Free The Pupil by Caro Fraser Page A

faintly humble and always discreetly spoken – was law.
    So Sir Basil resigned himself to yet another invasion of his rooms by the lower orders. The best he could do would be to retire gracefully after an hour or so and hope that not too many cheese footballs were ground into the Axminster.
    David Liphook, on the other hand, became quite schoolboyish in his anticipation. He loved parties and general conviviality, and he loved free champagne. There was something particularly delightful about the prospect of getting legless at Sir Basil’s expense, he reflected, as he watched Mr Slee take delivery of two cases of Moët one Thursday afternoon. Only marginally less delightful was the champagne for which one paid oneself, and he was looking forward to consuming considerable quantities of that at the cocktail party in Middle Temple Hall the following Friday night. He mentioned this to Anthony as they watched the van driver bring in the second case of champagne.
    ‘It’s always a spectacularly good time, the run-up toChristmas,’ he observed with satisfaction. ‘The Middle Temple cocktail party should be fun. Are you and Edward going?’
    ‘I suppose so,’ said Anthony. ‘What’s it like?’
    ‘Oh, excellent! Always completely brilliant,’ replied David confidently, although close cross-examination would have elicited the fact that David had very little recollection of last year’s affair, save that of trying to heave his bicycle over the locked gates of Devereux Court at well past midnight.

    Anthony, however, as he stood at the back of a sparsely populated Middle Temple Hall on the following evening, was not sure that the night promised to be especially brilliant. The ticket had set him back ten pounds, which he couldn’t really afford, and so far he had spent half an hour in desultory conversation with two or three fellow pupils and had drunk two glasses of warm champagne. Bridget had phoned him that afternoon, nagging at him to make a decision about the flat, and he thought he had the beginnings of a headache. Just as he was considering leaving, David Liphook and Edward made their boisterous way into the hall. They both looked flushed and riotous.
    ‘Tony!’ exclaimed Edward, ambling up to him. ‘Thought we’d find you here! Told you we’d find him here,’ he added over his shoulder to David. ‘Where’s the champagne? Where’s that woman?’ He found a waitress and relieved her of six glasses of champagne. The hall was beginning to fill up now.
    ‘We’ve been in the Devereux,’ confided Edward toAnthony, quite unnecessarily, and launched into an account of the improbable events that had occurred in the pub. Anthony listened, amused, and drank another two glasses of champagne; he was beginning to enjoy himself now that Edward had arrived. When the crowd in the hall had grown more dense, Edward scanned the room.
    ‘Wait here,’ he said, and set off towards the other end of the hall. He reappeared a few moments later with two unopened bottles of champagne.
    ‘Here we go!’ he announced, and popped a cork. David gave a hoot of laughter. Heads turned at the sound. Anthony had often observed the rowdier element at functions before, but it was a novel experience to find himself part of it. Edward filled his glass; it foamed over and splashed onto his shoes. He licked some off the back of his hand and drained his glass in one gulp. Before he had noticed, Edward had poured him another. David was telling a story about a man in a bar and a piece of string, and at its conclusion Anthony found himself exploding with laughter. I must remember to tell Barry that, he thought. Someone else began to tell another joke, and Anthony glanced down at the floor as he listened. The polished wooden boards seemed to slope away from him at a strange angle, dizzyingly. He looked up quickly, alarmed, and leant gently against Edward.
    The flow of conversation was ceaseless, and after a while Anthony discovered that he was talking