Heads You Win

“An excellent choice, madam. And for you, sir?”

“Parma ham and melon, and I’ll also have the Dover sole. And perhaps you could recommend a wine that would complement the fish?”

“Perhaps the Pouilly-Fuissé?” said Moretti, pointing to the third wine on a long list.

“That looks fine,” said Quilter after checking the price.

Moretti hurried away and told his sommelier that table eleven would have the Pouilly-Fuissé. “Premier Cru,” he added.

“Premier Cru?” the waiter repeated, only to receive a curt nod.

Moretti retreated to a corner and watched the sommelier uncork a bottle and pour out some wine for the customer to taste. Mr. Quilter sipped it.

“Magnificent,” he said, looking a little puzzled. “I think you’ll enjoy this, my dear,” he added as the sommelier filled his wife’s glass.

Although the restaurant was full that night, Mr. Moretti’s eyes rarely left the customers on table eleven, and as soon as the main courses had been cleared away he returned to ask if they would like a dessert.

The smile that appeared on Mr. Quilter’s lips after he tasted the first mouthful of Elena’s crème brûlée could have left no one in any doubt how much he enjoyed it. “Worthy of Trinity,” he mumbled when their empty dishes were whisked away, leaving Moretti none the wiser.

Mr. Moretti remained in a corner of the restaurant until the special guest asked a passing waiter for the bill, at which point he made his way back to table eleven.

“What a wonderful meal,” Mr. Quilter said as he ran a finger down the bill. He took out his checkbook, filled in the figures, and added a generous tip. He handed the check to Mr. Moretti, who tore it in half.

Mr. and Mrs. Quilter were unable to hide their surprise. “I don’t understand,” Mr. Quilter eventually managed.

“I need a favor, sir,” said Moretti.

*   *   *

Elena straightened Sasha’s tie, and stood back to take a careful look at her son. He was dressed in his Sunday best, a recent purchase from a local church jumble sale. The suit may have been a little on the large size, but nothing a needle and thread hadn’t taken care of.

Mr. Moretti had given Elena the morning off, although he was just as nervous about the outcome as she was. A red double-decker bus transported mother and son to the next borough, and they got off outside a vast set of wrought-iron gates. They walked through into a courtyard, where Elena asked one of the boys for directions to the headmaster’s office.

“How nice to meet you both,” said Mr. Quilter, when his secretary ushered them into his study. “Now, I know Mr. Sutton is expecting us, so let’s not keep him waiting.”

Elena and Sasha obediently followed Mr. Quilter out of the room and into a crowded corridor, full of smartly dressed, exuberant young boys, who immediately stood aside when they saw the headmaster heading toward them. Elena admired their smart blue monogrammed uniforms with dismay.

The headmaster stopped outside a classroom with the words MR. SUTTON MA (OXON) painted on the pebbled glass. He knocked, opened the door, and led the candidate in.

A man wearing a long black academic gown over his suit rose from his desk as they entered his classroom.

“Good morning, Mrs. Karpenko,” said the senior mathematics master. “My name is Arnold Sutton, and I’m delighted you were both able to join us today. I’ll be conducting the examination.”

“How nice to meet you, Mr. Sutton,” said Elena as they shook hands.

“You must be Sasha,” he said, giving the boy a warm smile. “Please, take a seat and I will explain what we have planned.”

“Meanwhile, Mrs. Karpenko,” said the headmaster, “perhaps we should return to my study while the test is taking place.”

Once the headmaster and Elena had left the room, Mr. Sutton turned his attention to the young applicant.

“Sasha,” he said, opening a file and extracting three sheets of paper, “this is the mathematics examination that was taken by those pupils who wished to enter the sixth form of Latymer Upper.” He placed the three pages on the desk in front of Sasha. “The time allocated for the test is one hour, and I suggest you read each question carefully before answering it. Do you have any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.” The schoolmaster checked his watch. “I’ll warn you when you have fifteen minutes left.”

*   *   *

“You do understand, Mrs. Karpenko,” said Mr. Quilter as they walked back down the corridor, “that the exam your son is sitting is not only for pupils hoping to enter the sixth form here at Latymer, but also for those preparing to go on to university.”

“That’s no more than I would want for Sasha,” said Elena.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Karpenko. But I must warn you that he will have to get sixty-five percent to pass. If he does, we would be delighted to offer him a place at Latymer Upper.”

“Then I must warn you, Mr. Quilter, that I couldn’t afford the school uniform, let alone the fees.”