by Jane Arbor
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 “No” 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.’
‘You were? How?’
‘Well, he wanted to pump me about Ira Cusack—about how long she seemed to be going to stay here, whether she was doing any TV work yet and—’
‘Why couldn’t he ask her himself?’
‘He doesn’t see her. He came over once while her foot was still in plaster and they had a row. He wants her back with him. He told her she was a fool to think she could do better freelancing than with Viking Vision. She said that was no affair of his and they’ve had no contact since.’
‘And what did he think you could do about it?’
‘Well, nothing with that end of it, of course. But there was more that I found rather worrying. You will too, I dare say. He asked me how much she was seeing of—Daniel, of all people!—because he believed it was a lot.’
There was an instant of silence. Then Verity asked carefully, ‘And if it is, why should Guy Tabor mind?’
Mrs. Lytton sighed. ‘Because it isn’t hard to guess that he is in love with her and has only discovered it since she left. He isn’t really bothered about her freelancing or otherwise. He’s jealous of Daniel. And of course the very idea of Ira Cusack and Daniel is a bombshell to us. Well, isn’t it?’ she pressed.
‘Is it?’
‘Oh, darling, you can’t be complacent about it, surely? Why, it’s—it’s unthinkable! Ira simply isn’t Clere material. She’d never try to fit in, never allow it to limit her, never love it for its own sake, as we do; as Daniel does already. Besides—’
‘Besides—what?’
‘Nothing, dear. Just that, since Daniel came, I’ve let myself hope we’d always be here. Silly of me—because, with Ira Cusack as the High Master’s wife, there would be no place for me.’
‘It would be the same whenever Daniel married,’ Verity pointed out, respecting the empty hope which her mother had left unspoken.
‘Ye—s. Anyway, though I couldn’t help Mr. Tabor—I don’t know how interested Daniel is in Ira, and I can’t spy on him, can I?—I think it did him good to talk. He was awfully interested too in Lance’s cine work, when I told him about it. He says the sky is the limit for really skilled cameramen or photographers if Lance wanted to make a profession of it—Oh, and something else, Verity. Who is a fair boy, not as tall as Lance—in West House, I think, and I believe his name is Bland?’
‘Fair to almost white hair? Yes, that’s Bland,’ said Verity. ‘Why?’
‘Because
he was in Norwich today, and he shouldn’t have been, should he?’
‘He certainly should not. Where did you see him?’
‘At a bus stop. He was with a girl of about his own age. He put her on a bus and hopped on the step to give her a kind of sheepish kiss before it moved off.’
‘Did he indeed? Bland—let’s see.’ Verity searched her memory. ‘He’s got a twin sister, I believe, and their parents are abroad. They make their home with a grandmother or an aunt or someone, though where I can’t remember. I gather you didn’t speak to Bland, Mother?’
‘No. I’d just hailed a taxi and got into it. I suppose I ought to report him to his housemaster, or could he have got leavers, do you think?’
Verity thought not. ‘He’s only Middle School, and they aren’t allowed out of bounds, even on leavers. He should be reported, but I’ll see him first and find out what he was up to, if you like?’ she offered.
‘I wish you would.’ Relievedly Mrs. Lytton shifted the load.
Verity waited until the next day, then waylaid Bland between classes.
Questioned, he was frank. Yes, he had cut school all day yesterday to go to Norwich. He had had a dreary letter from his twin from their aunt’s home in Hunstanton, where she went to day school. Meg said she wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t wait to see him until the end of term. She had suggested they met in Norwich; she could get over by bus if he would do the same. So he had gone. But how did Verity know?
‘Never mind,’ she told him. ‘You were seen, that’s all. But how did you manage to cut school without being missed?’
‘Well, I’d sung out at morning roll and went afterwards. And at afternoon roll—’
‘You got someone to sing for you?’
‘Yes.’ Bland added quickly, ‘But you needn’t ask me who, you know.’
‘Because you wouldn’t tell me if I did? All right. That’s between you and whichever of your buddies took the risk for you. But you know what I ought to do about it, don’t you?’
Bland nodded. ‘Uh-huh. You’ll tell Old Nick. O.K. I bought it, I suppose. But when you do, could you let him think it was my idea? Because if it comes out that Meg asked me to go, that’ll mean trouble for her at her end, and I’d hate that.’
‘I don’t see why she should get away with it, if you can’t.’ Verity hesitated. ‘But supposing I didn’t tell Mr. Dysart, what then?’
The boy’s eyes rounded. ‘Oh, Verity, you mean perhaps you needn’t? If not, I swear it won’t happen again! It was just—well, Meg feeling so low. You see, our being twins, we’re sort of—rather special to each other. And we didn’t make whoopee in Norwich—really! She had had the sense to bring some biscuits and apples and we ate them in the Castle grounds and just talked. Verity, you’re a lamb, no less!’
‘Don’t be too sure of that, if you ever do it again,’ she warned crisply. ‘Anyway, you can scram for now and forget it.’
Dismissing Bland, still bubbling gratitude, she dismissed the incident herself, not realizing how, some ten days later, its consequences were to blow up in her face.
CHAPTER VIII
Lance’s new seniority allowed him to lunch at home at weekends if he chose, and it showed the altered climate between him and Daniel when, now, he did not enquire first whether Daniel would be present too.
He was spending all his free time putting the finishing touches to his photography show which, as he had had a foot in both Houses during the term, he was to give to West on one evening and to North the next. But at lunch on the last Saturday before the end of term he grumbled that he had no panoramic landscapes to show.
‘I could get some super long-range shots if I could go high enough. But what’s higher than a pimple on the ground between here and Boston Stump, suppose you tell me?’ he challenged Daniel, Verity and his mother.
Daniel agreed. ‘Yes, it’s a problem. Mile upon mile of open country and you’re limited to a worm’s eye view for lack of a hillock, much less a hill. But have you considered the school roof? You should get a decent angle from there.’
‘The roof?’ Lance looked his surprise. ‘I never thought I’d get permission to go up, sir!”
‘Nor would you—unconditionally.’
‘But you mean I may if I?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘No, I think I’ve a sounder idea. The new wing—Saturday afternoon—the men are off, but the foreman is still around, I know. There’s a good light, if you catch it while it lasts, and the top scaffolding platform gives you fully fifteen feet more height than the main roof. What sort of a height man are you, do you know?’
Lance’s eyes shone. ‘Oh, good, sir!’
‘Then if you like, and if Bailey the foreman is agreeable, I’ll ask him to take us up—’
‘Us? You’d come too?’ Lance queried.
‘Yes. I may try for a shot or two of my own.’ Daniel turned to Mrs. Lytton. ‘I take it you’ve no objection?’
She beamed. ‘Why, no. Lance is right—he is a very good climber. I’m afraid it’s Verity who has no head for heights. Have you, dear?’
Verity had to agree. ‘No, a stepladder is about my limit. But if you’re going up, I’ll come and watch if I may.’
She was not alone. When the word went round that the High and Lytton were scaling the new building, a crowd of onlookers joined her.
The new wing, halfway towards completion, was in the form of a tower of stone and Norfolk flints, designed to balance and complement the Chapel clock tower of the original structure. The ground floor was to be a larger gymnasium; the first floor, new laboratories. Above were store-rooms and above them an open floor where the Geography Head of Department planned to house physical geography gear—barometric charts and rain-gauges and contour maps under glass. The top building platform was at this neck-craning level. Guided by the foreman, Daniel and Lance stepped out on to it, talked and pointed for a few minutes, then moved over to the far side of the forest of steel joists and masonry.
At ground level there was a trek to follow them. Ira Cusack, in anorak and ski-pants, strolled up to join Verity. ‘What goes?’ she wanted to know.
Keeping her eyes on the tower, Verity told her. Ever since the night of her birthday she had avoided Ira. For if the other girl’s mocking gesture had told the truth, it was jealous pain enough to imagine her in Daniel’s arms. She did not want to hear the reality described by Ira.
Ira said, ‘Oh, fun! Is it a private safari or can anyone join in? Why don’t we go up too? Why didn’t you?’
‘Because I’m no climber. Besides, I wasn’t invited,’ Verity added pointedly.
‘Well, I’d love to go. Oh, that?’ Ira intercepted Verity’s glance at her ankle. ‘But your Doc Wales says I must exercise it now as much as I can before Klosters on the twenty-third.’
‘Klosters? You’re going to winter sports?’
‘After a struggle, yes. I had to badger Jane and Nicholas into the idea. Jane is the type who considers “abroad” is only half civilized. If I’d let her, she’d take along a tea-pot and an electric blanket. So we were very late in booking and mightn’t have got in if your chief hadn’t pulled a string or two with his own travel agent. You know he’s going to Davos himself?’
‘Yes. After Christmas.’
‘And Klosters and Davos are not many miles—I mean kilometres—apart. We shall probably get together.’ Ira shaded her eyes to peer up into the weak blue of the winter sky. ‘Look, how did they get up there anyway?’
‘Up the ladders roped to the scaffolding on the far side.’
‘So that if I sneaked up the same way they wouldn’t see me until I arrived and it was too late to send me back?’ Without waiting for Verity’s reply Ira went to find the ladders and climbed to the first platform with the lithe grace of a cat, waved gaily from there and went on up.
She did not arrive unseen by the three. At the top she gave a hand each to the foreman and Lance and stepped over the last rung of the ladder to face Daniel.
He s
aid something to her to which her reply was a shrug and a laugh. Then she became part of the group, all four as remote from the watchers below as if they were in a private world.
They did not come down until the short afternoon light began to fade and few people beside Verity had stayed to watch their descent. Ira came down between Daniel and the foreman, as sure-footed as they, and tucked a hand lightly into Daniel’s arm as they walked away.
‘Good practice for Klosters—no?’ she smiled up at him.
He looked down at her. ‘If you imagine that’s given your foot the complete green light for Klosters, I hope you won’t be mistaken,’ he said.
She turned a long provocative look on him. ‘So what?’ she drawled. ‘There’ll probably be other diversions than skiing available ... won’t there?’
Lance, at Verity’s side, was enthusing about the view from the tower and the camera-shots he had obtained. (‘You can see the Stump quite plainly, and miles out to sea and halfway to Lynn!’) But she was only half listening.
This was Ira the predator, who despised people who failed to go all out for what they wanted, and for whom Verity knew herself to be no match.
Did Ira want Daniel? Verity wondered bleakly what it would be like not to care whether she did or not.
On Monday morning when, by the timetable, Daniel was due at a class, he buzzed for Verity from his study.
Surprised, she went over, sensing trouble at the sight of Jane Dysart, ramrod-stiff and bridling, sitting beside his desk. Daniel stood briefly, motioned Verity to a chair, then turned to Jane.
‘I think Nicholas is free this period? He is? Then I’ll ask him to go to the Fifth for me while we sort this out.’ He used the house telephone. After one sour glance at Verity, Jane studied a corner of the ceiling. Verity sat and waited, entirely at a loss as to what, involving herself and Jane, needed ‘sorting out’.
