The Impossible Dream

by Hilary Wilde

  They walked to the car in silence. Frank only spoke as he drove away.

  ‘So you’ve fallen, hook, line and sinker,’ he said with a strange sadness in his voice.

  ‘Oh, Frank, not really, it’s just . . .’ Megan began.

  ‘I know. Just . . . I don’t blame you. I’ve never met a woman yet who hasn’t fallen for that sexy face and that smooth smile,’ Frank said bitterly. ‘Just imagine being married to him and knowing that he could get any girl he wants just by smiling at her.’

  ‘I’m not thinking of marrying him,’ Megan said quickly.

  Or had she? she asked herself. If you let yourself love a man like Gaston, you would be jealous, possessive and determined to make him your own . . . You wouldn’t be able to help it, she knew.

  ‘Look, this is only the second time I’ve met him,’ she began again as the car shot along the deserted road towards the school, the beams of light showing up the palm trees and the flowering shrubs.

  ‘I imagine the first was enough to do the damage.’ Frank looked down at the shadow by his side. ‘Just watch out, Meg. You’re too sweet a kid to get hurt, and a man like that can really harm you. I wish . . . oh, how I wish you’d never come here,’ he said with a sigh.

  Megan sat up. ‘Frank, that isn’t a very nice thing to say. I thought you liked me,’ she said accusingly.

  His hand covered hers for a moment and then left it.

  ‘That’s the trouble, kid,’ he said. ‘I like you too much, and I’m darned afraid you’re going to get hurt.’

  ‘Oh, Frank, don’t worry. I’m not a child.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ Frank gave an odd little laugh, ‘I’m just wondering what trouble we’re getting into tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s not as late as that,’ she protested. ‘It’s only three o’clock.’

  But three o’clock was unforgivable in Miss Tucker’s eyes, as she had no hesitation in telling Megan next day, after sending for her.

  ‘I understand you were not back until three o’clock this morning,’ she said, her cheeks red with anger, her eyes cold. ‘This is no example to set our young people.’

  How had Miss Tucker known? Megan wondered. It could only be Petronella Weston! Had she lain awake all night to check up on her neighbour?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said sincerely. ‘The evening went so fast I had no idea what time it was.’

  ‘You enjoyed the evening?’ Miss Tucker spoke as if referring to a den of lions where the Romans tossed the Christians in those distant days.

  ‘Yes. Why . . .’

  ‘I think it was very bad taste on your part, Miss Crane, to go. You are fully aware that your brother and Gaston Duval are two of the most undesirable characters in the town.’

  ‘Miss Tucker!’ Megan stood up, so angry she could hardly speak. ‘Patrick Crane happens to be my brother. You have no right to say . . .’

  Miss Tucker was on her feet, too, her cheeks an even brighter red now.

  ‘I have every right. I’m in charge of these girls and must allow no one of dubious nature near them. Mr Lambert engaged you, and why I cannot think. You should never have been given the job. What he’ll say, though, when he hears you went to that party . . .’

  ‘Miss Tucker, he told me to go.’ Megan managed to get a word in and Miss Tucker gaped, her mouth falling open.

  ‘He told you to go . . . ? He . . .’

  ‘Yes, Miss Tucker. I asked his permission and he said he thought it was a good idea.’ With that, Megan walked out. Why should she stand there and be insulted by Miss Tucker? And what right had she to call Patrick an undesirable character?

  Megan went back to her flat. In half an hour she had a lesson to give, but until then she would sit on her balcony, basking in the sun, loving the beauty of the deep blue sea, the chatter of the birds. What would happen next? she wondered. Miss Tucker was sure to have a row with Craig Lambert about it. Who would win?

  And if Miss Tucker did, was that going to be the end of this life? Megan wondered. Yet how could Miss Tucker win? she thought, feeling suddenly certain. Craig would never let her!

  CHAPTER V

  Craig Lambert didn’t return until the end of the week and Megan was glad when she saw him in the big dining-room.

  Miss Tucker had said no more to Megan about her late night out, yet Megan knew she must have told many of the staff, for quite a few of them now ignored her completely. Frank Parr, too, had been interviewed by Miss Tucker and lost his temper, telling her she had no right to control his private life and that three a.m. was not such a terrible time.

  ‘At least I brought Miss Crane back!’ he had finished angrily, and stormed out of the room.

  Now he, like Megan, was waiting for Craig’s reaction.

  ‘In a sense,’ Frank had said only the day before as they lay in the sunshine on the beach, ‘he has to stand up for the headmistress. On the other hand, it’s rather Victorian to expect the staff to be in by midnight. After all, these precious girlies are going out into the wicked world in a few years’ time, so shouldn’t we break it to them gently that adults can stay out after midnight?’

  Megan had laughed. ‘I just wonder what Mr Lambert will say!’ She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid he won’t like it.’ This, though she had not told Frank, was what worried her most. Had she let Craig down? she wondered. He had trusted her enough to let her go to the party; had it, then, been up to her to see that she obeyed the School’s rules?

  The longer she lived on the island the more she loved it, she had thought, as they walked up to the school. Tiny coloured birds were hovering over the flowers whose fragrant scents drifted on the warm breeze, the palm trees moved gently and the whole atmosphere . . .

  She had grown to know many of the girls quite well and she looked forward to her classes. Several of the staff, too, were getting more friendly. Now, if Craig decided she must go . . . So the tension had been great which made her smile, perhaps more warmly than usual, as she glanced down the table. He lifted his hand and smiled as well.

  Miss Weston, sitting next to her, snorted.

  ‘You think you can talk him out of it?’ she asked, helping herself to another roll.

  Startled, Megan turned. ‘Talk who out of what?’

  Miss Weston looked amused. ‘Craig Lambert, of course. You seem able to twist him round your little finger.’

  ‘I don’t!’ Megan blushed.

  ‘Don’t you? It seems you do. You can break the school rules and get away with it.’

  ‘If you mean because Frank and I were late that once . . .’

  ‘Once is enough. You should never have gone to the party.’

  Megan drew a deep breath. ‘Look, Miss Weston, let’s face it. I didn’t mean to be late. It was simply that the time went fast. In any case, Mr Lambert said he thought it a good idea if I went to the party . . .’

  ‘There you are!’ Miss Weston said triumphantly. ‘Just what I said—you can do what you like. None of us could have gone.’

  ‘Please . . .’ Megan lowered her voice, for several of the staff were looking down the table at them and it would not be a good welcome to Craig if she was involved in a fight with Petronella Weston in the dining-room! ‘I think you forget that Patrick Crane is my brother. That was why Mr Lambert thought I should go.’

  Mr Taft, the maths teacher, who rarely spoke, leaned across the table. ‘I understand you are a good choreographer, Miss Crane?’

  Welcoming the change of subject, Megan looked at his stern face and saw the friendliness in his eyes. ‘Yes, I used to do quite a lot in England,’ she said.

  ‘Well, we’re planning the end-of-the-year concert and I wondered if you would work out the choreography of a dance that could involve the different classes, showing their slow but steady improvement, not only in dancing but in every way.’

  ‘It sounds a marvellous idea!’ Megan said eagerly. ‘Could we discuss it?’

  ‘I’ll be delighted to,’ said Paul Taft. ‘We’ve another month before the en
d of term. The holidays will give you time to work it all out.’

  Petronella Weston stood up noisily, scraping her chair back and calling attention to herself as she left the table.

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’ asked Megan, startled, aware that both Miss Tucker and Mr Lambert were looking down at them.

  Paul Taft, who so rarely laughed, did laugh this time.

  ‘Take no notice of her, Miss Crane. She’s suffering from malicious jealousy,’ he said quietly across the table. ‘Don’t let it worry you. Poor Petronella, she can’t help it.’

  ‘Help what?’ Everyone had begun to start speaking noisily, so Megan felt she could talk across the table without anyone hearing.

  The elderly man smiled. ‘You haven’t noticed? My dear girl, you are very young.’ He shook his head. ‘Some other time,’ he added, as the meal came to a close.

  Megan had just finished her last class for the day when the message arrived: Mr Lambert would like to see you immediately.

  So it had come, Megan thought. Soon she would know the worst. Would she and Frank be asked to leave? Or perhaps she was the one at fault?

  She hurried past the girls, but Anarita stopped her for a moment.

  ‘Miss Meg, it isn’t true, is it?’ she asked, her lovely face worried.

  ‘What isn’t true, Anarita? Look, Mr Lambert wants to see me.’

  ‘Is he going to sack you?’ Anarita looked even more dismayed.

  Megan laughed. ‘I hope not. What makes you think . . . ?’

  ‘Everyone’s talking—they’re saying you and Mr Parr are . . . are in love.’ Anarita frowned. ‘I don’t think you are.’

  ‘We are not in love.’ Megan patted Anarita’s arm. ‘Look, Mr Parr and I are good friends— that’s all. Now I really must go, Anarita, we mustn’t make Mr Lambert cross.’

  ‘He must be to have sent for you. Miss Meg, if he sacks you, we’ll all go on strike,’ Anarita promised.

  Megan laughed. ‘Bless you, but that won’t be necessary,’ she said, and hurried down the corridor.

  As she went past a wide open door, the warm fragrant air came in to envelop her and for a moment she paused, looking out at the blue cloudless sky, the beauty of it all. Suppose Craig was going to sack her? Suppose she had to leave this?

  Craig? She thought with a shock that these days she always thought of him as Craig. Why? He had never told her to use his Christian name. She hardly knew him . . . and yet, in a way, she did know him. And what she knew didn’t make sense—it didn’t fit in with all Patrick and Gaston had said about Craig Lambert’s selfish, brutal ruthlessness.

  She knocked on his door and heard a curt, ‘Come in!’

  Suddenly unsure of herself, even almost certain that she would leave the room without a job, Megan obeyed. Craig was bent over his desk, talking on the phone. He looked up and pointed to a chair, so Megan sat down.

  She looked round the room. It was so typically him, she thought. She tried to relax, but could not help feeling worried as she watched his face change as he talked angrily into the phone.

  ‘That’s absurd! You had plenty of time. No, I do not agree, and I will not tolerate it. I gave you warning. No, I will not agree.’ He put down the receiver and looked at the slight girl looking so terrified as she sat in the chair, her hands tightly clenched.

  ‘Well,’ he began with a smile, ‘I hear you enjoyed the party so much that you forgot the time. Parr was an equal sinner, of course.’

  ‘It wasn’t so much that I enjoyed it,’ Megan tried to explain. ‘We didn’t get there very early and there was food to eat and then Patrick danced with me . . .well, time must have flown. Then he and Georgina danced and we all watched and that took quite a while. When Frank . . . I mean, Mr Parr told me the time, I was really shocked.’

  ‘So was he, I gather,’ Craig said with a chuckle. ‘I must congratulate you on persuading Frank Parr to go. He’s always rather worried me. What I call a loner. You seem to get on well?’

  ‘Oh yes, we do. He’s great fun and—well . . . Megan paused.

  ‘You don’t find much friendship from the rest of the staff?’

  ‘In a way, yes. Mr Taft is awfully nice and so is Herta Bauer, the German mistress, and Aline Delaine. I get on all right with them, but . . . and the accompanists are very friendly, too.’

  ‘Mr Taft was telling me he has asked you to choreograph the dancing for our next school concert. He said you were interested?’

  Megan nodded. She was feeling more relaxed. ‘His idea was a good one. But . . .’ She hesitated as she looked at Craig Lambert. ‘I really am sorry about being late that night, Mr Lambert. We didn’t mean to be.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ Craig almost clipped the words impatiently.

  ‘I’m afraid Miss Tucker was very angry.’

  ‘So I gather.’ A smile curled round his mouth. ‘I also gather you stormed out in a temper.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid I did, but she said something very nasty about Patrick and he is, after all, my brother,’ Megan said, leaning forward, her hands twisting together again. ‘I mean, no matter what you or she may think of him, I’m not going to stand by and let you . . .’

  ‘I quite agree. Family loyalty is a natural thing,’ Craig acknowledged. ‘Well, that’s all, I think. I wanted to see you to ask you to cooperate with Mr Taft. He always organises our concerts and I think you’ll find him very pleasant to work with.’ He stood up and Megan did, too.

  She felt stunned a little. ‘That’s all? You’re not angry with me?’

  ‘Should I be?’ he asked, coming round the desk towards her. ‘What crime did you commit? You went to your brother’s dance with my approval. Naturally you couldn’t walk out in the middle, but I understand you left almost as soon as the exhibition dancing was over.’

  ‘Yes, we did.’ Bless Frank, Megan was thinking, for he obviously hadn’t mentioned Gaston Duval!

  They walked to the door and as he opened it, Craig looked at her gravely. ‘Just one thing, Miss Crane. This is for your own good and has nothing to do with the School, but I would ask you to be on your guard. Gaston Duval has a way with women, particularly romantic-minded girls.’ He closed the door before she could answer. She stood still for a moment and then went up to her flat. Craig had been on her side, after all. He had understood and trusted her. But why must everyone warn her about Gaston? She had only met him twice and was unlikely ever to meet him again.

  She stood out on her balcony and stared at the sea as she suddenly realised that everything was all right, and she had not been sacked. She was so glad she wanted to dance and sing . . . she had known she wanted to stay at Lambert School, but it wasn’t until now, when she knew she was staying, that she realised how much it meant to her.

  Not only the beauty of the island, not only the friendliness of the girls she taught, and the sweet old men who played the piano for the dancing lessons; not only for Frank and his jokes and big-brother attitude, nor for the German and French women who were helping her with her languages, but it was something more.

  This was her home.

  It sounded ridiculous. She hadn’t been with them a whole term yet—and it still felt like home. This was her dream land, the dream she had had as a child whenever she was unhappy; a land of palm trees and huge roaring waves dancing against the coral reefs, and the voices of the locals singing and laughing, the chatter of the monkeys, the sweet song of the birds . . . this was her home. She felt she never wanted to leave it, never to return to England and Hastings which seemed a thousand million light years away . . .

  She was staying! That was all that mattered.

  * * *

  As the days passed, they slipped back into the old routines, with Megan’s lessons changing as she tested each class to find what kind of dancing they enjoyed most. She had long talks with Mr Taft about it and he agreed that that was good.

  ‘Not what they do the best,’ Megan said gravely, ‘but what they enjoy doing most—that way they’ll expres
s themselves.’

  He nodded, ‘An excellent idea.’

  Some of the staff had dropped their icy disapproval, Megan’s French and German lessons continued, but Miss Weston ignored Megan whenever she could. One day, Megan talked to Mr Taft as they sat on the terrace at the back, slightly above the tennis courts. He had a sheet of paper before him as they planned the number of dancers they could have for each session, for there had to be sufficient room to move them off.

  ‘Mr Taft, why did you say Miss Weston couldn’t help it?’ Megan asked suddenly, looking at the elderly man by her side, his dark hair slightly grey. ‘You wouldn’t tell me at the time, but she’s so very unfriendly. Did I offend her in some way?’

  His grave face relaxed. ‘It was not your fault, my dear. You are young and attractive.’

  ‘But so is Petronella Weston. I think she’s beautiful, and that husky voice . . .’

  ‘I agree, but it’s no competition against a twenty-year-old with an innocent, fey little frightened face.’

  ‘Is that me?’ Megan was startled. ‘Do I look fey and frightened?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Not to worry, it adds to your charm. Now, let’s return to our work.’

  ‘No, Mr Taft,’ Megan pretended to be stern, smiling at the same time as she looked at him. ‘You haven’t told me why you were sorry for her.’

  ‘Surely,’ he said slowly. ‘You can see that she, like all the female staff, is in love with Craig Lambert.’

  ‘In love with Craig?’ Megan repeated slowly. ‘I hadn’t realised it.’

  ‘You walk as in a dream, my dear.’ Gently he put his hand under her chin, tilting up her head so that he could look in her eyes. ‘Are you sure you’re not in love with him yourself?’

  Megan was startled. ‘Of course not! Why, I’ve hardly known him any time.’

  ‘Love doesn’t take any time,’ Paul Taft said with a smile. ‘Now if we could concentrate on this work. . .’

  ‘Yes, Mr Taft,’ Megan said meekly, but although she listened to what he said, his voice seemed to be coming from far away, nor could she concentrate on what she had to suggest for she found his words going over and over again in her mind.