Babel : Or the Necessity of Violence: an Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution (9780063021440)

It was signed, in a very impressive calligraphy that took Robin a moment to decipher, Elton Pendennis.

‘I think you’re making a rather big deal of this,’ said Ramy when Robin showed them the card. ‘Don’t tell me you’ll actually go.’

‘I don’t want to be rude,’ Robin said weakly.

‘Who cares if Pendennis thinks you’re rude? He didn’t invite you for your impeccable manners, he just wants to be friends with someone at Babel.’

‘Thank you, Ramy.’

Ramy brushed this off. ‘The question is, why you? I’m infinitely more charming.’

‘You’re not genteel enough,’ Victoire said. ‘Robin is.’

‘I don’t understand what anyone means by genteel,’ said Ramy. ‘People always throw it around in reference to the high- and well-born. But what’s it actually mean? Does it just mean that you’re very wealthy?’

‘I mean it in the context of manners,’ said Victoire.

‘Very funny,’ said Ramy. ‘But it’s not manners that’s the issue, I think. It’s that Robin passes as white and we don’t.’

Robin could not believe they were being so rude about this. ‘Is it impossible they might just want my company?’

‘Not impossible, just unlikely. You’re horrible with people you don’t know.’

‘I am not.’

‘You are too. You always clam up and retreat into the corner like they’re about to shoot you.’ Ramy folded his arms and cocked his head. ‘What do you want to dine with them for?’

‘I don’t know. It’s just a wine party.’

‘A wine party, and then what?’ Ramy persisted. ‘You think they’ll make you one of the lads? Are you hoping they’ll take you to the Bullingdon Club?’

The club on Bullingdon Green was an exclusive eating and sporting establishment where young men could while away the afternoon hunting or playing cricket. Membership was assigned on mysterious grounds that seemed to strongly correlate with wealth and influence. For all of Babel’s prestige, none of the Babel students Robin knew had any expectations they might ever be invited.

‘Perhaps,’ said Robin, just to be contrary. ‘It’d be nice to have a look inside.’

‘You’re excited,’ Ramy accused. ‘You hope they love you.’

‘It’s all right to admit you’re jealous.’

‘Don’t come crying when they pour wine all down your shirt and call you names.’

Robin grinned. ‘You won’t defend my honour?’

Ramy swatted his shoulder. ‘Steal an ashtray for me; I’ll pawn it to pay off Jameson’s battels.’

For some reason it was Letty who most ardently opposed Robin’s accepting Pendennis’s invitation. When they left the coffee shop for the library, long after the conversation had drifted elsewhere, she tugged at his elbow until they fell back several paces behind Ramy and Victoire.

‘Those boys are no good,’ she said. ‘They’re lushes, they’re indolent, they’re bad influences.’

Robin laughed. ‘It’s only a wine party, Letty.’

‘So why do you want to go?’ she pressed. ‘You hardly even drink.’

He could not understand why she was making such a big deal of this. ‘I’m just curious, that’s all. It’s probably going to be awful.’

‘So don’t show up,’ she insisted. ‘Just throw the card away.’

‘Well no, that’s rude. And I really haven’t anything on that night—’

‘You could spend it with us,’ she said. ‘Ramy wants to cook something.’

‘Ramy’s always cooking something, and it always tastes awful.’

‘Oh, then are you hoping they’ll bring you into the ranks?’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘Swift and Pendennis, bosom friends, is that what you want?’

He felt a flare of irritation. ‘Are you really that terrified I’ll make some other friends? Trust me, Letitia, nothing could beat your company.’

‘I see.’ To his shock, her voice broke. Her eyes, he noticed, had turned very red. Was she about to cry? What was wrong with her? ‘So that’s how it is.’

‘It’s only a wine party,’ he said, frustrated. ‘What’s the matter, Letty?’

‘Never mind,’ she said, and quickened her pace. ‘Have drinks with whoever you like.’

‘I will,’ he snapped, but she’d already left him far behind.

At ten to seven the following Friday, Robin put on his one nice jacket, pulled a bottle of port he’d bought at Taylor’s from under his bed, and walked to the flats on Merton Street. He had no trouble finding Elton Pendennis’s rooms. Even before he’d made his way down the street, he heard loud voices and somewhat arrhythmic piano music floating out of the windows.

He had to knock several times before someone heard him. The door swung open, revealing a tow-haired boy whose name Robin vaguely remembered as St Cloud.

‘Oh,’ he said, looking Robin up and down through lidded eyes. He seemed quite drunk. ‘You came.’

‘It seemed polite,’ Robin said. ‘As I was invited?’ He hated how his voice crawled up into a question.

St Cloud blinked at him, then turned and gestured vaguely inside. ‘Well, come on.’

Indoors, three other boys were seated on lounge chairs in the sitting room, which was so thick with cigar smoke that Robin coughed upon entering.