High Master of Clere

by Jane Arbor

  After he had gone—‘That’s so like him. Not even skipping shepherd’s pie without warning me. What a husband that man will make for some girl one day!’ mused Mrs. Lytton happily, as if her sole criterion for the perfect marriage partner were a punctilious attitude to warmed-over meat.

  Later she was not there when the inter-house telephone rang, so Verity answered it.

  Ira Cusack’s voice said, ‘Main School? Is that Mrs. Lytton? No? Verity? Oh well, you’ll do. Listen, I’ve a small problem on my hands. Would Mrs. Lytton come over to dinner, do you think?’

  ‘Tonight? I thought—’ began Verity.

  ‘Just so. You heard me invite your rather personable chief on Jane’s behalf. But now she and Nicholas have had to dash over to King’s Lynn hospital, where his sister has been taken after a smash in her car. Which makes the dinner situation here a shade tricky, don’t you see?’

  Verity said innocently, ‘Why should it?’

  ‘Oh, my dear! Because! You must see that I can’t entertain the man all by myself! Well, can I?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. I dare say you needn’t worry about coping. Jane’s cook will do everything for you. Oh!’ Light suddenly dawning, Verity added perversely, ‘You mean you think you can’t be tête-à-tête with Mr. Wyatt and you want Mother as your chaperon? But surely he’ll understand, when you explain about Jane and Nicholas. After all, if Mother is out any time, he and I eat alone together and think nothing of it.’

  ‘Oh, you!’ Ira dismissed the comparison. ‘That’s entirely different. I mean, when you’re breathing down each other’s necks all day on the job, I agree there’s nothing to your sharing a nosebag at night. Anyway, you probably only talk shop. But I hardly know him yet, and do you suppose I want him to think I was in cahoots with Jane to trick him into an evening alone with me?’

  ‘As if he would!’ scoffed Verity.

  ‘Which doesn’t say much for your experience of men, dear. In this case, what do you imagine all that high-falutin’ brusquerie is about, if it isn’t meant to ward off predatory females until he’s good and ready to crook a finger at his own choice? Fun, of course, to get under the guard of a man like that. But as I’m not such a dimwit as to use a crowbar for the job, will you ask your mother if she’ll help me out, or must I ring round the she-housemasters and rope in one of them?’

  ‘All right, I’ll ask Mother. I expect she will,’ said Verity, and put down the phone.

  Rather to her surprise Mrs. Lytton approved Ira’s scruples, commenting, ‘Quite thoughtful of her, after all, to realize that in his position Daniel can’t afford to be compromised. People are only too ready to misjudge the most innocent situations, especially when a girl is as glamorous as Ira Cusack must know she is. Yes, I’d better go.’

  So Verity, with small appetite for it, sat down to shepherd’s pie alone. She went to bed early, though not to sleep until long after she heard her mother come in.

  A crowbar for the job. Ira would call forcing a man to kiss you against his will ‘a crowbar for the job’, wouldn’t she?

  The next morning and on all the following days Ira was to be seen about the school, watching, asking questions and taking notes.

  She had Daniel’s permission to sit in on classes and attend out-of-school societies, such as the Debating Club, and to talk to everyone she pleased, from the senior staff to the gardener’s boy. Her wardrobe seemed inexhaustible. Every day she appeared in a different outfit, evoking appreciative wolf-whistles from the boys of the Upper School and causing the feminine element of Clere to envy her a salary which could afford them or to wonder whether perhaps Viking Vision dressed its executives ‘on the house’.

  On several evenings she begged the use of Verity’s office and typewriter for making out her reports for Guy Tabor, and on one such occasion she was still at work when Verity returned for something she had forgotten.

  Ira’s flying fingers checked. ‘Don’t go,’ she said. ‘Help yourself to a cigarette and wait till I’ve finished, will you? I’ve just about done.’

  A minute or two later she flicked the paper free, added it to the sheaf beside the machine and lit a fresh cigarette from the half-smoked butt on the ashtray. She inhaled deeply.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you. You’re one of the few people I’ve got no lowdown on yet. So what have you got to give me for the record?’

  ‘Give you? About my work?’ questioned Verity.

  ‘In a way, though I couldn’t care less about the technicalities. So—you’re the big man’s secretary. You type and take dictation and answer the telephone just like any other nine-to-five girl, I dare say. But there must be some human angle to your job. What is it?’

  Remembering Daniel’s probing on the same lines and how she had failed to answer it, Verity hesitated. ‘There is, I suppose,’ she agreed. ‘Though I don’t quite know how I’d define it.’

  ‘Then let me help you. I need—that is, Guy will need—a recognizable label for you, don’t you see? Say then ... let’s see—you’re the High’s pocket guide to the school’s affairs. And/or you’re a buffer-state between him and the staff. Or—yes, that’s it’—Ira snapped finger and thumb—‘you’re his secret police. That covers the lot!’

  ‘His secret police? I’m nothing of the kind!’ Verity denied hotly.

  ‘Oh, surely? It need only mean you keep him abreast of all the things he should know and couldn’t, except via you. Besides, it’s a description everyone will understand. No, you really mustn’t cheat us of “secret police”!’ claimed Ira.

  Verity said doggedly, ‘I’m sorry, but you mustn’t use it of me. It’s only too well understood, but it’s simply not true of anything at all I do for Mr. Wyatt.’

  Ira shrugged. ‘Have it your own way—though it’s a pity. And if you don’t fetch and carry undercover information for him, what do you do that we could pinpoint to show the viewers just what you’re for?’

  ‘Well, some of the things you’ve mentioned. You can call me a maid of all work if you like. But “secret police” makes me sound merely a talebearer.’

  ‘And do you never? Tell tales, I mean? However, it’s a small point. I’d better leave Guy to fit you into the picture.’ Ira narrowed her eyes against the haze of her cigarette and added, ‘Changing the subject, you’ve fallen for your chief rather heavily, haven’t you?’

  Verity stiffened. Her small laugh was unconvincing. ‘Fallen for him? What on earth makes you think so?’

  ‘My dear, it’s like a mother’s care—it shows. You blossom when he’s kind and you wilt or bristle when he’s not. Not to worry, though. Even if he has a clue, he must know it’s an occupational hazard a virile chief has to risk. But just one hint—you ought to ask your mother to lay off plugging you to him like crazy!’

  Instantly at the ready in Mrs. Lytton’s defence, Verity demanded, ‘Plugging me? I don’t see how you can know whether Mother has ever even discussed me with Mr. Wyatt!’

  Ira’s expression became one of hard-tried patience. ‘No? You don’t remember that on my first evening of staying with Jane, we dined in a threesome—he, your mother and I? And she was certainly selling you on him then, though you shouldn’t take umbrage at my telling you. I only mean it for your own good.’

  Verity declared, ‘I just don’t believe Mother would have monopolized the talk that night in praising me. She was your guest—or Jane’s by proxy—and she has far too much social know-how to be so bad-mannered.’

  ‘Oh dear, did I imply she talked her head off about you? Of course she didn’t. I had to admire the way it was done—charmingly. Just a word here ... a word there. “Verity is so” “Verity always” Water-dropping-on-a-stone, in other words. But so unmistakably aimed at your chief that I couldn’t wonder his reaction was a trifle cool.’

  Too proud to ask Ira to elaborate on that, Verity said, ‘But you don’t know him very well, do you? He is cool; that’s his normal manner. And if you think I’d dream of hurting Mother by taking her up about
it, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.’

  Ira stubbed out her cigarette, squared off the sheets of her reports and stood. As she went out she said, ‘You can’t say I didn’t mean well. After all, if you want to keep your secret you can’t afford to risk the man’s thinking you’d got your mother to put out feelers on your behalf, can you? However, that’s your headache, I suppose. Meanwhile, thanks a lot for the loan of your amenities, dear.’

  Verity was alone for more than a minute before she realized she had not denied Ira’s—‘You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you?’ Nor could she now to herself. Daniel had come to matter to her too much. Ira was right. He could hurt or delight her with a word or a gesture because love had given her into his hands. She was as sharply aware of him as she had been of Max and now she admitted—how long had she really known?—why she had drawn comparisons between them.

  With Max she had known just this same craving to please, to serve, to feel herself wanted; to touch and to thrill to a touch, and Max had pretended to want all that too. But he hadn’t. Nor did Daniel. That was the likeness between them. The difference was that she had briefly stirred Max’s pulses, if not his heart. In Daniel she had disturbed nothing at all. Nothing? Well, perhaps for an hour or two her need had appealed to his chivalry and the protective impulse he would have shown to a child in distress. But no more than that.

  Now she and he would meet, smile, talk, share the same table, work together, and all the time she would be wearing a mask. And loving shouldn’t have to be like that! One’s dreams of it were of the contentment it would spell when you were apart, of the companionship lit with a smoulder of desire when you were together. But of course that happened only when two people worked the miracle for each other, not when there was one who loved and one who did not...

  And what had her mother said or done to embarrass her with Daniel? She had scorned to ask Ira for details and never would. And though her imagination ran riot she managed to force her loyalty to take over. What if Daniel had had to listen to her praises sung too extravagantly? Her mother had only done it for love of her, and what right had she to grumble about that?

  Anyway, in Ira’s graphic phrase it was her headache. All hers. Nowhere this time where she could shift the load as, in his fashion, Daniel had allowed her to thrust on him the weight of her sorrow for Nash. This pain had to be endured alone.

  At the end of Ira’s fortnight of preparation of the ground, Guy Tabor was also at Clere every day.

  Cameras were set up; ‘angles’ and lighting technically discussed; people were briefed; rehearsals held and reheld. And that weekend fewer ballpoints were chewed while the writers of compulsory letters home racked their brains for news to relate.

  That Sunday there was plenty.

  ‘We’re being filmed to go on TV. Miss the programme if you dare,’ was the urgent signal which went out to fond parents all over the country. Solo performers made much of having been chosen to speak their piece and the rank-and-file indicated hopefully just where individual faces might be discerned among hundreds of others equally agog to be recognized.

  The filming was scheduled for Tuesday and Wednesday, and when the result was ‘in the can’ Guy Tabor pronounced himself well satisfied. The following day a gratified school heard in morning assembly that he had begged that afternoon as a half-holiday. He had already invited the staff for cocktails at the Viking Vision studios on Friday evening.

  ‘See that anyone who has transport to spare shares it with other people who may need it, will you?’ Daniel asked Verity. ‘I can take you and your mother with me and a fourth too, if there are any candidates for the seat.’

  But there were none. Most of the staff ran their own cars, and Mrs. Lytton, told of Daniel’s offer, said she had already accepted a lift from Mr. and Mrs. Perceval.

  ‘For me too?’ Verity asked her.

  ‘Well, no, dear. They’re taking Matron as well. Besides, one of us must go with Daniel as he’s offered, and he would much rather take you than me. Wouldn’t you?’ she appealed as Daniel came in at that moment.

  ‘Wouldn’t I what?’ he enquired.

  ‘I was telling Verity I knew which of us you would choose to take to Norwich on Friday. And you can’t deny you would rather it were Verity, can you?’

  ‘Must I choose? I asked you both,’ he pointed out.

  ‘I know, and thank you, Daniel. But I’d already promised the Percevals for myself, you see.’

  He turned to Verity. ‘Then that means just the two of us. I’d like to leave not later than six, I think.’ He added to Mrs. Lytton, ‘I came to tell you I’ll be away for the weekend—in Oxford, if that’s all right with you?’

  ‘Of course, Daniel,’ she beamed.

  On Friday morning he looked in at Verity’s office.

  ‘I’ve asked Lance for temporary repossession of my camera,’ he told her. ‘If the light is good enough I may need it over the weekend. So if he brings it over and I’m not here, ask him to leave it in my study or with you, will you?’

  Verity promised she would and instead of going to the staff-room for coffee at break, she waited for Lance, expecting he would come.

  He did, bringing the camera, but a glance at his face told her something was wrong.

  ‘Look, V., an awful thing has happened! The High wants this outfit back for the weekend, and I’ve broken the lens! What on earth am I to do?’ he clamoured.

  Verity’s dismay matched his. ‘Oh, Lance! Broken it? How?’

  ‘I had it out yesterday afternoon on the dunes and I’d stayed to get the last of the light on a shot. It was nearly dark when I left the shore and like a fool I tripped over a tussock of whin and went sprawling.This’—indicating the Leica—‘was slung on me and it must have hit something. Because when I picked it up this morning I found the lens smashed.’

  Verity shook her head over the disaster. ‘You’ll have to tell Daniel, I suppose—explain that it was an accident—’

  ‘Tell him? How can I?’

  ‘Lance, you must! What else can you do? You can’t just hand it back as if nothing had happened!’

  ‘Of course I can’t. Be your age, do. Creep to the man with an apology—“Please, sir, I’m sorry, sir, I’ve broken it, sir”? Can you see me? Besides, I wouldn’t put it past him to accuse me of doing it on purpose to spite him!’

  ‘As if he would!’

  ‘He’s not getting the chance. I’ve got to get a new lens for the thing somehow.’

  ‘How can you?’

  ‘That’s the snag. The nearest place is King’s Lynn, and he’s expecting me to give it back today.’

  ‘King’s Lynn? Heavens! But if you could get it there, would they do it while you waited?’

  ‘I dare say, if I insisted. Just one point, though—I’ve got afternoon school—or didn’t you know I was a member of a chain-gang?’

  Verity snapped, ‘You can cut the sarcasm. Whose classes are they this afternoon?’

  ‘A double period of History with the High himself. Then one with Old Nick. No dice there. I’d need the whole afternoon off, and after yesterday’s special leavers, Old Nick would never play if I asked him for it. No, I’ve just thought, V.—do you think you could beg time off and go over to Lynn for me?’

  ‘I? I don’t see how. I’d have to go over and back by bus, and I’d have to tell Daniel why I wanted to go.’

  ‘Well, tell him something. Say you want to get your hair done for your Norwich do tonight, why not?’

  ‘I had my hair done last Saturday.’

  ‘You don’t suppose he’ll have noticed that? Oh, come on, V.! Have you got a bus timetable handy? Because if you won’t help me out, I’ll have to cut school and go myself. And then I shall be for the high jump!’

  Verity said, ‘I’m not going to lie about my hair. But I’ll ask for the afternoon off. I know there’s a bus at two, but I must check that there’s a return one to get me back well before six, which is when we leave for Norwich.’

  ‘There
’d better be,’ agreed Lance grimly. ‘Because, as I have to know whether you’ve managed it or not, we’ve got to make contact somewhere, and I’m not allowed out after half-past five.’

  Verity, searching her desk drawer, had found a bus guide. ‘I can catch one which gets back at five, so you’d better come down to the main gate about then and wait for me. Or I’ll wait for you, but don’t be late.’

  ‘Don’t worry—I shan’t be. Bless you, V.’ On his way out Lance stopped to ask, ‘You needn’t tell Mother, need you, in case she might let on?’ And, ‘It’ll cost quite a bit, I’m afraid. Can you pay?’

  ‘Meaning you can’t? All right, I dare say I can run to it,’ said Verity drily.

  ‘I’ll pay you back!’

  ‘This year, next year, some time, never? I can hardly wait!’

  Lance pulled a hideous face at her and, this time, went.

  Driven by a wind straight out of the north, snow clouds had been gathering all morning and the first flakes had fallen as Verity had boarded the outward bus for King’s Lynn. It was fully dark and the snow a whirling fury by the time the return bus was out on the open road. ‘Do it keep on like this, there’ll be drifts six foot deep by night,’ was the cosy verdict of Verity’s fellow passengers, who began as a bus-load full, dropping off by ones and twos and going their laden ways into the darkness as their village destinations were reached.

  To her relief Daniel had barely glanced up when she had asked for the afternoon off. ‘Of course,’ he had said, and though she had had a bad moment when he added, ‘By the way, Lance hasn’t returned my camera yet?’ she had managed not to lie. She had said, ‘I should think he may bring it after tea,’ and Daniel had accepted that.

  For most of the journey the bus-route ran parallel to the coastline, but a comparatively short distance from Clere as the crow flies, it made a big ‘U’ inland in order to accommodate passengers from several hamlets. This added some extra miles, and in good weather people for Clere often chose to alight at the point of the inward turn and walk the rest of the way across the sands. Tonight, at about this same point, Verity was the only passenger left, but she had no thought of leaving the warm bus when, after a couple of long chokes and jerks, it came to a grinding halt.