High Master of Clere (18 page)

There was dancing in the hall beyond an archway, but Jane Dysart did not dance; owing to her strapped foot Ira could not, and neither man invited Verity. The talk was general for some time until Jane moved away to speak to a friend. Then Nicholas suggested adjourning to the bar and did so with Daniel when Ira said,
‘
We
’
ll stay here. You know you
’
d rather go stag,
’
adding to Verity when they had gone,
‘
Poor lamb, Nicholas. He does enjoy an innocent noggin, and once out of range of Jane
’
s eye, one feels one must make things easy for him
’—
She broke off to stub out her cigarette. Then
—
‘
And talking of sister Jane, how come you
’
ve made such an enemy of her?
’
she asked.

‘
I?
’
The
sudden question took
Verity aback.
‘
An enemy?
How do you mean?
’

Ira
’
s lifted hand expressed perplexity.
‘I
wouldn
’
t know how! I was asking you!
’

‘I
meant, how do you know? That is, what
makes you think
?
’

‘
Because she
’
s so waspish whenever your name comes up.
’

‘
But
—’

‘
Just so.
’
Ira spoke Verity
’
s own
thought.
‘
Let
’
s face it,
Jane
is
waspish at times.
But she
always seems so intent on carving you up that I wondered if you knew you had given her any special cause. For instance, a while back when you and Dr
.
Wales were cracking your bottle together, I did my bit for you by pointing out to the assembled company what a nice pair you made. Whereupon Jane chipped in, all pursed mouth and outraged decency and wanting to know just how man-crazy could a girl get to be quite so blatant about it. I quote.
’

Verity gasped.
“
Man-crazy?
Me
?’

Ira nodded.
‘
You, dear. She waited for someone to ask her for details, and when nobody did, she supplied them. There was that young man last term. He had jilted you when you began to do the pace
-
making, and now look at you! Trying to snatch Bob Wales from some Norwich girl he
’
s supposed to be courting. Goodness knew where you
’
d set
your sights next
—
No, sister Jane was being
distinctly short on charity. I suppose I should have waded in to your rescue. But how could I, without telling her that, whatever you might appear to be up to with Doc Wales, I
’
d take a bet it was some
thing else.’

This was
crazy!
If Daniel had believed Jane, that was enough to brand her. Had the searching look he had sent her across the table said as much?

Meanwhile she evaded Ira
’
s question.
‘
If I had been doing that, I suppose you would call it technique?
’
she said.

‘
Of course
!’
Ira agreed.
‘
That particular gambit doesn
’
t always work, but it
’
s usually worth a try. Just too bad, in your case, that Jane had to be around, putting the worst construction on it
—’

She broke off as Jane returned to ask sharply where the men were. They came back a few minutes later and presently they all joined the concerted move to watch a firework display from the hotel terrace.

Verity was on tenterhooks for Bob
’
s return. But, facing the display, she neither heard nor saw him come up behind her until his arm went across her shoulders and stayed there.
‘
There
’
s my girl,
’
he said, and laughed as she started at his touch.

‘
Oh, Bob, it
’
s you! I
’
m so glad. How is the baby you went to see?
’

‘
Fine now, though I had to use a stomach pump. My, that
’
s some squib, isn
’
t it?
’
he said, his eyes on the fantastic arcs of red, blue, green and gold stars which were raining down the sky. Bob had the same uncomplicated attitude to fireworks as he had to holes in the road and clockwork trains. They all afforded him pleasure which it was refreshing to share.

When the display was over there was a short cabaret to watch. Then it seemed time to go home. The Clere party broke up—Daniel and Ira for his car, the Dysarts for their Mini, Verity and Bob for his. Bob was first out of the car-park and was well ahead of the others all the way back to Clere.

He alighted with Verity. Not making a question of it, he said,
‘
I dare say you
’
d just as soon I didn
’
t
come in.
’
And then,
‘
Operation Keeping Up With the Joneses successful—hm?
’

When she stared, missing his meaning, he flicked a
fing
er under her chin.
‘
Well, that was the idea, wasn
’
t it? The Golden Strand this particular night was a status symbol you
’
d bitten off and then found you couldn
’
t chew?
’

She laughed then, shakily.
‘
Something like that.
’

‘
Though not quite? More your morale in need of a boost, eh? At a guess, maybe you saw it as a chance to show people you
’
re currently in keen demand and needing nobody
’
s toffee-nosed pity?
’

‘
People?
’
Verity echoed faintly.

‘
We
l
l, Jane Dysart in particular. You can
’
t have forgotten how she went out of her way to make that public crack about you and Max Doran. So if tonight
’
s little charade was aimed at her, count on me, won
’
t you, any time you want to repeat it.
’

‘
Oh, Bob, bless you
!’
Relief that he was content with so much less than the truth washed over Verity. Relief and gratitude
...
And because, momentarily, it seemed as natural to kiss Bob for gratitude as it was to breathe, she kissed him.

‘
He looked pleased.
‘
Well
!
’
he said, and
kissed her in return—just as headlights raked towards them, then abandoned them again to the darkness as Daniel
’
s car, on its way to West House, passed by.

As it did so, slowing, Ira rolled down her window, put out a white-gloved hand, raised its thumb and laughed—as if she guessed Verity would understand.
‘
And what was that in aid of
?’
asked Bob sharply. Verity did not tell him.

Once December was in, the school, to a man, began to count the days to the Christmas vacation, though the staff did so through a haze of disbelief
that they would ever survive so far. For the final three weeks of term meant for them a mounting tide of extra work which subsided only when the last individual report had been written, signed and posted, and the last of the boys was on his way home.

Verity
’
s own crisis began with coaxing staff to deliver exam papers in good time for the deadline at the printers
’
, then getting them back from the printers
’
, checking them for errors, counting them and then seeing each set reached the right classroom, in the right quantity on the right day. In between times she typed Report envelopes, typed Matron
’
s lists of the boys
’
next term clothing requirements, began the long task of advising parents on their sons
’
travel date and train times, and when she had nothing else on hand, acted as invigilator to exams.

The latter task she rather enjoyed—two hours or more of watching assorted heads bent in fierce concentration over their work, free to allow her thoughts to range elsewhere until they were recalled by a piping request for more blotting-paper or by an eager,
‘
I
’
ve finished, Verity. Can I go now?
’
before the allotted time was up.

In the staff-room she grumbled with everyone else that it was all
‘
too much
’
and that, like them, she hadn
’
t
‘
done a thing
’
about Christmas. But being secretly stimulated by the rush was all part of loving her job; she wouldn
’
t want terms to end in any other way than with this crescendo of work and the promise of earned leisure as its reward.

She would have no time to do her Christmas shopping until the school broke up, so when
Mrs.
Lytton went to Norwich to do her own, she went armed with Verity
’
s list as well. On that morning Verity went to her office, taking a small bet with herself that Nicholas Dysart
’
s examination-paper copy
—
always the last—still would not be to hand.

She won. It wasn
’
t. But just as she was checking the class timetable to see where she could reach
him
, to bully him with an
‘
or else!
’
Daniel came in, a sheaf of foolscap in his hand.

He laid it on Verity
’
s desk.
‘
With Dysart
’
s compliments and apologies, if he
’
s kept you waiting. That is, you must take the apologies at secondhand. He
’
s in class all the morning, but when I was over at West House just now,
Mrs.
Dysart said this copy seemed to be ready for you on his desk, and she asked me if I
’
d deliver it to you.
’

Verity gathered up the sheets from her own littered desk, riffled through them.

‘
Thank you. I was waiting for it. I hope it
’
s
all here
—’
She broke off, frowning.
‘
Oh no!
Now that
can
’
t
be right, surely?
’
she puzzled aloud.

‘
What can
’
t?
’

‘
Well, this paper he has headed
“
Political Geography. Lower Third.
”
They
’
re all questions on South America, and that wasn
’
t the Lower Third
’
s geography syllabus this term. It was—let
’
s see
—
Europe, I
’
m pretty certain.
’

Daniel looked his surprise.
‘
And how do you know?
’

‘
I type all the syllabuses at the beginning of term,
’
she reminded him.

He smiled.
‘
“
All part of the service,
”
in fact? That card-index memory of yours at work? However, let me look
—’

Verity scooped up the whole sheaf and handed it to him.

‘
Of course it needn
’
t be much wrong. It could be that he has just mixed the headings,
’
she mused, watching as something floated out from between or beneath the sheets Daniel held.

It was a leaf from the scribbling pad which was standard issue to every staff desk in the school.

Daniel adroitly fielded it in mid-air, and from where she stood at his side she could see its covering of jottings, as of a new ballpoint being tested. But not, until he passed it to her, the typing which stood out from under the mess of doodling.

Her own name. VERITY LYTTON. Then, twice repeated—VERITY DORAN—each time the
‘
DORAN
’
crossed out. Beneath that, again twice—VERITY WALES, followed by a question
-
mark. And then—VERITY WYATT. VERITY WYATT. VERITY WYATT, followed by a string of exclamation-marks and one word—
‘
Yes
’
.

Appalled, she met Daniel
’
s eyes.
‘
What
’
s this? It
’
s nothing to do with me
!’

His brows went up in mild query.
‘
No? It came from your desk, didn
’
t it?
’

‘
It couldn
’
t have,
’
she denied.
‘
I
’
ve never seen it before. You—you can
’
t think me capable of anything so—so
idle?
It can only be someone else taking stupid, impudent liberties with my name!
’

‘
Also with mine—among others,
’
he pointed out.

‘
You do think I did it myself
!’
she accused, beside herself with chagrin.

‘
Did I say so? Let
’
s hope you
’
re above that level of teenage inanity. But since it must have been on your desk, mayn
’
t one suppose it was done there?
’

‘
Not on my typewriter!
’

‘
Not by, say, some busybody friend of yours with time on their hands?
’

Verity insisted,
‘
It was
not
done here. There are other typewriters around School. Besides, no friend of mine would dare. Or manage to be quite so
—
mistaken in their silly speculations about me.
’

Ever so slightly, Daniel
’
s eyes narrowed.
‘
I agree. The thing seems to have drawn its conclusions without checking very astutely on the facts.
’

‘
Without any regard
at all
for the facts
!’

He shrugged.
‘
That
’
s wishful thinking for you. It has an entirely blissful attitude to facts. Which makes this rather sorry effort not worth our sleuthing, wouldn
’
t you say? So will you destroy it or shall I?
’

Her answer was to crumple the paper in her hand and drop it into the bin under her desk.
‘
It
’
s impertinent! It
’
s monstrous! It
’
s
—’
she raged.

He smiled then.
‘
Oh, come! Where
’
s your sense of proportion? It
’
s only a form of
graffiti.
Some people have this urge to carve linked hearts on tree trunks and to scrawl things like
“
Joe loves Liz
”
on walls.
’

‘
That
’
s quite different. But this
!’

‘—
is merely the penalty of our being in the public eye of a very small community,
’
he finished for her.
‘
You and I work together; we share the same quarters, and someone not only sees the makings of romance in that, but thinks it clever to put it on record. It
’
s clumsy, it
’
s infantile—all that. But look at it this way—now you know the gossip that
’
s brewing, you
’
re in a stronger position to deny it, aren
’
t you?
’

‘
I suppose so.
’

‘—
and then to forget it, as I mean to. Now, about this mix-up of Dysart
’
s, if that
’
s all it is. Can you say, off the cuff, which form is taking South America this term, if the Lower Third isn
’
t?
’

She recognized the finality in that tone. But when they had sorted out the error and he had gone, she did not need to retrieve the paper from her waste
-
bin to be able to guess pretty certainly at its author.

It had not been on her desk before Daniel arrived. To that she would swear. Therefore it had come with him. Nicholas Dysart had a typewriter, and Jane had handed his exam copy to Daniel. She
could not have foreseen that she could make Daniel her messenger, but she had probably promised Nicholas she would pass it to Verity, meaning to see that her own piece of mischief went with it. She would have been content to annoy Verity with it; Daniel
’
s offer must have been a real bonus. One or other of them was bound to come upon it, be embarrassed or annoyed by it, and for Jane
’
s purpose it didn
’
t matter which.

Momentarily Verity looked at the possibility that it was Ira
’
s work, not Jane
’
s. But when Ira wished to embarrass someone she did it more directly and offered herself for snubbing. No, this had Jane
’
s sly stamp all over it, and the rub was that she could not be accused. In crime novels the work of any individual typewriter
’
s work would be traced. But in real life you did not put it to the test and then face a colleague with the damning proof. It was in the bleak moment of realizing there was nothing she could do about it that Verity first had the thought that if Jane
’
s needling went on there would not be room for them both at Clere.

Daniel would stay and so would Jane. It might be she who would have to go
...

Mrs.
Lytton returned from Norwich, full of the news that she had run into Guy Tabor in the city and had lunched with him at his invitation.

‘
I told him I was up for shopping and hadn
’
t meant to spare time for more than a sandwich and coffee. But he wouldn
’
t take
“
N
o”
and I was glad I accepted, because the poor man needed someone to talk to—imagine that
!’

Verity laughed.
‘
I know you! You drew him out and before he realized what you were up to, you had him crying on your shoulder!
’
she teased.

Mrs.
Lytton dimpled.
‘
No, really! I didn
’
t say anything to invite him to confide in me. After all,
I hardly know the man
—’

‘
As if you
ever
let that make any difference!
’

‘
And why
should
I?
’
Mrs.
Lytton countered.
‘When
people
need
advice, they
’
ll often take it better from
a stranger.
But in fact it wasn
’
t like that
with
Mr.
Tabor. He
said it was by the happiest chance that
we had
met, because I was perhaps the
one
person
to help
him, if anyone could.
’