Laura Gavin was seated in the Stone House parlour. With her was her friend Alice Boorman, who was spending the week-end with her. It was Sunday. Alice was due to be driven back to Norwich. Laura was to take her there, stay the night, and return in her own time on Monday.
“I hate all and every one of Mrs. Croc’s beastly relations,” grumbled Laura. “A whole six weeks she’s going to be away. What on earth shall I do with myself at this time of year?”
“Pop over to Paris or the south of France, or somewhere. You can afford it, can’t you? Paris is lovely in the spring.”
“Yes, I know, but this is just the term when frightful prep. schools start an epidemic, so I must be on hand in case they send Hamish home. He never catches anything, so they might just as well keep him, but they won’t.”
“You ought to be thankful he’s so healthy.”
“Well, of course I am. I want something to do, that’s all. Dame Beatrice hasn’t left me any work. We finished the final draft of her last book and sent it off before she went.”
“What is it? Anything useful to me at school?”
“I shouldn’t think so. It’s called Abnormal Behaviour Patterns in a Multi-Racial Society. It’s a sort of prophecy about what would happen to our brains in a generation or two if all races were completely integrated. Terrifying stuff—what I understood of it.”
“Well, I think that sounds interesting. Look here, if you’re really at a loose end, why don’t you move into the Kensington house to be near your husband for a bit?”
“I shouldn’t be near him. He’s been called to an Interpol jamboree in Switzerland and, even if I could leave England, he wouldn’t want me around.”
“But he won’t be over there long.”
“Won’t he, just! They’re going all over Europe to catch up on one another’s methods. You forget that he’s an Assistant Commissioner now. I think they have to keep finding him things to do.”
“Well, why not get yourself a job?”
“I’ve got a job.”
“Yes, but you say you can’t get on with it at present, and you know Dame Beatrice doesn’t care what you do, so long as you’re happy and don’t actually break your neck.”
“Well, what sort of a job could I get?”
“Teach on Supply.”
“What, a fortnight in a school here, and three weeks in a school there—boys, girls, infants, the lot? No, thanks! I should go off my head.”
“Well, look, I’ll leave the Times Ed. here for you. I’ve finished with this week’s number. Come on. We’d better get cracking. I’ve got some indoor athletics stuff to tabulate before I go in tomorrow morning.”
“Do it here, and I’ll type it out for you. Then you can stay for lunch.”
“No, I want to get back before dark. Besides, I haven’t got it all here. Anyway, the school secretary will type it. I want her to roll off some copies for the teams.”
“All right. I’ll get Henri to put us up a picnic lunch and some coffee, then. That will save time on the road. We can cook when we get to your flat.”
Back at the Stone House on the following evening, Laura ate the delicious dinner which the solicitous Henri sent in by his wife Celestine, and, disconsolate because she missed her employer, her mentor and friend of long standing, Laura picked up the paper which Alice had left behind and turned her attention to the advertisements.
“Not that I’ll apply to teach,” she said under her breath.
“Madame?” said Celestine, who was clearing the table.
“Oh, nothing,” said Laura. “I was only talking to myself.”
“The resort of the lonely and sad at heart,” said Celestine, with the easy sentimentality of the French.
“You reduce me to tears!” said Laura. Left to herself, she turned over the vast number of pages, skipping through the lists of advertised teaching posts.
Wanted for the summer term…
Wanted for next September…
Applications to the undersigned…
Apply by letter to the headmaster, giving references.
Attach copies of recent testimonials.
No testimonials, apply, etc., etc.
If willing to assist with games…
Ability to teach Russian to G.C.E. ‘O’ level a recommendation.
State subsidiary subject.
An interest in out-of-school activities…
At last she came upon an entry which she read a second time. Then she put the paper aside and took up a book, but it failed to absorb her, and very soon she picked up the paper again, re-read the short advertisement, dropped the paper on to the floor, and went to the telephone.
“Would you mind if I took a temporary job while you’re away?…No, only until Easter. You won’t be back before the end of April?…Righto, then, I’ll apply. Of course, I may not get it…Yes, I’ll let you know as soon as I know myself. Anyway, it must be all right. The Times Ed. wouldn’t take it otherwise…Fine, thanks, but bored stiff…All right. Mind you do the same. Don’t overstay your welcome, because I can do with you here. Goodbye.”
Howard Spalding drove cautiously. He was a menace on main roads because he invariably chose to use the middle lane, even when the inside lane was free of traffic and on a Clearway. Blasphemous drivers either had to crawl behind him, pull out into the fast lane in front of other blasphemous drivers, or move dangerously into the slow lane with their fingers metaphorically crossed as they passed him on the near side, praying that he would not change his mind and swerve suddenly leftwards into them.
On the narrow roads of the island he held no threat. He still drove slowly, but there was nothing coming behind him from the rocky, desolate Point, neither did he meet any other vehicle all the way to the hotel. He was thinking of nothing in particular—certainly not of the lukewarm welcome given by his wife and son to their new surroundings. His limited mind, in fact, was relaxed and content. He was the more surprised, therefore, when, turning off the road to drive in at the hotel gates, he found these closed against him. They were of wrought iron, and on the curving drive which led up to the front door, and on the lawn beside it, some small boys were kicking a tennis ball about and uttering the shrill cries common to their species.
Howard got out of the car and tried the gates. They were locked. He signalled, and attracted attention. A child wearing a prefect’s badge came up.
“Good afternoon, sir. Do you want to come in? I’ll get Mr. Skelton. We’re not allowed to unlock the gates ourselves. Excuse me just a minute, sir.” He ran off and disappeared into the building. Howard was not left very long to wonder what all this might portend. The boy reappeared, accompanied by a man in the casual clothing of the younger members of his profession—flannel trousers, a pullover, and a sports jacket.
“Hullo,” said he, with an informality in keeping with his attire. “Are you a parent? The Man’s rather busy just now.”
“No,” said Howard, “I am not a parent. I have merely rented one of the lock-up garages. I presume I may put my car in it?”
“Oh, I say! I’m afraid they’re all taken, you know.”
“Taken? But I’ve paid for Number Five—a year’s rent in advance.”
“Oh, dash it, what bad luck! Somebody must have slipped up.”
“I don’t understand. I was told the hotel would be closed until the Easter week-end, with just a caretaker in charge. I was to apply to him for the key.”
“Oh, I say! The whole place has been let to the school, you know. I think you’d better talk to the Man, although he’ll have my blood for interrupting him, I expect. Could you give me your name?”
“Howard Spalding. I’m staying at the disused lighthouse down at the Point.”
“Right. I won’t be a moment.” He returned with an older man who was wearing a severe dark suit and an unidentifiable Old School tie. The gates were unlocked and Howard was admitted on to the gravel. “This is Mr. Noble, the senior master. I’ll leave you both to it,” said the young man blithely.
He took himself off. Mr. Noble looked at his retreating back, sighed in a resigned manner, and asked what he could do for the visitor. Howard explained all over again, in a peevish voice, about the lock-up.
“Yes, I see,” said Mr. Noble. “Yes, yes, I see. Very difficult. I don’t know how to advise you for the best.”
“But I don’t need advice!” burst out Howard. “I only need a garage for my car.”
“You see, they’re all taken.”
“Then somebody will have to move out of Number Five. I’ve got a receipt! I’ve rented a lock-up! Look here.” He produced a piece of the hotel notepaper.
“Yes,” said Mr. Noble, handing it back. “Yes, quite. Well, I can’t disturb the headmaster at present. Perhaps you’d care to come in and wait? I’ll put you in Matron’s room. I expect you would like a cup of tea.”
Laura had obtained the post she had seen advertised. She now welcomed Howard into her sanctum with simulated warmth. She disliked weedy, narrow-shouldered men, and Howard was indubitably weedy and narrow-shouldered. She also disliked peevish voices, and there was no denying that Howard’s utterance was peevish. For his part, finding her fine, large form, frank gaze, and undoubted comeliness reassuring, Howard accepted tea and a currant bun and told her his troubles, confining these to the inexplicable misappropriation of his garage, since he did not know, at the time, that he had worse troubles to come.
“Well,” said Laura, when she had heard the tale and had poured him out a third cup of tea, “the point is, you see, that most of the Staff have cars, and it’s just as well to lock them away from the boys.”
“Yes, but what Staff and what boys? That’s what I want to know. I understood that the hotel was closed from the end of October until Easter, but now it’s turned into a school.”
“It seems that the real school buildings, down in Kent, caught fire, and there was so much damage that the headmaster either had to send all the boys home or find somewhere else for them to go until the repairs were complete. He found this hotel, and here we are. The real matron has been left behind to keep an eye on things in Kent. She’s the headmaster’s wife, as it happens, and luckily the headmaster’s house, a detached building out in the grounds, escaped the fire. I’m here in a temporary capacity—that’s to say, until Easter—and, believe me, you haven’t seen life until you’ve been a temporary, inexperienced matron in a prep. school.”
“But what am I going to do about my car?” asked Howard, shelving her problems in favour of his own.
“Cut your losses (except that the headmaster will have to pay back your rent) and find another garage. That would be my insignificant but practical contribution to the discussion.”
“But why should I, Mrs. Gavin? Why should I? After all, I was first in the field. Besides, I’m not sure there is another garage.”
At this point there was an interruption in the form of a knock on the door. Laura called out, and a boy appeared.
“Oh, no! Not you again, Michael!” cried Laura.
“Oh, no, Mrs. Gavin, thanks awfully. Not me again. I’ve only come on a message. Mr. Eastleigh says he can see Mr. Spalding now, and is sorry to have kept him waiting. Would you care to come along with me, sir?”
Laura’s room had been the hotel manager’s sitting-room and she had been allotted the pleasant bedroom which went with it. The headmaster’s study was what had been the hotel writing-room. It had proved adequate for its present purpose, as it had two bookcases in which unreadable matter had been kept for the benefit of weatherbound or moribund visitors, and which now served as display shelves for a selection of school text-books. The headmaster gave Howard a chair, faced him across a large desk, and offered him a cigarette which he declined.
“Well, now,” said Mr. Eastleigh, “I understand that we are faced with a small matter requiring adjustment. Could you just apprise me of the facts, quite briefly?”
For the fourth time since his arrival, Howard outlined the situation as he saw it. “So, as I have the prior claim, I demand my rights,” he concluded, in the blustering tones of the insecure man.
“Yes, yes, I see,” said Mr. Eastleigh. “Oh, I do so much agree that you have the prior claim.”
“Oh, well, that’s all right, then,” said Howard, with great relief. “I’ll just put my car in straight away.”
“I’m afraid not, you know.”
“Not? I don’t see any reason against it, and, as I face a long walk home, I shall be glad to get the car put away at once. I presume that you have the keys of the lock-ups in your possession?”
“Only the one for my own car. Various members of Staff have the others.”
“Well, if you’ll send for the key to Number Five…”
“I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that, you know. You see,” he went on, cutting short an interruption from Howard, “I could let you have a key to the lock-up, yes. Nothing easier. Heathers could garage in the outhouse. There is nothing but Mrs. Gavin’s car in there. The trouble is that I cannot allow unauthorised persons unrestricted access to the school premises.”
“But I’m not an unauthorised person,” protested Howard, waving his receipt. “I’m authorised by the management of the hotel to be on these premises.”
“Ah, but these premises are now school property. Suppose, in getting out your car or in putting it back, you were to run over one of my boys? You will say you wouldn’t run over one of my boys, but that would only prove to me that you don’t know boys.”
“Of course I know boys! I’ve a son of my own.”
“Have you, indeed?”
“Why, yes. A boy of nineteen. I’ve watched him grow up from babyhood. Of course I know boys.”
“Nineteen,” said the headmaster thoughtfully. “Public school, of course?”
“Naturally. Rendlesford.”
“Now at University?”
“Unfortunately, not yet. He had a severe illness last year, and, although the doctors have pronounced him perfectly fit, I thought it advisable to give him another year in which to build himself up. I’ve taken that disused lighthouse on the Point, where he can be quiet and take things easily. He is a highly intelligent boy, and I don’t want him to overdo it yet. I hope he’ll get a First when he does go up.”
His customary enthusiasm for his son’s gifts had caused him to forget, for the moment, his own wrongs, and he was about to return to these when the headmaster asked:
“Could he teach French, and, possibly, a little German?”
“Teach them? I suppose he could, if he had to, and Russian, too. But his sights are set on the Foreign Office, not on teaching.”
“Ah, yes, that is not the point. You see,” said Mr. Eastleigh, with that suspect blandness with which headmasters attempt to conceal their wiles, “it has just occurred to me that we could resolve your temporary difficulty about the lock-up if your son were to become, pro tem.—merely pro tem., of course—a member of my Staff. There could be no possible reason for me to deny access to the premises to a member of Staff or his relatives, could there? Such a veto on my part would be ridiculous.”
“So is your suggestion,” said Howard, in weak anger, getting up to go. “I am quite sure that my son would never consider such a proposition. It is no solution at all!”
“It is the only one which I am prepared to consider,” said the headmaster, in deceptively gentle tones. “Believe me, Mr. Spalding, I do sympathise with you. I should be extremely put out if I found myself in circumstances similar to yours. I admit it freely. But what can I do? I have my boys and their parents to think of. Just supposing you ran a boy down! I do beg of you to consider my proposal. Please talk it over with your son. The island offers little scope to a young man of his age, and he might be very glad of something definite to do. I would pay him a more than adequate salary, needless to say, and I would certainly undertake not to overwork him, if he’s been ill. You see, if I could get a replacement, I could send back my senior master to look after six Common Entrance boys, whom we thou
ght it better, for the sake of their work, to leave behind in Kent. I have engaged tutors for them, and they have been given quarters in my own house, but I should be better pleased if they were under Noble’s eye.”
“Damn Noble’s eye!” muttered Howard. Aloud he said, “My son would never consider becoming an usher. You will hear from my solicitors. I will wish you good afternoon, and I warn you that an action will lie. I have right on my side. Besides, I shall use my car so seldom that there could be no foreseeable danger to your boys.”
The gates were unlocked for him again, and he drove off at what, for him, was a reckless pace, blind with frustration and fury. He flung himself into the living-room of the lighthouse much earlier than he had been expected, to find his wife lying on the sofa, Colin on his knees with his arms clasped tightly round her as he blubbered emotionally into her neck, and a smell of burning coming from the scorched blankets in front of the gas fires in the bedrooms.
CHAPTER THREE
Fish Out of Water
“It was about nine miles long and five across, shaped, you might say, like a fat dragon standing up, and had two fine, land-locked harbours, and a hill in the centre part…”
It was Fiona who realised first that her husband had come back. Colin, in his muffled position and overcome by his frantic weeping, had not even heard him come in.
“Get up, Colin!” she said. “Stop playing about. Your father’s here.”
“Something’s burning!” said Howard. He rushed to inspect the bedrooms. By the time he came back to the living-room Colin’s head was under the kitchen tap and Fiona was setting the table for supper.
“I suppose we left the blankets too near the fire,” she said, before her husband could speak. “Did you have a good walk, dear?”
Howard could not bring himself to reply. The defeat he felt he had suffered at the hands of the headmaster, the discovery of the scorched blankets (which, unfortunately, would have to be replaced before he gave up his tenancy) and the (to his mind) ridiculous scene he had just witnessed, took away, for the time being, his powers of speech. Her conception of the enormity of these happenings being in the reverse order of importance—indeed, she was, so far, unaware of the futility of his attempt to garage the car—Fiona brought in the cold viands which were to constitute the supper and called upon Colin to come to the table. He refused, and tore along the passage to his room.
Skeleton Island (Mrs. Bradley) Page 2
