‘We can keep it between ourselves,’ she said softly. ‘Just tell your dad and Mr Bishop what you got so angry about.’
Andrew longed to confide in them but he couldn’t tell them the truth – especially couldn’t tell her the full truth – and would rather face expulsion than repeat the vile words.
Mr Bishop pulled on his gown and puffed out his red cheeks. ‘Out with it, Lomax. This is your final warning. Apologise!’
Andrew’s head throbbed with anger. ‘I won’t apologise, sir. Not for the lies Gotley said about . . . about—’
‘About what?’ Tom Lomax cried in bewilderment. ‘For God’s sake, Andrew, spit it out.’
Andrew could not bear his father’s pained look. ‘He called you a coward!’ he blurted out. ‘Said you were a traitor to the Peshawar Rifles – that you’d been court-martialled and left the regiment in disgrace – that you should have been shot for cowardice and that the Lomaxes are lily-livered.’
Andrew expected his father to shout with indignation, but he didn’t. His lean face went rigid as he clenched his jaw. His blue eyes looked sad, not angry. Esmie brushed Tom’s hand and they exchanged knowing looks.
Andrew felt his insides knot with anxiety. ‘I told you it was lies, Dad,’ he said. ‘He made them up because you were a hero in the war and his father wasn’t.’
‘Well,’ huffed Bishop, ‘why didn’t you say any of this before? I’ll have to speak to Major Gotley—’
‘No,’ Tom said forcefully, ‘I won’t have my son interrogated further by the major or anyone else.’
‘Don’t you want to clear your name?’ Bishop asked.
It was the very question Andrew wanted answered too, but the look his father gave the headmaster was withering.