Bums on Seats

by Tom Davies

  “What is needed, I suggest, is a visit by you to both teachers’ training colleges and a visit to, say, two sixth form colleges. You will of course have access to academic records in all cases.” He paused and sat back.

  Simon said, “I agree that what you suggest lets us put a finger right on the pulse of Zombekian higher education, so to speak. But isn’t it rather an ambitious tour programme for just three days?”

  “It would be Mr McGuire, Simon, if you both saw everything. That’s why we propose that you divide the task between you.” Veronica frowned and made as if to speak, but he carried straight on. “If you think about it, your interests in this matter differ. You, as Admissions Tutor, Simon, would find great advantage in meeting and assessing a cross-section of final-year A Level students. Veronica, as Academic Registrar, on the other hand, has the vital task of assuring the academic accreditation of our syllabi and examination process. That’s absolutely crucial.” He sat back and waited.

  Veronica sounded uncharacteristically unsure. ‘But how would I reach these colleges and with whom could I discuss matters, to consolidate so to speak, at the end of each day?”

  “Oh, of course, I didn’t say, did I? Forgive me. Captain Mark Kwame of our Army Education Corps would be your personal driver and escort throughout. You’ve already met him of course. He’s a very bright young man. Got a First at Cambridge you know. Has a very bright future.” Veronica looked thoughtful, briefly, but wasn’t done yet.

  “How long would it take to reach the first college? Won’t valuable time be consumed in travel?” Time, she thought, that she could be spending with Simon.

  “Not long at all,” assured the Minister. “Our ‘A’ roads are very good. Your vehicles would have priority on the road in any case. Captain Kwame and yourself would be in a Range Rover. Your army escort vehicle would precede you and clear the way if necessary.”

  Simon, who was beginning to know Veronica, sensed her suppressed thrill at the imagined spectacle of her small convoy, armed to the teeth, hurtling purposefully through the bush to some educational outpost. He looked at the Minister, realised he must have first-class briefs on them both, and wondered at the content of his.

  The Minister spoke again, a little more crisply now; he was running late on a crucifying work schedule. I suggest you travel shortly, Mrs Hamlyn, so as to arrive tonight at the first college, ready for tomorrow. Then you can move on tomorrow night, ready for the next day, and return here in the afternoon for a meeting with my Deputy and a number of Head Teachers. Simon in the meantime can discuss and commence his itinerary with my PPS. All right? Good.”

  The meeting concluded ten minutes later. Simon stayed in the building, but moved on to a further meeting. Veronica departed for the hotel and her luggage.

  “Would you call me Mark? We shall be seeing much of each other for a while.” They were cruising the dual carriageway about a hundred miles north of the capital and making very good time. Their escort vehicle, an open-top Jeep, preceded them. It contained two burly squaddies dressed in army fatigues and armed with machine pistols.

  “Thank you, I’m Veronica, please.” She looked sideways at the Zombekian. He was noticeably larger than most of his countrymen, but had similar features. They weren’t black-black, she thought, but medium brown. His dark hair was wavy, rather than tight curled. He had wide-set eyes and a fairly prominent nose. His ready grin revealed white teeth. And his lips, though generous, tended towards a European fullness, rather than what she thought might be typical African.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve not chatted much up to now, Veronica. I’ve concentrated on shifting us quickly, to shorten your journey time. This dual carriageway soon comes down to a two-way, three lane road, for the rest of the way. If we run into any trouble, our escort vehicle will clear the way.”

  “What sort of trouble, Mark?” She looked slightly apprehensive, but a little excited.

  “Oh” he smiled. “Traffic holdups, rather than hold-up men! Mind you, we deal quickly and effectively with criminals in this country. In any case, in addition to our escort, you and I are well equipped.” He passed her a small key and pointed to her door panel. She turned the lock and hinged it down. In a set of brackets there was a large calibre revolver and a box of shells for it. “Can you use a handgun?”

  “I certainly can!” she positively sparkled. “I’ve been on a couple of small-arms weekend courses with friends.” He’d been briefed on that, but never let on.

  “I’ve got a machine-pistol in my door. And, of course, we have my sidearm, Veronica. But I doubt we shall need them.” In fact he would have been astounded if he did. He’d never needed to fire any weapon outside of a practice range. Still, the hint of military-type action had brought a shine to her eyes.

  A few times during the remainder of the journey they caught up with collections of vehicles going in their direction. Each time, the driver of their escort Jeep had set flashing lights going, kept his hand firmly on the hooter and roared, with them in close convoy, up the outside lane. Mark noted that, on those occasions, Veronica rested her hand purposefully on the weapons-locker handle. For her part, she was beginning to think the Minister of Education’s plan was very sensible. But then, he’d always thought she would.

  A couple of hours later they turned through the college gates. The Principal, Dr Boteng, met them at the steps to the buildings.

  “Hello Mrs Hamlyn, Captain Kwame, I’m Catherine Boteng, the Principal here. Thank you for coming to us. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “What a beautiful location, Dr Boteng. So many bushes and flowers and birds.” Veronica responded.

  “Thanks, we’re very fortunate, Mrs Hamlyn. There is great emphasis on living in harmony with the land in Zombek. We have the services of four full-time gardeners here. The bees follow the flowers and the birds follow the bees. I’m convinced it’s all very much to the advantage of my Student Teachers. It’s a peaceful haven with few distractions from our main purpose.”

  “How many students do you have at any one time?”

  “Nominally, one hundred. But let’s save all this for over dinner. These are your rooms in our little guest wing.” She opened two adjacent doors in a short corridor. Veronica’s room was large, air-conditioned, attractive and comfortable. It had a fully equipped en suite to one side. She assumed Mark Kwame’s was the same.

  Back in the corridor, the Principal said, “See you at six forty-five for dinner at seven. Down the corridor, turn left, then second door on the right. We dress informally.”

  The Captain did not reappear to hear these words.

  Veronica unpacked then stripped down to her underwear and flopped on the very large bed. How luxurious after what had already been a long day. She wondered what Simon was doing. He had been rather splendid in the airplane, hadn’t he? Pity he wasn’t here now, though. Her mind gave a little jump to the side and she speculated momentarily about Mark Kwame. Then she dozed off briefly. When she opened her eyes it was 6.15 and shower time.

  *************

  The two women met for drinks and established a first name relationship. Dinner, shortly after, was self service. Veronica chose Chicken Salad and Sweet Potato with a pungent and colourful dressing. At the dinner table, they were joined by two senior members of the teaching staff, one male and one female. Mark did not reappear.

  “Where is Captain Kwame eating?”

  “Oh, he was called to an army base, twenty miles down the road, Veronica. His Colonel wanted some urgent information, apparently.”

  Veronica felt a twinge of disappointment. She pushed it aside and asked, “Tell me about your college, please.”

  “Well, we were established ten years ago. I was appointed Principal at that time. We’re fortunate to have strong political backing from an enlightened Government. Initially we aimed to produce teachers capable of delivering the GCSE syllabus. Five years ago we moved on to specialise in tuition in A Level studies. Since then we’ve done that to the exclusion of all else.
” Catherine Boteng paused.

  “What about your students – the teachers?”

  “They are all graduates. Currently there are a hundred and two of them, of whom forty-eight are male. Out of the total, I believe about eighty-five have some classroom experience. I usually look for this. But, if we have an Honours graduate in Maths or Science apply, we may well fast track him or her to direct entry, Veronica.”

  Their male companion at the table, Paul Aiddo, joined the conversation. “I specialise in Maths. I can tell you that in Zombek, organisations compete hard for Maths graduates. From what I hear, though, that seems to be almost a universal situation, Veronica.”

  “You’re right as far as England is concerned. Maths graduates are attracted to the big finance houses, by the salaries. Then Industry and the Civil Service compete for some. Teaching, regrettably, gets the small residue. What is your professional discipline?” Veronica continued, drawing in their young female companion diner.

  Agnes Queshi said, “I read History at your Bristol University. I specialise in teaching the delivery of English Studies here, though.”

  “What a coincidence. I read History at Bristol, though I’d obviously been and gone before your time, Agnes.”

  Veronica enjoyed the continuing dinner and company. The question and answer session was very helpful. The Zombekians were knowledgeable, enthusiastic, friendly and seemed entirely open with information. She began to be impressed. In a small sitting room an hour later, over coffee, her personal batteries started to run down. She suppressed a yawn.

  The Principal said, “I’ve arranged for you to observe a typical teaching session tomorrow morning. And then I thought you might like to sit in on a small tutorial group arranged by Agnes for some of her students. After which you and I can lunch. Then it will be time for you to be on your way to our sister college. Paul and Agnes here have arranged copies of their entire annual syllabi for you to take back with you to examine at leisure.”

  “That’s very kind, Catherine. Thank you. I think I would like to take my leave of you now.”

  They all shook hands and she went to her room. She felt the need of another shower and stood under the jets for ten minutes, before slipping into a brief robe and sitting on the edge of the bed.

  There was a light tap at the door. Blast! The last thing she wanted was more talk or, worse, some stodgy, educational, bedtime reading matter. She opened the door. Captain Mark Kwame stood there. He, too, was obviously lately from the shower. He said nothing, just smiled his big friendly grin. A second later, Veronica controlled her knees and moved aside. He stepped into the room, lifted her under the arms and knees, kicked the door shut, took four strides to the bed and dropped her on it.

  He let his bathrobe fall and kicked off his sandals. In the light of the bedside lamp she thought him a beautiful but somehow primitive sight. He was well over six feet and probably around 14 stone. His huge shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and flat stomach. He was very well built. The velvety black skin rippled with his small movements. He rolled her out of her robe and uttered just five words “I come for you, woman!”

  Veronica felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. She was aroused, but sort of shivery, an amalgam of anticipated excitement and fear of what might be. Then he was upon her. There was no foreplay and he said nothing more.

  He raised and lowered backward and forward in a strong slow rhythm. Even though he bore his weight on his elbows, she was still transfixed to the mattress, powerless. He was relentless. She was totally without control. As someone who took charge of everything as a matter of course, she was lost.

  He was slow to climax, just kept on and on, pressing her into the bed then lifting. It had a special thrill to it. It was like being raped without being hurt. Without much warning she climaxed and abandoned herself to a wild flurry of kissing and clawing. He slowed briefly then resumed, and then was finished himself.

  He still said nothing and rolled off. Released, she turned on her side and instantly slept. He noted the small smile about her mouth, reached to the bedside lamp, and then closed his eyes.

  Later, in the quiet dark hours, Veronica dreamt of Dartmoor and one of her lovely weekends. She climbed a steep bit of the moor. The heather was beautiful, the air fresh, the birds sang. Her husband called from higher up. It was a steep climb. The going became very difficult. He called again, then again…

  She woke to hear Mark saying, “Wake for me, woman.” He was on her. He was entering her again. She gave him a little kiss and spread herself. This time she managed to move her body in rhythm with him. She clung to him when he lifted and dug her nails in the muscles of his spine. It proved satisfying for them both. They concluded in unison.

  Veronica’s bedside alarm went off at 6.30. She could have slept all day. She reached a fumbling hand and stopped the wretched thing. She was on her side. Mark was immediately behind her with his arms around her. They lay there like two spoons pressed together. It was intimate, warm and very tempting. She rejected the thought. Whatever would she look like for the day? But, as she moved, it became very clear that Mark was ready for her. She gave a small sigh of resignation and reached down through her legs. Lovely, lovely, lovely. A few seconds later, the sigh became a purr as they rocked to and fro. Who the hell cares what one looks like!

  *************

  The Range Rover and escort vehicle moved at a steady 60 miles an hour, halfway through its journey to the next college. Mark turned his head briefly and smiled. Veronica grinned in return without speaking. She was nodding off again. Ten minutes after turning off the alarm that morning, she had fallen back to an exhausted sleep.

  She was wakened by a rapping on the door. Damn! It was breakfast time. Mark had gone.

  “Shan’t be long,” she called. “I’ve overslept.”

  Veronica and Agnes Queshi breakfasted alone. No mention was made of the hour. If Agnes noticed the dark rings around her guest’s eyes, she made no mention of that either.

  After the meal, Veronica attended the teaching session as arranged. It was impressive. The lecturer was the Maths specialist, Paul Aiddo.

  “Who developed differential calculus, then?” he asked the class. “Newton and Leibnitz, independently,” came the answer. “Yes, good. Let’s talk about an application then. If we differentiate displacement, we get velocity, and if we differentiate velocity we get acceleration. How might we use that information?” There followed a lively and informed, interactive session. All ten student teachers present contributed. If Veronica hadn’t been so dog tired, she might have thought that their quality was, if anything, perhaps too good. But she didn’t, which was just as well because the group had been brought together specially for the occasion. They were the best ten Maths graduates of the right age group in Zombek.

  After the Maths teaching session, Veronica moved on to an English Studies tutorial led by Agnes Queshi. This time, the group was entirely genuine. It was just that the four student teachers had, unknown to her, worked through the exact same groundwork two days earlier. Veronica, who had studied English as a subsidiary to History, joined in here and there. Luckily, she didn’t hit upon any blind spots. Again, she was impressed. An hour and a half later, after a further relationship-developing lunch with the Principal, she was climbing into the Range Rover. Mark loaded her case and the copies of each teaching curriculum. Then they were off; it was 1.30pm.

  “We’re just arriving, Veronica.” Mark reached out and squeezed her bare arm. She sat up straight with a start. The escort jeep was turning through a gateway.

  “Oh my God, Mark, whatever do I look like?”

  “Fine, you look fine!”

  “No, really, Mark?”

  “Well, at worst, you could say you look pale and interesting,” he grinned. “A Zombekian wouldn’t know the difference between that and normal for you.”

  She gave him a quick punch and busied with a hairbrush.

  The pattern with the Principal and the evening was similar to the p
revious days. Mark was nowhere to be seen. She assumed he’d been called to responsibilities elsewhere. In fact he’d driven off to a nearby army base at about 3.30pm and scrounged a bed. He was asleep by 4.00pm and was called, by arrangement, at 8.30pm with a cup of tea. He just had time for a light meal before setting back off to the college for night duty.

  After dinner with the Principal, James Abban and two of his teaching colleagues, Veronica received the programme for the following day, excused herself and went to her room. What an exhausting 24 hours. She showered, selected her clothes for tomorrow, then prepared for lovely, restorative sleep.

  When knuckles rapped on the door she knew whose they were. Veronica felt no excitement. She’d been just two minutes away from her pillow and sleep. She reluctantly opened the door. The Captain didn’t wait for an invitation and he changed his tactics, too. This time he put his arms around her waist, lifted her off her feet and kissed her in a passionate embrace where they stood. Half in the hallway for all to see, though nobody did. By the time they reached the bed, her tiredness was temporarily forgotten by the thrill and romance of it. Which was what he’d thought might be the case.

  The pattern of activity was similar to the previous night; only its mode of execution was different. Instead of being a sort of relentless sex-machine, Mark acted like an ardent lover. Veronica enjoyed the first time. She tried to keep up with the spirit of it, the second time. She didn’t even properly wake up for the pre-breakfast reprise.

  How she got through the remainder of the visit to the college, Veronica never knew. Events and personalities blurred together. She tried hard to be professional and to make rational assessments. But really, within herself, she felt like a nodding, smiling head. Just like one of those amusing things that some people put in the rear window of their cars. When it was time to leave, Mark not only loaded her things into the Land Rover, he also had to discreetly help her step up into the vehicle. Veronica fell asleep the instant they started moving. After a short while he made a quiet call on his mobile phone.