A reddish-blond ponytail bobs in front of my face. I focus all my anger on him.
It’s all Lydia’s fault! If she hadn’t made out with our teacher, I wouldn’t have caught them and she wouldn’t have been able to snitch on me to her brother. Then I could concentrate on the lessons now and not have to worry about the fact that he called me Robyn. Or that I threw five thousand pounds around.
I bury my face in my hands. It’s unbelievable that I actually did that. Not accepting the money was of course the right thing to do. But still – since yesterday afternoon, a lot of things have been shooting through my head for which I could have used it well. Our house, for example. Since Dad’s accident eight years ago, we have rebuilt it piece by piece and made it barrier-free, but some corners could still be improved. In addition, our car is slowly but surely giving up the ghost and we are all dependent on the vehicle. Especially Dad. With the forty thousand pounds James offered me at the end of the school year, I could have bought a new minibus.
I shake my head. No, I would never accept hush money from the Beauforts. I am not for sale.
I pull out my planner from under my history book and open it. All points for today have already been ticked off. The only one that still sneers at me is: pick up letters of recommendation from Mr. Sutton.
With clenched teeth, I stare at the letters. I’d love to erase it with correction fluid—just like the memory of Mr. Sutton and Lydia.
For the first time since the beginning of the lesson, I dare to look ahead over Lydia’s head. Mr Sutton is standing at the whiteboard. He wears a checked shirt over which he has pulled on a dark gray cardigan, as well as the glasses he always wears in class. His three-day beard is well-groomed, and on his cheeks I can see the dimples that everyone in our course always adores.
Suddenly there is laughter around me – he has made a joke.
One of the reasons why I always liked him so much.
Now I can’t even look at him.
I don’t understand that – Mr Sutton is good enough to make it to Oxford, studies there for years, is allowed to teach at one of England’s most prestigious private schools shortly after graduating, and the first thing he does is to do something with a student? Why, for heaven’s sake?
His gaze meets mine, and in the next moment his smile slips a little. Lydia in front of me stiffens. Her shoulders become rigid, as well as her neck, as if she were resisting with all her might to turn to me.
I lower my gaze so hastily to my planner that my hair flies in front of my face like a dark cloud. The rest of the hour I remain exactly in this position.
When the school bell finally rings, it feels like days have passed, not ninety minutes. I take as much time as possible. As if in slow motion, I pack up my things and stow them carefully in my backpack. Then I close the zipper, so slowly that I can hear every single tooth snap into place.
Only after the footsteps and the voices of my classmates gradually become quieter do I get up. Lost in thought, Mr. Sutton stuffs his documents into a folder. He seems tense, every bit of humor he has just displayed has disappeared from his features.
The only student who is still in the room with us is Lydia Beaufort. She pauses at the door, looking back and forth between me and Mr. Sutton with a tense jaw.
My heart is pounding in my throat as I shoulder my backpack and walk forward. At some distance from the lectern, I stop and clear my throat. Mr. Sutton looks at me. His golden-brown eyes are full of regret. I can literally feel his guilty conscience. Its movements look like those of a robot.
‘Lydia, would you leave us alone?’ he asks, without looking at her.
‘But—’
‘Please,’ he adds softly and lets his gaze wander to her for a moment.
With her lips pressed together, she nods and turns away. She closes the door of the classroom quietly behind her.
Mr. Sutton turns to me again. He opens his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it.
‘I wanted to pick up my Oxford letter of recommendation,’ I say quickly.
He blinks, perplexed, and it takes a moment for him to react. ‘I… Of course.’ He frantically leafs through the folder in which he has just stowed away his teaching materials. When he can’t find what he’s looking for, he leans forward, picks up his brown leather bag from the floor and heaves it onto the desk. He opens it and rummages around in it for a while. His hands are shaking, and I can see a hint of redness on his cheeks.
‘Here’s the copy,’ he murmurs, as he finally pulls out a transparent film containing a sheet of paper. ‘I was going to talk it over with you first, but after—’ He clears his throat. ‘I’ve already uploaded it because I didn’t know if you’d still pick it up.’
With stiff fingers I accept the letter. I swallow hard. ‘Thank you.’
Again he clears his voice. The situation is becoming more and more unpleasant. ‘I want you to know that I—’
‘Not.’ My voice is a hoarse croak. ‘Please… not.’
‘Ruby—’ Suddenly, in addition to the regret in Mr. Sutton’s eyes, I recognize another emotion: fear. He’s afraid of me. Or rather, what I’m going to do with the knowledge I have about him and Lydia. ‘I only wanted—’
‘No,’ I say, and this time my voice is firmer. I raise my hands defensively. ‘I don’t intend to tell anyone about it. Really not. I… I just want to forget about it.’
He opens his mouth and closes it again. His gaze is equal parts surprised and doubtful.
‘It’s none of my business,’ I continue. ‘And no one else.’
There is a pause between us, in which Mr. Sutton examines me so intensely that I don’t know where to look. It’s as if he wants to find the answer in my eyes as to whether I really mean it. Finally, he says quietly, ‘You know that I will continue to be your teacher. »
Of course I know that. And I find the idea of having to spend several hours a week in one room with Lydia and Mr. Sutton anything but tempting. But the alternative would be to go to the headmaster, and my meeting with James Beaufort gave me a clear taste of what was to come.
Especially since I really think that Mr. Sutton’s private life is none of my business.
‘I just want to forget about the whole thing,’ I say again.
He lets out a long breath. ‘And you put … no conditions?’ When he sees my indignant expression, he quickly adds: ‘Not that you wouldn’t pass my course with ease. You’re one of the best in this class, you know that. I just thought that… I—’ He breaks off with a frustrated groan, his cheeks are reddened, his posture is unsteady and his gaze almost desperate. He suddenly looks incredibly young, and for the first time I wonder how old he is. I guess in my mid-twenties at most.
I try to smile, which I don’t really want to succeed in. ‘I just want to graduate, Mr. Sutton,’ I say, putting the copy of the letter in my backpack.
When he doesn’t reply, I go to the door of the classroom. There I look over my shoulder again. ‘Please don’t treat me any differently now.’
He stares at me as if I were an apparition – and not one of the good guys. His gaze is suspicious, and I can’t blame him at all.
‘Thank you very much for the letter of recommendation.’
I can see that he swallows hard. Then he nods once. I turn away from him and leave the classroom. After closing the door behind me, I lean my back against it, close my eyes and take several deep breaths.
Only then do I realize that I am not alone. A quiet noise makes my eyes open again immediately.
Across from me, James Beaufort is leaning against the wall. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and supported one foot against the wall. His gaze is on me – he’s harder than yesterday, his charisma darker. There is no trace of the conspiratorial grin with which he wanted to sell me the money.
He pushes himself off the wall and comes towards me. His steps are slow and seem almost threatening. The moment passes as if in slow motion. My heart starts racing. This is his kingdom. And I feel like an intruder.
Only shortly before me does he stop. He looks down at me without a word, and for a moment I forget how breathing works. When I get it back, I notice how good it smells. Like star anise. Spicy and tart, but pleasant. I would have liked to move a little closer with my nose to him, but then I remember who I have in front of me.
James reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket.
That frees me from my state of shock. I squint my eyes and glare at him. ‘If you put money in my hand again, I’ll shove it down your throat.’
His hand remains in place for a second, then he pulls it back. There is a dark flicker in his eyes. ‘Stop this Mother Theresa number, and tell me what you want from my family.’ His voice is velvety and deep – a strange contrast to his harsh words.
‘I don’t want anything from your family,’ I begin, glad to have the door behind me. ‘Except perhaps that you leave me alone. And Mother Theresa would have taken the money and distributed it in the cafeteria or given it to the needy on the street. You know. Charity and so on.’
James’ face turns to stone. ‘Do you think that’s funny?’ he asks, the anger clearly audible in his voice. He takes another step towards me, comes so close to me that the tips of his shoes touch mine.
If he gets a single millimeter closer, I’ll kick him in his soft tissues – no matter who in Maxton Hall knows my name afterwards. ‘I don’t want any stress with you, Beaufort,’ I say calmly. ‘Not even with your sister. And above all, I don’t want your money. The only thing I want is to get through the last year of school here.’
‘You really don’t want the money,’ he says, looking so incredulous that I can’t help but wonder what he and his family must have experienced in the past. Or which people they had to deal with.
It’s none of my business, it’s none of my business, it’s none of my business!
‘No, I don’t want your money.’ Maybe he’ll believe me if I repeat it a few more times and look him firmly in the eye.
He looks at me for what feels like an eternity, seems to explore my face and my intentions bit by bit. Then he lowers his gaze, first to my mouth, then to my chin and neck and even further down. Centimetre by centimetre.
When he looks up again, understanding has spread across his features. He takes a step back. ‘I see.’ He sighs and then looks in both directions of the hallway. ‘Where do you want it?’
I have no idea what he means. ‘What?’
‘Where you want it.’ He rubs the back of his head. ‘I think one of the tutor rooms is free back there. I have a master key.’ He looks at me scrutinizingly. ‘Are you very loud? Mrs. Wakefield’s office is right next door, and she usually stays longer.’
I can only stare at him while I wonder what the hell he wants from me. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’
He raises an eyebrow mockingly. ‘Sure. Listen, I also know the I-don’t-want-any-money scam.’ Then he suddenly grabs my hand and pulls me across the hallway. In front of the room in question, he digs the key out of his trouser pocket and unlocks the door.
With his free hand, he begins to loosen his tie.
Where do you want it?
When I realize what he meant by it, I gasp in horror. But then he suddenly takes my hand and begins to pull me into the room. I hold on to the door frame and snatch my hand from him.
‘What’s the point?’ I snap at him.
‘We’re re-negotiating now,’ he replies. He glances at his wristwatch. It consists of a black strap and a bronze case and looks chic. And insanely expensive. ‘I’ve got training in a moment, so it would be really cool if we could hurry.’
He holds the door open for me and nods into the room as he unties the knot of his tie completely and then begins to unbutton his shirt. When his chest comes out and I catch a glimpse of the muscles underneath, my brain suffers a short circuit. My throat becomes dry as dust.
‘Are you abandoned by all good spirits?’ I croak, taking a step back before he can undo the last button of his shirt.
He looks at me piercingly. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know how things are going here.’
I let out a contemptuous snort. ‘You don’t have all the cups in the cupboard anymore if you think I’ll let myself be silenced with physical favors. Who do you think you are, you pompous bastard?’
He blinks several times in a row. Open the mouth and close it again. Finally, he shrugs his shoulders.
My cheeks are hot. I don’t know whether to be disgusted or ashamed. I think what I feel is a mixture of both. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ I murmur, shaking my head.
He snorts. ‘Everyone has a price, Robyn. What is yours?’
‘My name is Ruby, damn it!’ I hiss, clenching my hands into fists. ‘You should just leave me alone from now on, that’s my price. I really can’t afford to be seen with you.’
His eyes fly sparks. ‘You can’t afford to be seen with me?’
The incredulity in his voice should actually make me angry, but now I only feel sorry for him. Almost.
‘The fact that you talked to me in the cafeteria is enough. I don’t want to be part of your world.’
‘My world,’ he repeats dryly.
‘You know… the parties, drugs and all the. I don’t want to have anything to do with it.’
Suddenly, footsteps can be heard in the hallway. My heart skips a beat and then starts racing. I give James a push into the room and slam the door behind us. I listen with bated breath and fervently hope that the person walking outside doesn’t come into this room.
Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t.
The footsteps get louder and I squint my eyes tightly. They pause briefly in front of the door. Then they become quieter again and finally fade away completely. I breathe a sigh of relief.
‘You are really serious.’ James’ tone is unfathomable, as is his gaze.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘So please close your shirt again.’
He slowly complies with my request, but keeps an eye on me. As if he was looking for a back door that I might have kept open. He doesn’t seem to find one. ‘All right.’
The pressure on my chest abruptly subsides. ‘Okay. Grand. So, I have to go home now, my parents are waiting.’ I point over my shoulder with my thumb. When he says nothing, I awkwardly raise my hand to say goodbye. Then I turn to the door.
‘I still don’t trust you.’ The sound of his dark voice sends goosebumps down my arms.
I push down the handle. ‘It’s mutual.’
