Paths of Glory by Jeffrey Archer Page B

Tower.”
    Andrew laughed. “It’s just that one of the school governors, a Mr. Thackeray Turner, has invited me to join him for dinner that night, and asked if I’d like to bring a friend.”
    “It’s kind of you to think of me, Andrew,” George said as they walked out of the common room and into the quad, “but I expect Mr. Turner meant a lady friend.”
    “I doubt it,” said Andrew. “At least not while he’s still got three unmarried daughters.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
    T HURSDAY , F EBRUARY 12 TH , 1914
    G EORGE CHALKED HIS cue. He liked Thackeray Turner the moment he met him: blunt, open, and straightforward, if somewhat old-fashioned, and forever testing your mettle.
    Andrew had told George on the journey to Turner’s home that he was an architect by profession. When George was driven through a fine pair of wrought-iron gates and down a long avenue of lime trees to see Westbrook for the first time, nestling in the Surrey hills, surrounded by the most magnificent flower beds, lawns, and a sunken water garden, he didn’t need to be told why Turner had made such a success of his career.
    Before they had reached the top step, a butler had opened the front door for them. He guided them silently down a long corridor, where they found Turner waiting in the billiard room. As his dinner jacket was hanging over the back of a nearby chair, George assumed that he was prepared for battle.
    “Time for a game before the ladies come down for dinner,” were Turner’s first words to his guests. George admired a full-length portrait of his host by Lavery above the fireplace, and other nineteenth-century watercolors that adorned the walls—including one by his host’s namesake—before he removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
    Once the three balls had been placed in position on the green baize, George was quickly introduced to another side of his host’s character. Mr. Turner liked winning, and even expected to win. What he hadn’t anticipated was that George didn’t like losing. George wasn’t sure if Andrew was simply happy to humor the old man, or just wasn’t that good a player. Either way, George wasn’t quite so willing to fall in with his host’s expectations.
    “Your turn, old fellow,” said Turner, after he had posted a break of eleven.
    George took some time considering his shot, and when he handed his cue to Andrew he’d amassed a break of fourteen. It soon became clear that Turner had met his match, so he decided to try a different tactic.
    “O’Sullivan tells me that you’re a bit of a radical, Mallory.”
    George smiled. He wasn’t going to let Turner get the better of him, on or off the table. “If you are alluding to my support for universal suffrage, you would be correct, sir.”
    Andrew frowned. “Only three points,” he said before adding that sum to his meager total.
    Turner returned to the table, and didn’t speak again until he had posted another twelve to his name, but just as George bent down to line up his next shot, Turner asked, “So you would give women the vote?”
    George stood back up and chalked his cue. “I most certainly would, sir,” he replied before lining up the balls once again.
    “But they haven’t been sufficiently educated to take on such a responsibility,” said Turner. “And in any case, how can one ever expect a woman to make a rational judgment?”
    George bent over the table again, and this time he had scored another twenty-one points before he handed over his cue to Andrew, who failed to score.
    “There’s a simple way to remedy that,” said George.
    “And what might that be?” asked Turner as he surveyed the table and considered his options.
    “Allow women to be properly educated in the first place, so that they can go to university and study for the same degrees as men.”
    “Presumably this would not apply to Oxford and Cambridge?”
    “On the contrary,” said George. “Oxford and Cambridge must lead the way, because then the rest