by MARY HOCKING
‘. . . rushed at him and dragged him down . . . poor little hands all torn and bleeding . . .’
They stared at each other, the one injured beyond redress and the other feeling the slow surge of relief through her body. The boy had grazed his hands, it was probably nothing more than that! Maggie wanted to reach out to the woman, to give her something that would help her because she had brought the sun back again. She said gently, ‘It must have been very upsetting for you.’
‘Upsetting!’ Miss Cathcart’s voice sharpened. ‘I was waiting for him when they came out of school; I’d left the office early especially because he’d been unwell all the week. He’s such a sensitive, nervous child. And to see him come out in this terrible state, hysterical with fear and shock . . .’
‘Miss Cathcart, there may be a little more to it than Peter was able to explain to you. Do go and talk it over with the Head. It’s always the best thing to do, and I know you’ll find Mr. Drew . . .’
‘Mr. Drew!’
Maggie flinched at the tone.
‘It wasn’t much use my coming here, was it? Miss Cathcart found bitter satisfaction in this. “Go to the school indeed!” See Mr. Drew! Mr. Drew who didn’t have time to speak to me when I went there this afternoon, who brushed me aside in the most disgraceful way I’ve ever been treated!’ Emotion welled up again; years of humiliation told in her face.
‘I’m sure Mr. Drew didn’t mean to be unhelpful. Perhaps he didn’t realize . . .’
‘Didn’t realize what goes on in his school? Yes, I’m quite sure you’re right about that.’
‘I didn’t mean . . .’
‘No, you didn’t, did you? It slipped out. But you said it, my dear, and I heard you! He doesn’t realize what goes on in his school, and this office doesn’t either.’ She was deliberately driving herself into a state of hysteria. ‘No, don’t argue with me. I heard what you said, you can’t get out of it now. None of you want to realize what goes on. You aren’t interested in children, you don’t care about . . .’
At this moment the door opened and Mr. Crocker edged into the room. He mouthed ‘library allowance’. Maggie shook her head. Mr. Crocker abandoned discretion and began to chatter, his face screwed up like a peevish chimpanzee. ‘I can’t wait any longer. I really cannot wait any longer.’
Miss Cathcart got to her feet. ‘I shouldn’t have come here, I can see that. I shouldn’t have come!’
She and Mr. Crocker dodged about in the doorway, repeating ‘I can’t wait’ and ‘I shouldn’t have come’ and getting angrier and angrier.
Maggie said, ‘Please, Miss Cathcart! If you will just wait a minute . . .’
But Miss Cathcart, in tears, pushed Mr. Crocker aside and blundered into the corridor. Maggie went after her.
‘We’ll look into this and write to you, Miss Cathcart. I’ll make an appointment for you to see Mr. Drew and then if you aren’t satisfied when you’ve talked to him . . .’ They were by the lift now and Miss Cathcart was crying in earnest, her whole body shaking as though all the joints had worked loose. Maggie took her by the elbow and propelled her into the nearby cloakroom. ‘Let me get you a cup of tea.’
‘I should never have come. I should never have come!’
‘I’ll get a cup of tea,’ Maggie repeated.
She left the woman hunched on a chair and ran down the corridor. Angela was standing at a door, her head inclined, listening. She said, ‘I’m trying to get into Mrs. Addie, but she’s got someone with her.’
‘Never mind Mrs. Addie. Do look after that woman in the cloakroom for me. Make her some tea and see if you can calm her down a bit. I’ll see her again when I’ve had a word with Mr. Crocker if it will do any good.’
But by the time she had finished with Mr. Crocker Miss Cathcart had departed, declining tea and sympathy.
‘Whatever was it about?’ Angela asked.
‘Her son grazed his hands on a climbing frame! She had me worried for a time, I thought it was something really serious.’
‘Some people!’ Angela shook her head wonderingly.
‘I’d better telephone the school, just in case it crops up again.’ Maggie put out her hand for the telephone and then thought better of it. The typist had brought in the post for her to go through; and, in any case, she would have an opportunity later to mention the incident.
Chapter Two
Mylor Drew said, ‘anything else?’ and tried to keep the impatience out of his voice because this would only make Miss Freeth delay the longer. Miss Freeth was not deceived. She gazed at him severely, the loops of hair coiled at her ears giving her the appearance of a depressed spaniel who is disappointed in its master. Her wounded brown eyes told him as clearly as words could have done that she was only a part-time worker who could have left the school at mid-day had she chosen, whereas he was the Head Master and should be in no hurry to quit the building at four-thirty.
‘Not if you haven’t time,’ she said.
‘I have time if there’s anything else, but not if there isn’t.’ Mylor’s stock of patience was soon exhausted.
Miss Freeth pursed her lips and began to collect her bits and pieces. Mylor let her get to the door before he said. ‘It was nice of you to stay.’
She gave him a brave smile. ‘The work had to be done. The education office asked for that return a week ago.’
When she had gone he picked up an exercise book and hurled it at the door. It was exactly how the Chairman of the Education Committee had suspected that he might behave.
‘Not too happy about that one,’ he had said when Mylor had left the room after his interview for the headship.
‘He is an outstanding candidate.’ This was one of the rare occasions when the Chief Education Officer exerted his influence. ‘A first-rate teacher, he understands children, and he has some kind of a flair that will take him a long way.’
The Chairman was not impressed by flair. He was merely aware that the man wore his hair too long and had an impossible name.
‘Foreigner, I suppose? Dark, and with a name like that.’
‘No. Cornish, in fact.’
His parents had come from the village of Mylor. Exiled in London, they had meant to call their house by this name, but the son came first. It was not the kind of caprice which would have appealed to the Chairman even had he been aware of it. It would simply have added to his impression that there was something not quite right about the candidate. His manner had not been nearly as earnest, or as flatteringly deprecatory, as that of the candidate whom the Chief Education Officer dismissed as mediocre. In fact, when Drew came into the room he had surveyed the appointments panel with alert amusement, rather as though it was he who was judging their suitability for the job in hand. Arrogant presumptuousness! was the Chairman’s reaction. The fellow was not even particularly prepossessing, a little below medium height and with a strong-boned face of no noticeable refinement; a wiry, tough little character, not at all the type for a professional man. But there was undoubtedly something about him, some kind of mental vigour which communicated itself immediately. The other candidates had seemed rather dull in comparison, even a trifle effete. The Chairman, not wishing to appear to support mediocrity, had acquiesced to the appointment against his better judgement. His doubts remained. The man was not quite a gentleman; by which the Chairman meant that his behaviour would not always conform to standards which the Chairman understood. He would, for example, be capable of indulging childish anger if he was delayed when he had planned to spend a precious hour with a young woman before going home to his wife and children.
Mylor looked at his watch. A quarter to five. The education office closed at five, and she would be out at Sarre at five-forty. Should he telephone? Better not to risk that. He could still hear Miss Freeth in the outer office; it would take her another ten minutes to clear her desk, check the petty cash, lock up the safe, and have a final brood over her wrongs. If he drove fast he would be there in time.
In fact, he was there first
; and he was so delighted when he saw her walking down the lane from the village that he got out of the car and ran to meet her.
‘Oh Maggie, Maggie May!’ he sang loudly and flung his arms around her.
‘Mylor, someone might see!’
‘Only by telescope! The nearest house is a mile away at least.’ He kept his arm round her waist as they walked back to the car and she did not protest because she could not believe that they were doing anything wrong or that any harm could befall people who were so happy.
‘Besides,’ he said, ‘We’ve already been seen. The great white chief saw us last week at Hawkhurst.’
‘It’s a good thing it was him, if it had to be anyone. He won’t say anything. He’s a dear.’
‘An old lecher, you mean. Always round to inspect the first appointments if they’re personable.’
‘No!’
‘Yes. How innocent you are at the education office! Everyone else knows it.’
She laughed. ‘It doesn’t mean anything. He’s got a dear little plum pudding of a wife to whom he’s quite devoted.’
He did not comment, but she felt his mood change and sensed the darkness in him. He never said anything about his wife and she respected him for this; she liked to think of their affair, which was innocent, as something apart which would not interfere in any way with his married life. But she was beginning to know him well enough to be aware of the tension in him and to want to ease it.
When they were in the car she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and whispered, ‘Don’t be sad, Mylor.’
He drove through quiet country lanes until he found a track leading to a ploughed field where he stopped the car. The place was sheltered by a big ash tree. In the back seat, he took her in his arms and they stayed like this wordlessly while the sun grew big and dipped behind the distant trees. They were easily satisfied at this stage. She was in love for the first time and he was achingly grateful for this blessed interval which made the evenings easier to bear. Half an hour of kisses and a few light caresses, they would never ask for more; and as they were not greedy they would never come to any harm. It was all very simple.
‘You aren’t sad, are you?’ she said when their limited time was up and they had returned to the front seats. It was always a time of sadness for her; a sadness sharpened by the hour when they met, colour fading in the level evening light.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Of course I’m not sad.’
‘I wouldn’t ever want to make you sad.’
‘You never will. I’m not a sad person.’
He was a passionate man, given to extremes; it was true that she was unlikely to make him sad.
‘You’re the one that risks being hurt,’ he said, not very seriously.
‘I don’t mind that.’
‘Maggie!’ He laughed, suddenly diverted as he was about to start the engine; he turned to look, seeing something in her for the first time, some little touch of absurdity. ‘Everyone minds being hurt, you goose!’
‘I don’t mind if you hurt me.’
He gazed at her, his expression losing some of its authority; then he turned away, frowning so that she thought he was angry. He did not say anything for quite a while after that.
When they were sitting in the car waiting for the bus, she rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. ‘It’s been quite a day!’ He saw that she was tired, there were faint blue shadows beneath her eyes; he bent down and kissed first one and then the other. She moved her head, gently protesting, and he mimicked, ‘Someone might see!’ and kissed the tip of her nose.
‘I’ve just remembered! No, Mylor darling, please . . . This is important. Miss Cathcart came into the office this afternoon.’
‘No! Not to complain because Peter bruised his knuckles?’ He folded her hair back from her face and said, ‘You have a little pucker developing just there.’ He touched her between the eyes. ‘You take life too hard.’
‘She said his hands were torn to shreds—or at least, her tone implied it.’
‘Nonsense! He had bruised knuckles and a grazed knee.’ He rubbed his fingers gently between her eyes, smoothing away the frown.
‘She said you wouldn’t see her.’
Mylor sighed and slumped back in his seat.
‘I was on my way to see the second sitting started for lunch and she darted in front of me and started to gabble something. I could tell it was going to be a prolonged visitation, so I said I couldn’t attend to her at the moment, but if she liked to wait five minutes I’d see her then.’
‘Well! You’ve no idea the story she told. I was quite worried for you.’
‘Save your concern for poor Miss Smith. Miss Padwick should have taken the class on Friday but she is away ill and little Miss Smith has had to take over. Young Peter, who’s about the most maladjusted child you can imagine—I bet Mother didn’t tell you that—was more than she could handle. After he had hit one child, spat at another, and stamped on a third’s foot, she told him he couldn’t play and dismissed him to the sidelines.’
‘No! Do go on, it’s so wildly different from the tale I got.’
‘I gather she instructed him very firmly not to go anywhere near the climbing frame, because he’s an ungainly child and can scarcely throw a beanbag without doing himself a mischief. Anyway, he went straight off as soon as her back was turned and up he clambered. When she found out and told him to get down, he just loosed his grip and down he came, bruising knuckles on the way. Does that satisfy you?’
‘Will you see Mother and explain all this?’
‘I’ve already offered to see her.’
‘Do you mind if I write and confirm it? I don’t want her coming into the office again. I felt quite strange when she began to talk about you. As though I should hit her if she said much more.’
‘My gentle Maggie! You don’t need to defend me against Miss Cathcart.’ He wasn’t too pleased at her invasion of his world and she was quick to sense this.
‘I’m sorry.’
He put his arm round her shoulders and gave her a little hug. ‘You take life too hard.’ The bus had turned the corner. He bent to kiss her. ‘Give me a ring tomorrow.’
‘Not while your Miss Freeth is there.’
‘She’s got a dental appointment, praise be!’
He waited while she boarded the bus and then turned the car and made his way back to Eastgate. They always met at a place some distance from Eastgate and he was careful to keep to the less frequented country roads; he had a fifteen mile journey ahead of him tonight and he drove with a lack of consideration for others on the road which would have confirmed the Chairman’s view of his character. When he reached home Jemima had given the children their supper and was telling Daniel the latest adventures of Pippa the Parrot while Clare amused herself trying to pull the leg off a doll. Jemima was good at telling stories, but she kept them too young for Daniel whose mind was ready to stretch a little further.
‘Children don’t worry about unusual words,’ Mylor had protested. ‘For one thing, they don’t know that they are unusual. They accept them.’
‘Without understanding?’
‘Comprehension isn’t everything. The mind must have its adventures.’
‘Adventures of the mind—for a child of seven!’
She began to choose her words even more carefully after that. This deliberate stunting of the child’s growth hurt Mylor physically, it was as though some damage was being done to his own body and he could not bear to be in the room while it was going on. When he heard her voice raised in the familiar Pippa squawk, he shouted, ‘Shan’t be a minute,’ and went upstairs.
He went into the children’s bedroom and made a pretence of clearing up, but his mind was not on what he was doing. He was seeing a face, a face that he had not registered clearly before; a pleasant face, and kind, but not beautiful though youth gave it the illusion of loveliness. It would grow into a thoughtful face, mainly notable for the eyes which were grey-green and ha
d an unusual clarity; the eyes would grow troubled with the years but would never lose that rather disconcerting directness, as though an appeal was being made from subconscious to subconscious. Under his breath he hummed, a little less exuberantly now, ‘Oh Maggie, Maggie May!’ In the moment when he knew that he could not go back, he questioned whether he should have come so far.
The children, released, came up the stairs, Clare thrusting herself forward as always while Daniel waited, dark with suppressed emotion, to give the details of some minor tragedy which had befallen him at his infant school.
‘Mummy says I can’t have a puppy,’ Clare was launching a big campaign about this. ‘I can, can’t I, Daddy?’
‘Of course not. Mummy has already told you that.’
Whatever their difficulties, they supported each other in front of the children.
‘I said, not until you are six,’ Jemima called from the bathroom.
This was the same as never to Clare, who was three and a half. Daniel began to speak, ‘Daddy, my teacher . . .’ Immediately Clare interrupted, ‘Clare wants to go to school, Clare wants to go to school . . .’ Jemima appeared briefly in the doorway and scooped her up; she was aware that Daniel needed time with his father. There was the sound of water splashing and high-pitched protests from Clare, then the bathroom door closed. Mylor settled down to try to unravel his son’s problem. Daniel could not express himself well; he suffered from emotional constipation and once the blockage was eased words tumbled out in no very recognizable pattern. One had to search for a key word here and there. It was not easy, Daniel tended to fly into a fit of temper if one came up with the wrong answer. Recently he seemed to be getting worse. Mylor was very patient with the boy and usually managed to calm his fears without minimizing them unduly.
‘What was it all about?’ Jemima asked later, when they were alone together.
‘His teacher taught him to do his sums by a different method.’
‘You’ll have to stop helping him.’