It was cold, but that wasn't going to keep Henry indoors. There were things that were going to happen today--he didn't know how he knew, and he didn't question it. The knowledge was intrinsic, undeniable, and so he knelt in his rose-garden, carefully pruning the spikey plants
( ... )
Henry was always saying things like that. Moreover, his observations were usually right. So when he said he had known she would come over, she wasn't exactly surprised. She just wondered how he knew these things. Superior powers of deduction? Divine inspiration?
"Did the person you saw in your dream tell you that?" she asked, only half-flippantly, and shifted the bookbag strap over her shoulder. "I'm glad you're home, anyway. I can come back later if you're busy though." The rake leaned against the porch, and he had some kind of gardening shears.
(Unbidden, a little thought, you could do a lot of damage with those.)
It was strange, he thought, in a dim, disconnected way, that he felt no awkwardness in being around her. He'd lost all his control, and had done all sorts of things with her, but now that he had that control back he was not embarrassed by any o fit.
"No," he said, with a flicker of a smile. "I just knew." He set the shears down in the small bucket he'd been pruning into. "And no, I'm not busy. What is it you need?"
"Nothing really," said Camilla, who did feel a little embarrassed suddenly and unaccountably. What is it you need? Businesslike and calm, as she read it, and she felt silly in the face of that -- like she shouldn't be wasting his time.
Well, that was stupid of her. He was just puttering around in the garden. It wasn't like any of the Greek class had any compunctions about interrupting one another with random visits. If he didn't want to be at home he would have stayed inside and ignored everyone. Camilla took a deep breath and tried again.
"Just to talk to you. Can we go inside though? It's getting awfully cold."
Henry had assured Camilla that they would succeed--of course they'd get away with it. It was them--or, more accurately, it was him. It would never, ever occur to Henry to think that there was anything he couldn't get away with.
Lunch had gone perfectly, without so much as a hint of awkwardness; dinner on Sunday had not been quite so easy, but still more than manageable enough. Class, however, might well prove another matter altogether.
Henry arrived early, as was his wont, greeting Julian and arranging his things at the table. He had a little time to think, before the rest arrived--before he had to see just how much would have changed in this, their most hallowed atmosphere.
Julian greeted him in Latin, as was their wont, the usual Salve and trivial witty remarks, then asked him to put water on for tea.
It was while Henry was in the little anteroom of the office doing as Julian requested that the Macaulay twins arrived, a few minutes early themselves. Both twins were pink-cheeked from the cold, and Charles was wearing Camilla's red muffler. Julian started talking to Charles in English almost immediately. Camilla, quiet, watched them as she set down her bookbag at the seat beside her brother's.
The ritual of preparing the tea was familiar to the point of being ingrained; it required no thought whatsoever, and thus afforded him the opportunity to silently observe the twins' entrance.
He could tell at once that this was going to be rather more difficult than the informal dinners at the twins'. Outwardly, nothing had changed at all, but on some subtle internal level something had changed just enough to make the entire setting suddenly feel quite different.
Francis came in not long after, followed by Richard, who was in turn followed (rather later) by Bunny. By the time the tea was done they were all seated, and when he took his spot across from Camilla he could feel that subtle shift. Interesting, and perhaps not entirely fortuitous.
Camilla had known Henry was there, of course. His books and his Montblanc pen and his other things had all been laid out neatly where he usually sat. Still, the actual sight of him came as a little shock, just as it had the night before when he'd shown up at the twins' door for Sunday night dinner. Then she'd been able to throw herself into conversation with Francis, and to duck into the kitchen under the guise of checking the oven, and any number of little escapes when the charge (almost electric) in the air between them became impossible for her to ignore.
Now she had no escape, and nothing to keep her occupied but notes. Julian had always said he was the teacher because he knew more than the students did; his teaching style, Socratic at times, could go heavy on the lecturing at other times, and today was going to be one such day, as they moved from one topic to the next.
It didn't help that the topic of the lecture was Plato's Symposium. Camilla kept her eyes on her notebook, but she was afraid she'd blush.
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"Did the person you saw in your dream tell you that?" she asked, only half-flippantly, and shifted the bookbag strap over her shoulder. "I'm glad you're home, anyway. I can come back later if you're busy though." The rake leaned against the porch, and he had some kind of gardening shears.
(Unbidden, a little thought, you could do a lot of damage with those.)
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"No," he said, with a flicker of a smile. "I just knew." He set the shears down in the small bucket he'd been pruning into. "And no, I'm not busy. What is it you need?"
Strange choice of words, Henry. Strange, yet apt.
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Well, that was stupid of her. He was just puttering around in the garden. It wasn't like any of the Greek class had any compunctions about interrupting one another with random visits. If he didn't want to be at home he would have stayed inside and ignored everyone. Camilla took a deep breath and tried again.
"Just to talk to you. Can we go inside though? It's getting awfully cold."
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Lunch had gone perfectly, without so much as a hint of awkwardness; dinner on Sunday had not been quite so easy, but still more than manageable enough. Class, however, might well prove another matter altogether.
Henry arrived early, as was his wont, greeting Julian and arranging his things at the table. He had a little time to think, before the rest arrived--before he had to see just how much would have changed in this, their most hallowed atmosphere.
Reply
It was while Henry was in the little anteroom of the office doing as Julian requested that the Macaulay twins arrived, a few minutes early themselves. Both twins were pink-cheeked from the cold, and Charles was wearing Camilla's red muffler. Julian started talking to Charles in English almost immediately. Camilla, quiet, watched them as she set down her bookbag at the seat beside her brother's.
Reply
He could tell at once that this was going to be rather more difficult than the informal dinners at the twins'. Outwardly, nothing had changed at all, but on some subtle internal level something had changed just enough to make the entire setting suddenly feel quite different.
Francis came in not long after, followed by Richard, who was in turn followed (rather later) by Bunny. By the time the tea was done they were all seated, and when he took his spot across from Camilla he could feel that subtle shift. Interesting, and perhaps not entirely fortuitous.
Reply
Now she had no escape, and nothing to keep her occupied but notes. Julian had always said he was the teacher because he knew more than the students did; his teaching style, Socratic at times, could go heavy on the lecturing at other times, and today was going to be one such day, as they moved from one topic to the next.
It didn't help that the topic of the lecture was Plato's Symposium. Camilla kept her eyes on her notebook, but she was afraid she'd blush.
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