‘Oh, I see. Someone might have said something earlier, Dr Yeats. I assumed that Dr Mullarkey was a man.’
‘Most people do,’ replied Gerry.
Mrs Savage looked, for once, distinctly uncomfortable and I could not wait to recount the episode to Sidney and David.
‘Well, perhaps when you have a moment, Dr Mullarkey,’ said Mrs Savage, ‘you could call up and see me in my office. It’s in the Annexe to the rear of County Hall. Well, I have work to do,’ she told us with stiff finality, as though we were wilfully detaining her, and with that she swept in the direction of the stairs. She reappeared a second later. ‘And I would appreciate those forms, Dr Yeats, as soon as possible.’
‘She is the most objectionable, unpleasant, ill-mannered, sour-faced old trout I have ever met!’ exclaimed Julie when Mrs Savage had finally made her grand exit. ‘Swanning about in that ridiculous coloured tent of a dress like Florence of Arabia, treating everybody like yesterday’s left-overs. Never said one word to me. Did you notice that? Not a word. And did you see the hair? She looks like she’s been frightened by a firework. And as for that plastic surgery she’s had, it didn’t work, I can tell you that. When you get close up, the skin that’s been stretched right back off her face is tucked under her chin like a gerbil’s pouch. I reckon the surgeon must have been left-handed.’
‘Julie,’ I said, ‘don’t hold back. Tell us what you really think about Mrs Savage.’ Laughter returned to the office.
19
‘You never told me she was beautiful.’
Christine and I were walking down the drive to Castlesnelling High School on a warm Friday evening on our way to the final performance of the staff and students’ production of the musical Oliver!. Christine looked stunning. Her hair shone golden, her blue eyes sparkled like ice in the moonlight and the light-coloured, close-fitting coat showed off perfectly her slim figure. She looked like a movie star. I felt so proud to be with her.
‘I didn’t think it was important,’ I replied casually.
‘You just said she was very clever, you never mentioned that she had looks as well as brains.’ Our conversation had got around to Dr Gerry Mullarkey, who had visited Winnery Nook School that day. ‘She was certainly singing your praises. She said how helpful you had been.’
‘Really?’ I replied in a non-committal tone of voice.
‘Taken her around schools, introduced her to all the important people, helped her settle in, even shown her some of the wonderful scenery. You must have seen quite a lot of her.’
‘Well, it’s the least I can do. After all, she is a new colleague and everyone was really friendly when I started.’ By this time we had arrived at the entrance and a good opportunity for me, I thought, to change the subject. ‘I hope this production is going to be all right,’ I said, opening the door for Christine. ‘The last play I saw here was awful.’
‘Is she married?’
‘Who?’
‘Geraldine Mullarkey.’
‘No, she’s not married.’ I tried again to change the subject. ‘It was a gruesome production of Hamlet they did here last year. The stage at the end looked like a scene from the First World War, full of people wounded and bleeding and dying and dead –’
‘And is she coming tonight?’ she asked, walking ahead of me.
‘Christine, will you stop going on about Gerry. No, of course she isn’t coming tonight. She’s the science inspector. What would she be doing at a school play? If I didn’t know you better I’d say you were jealous.’
‘Well, she is very attractive.’
‘So you keep telling me.’
‘And you’ve been spending a great deal of time with her. She said you had been particularly helpful by attending a difficult meeting with her a week ago. Was that when you cancelled our night out at the theatre?’
‘Yes, it was, as a matter of fact.’
‘Mmmm.’
‘What’s “Mmmm” supposed to mean? Christine, there is nothing going on between me and Gerry Mullarkey. She’s just a colleague.’
‘But a very attractive colleague with whom you have been out quite a few times now.’
‘I’ve not been going out with her, as you put it. Ours is a purely professional relationship.’
‘Has she got a boyfriend?’
‘No, I don’t think she has.’
‘Mmmm.’
‘There you go again.’
We found our seats, smack in the centre of the front row and Christine continued the conversation.
‘You seem to be surrounded by good-looking women.’
‘Christine, most of my time is spent with small children, spotty adolescents, ageing women teachers, married men, crusty county councillors and nuns. I don’t know where you get this idea that I spend my whole day with the contestants for Miss World. You make me sound like some sort of Casanova. And, as for the Education Office, it’s like a men’s club. There’s hardly a woman in sight.’
‘There’s your secretary.’
‘She’s not much more than a teenager and she’s engaged.’
‘There’s that very attractive woman with the expensive clothes.’
‘Which very attractive woman with the expensive clothes?’
‘She was with Dr Gore earlier this week when he came to speak to the infant school headteachers. She was wearing this incredible silk sari affair with masses of silver jewellery.’
‘You mean Mrs Savage!’ I exclaimed.
‘She’s very unusual and striking.’
‘Christine, the limestone caverns beneath Malham Tarn are very unusual and striking, Pen-y-ghent in winter is very unusual and striking, Hopton Crags are very unusual and striking, but I don’t want to spend all my time down a cave, up a mountain, or hanging off a cliff. Mrs Savage would be the last woman on earth I would have any designs on. I’d sooner play postman’s knock with the bride of Frankenstein. Mrs Savage is the most disagreeable person I have ever met. And,’ I added hotly, ‘she’s old.’
‘Mmmm,’ hummed Christine, smiling, ‘I do seem to have touched a raw nerve.’
I had been hoping for a pleasant, stress-free evening and a chance to forget about the hectic couple of weeks I’d just had, but things were not turning out like that.
Following my visit to Ugglemattersby County Junior School, I had taken great care over my written critical report and then shown it to Harold. He had sighed, shaken his head and told me to take a copy over to Dr Gore, who he felt needed to see it. I had arrived at the CEO’s office first thing the next morning, despite knowing full well that there would be very little possibility of getting a direct audience with the great man himself. Mrs Savage, no doubt, would be keeping vigil. Sure enough, she had spotted me creeping down the top corridor, had shot out of her room like a keen-eyed guard dog and had impeded my progress, insisting that Dr Gore was very busy. I had then been asked to complete one of her wretched pieces of paper – Form SIN 1: Schools in Need – and I had spent a tedious ten minutes ticking a series of little boxes, while she hovered over me like a malign presence.
Later that day I had been called to the telephone and informed by Mrs Savage that the CEO, having read my report, was very concerned about the obvious weaknesses at Ugglemattersby School and a full inspection was to be organised and that I should get on with it.
I emerged from my reverie about the tiresome day when the man who had just come to sit on the next seat engaged me in conversation. ‘Good evening, Mr Phinn.’
I turned to face the florid countenance and great walrus moustache of Lord Marrick.
‘Oh, good evening, Lord Marrick,’ I replied.
‘I’m a governor here, you know,’ he said, explaining his presence at the school play. ‘Like to show the flag, support the school and all that. Actually, I’m glad I’ve bumped into you. Just this week sent a letter off to Dr Gore thanking you and your colleagues for all the help with the Feoffees Pageant. Went off really well.’
‘Yes, it seemed to be a great succ
ess,’ I said.
‘Cracking day!’ he exclaimed.
I put my arm around Christine’s shoulders and nudged her forward. ‘Lord Marrick, may I introduce you to Christine Bentley, Headteacher of Winnery Nook Nursery and Infant School?’
Lord Marrick leaned across me, took Christine’s hand in his, patted it gently and smiled warmly. ‘Very pleased to meet you, Miss Bentley.’
At this point we both caught sight of a large figure ambling towards the front of the hall. I recognised the thick neck, vast red face, purple pitted nose and mop of unnaturally shiny, jet black hair. It was Councillor Peterson.
‘Good God!’ exclaimed Lord Marrick, turning towards me. ‘I hope George Peterson isn’t going to inflict himself on us. I’ve never met a man who can talk like him. Case of verbal diarrhoea. Pain in the proverbials, he is.’ The councillor spotted us, waved and headed in our direction. ‘He’s seen us! He’s coming over. Brace yourself, Mr Phinn.’
Just at that moment the lights began to fade, the orchestra stopped tuning up and the conductor, a dapper little man in a dinner jacket, made his entrance. Councillor Peterson thought better of coming over to us and found a seat further along the row. Both Lord Marrick and I sighed with relief.
‘Have you met Councillor Peterson?’ Lord Marrick whispered.
‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘I’ve met him.’
I had seen umpteen school productions of Oliver! but this was the first where live animals formed part of the cast. I had advised the Head of Drama, when he telephoned me before Easter to invite me to the performance, that it was extremely risky to have animals on stage. Children were unpredictable enough, but animals! He told me that the cat and dog he planned to use were very well trained and that he wanted this production to be as authentic, different and memorable as possible. He ignored my advice.
All went well in the first half of the show. In Act I, Widow Corney’s cat behaved impeccably, purring and mewing at just the right moments to the delight of the audience. When Mr Bumble stroked its head, it meowed and yawned widely as if it had rehearsed this very movement; it received a well-deserved flutter of applause. The fat, bow-legged bull terrier, Bullseye, pulled on to the stage by the fearsome-looking Head of the PE Department playing the part of the villain, Bill Sikes, also behaved remarkably well. It sat obediently when commanded, growling on cue and even snarling when Fagin appeared. It was a vicious-looking creature with a body like a small white barrel and when it yawned it displayed a set of serrated teeth of frightening proportions. The Head of PE really took on the part of the bullying thief with a vengeance. He was a huge, hairy, swarthy complexioned individual with a great booming voice and a twisted sneer. He roared and threatened, banging his cudgel so hard on tables, chairs and anything in his path that the very stage set shook. The children in Fagin’s gang looked genuinely terrified of him.
It happened in the very last act. Nancy (the Head of the Food Technology Department) had just finished a rousing rendering of ‘As Long As He Needs Me’. She had put her heart and soul into the singing because it was the last night and all her family and friends occupied a large block of seats in the middle of the hall. They had shown loud appreciation every time she had made an appearance on stage. It was the dénouement of the drama. Nancy had brought Oliver to the meeting place on London Bridge to return him to his family but she had been followed by Bill Sikes. He entered a darkened stage dragging the fat, snarling brute behind him. The stumpy little tail was tucked down (not a good sign, I learned later), the barrel body was quivering and the small, grey, shark eyes looked distinctly sinister.
‘What you doin’ on London Bridge at this time o’ night, Nancy, my gel?’ growled Bill Sikes. The dog made a deep, low, rumbling sound.
‘Bill!’ cried the Head of the Food Technology Department in a plaintive voice. ‘Why do you look at me like that?’
The Head of PE glowered, curled his top lip, shook his cudgel menacingly and moved towards his victim. The dog snarled, as if on cue. ‘It’s dark ’ere under the arches, aint it, Nancy, my gel, but there’s light enough for wot I got to do.’
‘Whadaya mean, Bill?’
‘You’ve opened them pretty red lips of yours, Nancy, once too often but you’ll not be opening ’em again… hever.’ He then gave a great tug on the piece of rope attached to the dog. Bullseye had planted his bow legs firmly on the boards, however, and did not move an inch.
‘Come on, Bullseye!’ commanded the Head of PE in a voice as rough as gravel and gave the rope another great tug. The dog lifted its fat, round head slightly and fixed him with its cold button eyes. Then it shot like a cannonball straight for him, snarling and slavering.
‘Bloody hell!’ shrieked the Head of PΕ and, dropping his cudgel, shot off stage right, leaving the dog centre stage and Nancy frozen at the other side. The animal eyed her viciously and began to move slowly in her direction. The conductor, with great presence of mind, took charge of the situation and, tapping his baton on his music stand, led the orchestra into a reprise of ‘As Long As He Needs Me’. The Head of the Food Technology Department, in a frightened little voice, quavered the song to a hushed audience. The dog ambled across the stage, surveyed her for a moment, growled and then displayed his magnificent set of teeth.
There was a voice offstage. ‘Here, Daisy, here, girl! Daisy, come on, Daisy, here, girl!’ The dog remained rooted to the spot, snarling and snapping its jaws. The Head of the Food Technology Department stopped singing and, terrified, stared at the beast as it edged closer.
‘This is no bloody good at all!’ Lord Marrick said loudly; rising to his feet. He strode to the side of the stage, mounted the steps, skirted round the trembling Nancy and took hold of the dog’s collar. ‘Now then, Daisy!’ he commanded staring down into the animal’s shimmering eyes. ‘Sit! Down!’ The dog returned the gaze for a moment, then flopped flat to the floor. ‘Come to heel!’ ordered Lord Marrick. The dog scrabbled to its feet obediently and was led offstage to loud, appreciative clapping. A rather shame-faced Bill Sikes reappeared, quickly despatched Nancy by strangulation and made an embarrassed exit.
‘Well, that were a rum do,’ observed Councillor Peterson, scratching his head as we headed for the exit at the end of the performance.
‘They just need to know who’s the master,’ said Lord Marrick, looking pretty pleased with himself.
Following the play, Christine and I went out to dinner in Fettlesham. By the time we reached the restaurant we were both in high spirits. Re-living the play’s unusual climax, we laughed until we cried. Over coffee, I looked across the table at her. She looked so beautiful. Perhaps this was the moment to tell her that I had fallen for her in a big way.
‘Gervase,’ she said suddenly, ‘there’s something I feel I have to tell you.’
‘Oh,’ I said. This sounded horribly ominous.
‘Well, it’s rather embarrassing, but I really do have to tell you.’
‘What?’ My heart sank. She was going to tell me she did not want to see me again, that she was not prepared to share me with Gerry, that she’d heard about office affairs, that there were other fish in the sea, that she had met someone else. ‘What?’ I asked again. ‘What is it?’
‘Well,’ she paused and glanced away from my piercing gaze. It looked to me as if there was a slight smile on her lips. ‘It’s really very difficult but someone has to tell you.’
‘Tell me, tell me,’ I insisted.
‘Now it’s not something you should feel at all ashamed about.’
‘For goodness sake, Christine, put me out of my misery.’
‘It is quite embarrassing but –’
‘Christine! Will you tell me?’
‘You have some little lodgers.’
‘Lodgers?’ I was utterly perplexed.
‘In your hair.’
‘In my hair?’
‘Please stop repeating me,’ she said. ‘It’s difficult enough as it is.’ She took a deep breath before whispering, ‘You’ve got nits.’
‘Nits!’ I cried. Several heads turned in our direction.
‘You’ve been, um, scratching all night. It’s quite common for those who work with children to get head lice. You’ve probably been in a school where a child has them. I see lots of cases. Now, tomorrow you must go straight to the chemist and get some medicated shampoo and a very thin metal comb.’
‘Yes, miss,’ I said quietly. ‘Is there anything else you wish to tell me?’
‘Well, I think you’re free of scabies,’ she replied laughing.
‘Will you still go out with me?’
‘When you have got rid of the little lodgers,’ she said smiling warmly.
I was outside the chemist’s bright and early the next morning. While I waited for the shop to open, I considered where I might have picked up the nasty nits. It could not have been from my first visit to Ugglemattersby School because that had been over a month before. However, I had recently paid the school a second visit and now remembered that the self-same Mandy Wilmott had been scratching away at her wild and woolly hair when I had sat in on her class to see if any improvements had been made.
A young woman in a bright white nylon overall opened the door at nine o’clock, and smiled at me as I entered. This is oh so embarrassing, I thought to myself.
‘May I help you, sir?’ she asked brightly.
‘Yes, I’d like… something… for… for…’
She detected my embarrassment. ‘Something for the weekend?’
‘No, no!’ I exclaimed. ‘I’d like… er…’
‘Would you prefer a male assistant to help you, sir?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Is the item you wish to purchase of a personal and intimate nature? Would you prefer the manager to serve you?’ She smiled knowingly.
‘Oh, well yes, it is of a personal nature. I want something for lice.’
‘Is that for head lice?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes, definitely head lice.’
‘Right,’ she said and dipped down behind the counter. ‘There’s this very good shampoo and you need a fine metal comb as well. Is it for your little girl? Long hair often proves very attractive.’ I nodded. ‘Poor thing. You need to put plenty of conditioner on her hair and comb it thoroughly when it’s wet. Nits can’t stick to hair with conditioner on.’
Over Hill and Dale Page 25
