Chapter 3

A dark eyebrow raised. “Meaning?”

“Well, no offence, but you sound like my headmaster. Only posher.”

“Ah. That may well be because my father isa headmaster. Retired, now—he’s seventy-three. Apparently I came as something of a surprise to the old dears. I think they’re still trying to work out whether it was a good sort of surprise or…”

I couldn’t imagine anyone back home in London calling their parents “the old dears.” Then again, no one I knew back home had a dad older than my grandad.

Rupe scrambled to his feet again as an Indian couple approached, and I looked out at the lake to see Mum and the girls heading back our way. “Wait—where are we going to meet tomorrow?”

“Here. Ten o’clock.” And with a last smile, he was gone, off to help the Indian lady get into the boat without dunking her sari in the lake.

“Made a friend, have you?” Mum asked as we walked back along the sea front. She had that worried look on again.