Page 54 of Cruel Games

My heart plummeted. Was he canceling on me? “What’s wrong?”

“Someone informed me that you were at today’s service. Father Neapolitan’s sermon must have cut deep.”

I raised a shoulder. “Those were the words of a man who’s never had a life. It’s petty to dwell on the mistakes people make when they’re young.”

Mr. Burgh’s smile broadened. “I told him something similar but not in so many pleasant words.”

“What did you say?”

Pulling himself to his feet, he shook his head and chuckled. “Something about him not getting as many opportunities to sin when he spends his life sermonizing and watching DVDs.”

“Is that why he’s so bitter?”

“There’s history between himself and your mother.” He walked around his desk. “They were sweethearts around the time she became pregnant.”

My stomach tightened. “Do you think he could be—”

“If he was your father, he would have taken responsibility.” Mr. Burgh placed an arm around my shoulders, and we strolled to the door. “Strangely, he never showed any interest in other women after your mother ran away.”

A grimace twisted my features. That wasn’t a definitive answer. Besides, if that Neapolitan twat had gotten me pregnant, I’d run to the moon, never mind London.

We left the academy buildings through the front door, just as the sun hung low in an indigo sky and cast long shadows over the courtyard.

A tall barrier of hedgerows stretched alongside a road that led further into the country estate. We continued in silence until we reached a set of gates that led to a smaller building constructed in the same French chateau-style as the academy.

Its stone front and tall, curved windows reminded me of the holiday rentals where Mother and Billy Hancock spent their vacations to the south of France. Maybe she was pining for this place on some deep level.

“Is this where the teachers live?” I asked.

“It’s the headmaster’s residence,” he replied. “Previous incumbents have had larger families, as well as servants, to accommodate. I only take up a few rooms.”

A pang of sadness struck my heart as we walked through the cobbled courtyard and up a set of stone steps. I could have lived here with him and his wife. It would have been a much happier life than the one I had spent in Richley.

The doors led to a magnificent entrance hall with a tartan chair by the fireplace that looked like it was used for visitors to sit and take off their boots. Six-foot-tall wood-paneling covered the walls and above them hung antlers.

I wondered if Mr. Burgh enjoyed hunting like Kendrick’s father, but didn’t want to waste my time thinking about him or his twin.

He led me to a room four times the size of the lounge at Sammy’s place, which was lit by a huge chandelier and a collection of table lamps. The smell of woodsmoke filled my nostrils, and I glanced at the wall opposite the windows to find a fire burning in the fireplace.

Warmth spread across my chest as I took in champagne-colored damask armchairs with a dining table and six chairs upholstered in matching fabric. “This is beautiful!”

He chuckled. “One of the benefits of the job.”

I turned to him, my eyes wide. “Do you have your own home?”

“A Victorian house in Edinburgh, which I rent out, and some holiday cottages in the Isle of Skye.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know teaching was so lucrative. But if Mr. Burgh had lived in the academy for years, I imagined he’d have a lot of spare cash to invest.

“Take a seat.” He gestured at the dining table set with two places. “I’ll bring dinner.”

I walked around, taking in all the family photos. Mr. Burgh had married a tall, stern-looking woman with the same mousy-brown hair as Mother. She wore her hair in a severe bun with rectangular-shaped glasses.

It made me wonder if Mother had gotten her the unforgiving traits of her personality from Mrs. Burgh.

The headmaster walked in, holding a bright red cast iron pot. “I hope you like chicken and dumplings.”

“It sounds lovely.” I slipped into my seat and let him dish out a generous serving.