High Master of Clere

by Jane Arbor

  To an Outward Bound school in Cumberland, Max told him, and the four talked generally until the interval bell sounded. Then the girl named Lola took repossession of Max.

  ‘Come along,’ she said firmly with an air of terminating his parole, and Max went. But not before he had had his revenge on Verity for her snub. Tweaking her cheek between finger and thumb, he dropped a butterfly kiss there. ‘Bye, Verity dear. Nice to have met up again. Too bad I couldn’t oblige over Gretna. Meanwhile, good luck and’—his eyes narrowed on her companion—‘next time, better hunting!’

  If she had needed curing of Max, of hoping they would ever meet again, the malice of that would have done it. Her cheeks flaming, conscious only of her chagrin, she went ahead of Daniel Wyatt into the hall, waiting for whatever comment he might make and, when he made none, feeling cheated of her chance to laugh Max off as a joke.

  Darling! Gretna! That empty kiss—What would a stranger have made of that? She could only hope Max was enough involved with his Lola to have to explain that away! Raging, she did not recover her poise until the sonorous, repetitive insistence of the second movement of her favourite symphony was under way.

  On the journey home it was evident that Daniel had learned all he wanted of Max during their brief exchange. For his name wasn’t mentioned, though they discussed most other aspects of the evening.

  It was while they were halted at a closed level crossing that Daniel half turned in his seat, crooking an arm over the steering wheel.

  ‘Don’t you care much for Beethoven? The items before the interval seemed to be captivating you more,’ he commented.

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I was watching you. You caught me at it, you may recall, and it was good to see you concentrating and enjoying for all you were worth. Later, you weren’t.’

  ‘You’re very observant—’

  ‘Yes. But as I’ve mentioned, you’re rather transparent too. For instance, when I dictate or pass memos to you, I can always tell whether or not you approve of the subject matter.’

  ‘Oh dear. How? I’ve never said anything—’

  No, but you draw down the corners of your mouth when you disapprove, and you don’t look me in the eye. Take my letter to the staff, cutting short their holiday—that went against the grain, didn’t it?’

  ‘I only thought that if they had made arrangements for any of those last three days they mightn’t see the necessity for it.’

  ‘You underestimate your colleagues. I found them very co-operative and there weren’t any truants.’ Ignorant of her role as peacemaker with the rebels, he went on,

  ‘Then there was my memo to them that there should be no promotions from West House to North until after half-term; that is, until after I’ve taken my own measure of the candidates for upstairs You didn’t like that either, did you?’

  Verity moved uncomfortably, remembering her shock at a decision which had cut across the age long rule that promotion to North and automatic prefecthood took place at the age of fifteen. She said, ‘Well, I know, you see, that up till now all the eligible boys have regarded North as their right when the time came.’

  ‘Which it won’t be in future. It’s to be a privilege they must earn.’ As Daniel spoke the crossing gates creaked open and he put the car in motion.

  ‘You’re worried about your brother’s reaction?’ he asked.

  ‘A bit. He’s counting on it so much. But perhaps you’ve forgotten how deeply people take disappointments and imaginary slights at that age?’

  Daniel laughed shortly. ‘That sounds as if you considered me old enough to remember, say, Mafeking Night or lamplighters! But no, I haven’t got so far away from my own youth that I don’t appreciate that growing pains can hurt like the devil. Arid after all, I shouldn’t be much good at this job if I couldn’t.’

  He paused. Then,‘Take some advice from me, will you?’ he asked.

  ‘If you think I need it.’

  He shook his head. ‘I haven’t known either you or Lance long enough to judge whether you do or not. But for what it’s worth—don’t try to fight his battles for him or shoulder too many of his burdens. Sooner or later he’s got to accept the loss of his father, and the sooner, the happier he’ll be.’

  Verity bit her lip. ‘You think he hasn’t come to terms with it yet?’

  ‘From the little I’ve seen of him, it’s—rather evident,’ Daniel said quietly, and dropped the subject there.

  The first Hall assembly of the term took place the next evening, after the majority of the boys had arrived. It was no part of Verity’s duty to attend Hall, but that night she was there in spirit with Lance, sharing his disappointment at the news he would learn from the general notices which would be read out after Prayers.

  In the morning he had grumbled that it was hardly worth while moving his gear to West House, only to move it again as soon as he was allotted a study-bedroom in North. But he had packed and gone, not to be free again until the school’s first half-holiday. Verity, therefore, was completely unprepared for his arrival in her office just as she was ready to lock up.

  ‘Lance! What—?’

  ‘As if you didn’t know!’ he cut in rudely.

  ‘But have you got leave?’

  ‘Of course. Old Nick gave me a quarter of an hour and that should be enough. Look, V., you knew, didn’t you? About my not getting North?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mother too, I suppose?’

  ‘No, she didn’t know.’

  ‘Well, that’s something— But you did and you hadn’t the decency to tell me. Why not?’

  ‘I couldn’t, Lance. I’ve known for more than a week, but only through a confidential memo to the staff, and I hadn’t the right to pass it on to you.’

  ‘You hadn’t the right! Lord, how hidebound can you get! And d’you suppose that if Father had brought in such a fool rule, he wouldn’t have given me a hint first?’

  ‘But Mr. Wyatt isn’t Father,’ murmured Verity wretchedly.

  ‘Too right he isn’t. He hasn’t a clue. Anyway, I suppose you think I enjoyed hearing, slap out in front of the whole school, that North wasn’t on for me?’

  ‘It’s not just you. Barnes Senior and Kennet and Crossman were due for North as well. Besides, it’s only until half-term.’

  ‘When it’s to be a plum offered to good boys only! And you don’t think I can’t guess that the whole thing is geared against me? Just me?’

  ‘Lance, don’t be silly! Of course it isn’t!’

  ‘It is, I tell you. The man hates me. Well, that makes two of us.’

  ‘You can’t hate him. You hardly know him. You only resent his taking Father’s place.’

  ‘And you don’t, eh? But why, need I ask? In just the fortnight I’ve been away, you’d got matey enough to go out with him last night!’

  ‘Only because Mother asked him to take me to the Lyre Group concert, as she didn’t care to use the tickets.’

  ‘But you went, didn’t you? I wonder how much you had to force yourself?’ Lance turned moodily away. ‘All right, V. Just so long as I know where we stand—that we aren’t on the same side any more, that you’ve gone over to the enemy—’

  ‘Lance!’

  But he had flung away. She heard the big main door slam behind him and his feet clattering away down the steps.

  Gone over to the enemy. Absurdly theatrical as the taunt was, it had struck home. Lance had put her original fears into words—that in the coming weeks there were indeed going to be ‘sides’—each of them equally greedy for any loyalties which might be given to them to tear.

  CHAPTER III

  As soon as she went to her office the next morning Verity lifted the phone and dialled Bob Wales’s number.

  ‘Ready when you are, Bob. They’re lining up now,’ she told him, knowing he would understand he was being summoned to the ritual of ‘Doc chits’ which was routine practice on the second day of term.

  ‘Doc chits�
� were the clean-bill-of-health certificates each boy was required to bring from home, to be checked by Dr. Wales and filed by Verity for reference. They were documents which had a genius for disappearing en route or of offering themselves as the ideal raw material of paper darts, and it was always a major triumph for Verity when, at the end of several arduous hours, the number of names checked in tallied with the number of certificates for filing.

  The morning took on its accustomed pattern. Bob Wales arrived, tousling a head here, feinting with a body-blow there, on his way through the queue and making his stock joke to Verity. ‘Look fighting fit to me. Why do we bother? Not a measle nor a mump nor a chicken-pox in sight among the lot of ’em.’ To which she replied with her usual ‘I should hope not indeed!’ before they set companionably to work.

  She had known Bob for years. His people lived locally and when he had qualified he had returned to Clere to live at home and to practise in the surrounding villages. His parents’ house had seemed designed for children’s parties, and Verity had played her first game of tennis with Bob on their court. On his weekends at home during his training and walking the wards he had kept her posted about his various love affairs, and though she had not confided equally in him she suspected he had known of her feeling for Max Doran. The two men had sparked hostility from each other whenever they met, and it was good, now she herself had finally escaped from Max, not to have to be on the defensive for him any more.

  Currently Bob was pursuing the daughter of a hospital consultant in Norwich. The ups and downs of his courtship of Rosemary Baird had all the makings of a soap opera, and this morning, during the lull between their dealings with South House and East, he had just embarked on the latest episode, when Daniel Wyatt came in.

  Bob broke off, eased himself from his perch on the corner of Verity’s desk and said good morning.

  ‘Good morning.’ Daniel turned to Verity. ‘What is happening now?’ he asked her.

  She told him they were waiting for the boys of East House to be sent over. They had finished with South.

  ‘With North and West still to do? Does it have to take the entire morning?’

  ‘It usually does.’

  ‘And those ‘—he nodded at the pile of certificates—’what happens to them?’

  ‘I destroy last term’s lot and file these in their place.’

  ‘They’re filed here? Isn’t that a mistake?’

  ‘A mistake? But we’ve always—’ As Verity bit back the phrase of which she knew he was intolerant, the question was repeated to Bob.

  Bob echoed too, ‘A mistake? I don’t understand you, High Master. The things have always been filed here in Verity’s charge.’

  ‘Even though they’re much more Matron’s concern, surely? Matron’s and yours?’

  ‘Yes, well—’ As Bob paused to consider the point Daniel went on,

  ‘For instance, if a boy reports sick and she suspects a contagious contact, isn’t it better for her to have his chit on hand instead of needing to refer over here for it?’

  Bob nodded. ‘But she hasn’t a filing system in the clinic.’

  ‘What of it? It only calls for a simple card-index drawer.’

  ‘Yes. But Matron hasn’t much use for record keeping. She’s fond of claiming that she’s there to mother healthy boys and nurse sick ones and that paper work isn’t her job.’

  ‘I’m afraid she must make it her job. It’s absurd to have medical data kept anywhere other than in the clinic. Finish here as usual, but see that Matron takes over in future,’ Daniel added to Verity, and went out.

  ‘H’m. Work-study methods—plus!’ commented Bob. ‘In other words—Efficiency Is All. Is there anything else he is changing?’

  ‘Quite a bit. He calls it “dusting off the surface cobweb”.’

  ‘Which I’m sure must endear him no end to the more cosily dug-in members of the staff!’ grinned Bob. ‘Old Nick, for one.’

  Verity said, ‘Oddly enough, not. Old Nick is even prepared to root for him, and though the others grumble, they seem to be taking all the changes in their stride. And I’ve been thinking—though it never occurred to us before, it’s surely rather obvious that medical chits ought to be kept in the clinic?’

  Bob shrugged. ‘I’d say it couldn’t matter less. After all, what easier than for Matron to phone you for any details she needs, as she has always done? No, the impression I get from all that heavy weather is that, finding you apparently idling with me, the man saw a chance to throw his weight about—and threw it.’

  ‘Oh, Bob, no! He isn’t like that—’

  Bob shrugged again. ‘Have it your own way. I’m just the onlooker.’ He looked out of the window. ‘Action stations. East to a man looming on the horizon,’ he warned, then threw her a shrewd glance. ‘Rooting for him a bit yourself, eh?’

  Verity felt her colour rise. ‘Only when I think he’s got something. When I believe he may be right,’ she said shortly. But as they went to work again she was thinking again of Max. Of how she had always had to champion him against Bob’s dry criticism, just as now he had forced her on to the defensive for Daniel Wyatt.

  Not that there was any comparison really. For, however briefly and disastrously, she had been in love with Max.

  The term was three weeks old when Daniel decided to give a cocktail party for the staff in order, as he expressed it, ‘to get the chalk out of our hair for one evening’. Verity first heard of it from her mother, whom he asked to act as his hostess, though he wasn’t troubling her with any catering or arrangements, which would be handled by a Norwich firm. Mrs. Lytton reported, ‘I told him I thought it a splendid idea. Except that—’

  ‘Except that what?’ Verity prompted the pause.

  ‘Well, I said that, as the staff are in each other’s pockets all day long, wouldn’t he consider asking a few other people too. For instance, the Governors and their wives who live around here, and some of the local people he ought to meet. After all, whenever Robert and I gave a party, we found we finished up with half the county at it—didn’t we?’ Mrs. Lytton appealed wistfully.

  Verity laughed. ‘Bless you, so you did. And are you to be allowed to snowball this one too?’

  ‘Well, yes. Daniel was so nice about it. He wants me to make a list of the people I think he should ask, and he’ll get you to send out the invitations. So if you’ve time and would lend me a pencil, dear, we could sketch out a provisional list straight away.’

  The provisional list made, altered, pared down, was still of a formidable length when it was handed to Daniel, who read it through, then passed it to Verity with the comment, ‘For your reference.’

  Mrs. Lytton searched his face anxiously. ‘You don’t think I’ve made too big a thing of it, do you?’ she asked.

  Daniel smiled at her. ‘Well, as the relaxing evening I’d envisaged for the staff—perhaps a little. But as something between a civic reception and a crowd scene in a mammoth epic—not at all!’

  ‘Oh dear! Then you do think it’s too much?’

  ‘Not if you think I ought to know all these people.’

  ‘I’d like you to. Or rather, I want them to know you. And I’m not only thinking of that. It’s the younger staff, you see—the unmarried ones. Robert and I always felt we had a social duty to them. To see that they have the chance to meet some nice girls, I mean.’

  ‘I see. But shouldn’t the three or four months of the vacations afford them the chance to arrange their private lives for themselves?’

  Mrs. Lytton eyed him doubtfully. ‘I believe you’re making fun of me, Daniel! But we never interfered or attempted any matchmaking. It’s just that schoolmasters should be married young, and making the right marriage is so important for them—’ She broke off in confusion. ‘There now! I’ve said the wrong thing, haven’t I? Where should Verity and I be, if you had already been married?’

  Daniel laughed and rose. ‘You shall invite everyone you wish, just so long as I’m not expected to use my party as a spri
ngboard into matrimony!’ he promised as he left the room.

  Mrs. Lytton looked after him, sighing. ‘He really is nice, though I don’t always know how to take him. He seems to withdraw, though one can’t quite tell where to. But next time we’re chatting, I must ask him if he knew how dear Cleo and I used to plan that he should marry you, Verity darling. He’ll enjoy the joke against us, I’m sure.’

  Verity protested, ‘Mother, please—no!’

  ‘But it would be only a joke! Why not?’

  ‘Because—Well, obviously, because I work for him and it would embarrass me—and him.’

  ‘I don’t see why it should. It isn’t as if he were an ordinary chief, who would expect to keep you at arm’s length for the sake of office discipline. After all, we are in rather a special relationship with Daniel, aren’t we? But I wouldn’t dream of mentioning it to him, if you say not.’

  ‘I beg you not, Mother.’

  ‘Then of course I won’t. Although’—Mrs. Lytton’s face shadowed—‘although I’m afraid I did tell Jane Dysart and the Percevals. Just in passing, when I was telling them how odd it was, my having known Daniel as a boy. Do you mind?’

  ‘I’d rather you hadn’t told anyone. But don’t worry about it. It’s not as important as all that.’ Nor was it, Verity scolded herself irritably. Her mother thought the apocryphal story amusing. So why couldn’t she? She only knew she hated the idea of its reaching Daniel Wyatt’s ears. And was it possible to get more intense over a trifle than that?

  On the evening of the party Mrs. Lytton, receiving Daniel’s guests and passing them on to him, was in her social element. She liked people and unashamedly wanted them to like her. Tonight she radiated ingenuous charm, and Verity, watching her, loved her for the courage she was bringing to an occasion which must remind her poignantly of the happy ones in her past.