Not at Any Price

February 3, 1998 Oxford, England

POV: Oliver

"Absolutely not!" Oliver said firmly.

Arthur stared at him with an equally serious expression. "Five hundred pounds."

Oliver grimaced. "Arthur, I'm not an actor. And even if I were, five hundred pounds wouldn't be enough," he replied.

By now, he was making more than that from tutoring in a good week. And for that, he didn't have to spend weeks rehearsing or prance around in front of a room full of people wearing green tights.

Arthur continued to stare at him before finally letting out a heavy breath. "Olli, we need you! We want a child to play Peter Pan this time."

"As if there aren't enough children in Oxford," Oliver replied dryly.

Arthur let out a loud grunt. "Do you have any idea how many guests only come because you're sitting at that piano?" he asked before continuing. "Why do you think we chose Peter Pan for our next play?" His voice sounded almost fanatical.

Oliver looked at him with a bored expression. "One thousand pounds for six weeks of rehearsals and three weekends of performances."

"Deal!" Arthur called out hastily and immediately made his escape.

Fuck, did I ask for too little?

"Wait! Arthur, stop! I know damn well you can hear me!" Oliver shouted after him.

Oliver stared after him for a moment before letting out an annoyed sigh. He grabbed his coat and headed for the exit.

Outside, it had snowed again overnight, and although there was barely any of it left on the streets themselves, thin white layers still covered the rooftops and front gardens.

The last few months had been surprisingly quiet.

Christmas had come and gone, and apart from that, not much had changed in his daily routine. During the week, he attended lessons at the Dragon School and his courses at Oxford, on his free afternoons he continued to sit at the piano in the theatre, and in the evenings his room regularly turned into a small classroom.

The tutoring had developed better than Oliver had expected. The first few students had gradually turned into several groups. By now, he was tutoring every evening.

When Oliver finally reached the Dragon School, he spotted Whitaker standing outside the entrance. Beside him stood a woman Oliver had never seen before.

"Bennett!" Whitaker called as soon as he noticed him. "Where the hell have you been? The lady's been waiting for you for almost twenty minutes!"

Oliver ignored his existence, as usual whenever he didn't need anything from him, and turned to the woman. "Can I help you?"

"Hello, Oliver. I've heard a lot about you," she said, holding out her hand. "My name is Jacqueline Luesby. My daughter attends the Pre-Prep here at the Dragon."

Oliver shook her hand and looked at her questioningly.

"Mr Trafford told me that your tutoring has become quite popular with your classmates and their parents."

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"I wouldn't say popular. At least not with my classmates," he said, amused.

"It certainly is with the parents. Quite a few of my friends have mentioned you. Their children's grades have improved considerably." She paused briefly before continuing. "I'd like you to tutor my daughter."

Oliver looked at her in surprise. By now, he had built up something of a reputation within the Dragon School: the boy who spent half his time at Oxford and was still top of his class in every subject.

"Ms Luesby, I don't think that's going to be possible. I tutor inside the boys' dorm and after curfew. Unfortunately, I'm only allowed to leave the school grounds for my courses," Oliver said, watching Mr Whitaker out of the corner of his eye.

Mr Whitaker merely grunted.

"Three times a week, fifty pounds an hour. Each—"

"I'm sure we can find a solution!" Oliver interrupted her as soon as he heard what the nice lady was willing to pay.

He looked at Whitaker, whose mouth was hanging wide open, and then back at Mrs Luesby, whose shoulders were shaking as she held a hand over her mouth. She was obviously having trouble suppressing a laugh.

***

February 6, 1998 | Luesby Residence, Oxfordshire

Ding-Dong

Oliver had to smile when he heard the doorbell. It reminded him of his first meeting with Helen. He hoped things would be a little calmer this time.

"EMMA, GET THE DOOR!" he heard the nice lady shout.

"NO! I DON'T NEED A TUTOR!" another voice shouted back.

So much for things being calmer.

Oliver stood motionless in front of the house and tried to figure out what was happening inside. He thought he heard someone stomping down the stairs, followed by a door being slammed shut.

Oliver took a deep breath and slowly let it out again. For a moment, he considered ringing the bell again when the door suddenly opened.

"You can go home!" the girl said and immediately closed the door again.

Yup—I'm going home! Good luck!

That's not my problem!

Oliver turned around without a word and walked back to his bicycle as quickly as he could. He already had one leg over the saddle when the door opened again. This time, it was the not-so-nice lady.

"Oliver!" she called after him. "Come inside!" she said, ignoring the fact that the tutor she had hired was currently trying to escape.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Luesby," Oliver said without getting off his bicycle. "Are you sure you shouldn't sort this out with your daughter first?"

Mrs Luesby walked a few steps towards him. Oliver could tell that she was embarrassed by her daughter's behaviour.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "My daughter is having a difficult time at the moment, and…"

"Mrs Luesby," Oliver interrupted her. "I'm sorry for being so direct, but I don't have the time or the patience for—" He paused and pointed towards the front door. "Whatever that was."

Mrs Luesby studied him for a moment. "You're perfectly entitled to say no, Oliver. But perhaps you should wait until you actually know what you're saying no to."

"No," he said and rode off.

She stared after him for a moment, hardly able to believe what she had just seen.

"I'll pay you for the hour anyway!" Mrs Luesby called after him, and Oliver immediately hit the brakes. "You came all the way here, so the least you can do is listen to me for five minutes," she added.

Is it really worth it?

"I'll tell you this upfront, Mrs Luesby. I'm not your ordinary seven-year-old. You asked me to tutor your daughter. But I get the feeling there's more to this than you're telling me," he said, getting off his bicycle and pushing it back towards her. "Yes, I need the money—but not at any price!"

Mrs Luesby remained silent for a moment before nodding. "You're probably right. I should have told you from the beginning what this was really about."

She glanced back towards the house. "My daughter is incredibly ambitious. Whether it's school or theatre, she always wants to be good at everything she does. And when something doesn't work straight away, she gets angry."

Oliver remained silent.

"I don't need someone who'll put even more pressure on her. I need someone who can show her that not everything has to become a competition."

"And I don't expect you to solve all her problems," Mrs Luesby added.

"Then what exactly do you expect from me?"

Mrs Luesby studied him for a moment. "When you were six, the newspapers called you a piano-playing prodigy. You're part of a programme for exceptional children at Oxford, you're top of your class, and by now you're tutoring students several years older than you."

She paused briefly.

"And you've done all of that despite growing up in a children's home. Without parents."

Oliver narrowed his eyes and looked at her considerably less warmly now.

"I don't know exactly what I expect from you," she continued. "But I looked into you before I approached you. My daughter doesn't need another adult telling her what to do. She needs someone who can show her that it can be done."