CHAPTER 18Go tell that witty fellow, my godson, to get home. It is no season to fool it here!
—QUEEN ELIZABETH
‘Lor’!’ said the Dean.
She gazed with interest from the Senior Common Room window, teacup in hand.
‘What’s the matter?’ inquired Miss Allison.
‘Who is this incredibly beautiful young man?’
‘Flaxman’s fiancé, I expect, isn’t it?’
‘A beautiful young man?’ said Miss Pyke. ‘I should like to see him.’ She moved to the window.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said the Dean. ‘I know Flaxman’s Byron by heart. This is an ash-blond in a House blazer.’
‘Oh, dear me!’ said Miss Pyke. ‘Apollo Belvedere in spotless flannels. He appears to be unattached. Remarkable.’
Harriet put down her cup and rose from the depths of the largest armchair.
‘Perhaps he belongs to that bunch playing tennis,’ haz
