More Trouble at Trebizon

by Anne Digby

  During that fortnight, to cheer both themselves and Mara up, the friends made a big joke of the idea of Mara being kidnapped. They pretended to see kidnappers round every corner.

  'Look, Mr Douglas is pointing a pen at Mara!' whispered Tish.

  'It's not really a pen,' hissed Rebecca. 'It's got special darts in it! She'll go numb all over and then he'll kidnap her –'

  'Mara,' said Mr Douglas, 'Why haven't you handed in your chemistry prep?'

  On the middle Sunday, first out of the church, Elf pretended to be really excited.

  'Listen, you lot!' She came rushing back into the porch where Rebecca and Co. had just finished talking to the school chaplain. 'Quick!' she whispered. 'I've just seen a man in a pin-stripe suit hiding behind a tombstone!'

  'A kidnapper!' said Mara, in glee.

  'He's small, with rimless spectacles –'

  'So small, he's invisible,' laughed Rebecca, as they came abreast of the big granite tombstone that Elf had pointed to.

  'There was someone bending down there,' laughed Elf.

  The path leading away from the church was crowded and the tombstone lay close to it.

  'Really, Elf!' said Sue. There were a few day girls at Trebizon and their parents occasionally came to church with them. 'Somebody's poor innocent father –'

  'But why bending down behind the tombstone?' asked Mara mysteriously, still enjoying the joke.

  'To tie his shoelace,' said Sue.

  'No!' laughed Rebecca. 'He'd dropped his gun!'

  Occasionally Lucy Hubbard heard them joking like this and she never ceased to wonder at it. How could they make fun of something so serious? Sometimes it filled her with an obscure sense of anger that they seemed to enjoy themselves so much. But she felt great satisfaction that Mara was no longer taking dangerous risks. At last she was doing what the adults told her to. A good thing, too!

  None of the six could bring themselves to be friendly towards Lucy, after what had happened after the disco; not even Rebecca. But Rebecca noticed that she'd made one or two friends amongst the juniors since joining the Gym Club. She'd even seen her in Moffatt's one day.

  On the second Saturday, Rebecca had tennis training again.

  The girls weren't needed at Garth. Mr Slade was taking delivery of the hired lorry and the boys were going to get the float all set up. They'd promised to bring it to show the girls, the finished object, on the Sunday afternoon.

  At Exonford, Rebecca had a conversation with her coach, Mrs Ericson, that was going to have some bearing on her future.

  She felt she'd done particularly well at training this time. She was in the middle of a growing spurt and her added height seemed to be making a real difference to her control. Her co-ordination was improving, too. Everything seemed to be coming together. To prove it, she'd had some singles with Joss during the week and managed to take some games off her. That had been really exciting.

  Mrs Ericson seemed to be taking a special interest in Rebecca. She came and sat down at the table with her at tea-time.

  'You show remarkable promise, Rebecca,' she said. 'You could go a long way, if you get the right competition.'

  'Could – could I?' Rebecca's scalp started to tingle.

  'What we can do for you here is limited,' Mrs Ericson explained. 'Coaching, yes. Putting you on the right lines. But after that, everything depends on competition. You think you're good – the best in your club, maybe, or your form, or even your school – and then you meet someone who's better and you realize how much further you've got to go –'

  'I know!' exclaimed Rebecca. 'That's why I'm so lucky that Joss Vining's at Trebizon. She plays with me quite a lot now –'

  Mrs Ericson seemed not to hear, but carried straight on.

  'You've got to keep on pitting yourself against better people. That means tournaments. In this country an aspiring tennis player needs a lot of help – to be able to take part in those tournaments, to climb up the ladder –'

  Rebecca was hanging on to every word.

  'That either means sponsors, or your family helping, or both,' the coach continued. She glanced at Rebecca. 'How are your family placed? Will they be in a position to help you later on, to drive you to tournaments –?'

  Some of Rebecca's excitement faded.

  'Well, no. My parents are in Saudi Arabia. I've only got my grandmother here and she hasn't got a car – well, to be honest, she can't even drive.'

  'I see.'

  'But I've got Joss Vining!' Rebecca repeated, eagerly.

  Mr Slade drove the decorated float up to the front of old building on Sunday afternoon. The well-rehearsed band was on the back, playing lustily. Girls swarmed round, Mara and the others to the forefront. It looked magnificent.

  The band stopped playing and everyone laughed and talked. Somebody produced canned drinks and packets of biscuits.

  At one stage, Miss Welbeck herself came over to inspect the float.

  'And that's your banner, is it, Mara? Mrs Barrington told me about it. Well done. I should think the whole effort is going to sell a lot of tickets!'

  Before he left, Curly managed to speak to Mara alone.

  'Well?'

  'It's beautiful,' whispered Mara.

  'You know I've wanted you on it, right from the beginning. Sitting in the little box office – do you like it –?'

  Mara nodded, silently.

  'Look, Mara,' he said urgently, 'we've got till next weekend. It goes like this. We drop leaflets round the area all week, to prepare the way. Get plenty of people used to the idea that they're going to buy tickets. After all, they cost a bomb! Then we take the float down town next Saturday and we start selling!'

  He gripped her arm tightly.

  'So you've got a week to think of something! Surely you can shake off that watchdog of yours somehow –'

  'Watson!' called Mr Slade. 'Come on, hop on board. We're going.'

  The band started playing and the lorry drove away.

  Mara watched it go until it disappeared from sight. She looked hopeless somehow and Rebecca came and stood beside her, and put an arm round her shoulders.

  The following Wednesday, after the best game of singles they'd ever had, Joss dropped her bombshell. At first Rebecca could hardly take it in.

  They were letting themselves out of the gate of the staff tennis court and Rebecca could tell that Joss had really enjoyed the game. She remembered her conversation with Mrs Ericson the previous Saturday.

  'We're beginning to have proper games now, aren't we? You've been very patient, Joss.' And then, gratefully: 'I'm lucky to have you.'

  Joss stared at Rebecca. She suddenly looked conscience-stricken.

  'Oh dear,' she said.

  'What?'

  'I'm probably leaving this term.'

  'Joss!'

  'It's almost certain. I'll know by the weekend. Please don't ask questions and please don't spread it around, not yet. Oh, Rebecca –'

  The tall girl stuck her fingers in her short brown curly hair and rubbed her head, looking embarrassed.

  'Oh dear,' she said again.

  They walked through the staff gardens and everything seemed blurred. Rebecca remembered passing somebody sitting on a seat who looked familiar and yet not familiar. Like somebody she'd seen in a dream.

  When she got back to Court House, she found the others had all gone over to Garth College to help deliver leaflets. Wednesday was a half-day at both schools. But Mara was sitting on Rebecca's bed.

  'A parcel's come for you. It must be your costume.'

  Apathetically Rebecca opened up the brown paper parcel and took out the shimmering gossamer-like gown, the lovely veil.

  'Don't look so miserable!' exclaimed Mara. 'That you should be miserable. Try it on! Try it on!'

  Just to please Mara, Rebecca took off her track suit top and started to pull on the gown.

  'I'll have to wear this white jumper under it, anyway. Or else I'd freeze to death on the float,' Rebecca murmured. 'Oh –'

/>   She couldn't get it on!

  It was too small! She'd grown so much since last year that suddenly it was quite impossible to get into it. Come to think of it, it had been rather a squeeze then. She didn't dare tug or pull or she might tear it –

  'It's no use,' said Rebecca. 'Help me get it off. Gently –'

  Mara obliged. 'Oh, what a shame!' she cried.

  'It doesn't matter,' said Rebecca. Suddenly nothing mattered very much! Did Mrs Ericson know about Joss? Was that why she was asking those questions –? Yes, she must have known! 'I'll soon find something else to wear,' she added.

  'Rebecca –?'

  'Mmmm?'

  'It's so beautiful. Could I – would you mind –?'

  'Of course not!' Rebecca was still feeling too dreary to mind about anything. 'Go ahead and try it on. I'd love to see you in it.'

  Mara rushed off to change in her own room, where there was a full length mirror. Rebecca got on the bed and sat propped against the pillow. She put her hands behind her head and closed her eyes, thinking deeply about how much tennis had come to mean to her.

  When her eyes opened again a beautiful Arab girl stood there, a shimmering vision in white, only her eyes visible, dark brown and luminous, above the half-veil.

  'Mara!'

  'It fits me perfectly!' whispered Mara. There was a tremble of excitement in her voice. 'I could go on the float, Rebecca. No-one would recognize me! Not in that dark little ticket booth. Please lend it to me – please say you will!'

  Rebecca didn't care. She was fed up! Why shouldn't Mara have some fun? It was all so stupid, anyway. Even Miss Welbeck thought it was stupid! If they planned the whole thing very carefully, they could probably get away with it . . .

  'Please say yes, Rebecca.'

  Their eyes met.

  'Why not?' said Rebecca.

  'I love you!' Mara hugged her with joy. 'I'll get it off now straight away, before anyone sees. Oh, Rebecca, you're wonderful!'

  Rebecca knew there was no going back now!

  So that was how Mara went on the float, after all.

  And disappeared.

  EIGHT

  LUCY AGAIN

  Rebecca and Mara hatched their plan carefully and they took a vow to keep it secret. Mara was frightened that the others might try to stop her. Rebecca had a different worry. If Mara got caught on Saturday there'd be a terrible row but, in her present mood, Rebecca couldn't care less. She'd given Mara her word and if it led to trouble she'd face the consequences! But she didn't want the others to be punished, too.

  If they knew nothing about it, then nobody could blame them.

  It wasn't easy keeping a secret, though.

  'Rebecca! You look great!' exclaimed Tish later. 'Wherever did you get it?'

  The other four had got back to Court House to find Rebecca dressed, from tip to toe, in Dutch national costume. The clogs on her feet and the white cap perched on top of her blonde head both added to her height, so that she looked tall, slender and very striking.

  'The Sixth Form Dramatic Society had it!' said Mara happily. 'Pippa has lent it to us!'

  Rebecca shot Mara a warning look for using that word 'us' and for sounding so happy. But the others noticed nothing.

  'It's lovely!' sighed Elf. 'Oh, I shall look such a small dumpy Japanese beside you.'

  'What about that Arabian costume though?' asked Sue, staring at Rebecca. 'Hasn't it turned up?'

  'Useless,' said Rebecca quickly. 'Much too tight. Freezing as well.' She looked out of the window at the grey February sky. 'Brrrrrr.'

  Frightened that Sue might ask more questions, she changed the subject quickly.

  'What was it like delivering the leaflets –?'

  'Oh, terrific –' began Margot.

  This time it was Tish's turn to give a warning look – to Margot.

  'I mean, it was all right,' amended Margot, 'but cold. Really cold.'

  'You were lucky, Mara,' said Elf, trying to sound convincing. 'Being in the warm. You didn't miss much.'

  They tried so hard to be tactful on these occasions; it was awful for Mara, being left out of everything. But for once Mara didn't seem to mind at all.

  She seemed quite serene, with just the hint of a sparkle in her eyes.

  'Mara's ill! Really ill!' exclaimed Elf, coming into the kitchen early on Saturday morning.

  Rebecca and Tish were up, wearing jeans and cooking breakfast. The two of them, together with Elf and Margot, had been given permission to make themselves an early breakfast at Court House. This would enable them to dress up and be over at main school by half-past eight, when the float would be arriving. The plan was to 'set up the shop' and sell some tickets at Trebizon first, to start the ball rolling, before setting off in style for a hectic day of ticket selling in the town and surrounding villages.

  'What's wrong with her?' asked Tish anxiously.

  'I don't know!' said Elf. 'She got up and dressed when we did for some unknown reason – and then she suddenly started staggering about. She feels all hot and dizzy . . . Margot's looking after her!'

  'Better go and tell Mrs Barry!' said Rebecca quickly.

  A few minutes later Mrs Barrington emerged from the room, supporting Mara. The Greek girl had donned her school cape and was carrying a bag with her pyjamas and dressing gown sticking out of the top. Faces appeared at the doors along the little corridor.

  'You all right, Mara?' asked Sue, sleepily. She wasn't going on the float because of rehearsals. 'What's the matter?'

  Mara just shook her head and the house mistress answered for her.

  'Don't fuss, Susan. She's a little feverish, that's all. Probably 'flu. There are six girls in Crockers already – let's hope it's not going to sweep through the school. Come on, Mara. Complete isolation, I'm afraid, until Matron sees what develops. She'll have you tucked up in no time!'

  Mrs Barrington took Mara outside to where Hodkin, the school chauffeur, was waiting to drive them to the school's small sanatorium, nicknamed Crockers. Crockers was a modern, single-storey building of white brick set amongst trees, just off the school's main drive. It looked antiseptic outside and inside it smelled it. It contained several single-bedded rooms into which girls with any hint of infectious disease could be isolated for a while.

  'Poor Mara!' exclaimed Jenny Brook-Hayes, as the car roared away outside. All the ground floor girls were now milling about in the corridor, discussing it. 'Didn't she look ill?'

  'Terrible!' agreed Elizabeth Kendall, who shared with Jenny and Jane Bowen. 'She must have 'flu!'

  'It could be psychosomatic,' declared Lucy Hubbard.

  'Whatsersomatic?' said Ann Ferguson, in surprise.

  Tish, Elf and Margot came round the comer from seeing Mara off, just in time to hear Lucy holding forth to an interested audience:

  'It's all a question of interaction between mind and body. Mara must be feeling very depressed and angry this morning because her friends are dressing up and going on that float today and she can't go with them. Her mental state is interacting with her physical state –'

  'You mean, she's making herself ill?' inquired Anne Finch.

  Before Lucy could reply, Tish silenced her.

  'Shut up. Before you make me ill.'

  Rebecca had been in the kitchen the whole time, seeing to the bacon and eggs and now she looked out and yelled to the other three: 'Come on! Breakfast!'

  'Did you hear what that little horror was saying about Mara?' exclaimed Tish angrily, as they joined Rebecca in the kitchen. 'She said she might be just bringing her illness on deliberately –'

  'Because she's fed up about everything,' added Elf.

  'What a cheek!' said Margot. 'As if things aren't bad enough for Mara! Just think of it – down with 'flu – while we all have a marvellous time!'

  Rebecca turned her back to attend to the cooker. There were little shivers running up and down her spine. She spoke, without turning.

  'Come on, we'd better have a huge breakfast. It's going to be c
old on that float. Tish, you like your egg turned over, don't you?'

  Tish raised her dark eyebrows in surprise.

  'Rebeck. Don't you care about Mara? That's not like you.'

  'You didn't even see her off!' said Margot reproachfully.

  'Oh, it's not much fun having people fussing round you when you feel ill,' said Elf, springing to Rebecca's defence. 'And it's true. We need to stoke up with plenty of food or we'll all go down with something, too.'

  'The only thing you'll ever go down with, Elf,' began Tish, 'is –'

  'Bloat!' finished Rebecca and, suddenly unable to stop giggling, she served the breakfast with her hand shaking.

  Tish stared at her thoughtfully. It wasn't that funny! Whatever had got into Rebecca this morning?

  She soon found out, of course.

  The boys had recruited a new trumpeter because Chris Earl-Smith, like Sue, was needed for rehearsals for the big concert. John Bates played at full blast as the float drew slowly away from the front of old building, amidst cheers. Staff members as well as girls waved the tickets they had been buying.

  'Good luck!'

  'Try and sell out in one day!'

  'See you later!'

  'See you down town!'

  Curly Watson emerged from the smart red-and-white box office and, carefully keeping his balance on the moving float, crossed and mounted the small bandstand. He took up the beat of 'John Brown's Body' and drummed triumphantly.

  'We've sold sixty, sixty tick. . .ets!' he sung, over and over again.

  Tish, decked out in full highland costume and sitting down against the ticket office with Margot and Elf, was beginning to feel excited. But Curly's mood surprised her.

  'He hardly listened – about Mara being ill,' she said to Elf.

  'Just making the best of things. He's got to, now,' replied Elf. 'Hey, where's Rebecca going?'

  As the lorry roared and lurched along the main drive, Rebecca edged forward towards the driving cab, up front, hanging on to her white cap.

  'Steady!' said Mike, catching her arm as she stumbled in her clogs. He smiled. 'You'll be the flying Dutchwoman if you don't watch it!'

  Rebecca reached the driving cabin, hung on tightly and peered round the side of it so that she could see the road ahead. Her lips parted in sudden excitement as she saw a flicker of white amongst the trees.