by Jane Arbor
Matron came back and was irate that the painters and decorators were still in occupation of the sick bay; it was Verity who had to interview the foreman and insist on a deadline for the work to be completed. The returning staff, though gratifyingly pleased to find her still at her post, were loud in their grumbles over their premature recall and it was she who soothed over and over, ‘It’s only for this term, owing to the change of High,’ and clucked sympathetic noises until the protests trailed away.
She checked medical requirements with Matron and the non-resident school doctor, Bob Wales; she ordered the domestic replacements needed by the kitchen staff; she saw the educational publishers’ travellers on her chief’s behalf; was at the continual beck of the telephone, and typed letters, re-drafted work schemes and timetables until at the end of each session at her desk she had difficulty in flexing her fingers.
Meanwhile the breath of change which Lance had foreseen was beginning to blow over Clere. It was to be felt in the earliest of Daniel Wyatt’s memos to his staff, to Verity herself, in his whole approach to the problems of his job. Instinctively Verity felt that the school’s truer traditions were going to be safe with him, but he was ruthless with what he regarded as the clutter of ‘But it has always been done that way’ and the undertow of her loyalties to her father’s regime allowed this to hurt more than a tittle. She could only hope she was concealing from him and her mother her dismay at some of the innovations, and she was thankful that Lance’s reaction to them was a problem she could shelve for a little longer. One in particular which affected him would be a fait accompli by the time he returned.
It was on the day before all the boys were expected back that, returning to her office after walking Nash, she found Daniel Wyatt waiting there for her.
Without preliminary he said, ‘I’ve just answered a call from a Captain Bellamy. Does the name mean anything to you?’
‘Bellamy?’ Verity bit her lip, remembering. ‘Yes, he—’
‘I thought it might.’ Her chief’s tone was terse. ‘His son is to be new here this term, and his father rang from King’s Lynn. He tells me that, finding himself unexpectedly in the district again, he would like to call for a talk, as the last time he came he was interviewed and shown round only by my secretary. What have you to say to that?’
Verity swallowed on coldness. She could only agree, ‘Yes, I did see him and show him round alone.’
‘But wasn’t I given to understand that Mr. Dysart had handled all the parent interviews which I hadn’t?’
‘This was before we knew you were to be appointed.’
‘That makes no difference. On this occasion and on others, for all I know, you deputized for Mr. Dysart. Why?’
‘Because he asked me to.’ Verity added in her own defence, ‘I think I was able to tell Captain Bellamy all he wanted to know. He seemed satisfied.’
‘I’ve no doubt you were. I’m not questioning your know-how about everything to do with the school. That makes itself apparent daily. But that’s not the point at issue. Every parent, particularly those of our newcomers, should have been seen by Mr. Dysart in person—or by myself after I did arrive. Why, anyhow, had he to get you to stand in for him with Captain Bellamy?’
Verity made a mental note to warn Nicholas Dysart of the wrath in store. ‘Because, if I remember, he thought he might be too busy himself,’ she told Daniel Wyatt.
‘I see.’ A pause. Then, ‘Well, I’ve made my appointment with Captain and Mrs. Bellamy for four o’clock, so will you see we’re not disturbed?’
That closed the subject, but as soon as she was able Verity played truant from her office and walked over to West House where she was admitted by Mrs. Dysart, a thin-faced, tight-lipped woman whose lean angularity was the complete foil to her husband’s chubby roundness of figure. They were opposites in other things too. Jane Dysart made no secret of her ambitions for Nicholas. Nicholas, for his part, had none, claiming he had no wish to move out or up from where he found himself. He was popular with staff and school alike; she was not, and in the boys’ frank opinion ‘Old Nick’ had taken on a grossly unfair handicap when he had chosen ‘Mrs. Old Nick’ as his life’s partner.
Her greeting to Verity was a frigid, ‘Well?’ and when she had fetched her husband she stayed while Verity explained her errand.
Nicholas’s reaction was merely a fat chuckle. ‘Not to worry,’ he assured Verity. ‘I admit I seem to remember I had a golfing date I didn’t want to break, and I’ll plead guilty. But hang it, it was vacation, and aren’t I entitled to as much of that as anyone else?’
‘Of course you are, though Father saw parents all through vacation,’ Verity demurred.
‘That’s different. Bless his memory, R. L.’—the staff’s affectionate abbreviation for Mr. Lytton—‘was dedicated—among all the other lovable things he was. I’m a lesser chap altogether and I like such freedom as I consider I’ve earned. Besides, who better than you, my dear, to do the honours of the place for this man Bellamy? Which, you may be very sure, I’ll point out to our respected High when he has me on the carpet.’
Verity said drily, ‘You needn’t bother. He allowed I was probably—adequate. I thought you should be warned, all the same, that he is distinctly “not amused.” ’ But before Nicholas could reply his wife cut in.
“On the carpet”! “Not amused”!’ she echoed, her needle stabbing viciously at the hem she was stitching. ‘Nicholas, really! How can you be so—so craven, when, if you had played your cards properly, there’s no reason at all why you shouldn’t be just where Wyatt is now!’ At Verity’s sudden movement of distaste she threw the girl a semi-apologetic ‘Of course, I mean, if your father hadn’t died,’ then returned to the attack. ‘Well, Nicholas?’ she pressed.
Her husband’s face had gone grave. ‘But I’m not where Wyatt is. What’s more I have no wish to be. But you don’t understand that, do you, Jane?’ he said.
‘I certainly do not!’
‘In spite of all the times we’ve had it out? That for one thing, I’m pushing fifty—within ten years or so of retiring. That though I flatter myself I’ve made a “ happy ship” of West while I’ve had it, I recognize that housemastering is my limit, and I’m content. Also, that even if I’d had the offer of it, I would never presume to follow someone like R. L. into the High Mastership of Clere—’
“But you’ll stand by and see a comparative puppy step into it!’
‘Yes. A young man who’s showing a good deal of drive already, someone with time before him and ambitions of his own for the place, I dare say.’
Jane Dysart echoed, ‘I dare say too! Using Clere as a stepping-stone for himself, that’s about all. And of course it doesn’t matter to you that I’m cramped here, that I might have expected something better for you after all these years, that—’
But there Verity thought it wise to slip away from a clash of conflict in which she had no right to take sides, much as she wanted to.
Everyone on the Clere staff suspected Jane Dysart considered her husband a drone. But Verity had never before heard her so blatant—as if her seething resentment at his being passed over had suddenly come to the boil and she didn’t care who knew it. Fortunately Nicholas’s lotus-eating temperament seemed a match for her; if it weren’t, she would surely have worn down his resistance long ago.
It was good, too, thought Verity, to find him so open-minded and tolerant of their new broom of a chief. Not, she judged, that it would concern Daniel Wyatt overmuch whether he found himself at first among allies or enemies. But a little surprised that it should matter as it did, she knew it was she who wanted Clere’s whole loyalty behind him ... wanted it badly enough to be prepared to stand up to any Jane Dysart, to any Lance, in order to get it for him.
Now she wanted him to succeed with Clere. For her mother’s sake, for her father’s, and to prove Lance’s prejudice wrong. No more than that, she thought. And they were good reasons enough ... weren’t they?
She did not see
Daniel Wyatt again until the early evening when it emerged that Mrs. Lytton had plans for them both. She had asked him to join them for sherry before the evening meal and as she handed him his glass she asked, ‘I’ve been wondering, Daniel—are you very, very busy tonight?’
He looked up at her. ‘Busy enough. Why?’
‘Oh dear.’ She twisted the stem of her own glass between her fingers. ‘And I’d been hoping you could help me out. But of course, if you can’t—At such short notice too—’
As Daniel’s mouth curved to a small smile Verity saw that already he had begun to take the measure of her mother’s gently hesitant manner. Morally impossible, as Verity knew only too well, to ignore the appeal she had left unspoken, and Daniel did not ignore it.
He said, ‘What is it I can do for you?’
‘Well, if you could. It’s like this. Robert was the chief patron of the Lyre Group, a musical society in Norwich which gives concerts during the winter season and books St Andrew’s Hall when the big symphony orchestras come down. Tonight they’re opening with the Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra there and they’ve sent me two tickets as usual. But for one thing, you’ll understand that I don’t care to go anywhere in public yet, and for another, Lance will be home later and I can’t leave. But Verity takes after her father—she loves music. So I thought—though do say if it’s quite impossible for you—if you would use the tickets and take her, she’d be very grateful.’
For answer Daniel looked across at Verity. ‘You’d like to go?’
‘Very much, if we ought to spare the time.’
‘We’ll spare it,’ he said. ‘What time ought we to leave, and does one dress?’
An hour later they set out in his car. As they left, Clere’s lights were beginning to wink out—all over Matron’s quarters, in the kitchens, in the school houses. Tomorrow there would be all the clamour and bustle of the arrival and disposal of several hundred boys and their gear, and tonight Clere was making ready to come alive.
Daniel drove in silence for some miles after checking with Verity the best road to take from the coast to the city. Then he said, ‘By the way, Captain Bellamy tells me he couldn’t have asked for a better guide than you were on his first visit to Clere. He says that, if he hadn’t been in the neighbourhood again, this time with his wife, he wouldn’t have troubled to make another visit; that he appreciated your having given him at least two hours of your own time, and wanted me to tell you so. So will you take that as an honourable amend for my criticisms this afternoon?’
‘Of course,’ Verity said. And then, ‘I’d better make amends in return. It wasn’t the truth when I told you Mr. Dysart was too busy to see Captain Bellamy. He wanted to play golf, and he has told me since that as he was on vacation at the time he doesn’t mind your knowing as much.’
Daniel nodded. ‘As if I hadn’t guessed you were covering up for him,’ he remarked.
You knew I was? How?’
He threw her a swift glance. ‘Because I’ve noticed that when you’re thrown on the defensive you tend to bristle. It’s as palpable a reaction as a tigress’s shielding of her young. So you went to warn Dysart—“Fly, All Is Discovered”—only to find him entirely unabashed?’
Verity admitted, ‘Something like that. I ought to know by now that it’s not easy to disconcert him. He’s a very restful person, with his attitude of “Live and let live” to everything.’
‘You’re fond of him, are you?’
‘I am. Everyone is. And I’ve known him so long. He came to Clere not much later than my father did.’
‘Yes, so I understand.’ After a pause Daniel went on, ‘A propos of nothing, except that contrition seems to be in the air, I’ve been owing you an apology for some time. Do you remember our first incognito meeting on the shore? Well, I got my feet wet, you’ll be gratified to hear.’
‘You did?’ Verity could not keep a bubble of triumph from her voice.
‘Yes, though only my feet. I didn’t wait until I got sea-water into the engine of the car. But as I think you guessed, I didn’t accept that one could possibly be caught by the tide on such flats. So, being the self-opinionated type, I decided to see the phenomenon for myself. And did—to my discomfiture and to your obvious pleasure.’
Verity dimpled. ‘I’m not pleased. Just—’
‘Nonsense. There are few minor pleasures to match that of a justified “I told you so”. You’re as smug as a cat after cream, and I can’t blame you. Now’—he changed the subject again—‘what are we to hear tonight?’
She took the programme from her bag and read it to him. ‘ “Fingal’s Cave” as the overture; Cesar Franck’s “Symphonic Variations”, Moussorgsky’s “Pictures from An Exhibition” and after the interval, Beethoven’s Seventh.’
‘Who is the soloist for the Symphonic Variations?’
She told him, and they talked music most of the rest of the way.
Parking the car took some time and the orchestra had begun to tune up when they went to their seats. As she sat Verity gave a little shiver of pleasure.
‘Don’t you agree that tuning up is one of the nicest noises there are? I once won two guineas in a competition for suggesting that, a cat’s purr and the kind of “plop” a strawberry makes when you gather it, as my three most satisfying sounds,’ she said.
Daniel smiled. ‘I didn’t know a strawberry did go “plop”.’
‘Oh, it does,’ she whispered into the pin-dropping hush which settled on the audience, expectant of the soft opening notes of the overture.
Enchantment followed. Once, at one of the more graphic ‘pictures’ in the Moussorgsky, Verity turned to share a smile with her companion, only to realize he had been studying her profile, for how long she did not know. Her smile quavered, grew embarrassed and she looked away. So did he.
In the interval they went out to the foyer for air, talking about the programme and eavesdropping on the musical gossip going on around them. There the secretary of the Lyre Group spotted Verity and came over to say how glad he was to see her and to enquire for Mrs. Lytton.
She introduced him to Daniel Wyatt and was standing a little aside as the two men talked, when suddenly she froze to stillness at the familiar turn of a man’s head. Max Doran...! A second later he had seen her too and was plunging towards her, both hands outstretched and his exaggerated ‘Dar-ling!’ loud above the chatter of the crowd.
He imprisoned her hands in his. Unobtrusively she twisted them free. How dared he? How could he have forgotten they had parted in hostility and a long sullen silence on his part? But he seemed conveniently oblivious of all that as he babbled,
‘Verity! Though if I spelled you “To the rescue”, I’d be nearer the truth. For rescue me you must, from the rest of this grisly experience. I insist. I can not take any more. But you are alone, aren’t you? Or at least with someone you can ditch? For pity’s sweet sake, don’t tell me you’re not!’
Through stiff unyielding lips she said, ‘I’m not alone. I’m with someone.’ Her oblique glance indicated the two men, and Max looked their way.
‘With one of them? Oh no!’ he mouthed. ‘Which one? The weedy one armed with a score, or the tall lantern-jawed Daddy-Oh?’
‘Not the one with the score. The other. His name is Wyatt, and he’s the new High taking Father’s place at Clere.’
‘You don’t say?’ Max cut short his stare of interest to toss her a crumb of condolence. ‘I was sorry about R. L., Verity. But I didn’t know until a good deal later. You realized that?’
‘It didn’t matter. You wrote to Mother, didn’t you?’ Wishing she needn’t ask, Verity added, ‘What are you doing here? And what did you mean about needing to be rescued?’
‘Just that. I’ve been press-ganged, dragooned, corralled by a female I thought had fun possibilities, only to find she’s Cultured with a capital “C.” She must have shed a lot of her inhibitions at the party where I met her, and with her metaphorical hair down she was quite something to look at. I fell.
You know how easily I do?’
Verity moistened her lips. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes, well—after a bit of by-play, during which I told her I knew these parts, she asked me to stay for a night or two at her home at Castle Rising. So I came. Oh, my! Her parents and the exalted intellectual company they keep! It seemed the lesser of a lot of evils to bring Lola to this concert, though how wrong I was. But then, when she trailed a bit, talking counterpoint or something to some long-haired type she knows, and I saw you, I chanted “ Eureka “, and you can’t let me down, Verity my pet, you really can’t. Say we slip off somewhere together now and face the consequences later?’
Verity shook her head. ‘I can’t. What’s more, Max, if you were alone and I were and we’d met here or anywhere at all, I shouldn’t want to. Not any more. I’ve—got over you.’
His mouth took an ugly line which she recognized, ‘Speaking frankly, eh? Well, come to that, I’ve got over you too.’
Calm now, detached, ‘Then why salute me as your “darling” in front of a few dozen people?’ she asked.
‘Oh, that! Just a figure of speech. Anyway, I wasn’t suggesting a trip to Gretna Green, you know. Or did you think I was?’
‘I know you weren’t. Anything so impulsive as Gretna Green isn’t in your line, is it?’ Verity broke off as a girl with shoulder-length black hair and wearing diamante wing-framed glasses touched Max on the shoulder.
‘Sorry for deserting you, Max. But you don’t seem to have missed me too much.’ Her glance at Verity asked for an introduction, and as Daniel Wyatt stepped again to Verity’s elbow she had to introduce him too.
On hearing Max’s name he said he remembered seeing it in the previous term’s staff list. ‘You were on locum terms at Clere, I believe? Where are you moving to next?’ he asked.
