of his promise to give me a few quotes for a dinner with some friends. He could be forgetful. They were Greek scholars who could appreciate his translations of heroic verse."
It was another world, a year ago, and a different lifetime. "And had he forgotten?" Matthew asked. Heroic verse! And the next day he had murdered John and Alys Reavley.
"No," Thyer replied. "He had prepared for it and was quite willing. As it happened, I cancelled the dinner. It no longer seemed appropriate. Joseph would have been one of the guests, and in the circumstances none of us felt like proceedings." Thyer bit his lip and leaned forward very slightly. "I am quite aware of what you are seeking, Matthew. I find it almost impossible to believe that Sebastian was planning murder then," he said earnestly. "He sounded exactly like the young man we all knew: intense, charming, exasperating, brilliant, at times sublimely funny. And, of course, fickle."
Matthew was surprised. "Fickle?"
Thyer's face softened unexpectedly with a deep sadness. "He was very handsome. He had all life before him. He had a keen appetite for its pleasures, and he wanted to taste them all. I was unaware of his fiancee until she came here after his death, but I knew perfectly well of his dalliance with the girl in the pub along by the Mill Pond, and others as well. He was fairly discreet about seeing her, but Cambridge is not such a big place, and he was easy to recognize also."
"I didn't know about others." Matthew was surprised, and disconcerted. "Who were they?"
"I have no idea," Thyer confessed. "I imagine he did not wish any of his girls to know about the rest."
"But you knew!" Matthew pointed out.
Thyer smiled very slightly. "A great deal is told to me that does not become general knowledge. As long as his behaviour is within certain bounds, a student's love affairs are not my concern. I may not approve, but I do not interfere."
The revelation still left a faintly disturbing taste. Sebastian had taken some trouble to deceive at least three women. It could not have been easy; it required planning, evasion, sometimes lies. Deeper than that, it required a degree of lying to himself. To his fiancee he had proposed marriage, or, at the least, allowed it to be understood. To Flora in the pub along the river he had offered a deep and possibly intimate friendship, and now it seemed he had given time and at least a degree of affection to other women also. He had committed something of himself to each of them, and yet each of them would have supposed herself to be unique.
Was that kind of emotional deceit in a man indicative of the duplicity that could betray his friends and eventually his country as well? Where does omission of the truth begin to be a lie?
The telephone rang on the wall beside Thyer. "Excuse me," he said, picking it up. Unconsciously he straightened a little as he listened, nodding his head and smiling. "Yes, of course," he said quietly. "I know your beliefs in the matter, but I think a compromise is necessary." He waited a few moments while the person on the other end spoke. He nodded again, giving occasional murmurs of agreement. He had not spoken the other person's name, and yet a certain respect in his manner made Matthew suppose that it was someone of considerable importance, and his mind was sharp to the power of a man in Thyer's position. What more perfect place than this for the Peacemaker? He would know men in government, the army, the royal household, the diplomatic service, he would know their dreams and their weaknesses, and above all, they would trust him.
He was still talking, giving gentle advice, the subtlest of pressure.
What had he really said in his telephone conversation to Sebastian on that last afternoon before the murder? It need not have been anything more than an arrangement to meet. The knowledge of the document, the need for such horrific violence could not have been delivered that way; it had to have been discussed face to face.
It was another world, a year ago, and a different lifetime. "And had he forgotten?" Matthew asked. Heroic verse! And the next day he had murdered John and Alys Reavley.
"No," Thyer replied. "He had prepared for it and was quite willing. As it happened, I cancelled the dinner. It no longer seemed appropriate. Joseph would have been one of the guests, and in the circumstances none of us felt like proceedings." Thyer bit his lip and leaned forward very slightly. "I am quite aware of what you are seeking, Matthew. I find it almost impossible to believe that Sebastian was planning murder then," he said earnestly. "He sounded exactly like the young man we all knew: intense, charming, exasperating, brilliant, at times sublimely funny. And, of course, fickle."
Matthew was surprised. "Fickle?"
Thyer's face softened unexpectedly with a deep sadness. "He was very handsome. He had all life before him. He had a keen appetite for its pleasures, and he wanted to taste them all. I was unaware of his fiancee until she came here after his death, but I knew perfectly well of his dalliance with the girl in the pub along by the Mill Pond, and others as well. He was fairly discreet about seeing her, but Cambridge is not such a big place, and he was easy to recognize also."
"I didn't know about others." Matthew was surprised, and disconcerted. "Who were they?"
"I have no idea," Thyer confessed. "I imagine he did not wish any of his girls to know about the rest."
"But you knew!" Matthew pointed out.
Thyer smiled very slightly. "A great deal is told to me that does not become general knowledge. As long as his behaviour is within certain bounds, a student's love affairs are not my concern. I may not approve, but I do not interfere."
The revelation still left a faintly disturbing taste. Sebastian had taken some trouble to deceive at least three women. It could not have been easy; it required planning, evasion, sometimes lies. Deeper than that, it required a degree of lying to himself. To his fiancee he had proposed marriage, or, at the least, allowed it to be understood. To Flora in the pub along the river he had offered a deep and possibly intimate friendship, and now it seemed he had given time and at least a degree of affection to other women also. He had committed something of himself to each of them, and yet each of them would have supposed herself to be unique.
Was that kind of emotional deceit in a man indicative of the duplicity that could betray his friends and eventually his country as well? Where does omission of the truth begin to be a lie?
The telephone rang on the wall beside Thyer. "Excuse me," he said, picking it up. Unconsciously he straightened a little as he listened, nodding his head and smiling. "Yes, of course," he said quietly. "I know your beliefs in the matter, but I think a compromise is necessary." He waited a few moments while the person on the other end spoke. He nodded again, giving occasional murmurs of agreement. He had not spoken the other person's name, and yet a certain respect in his manner made Matthew suppose that it was someone of considerable importance, and his mind was sharp to the power of a man in Thyer's position. What more perfect place than this for the Peacemaker? He would know men in government, the army, the royal household, the diplomatic service, he would know their dreams and their weaknesses, and above all, they would trust him.
He was still talking, giving gentle advice, the subtlest of pressure.
What had he really said in his telephone conversation to Sebastian on that last afternoon before the murder? It need not have been anything more than an arrangement to meet. The knowledge of the document, the need for such horrific violence could not have been delivered that way; it had to have been discussed face to face.
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