Dance While You Can (3 page)

I wasn’t going to show her I was interested. I waited for her to leave before I picked up the newspaper.

The Lord Chief Justice, Lord Belmayne, is again locked in bitter conflict with the family of gypsy murderer Alfred Ince. The family have always claimed that Ince, sentenced to death for the notorious ‘farm murder’ in 1954, was innocent. Lord Belmayne, who presided over the long and much-publicised trial, at which several members of the Ince family were arrested for contempt of court, has since been the victim of continuing harassment.
This is not the first time the Ince family have taken up residence on the Belmayne estate. Some weeks ago there were violent scenes when Lord Belmayne had them evicted from his land. More recently, Belmayne property, in London and Suffolk has been subjected to acts of vandalism, and Lady Belmayne is said to be suffering from shock following an incident in which a brick was hurled through the window of her Belgrave Square home.

According to local sources, the gypsies arrived back on the Suffolk estate in the early hours of yesterday morning. Lord Belmayne, whose outspoken comments on the trial in South Africa of African National Congress leader Nelson Mandela have recently won him considerable publicity, spoke to me shortly afterwards. ‘These people are causing anguish to my family and my staff. I will do everything in my power to have them removed.’ It has been suggested by his estate manager that acts of perversion involving under-age girls and boys, are being practised at the gypsy camp, but Lord Belmayne refused to comment. In a heated speech in the House of Lords on Thursday he once again . . .

There was a knock on the door. ‘Sorry to bother you.’ It was Mr Ellery, the chemistry master. ‘A bit of a burn to the old fingers in the lab. Should be wise to it by now, of course, but they all think they’re the first. Loathsome little creatures they can be at times, third formers. They heat up a glass, you see, and leave it on my desk for me to pick up.’

I led him over to the sink and put his hand under the running cold water then went to the medicine chest to find a cotton bandage. ‘It’ll be a bit painful for a while,’ I said, as I dried his fingers.

‘No matter. I’ll live.’ He looked down at my desk and with his other hand pulled the newspaper round to read the article about Lord Belmayne. ‘Unlucky,’ he said after a couple of minutes. ‘Still, the press is usually much harder on him than this.’

‘Have you met him?’ I asked.

‘Several times. His son is here at the school.’ He looked at my face. ‘But, of course, you already know that. I gather he’s coming down on Sunday, after chapel.’

‘Oh.’

‘Cheer up. Young Belmayne will get no more than he deserves. He could have caused a very nasty accident.’

‘But he didn’t,’ I said, ‘and now I just wish the whole thing would go away. I was getting off to a good start before all this happened.’

‘Mmm, shame,’ he said, making me feel worse. ‘Just a pity it was Belmayne.’

‘That’s what Mrs Jenkins said,’ I muttered.

‘Well, boys will be boys. I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to it if you want to survive at Foxton’s. Now, I’d better be getting back. Heaven only knows what havoc they’ve wreaked in my absence.’

Absent-mindedly I watched him go. The door was almost closed behind him, when suddenly he came back in. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you play bridge, Miss Sorrill?’

I looked up. ‘Bridge?’

‘Just a thought,’ he shrugged, then left.

The following Sunday was an exeat, so straight after chapel most of the boys went off to spend the day with their parents. After lunch Miss Angrid and I roamed the empty dormitories looking for sweets and comics before she went back to the cottage, leaving me alone in my surgery. I’d been trying for days to think of a way I could approach Alexander and see if we could put the Tonto incident behind us, but he looked so hostile whenever I saw him that I couldn’t seem to pluck up the courage. Mr Ellery, whom I’d been to the Bistro with the night before, had reminded me that I was a member of staff, and as such could call him into my surgery any time I liked – but it wasn’t as easy as that. I’d been nervous of Alexander ever since I’d arrived, even though during my first week he’d gone out of his way to make me feel welcome. After that he’d left me to my own devices, and secretly I’d been glad. There was something about him that made me feel self-conscious and awkward.

I was going over all this in my mind when suddenly the door opened and he came in. ‘Alexander!’ I felt myself blush to the roots of my hair.

It was plain that he was in a filthy mood. ‘Mr Lorimer would like to see you in his study,’ he said, and without waiting, he turned and walked out.

I knew who the grand-looking gentleman was the instant I walked in, and felt myself shrinking inside. ‘Please, sit down, Miss Sorrill,’ said Mr Lorimer. ‘Lord Belmayne has asked to speak to you, so I shall leave you together.’

Lord Belmayne was a handsome man, older than he appeared, I guessed, but with a magnificent head of grey hair, and piercing grey eyes. I could see straight away where Alexander got his looks from – in this case, angry ones.

‘I believe I owe you an apology for the childish and irresponsible behaviour of my son,’ he said, barely looking at me. ‘I am only thankful that you sustained no injury.’

His presence was so overpowering, his manner so cold, that when I opened my mouth to speak, nothing came out.

When he was satisfied that I wasn’t going to say anything, he went on. ‘Rest assured that Alexander has been sufficiently punished, both by the school and by myself, and I trust nothing like this will happen again.’ He glanced towards the door, then, clutching his hands behind his back, he walked to the window. I had been dismissed.

– 3 –

As term went on my life became more and more of a misery. Apart from tasteless practical jokes involving dead mice and spiders and the stealing of my underwear from the laundry room – later found wrapped around Arthur Foxton’s head – none of the boys took any notice of me. They just filed past on their way to bed, and at meal-times they were respectful but silent. All sickness was reported to Miss Angrid, while I sat in my surgery hoping someone would come in; but apart from Mr Ellery, no one did.

It was he who told me that Alexander’s punishment from his father was to miss his skiing holiday with the family at Easter. As the walls of the room Alexander shared with Henry Clive were plastered with posters of skiers, I could see how severe a punishment that was for him. Well, good, was all I could say – it was less than he deserved! That was how I felt when Mr Ellery told me, but my mood swung without warning, and instead of the outraged, injured party, I became again the junior matron who remembered how kind Alexander had been when she’d first arrived and known no one . . . .

By the end of term I was so unhappy I decided I had better leave. I would go away for the Easter holiday, and simply not come back. But on the last day I knew I couldn’t walk out on Miss Angrid without telling her.

She listened while I explained how my friend Janice kept writing to me about the great time she was having in London, how she was combining nursing with a bit of parttime modelling and had hundreds of boyfriends – I blushed when I admitted that I’d never even had one. ‘You see,’ I said, ‘I keep reading in all the magazines what people my age are doing, and I’m not doing any of it. The only thing I’ve got that shows I’m a bit up-to-date is the poster of George Harrison on my bedroom wall, and a Mary Quant minidress I sent away for. I know I should have given you more notice, and if you like, I’ll come back until you find someone else. Janice’s cousin has got a shop in Carnaby Street, I might be able to work there. It’s not because I don’t like it here, or anything like that, everyone’s been really nice to me, it’s just, well, I don’t think I can stay any longer. I miss London, you see.’

‘But really,’ Miss Angrid said, ‘you’re going because of the boys?’

I looked away. I should have known she’d see through all that.

She gave my hand a squeeze. ‘Would you believe me if I told you all this will blow over?’

I shook my head.

‘It will, you know. They’re behaving childishly, of course they are, but you have to remember that’s exactly what they are – children. And as for Alexander, well, he’s a popular boy with a lot of pride, but he’ll get over it.’

‘He won’t! He hates me!’

‘Now you’re sounding like one of the juniors! Speaking for myself, young lady, I’d miss you a great deal if you went. You’ve brightened this place up more than you realise, even Mr Lorimer’s commented on it. Oh, you’re a bit of a handful sometimes, I’ll admit that – especially when you take it into your head to defend yourself from catapults with a catapult of your own! – but there’s no harm done, and you’ve won as big a place in most of our hearts as I happen to know we have in yours. And now you’re blushing again, goodness you do blush easily, don’t you? Well, maybe you’re right, you should be up there in London modelling or working in a fashionable shop. But unless I’ve got you completely wrong, I don’t think that’s really your scene, as they say. So come along with you now, you don’t strike me as someone who gives up that easily.’

I fished around in my sleeve for a hanky, keeping my head lowered so she wouldn’t see I was crying. ‘Now, how about giving it until the end of the summer term?’ she said, passing me a tissue. ‘And I think you’ll find that if you try talking to Alexander, he’ll listen. He’s far too decent a chap to bear a grudge for long.’

‘Is he?’ It was pathetic how much I wanted that to be true.

‘You take my word for it. So are you going to stay?’

I nodded. I wasn’t brave enough to put my arms around her, but I wanted to.

‘That’s my girl. And now there’s something I have to tell you. Mark Devenish, the little boy in the first year who suffers with homesickness? Well, his aunt came to the school early this morning. Mark’s mother died last night. He’s in Mr Lorimer’s apartment now, they’re waiting for you.’

I don’t know why Mark’s aunt left him behind at the school. I didn’t like to ask, but I’d never seen a child look so lost and unhappy. He ran into my arms when I walked into the room, and I kept his face buried in my shoulder so he wouldn’t see that I was crying too. Poor little mite, he was only eleven and had hardly any friends. How could everyone have deserted him?

I took him back to the cottage so that he didn’t have to watch the other boys getting ready to go away for the holiday. He had a pack of cards in his pocket and taught me how to play Trumps. I gave him some lemonade and cakes, but he didn’t eat anything and he didn’t say much either. But every now and then I saw his eyes fill with tears, and I put my arms around him while he clung to me like the frightened little child he was.

When Mr Lorimer knocked on the door later that afternoon I was touched by the way his face softened when he looked at Mark. He ruffled his hair and listened while the boy told him how he’d beaten me at seven games of Trumps, and I winced when he added that he’d won three-and-six off me.

Luckily Mr Lorimer laughed, then he turned to me. ‘I’m afraid it seems we’ve got another casualty on our hands, Miss Sorrill. Miss Angrid’s taken a tumble down the stairs. Mr Parkhouse has taken her to the hospital, though she insists it’s no more than a sprain.’ He glanced at Mark, who for the moment was happily engaged in looking through my records. ‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind walking down to my car with me a moment.’

He waited until we got outside before he spoke again. ‘I’m glad of this chance to talk to you, Miss Sorrill, because I want you to know that I am aware things haven’t been easy for you lately, and I’m sorry for it. However, Miss Angrid tells me that you wish to stay on at the school, and I want you to know how grateful I am. You have a naturalness in dealing with the boys that makes me very glad of the contact they have with you; your lack of pretension is good for them. I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you, but your contribution to the welfare of the boys has been much appreciated.’

All these compliments in one day, I’d have to offer to resign more often . . . . ‘Thank you,’ I said graciously, thinking how grown-up and dignified I seemed to have become lately.

‘There is another matter, Miss Sorrill. In light of Mark’s fondness for you, and the fact that Miss Angrid will not be mobile for a week or two, I was wondering if I could impose upon you to remain at the school over the Easter break? You will, of course, receive suitable remuneration.’

‘Oh, that’s all right, I’ll be fine in the cottage.’

He gave me a strange look, then said, ‘If you would be so kind as to bring Mark to my apartment around six, after he’s collected his belongings from the dormitory, I’ll talk to him about going to the funeral.’

Poor little Mark. It looked as if his guardians were only too glad to pass all responsibility for him over to the school. If that was the case, it was probably better for him to be with us; I’d been lonely enough after my own parents died to know how awful it was to be with grown-ups who didn’t want you.

As it turned out, I didn’t see very much of him. He stayed in Mr Lorimer’s apartment and the two of them only joined us for meals. Sometimes I saw them going off in the Rover or strolling about the grounds, but every night I went to say goodnight to Mark, and stayed with him until he fell asleep.

For the rest of the time there was Miss Angrid, who qualified – leaving all competition standing – as the world’s worst patient. I wheeled her round the grounds and watched television with her, but apart from that, and her Shelley readings, there wasn’t very much to do with all the boys away. So when Mr Ellery popped in during the week he was nearly bowled over by the welcome he got. Mark was at the cottage with us that day and his face lit up when he saw that Mr Ellery had brought his Monopoly set. I’ll bet the four of us made more noise over those games of Monopoly than any of the boys did on the rugby field – mainly because Miss Angrid kept trying to cheat.

It was on Easter Sunday that Mark showed me a letter he’d been nursing for days. I’d thought it must be from his aunt, but I could hardly believe it when I saw it was from Alexander Belmayne. He’d written to Mark to say how sorry he was to hear about his mother. Miss Angrid beamed all over with pleasure when I told her.