Free Song at Twilight by Teresa Waugh

I was horrified.
    What had I done? Had I introduced an innocent child to a far from innocent young man who was about to seduce him – corrupt him – alter the course of his life for ever?
    I felt a surge of panic. I was a school-teacher, a supposedly responsible member of society, entrusted with the care of young people; I should respect that trust, not play around with tender lives. But then as the panic ebbed away I realised that I was being quite ridiculous. Whatever Leo's tastes, he was unquestionably a nice young man and would certainly never dream of corrupting Timothy of whom he was obviously genuinely fond.
    When I reached home I searched eagerly through the post which lay scattered on the floor in the hall. There were a couple of bills and a few late Christmas cards. Nothing else. Timothy had obviously not considered it worth his while to thank me for the diary. I could hardly blame him. It was a depressing little present, the thought of which embarrassed me. And yet, as day succeeded day, I found myself anxiously awaiting the postman just in case there was something from Timothy. I was so concerned to know if he had seen Leo again and, if so, how they were getting on. Besides I was worried about the boy lest he was unhappy, what with the troubles he had at home. 
    Finally, to my surprise, a letter did come on the last day of the holidays. Timothy was such a dear boy. So well-mannered and thoughtful. He need not have written for I would not have minded at all and was indeed quite touched to think that he had bothered.
    He thanked me for the supper at Joan’s, for the dreary little diary and told me that the Christmas holidays hadn't been too bad in the end. That was all. No mention of Leo.
    I could hardly, I thought, write to Leo enquiring about Timothy. It might seem a little peculiar, particularly as I would be seeing Timothy as soon as term started. In any case Leo would probably never get round to answering my letter. Neither did it occur to me to telephone Leo. I think I would have been rather tongue-tied ringing him merely to ask after Timothy.
    The next day, in the late afternoon, the boarders began to reassemble for the Spring Term. I was not sure whether Timothy would be coming on the school train from Paddington which would be met by a coach at 4.30, or if he would be coming down by car with his mother – or perhaps even with his father. I had the impression that he usually came back to school on the train.
    At half past four I chanced to find myself sorting tapes in the language laboratory whose windows looked out over the car park where the coach from the station would be arriving.
    Every so often, out of idle curiosity, I would stroll over to the window and glance out, just to see what was going on.
    I was standing, with a pile of tapes in my hands gazing out across the yard at the red brick monstrosity beyond, which was the main school building, and wondering if it was going to snow, when all of a sudden, and with a panache not usually associated with Blenkinsop's, a brand new Porsche, as I later discovered it to be, swept up the drive and came to a sudden halt just below the window where I stood.
    My spectacles were a little misty so I put down the tapes, took off my glasses and polished them on my skirt. I was quite amazed when I put them back on my nose to recognise the young man who stepped out of the driver's seat as my nephew, Leo. 
    "Good Lord!" I thought on realising it was he. "What can be going on?"
    Next the front passenger seat door opened and an extraordinarily elegant leg appeared, followed by another and Timothy's mother, clad in furs, emerged from the car.
    "Where do we go now, darling?" I heard her piping tones.
    Timothy himself was just clambering out of the back of the car, struggling with a duffle bag and a hockey stick.
    "Well I never!" I thought to myself, and, with a sense of pique: "They might have told me!"
    Leo glanced around him and, as he did so, I stepped back from