‘It is?’
‘Mmm. One of the traditions that I rather like. Switzer’s Oyster Bar in that alley just off Leadenhall Street, do you know it? Old as the hills, but nicely modest about it. They’ve got a history of over a hundred years of sending up a barrel of oysters and two of porter for the teaching staff on Founder’s Day. The owner at some distant past time was a Foundation Scholar —’
‘So, bread and cheese for you, lady,’ Tully said as he pushed past them towards the door with what Hattie regarded as deliberate rudeness. ‘Since you’re not a teacher, you get no goodies. Not that you need oysters. Widow, aren’t you?’ And he looked at her with his head tilted and his lips curved in a malicious grin and then vanished, slamming the door behind him.
It was a moment or two before she understood what he meant and then hazy recollections of tales of the aphrodisiac effect of oysters on females came back to her and she went a mottled and rather ugly red.
‘If you pay any attention to that, then you really are a fool,’ Sam said calmly. ‘Come on. I’ve got a demonstration to set up in my small lab and you’ve got the tea tent again, haven’t you?’
She was still angry but she managed to follow his lead, aware now of the malicious and amused stares of some of the other men in the room, particularly Ian Bevan. ‘Once a mug, always a mug,’ she said as cheerfully as she could and he squeezed her arm in approval with the hand that the others couldn’t see, and she felt a good deal better.
For a while. But as the morning wore on and she and the girls went through the boring routine of sandwich-making again, just as they had for the autumn fair, she found herself feeling oddly desolate. Why was so much malice directed at her? What had she done to these men that they should treat her so? Not all, of course. Sam was good news; and Wilton, though he had his tiresome moments, was all right. Most of the rest of them were harmless enough, but there was still this cold heart of hatred in Tully and Bevan and, to an extent, Collop, though he sometimes seemed to be amiable enough. Why should they feel so about her? And then one of the girls said something that made the others laugh and she pulled herself out of her own thoughts and joined in the chatter and found herself thinking, Well, the kids like me, at least. And then wondered if that was what was wrong. By and large the pupils of the Foundation, boys as well as girls, did like her; she knew that and she had a sudden memory of Judith saying sapiently, ‘Hilary likes to be liked. He can’t bear it unless everybody thinks he’s the most wonderful, the best looking, the cleverest …’ Was there an element of that in the way those men behaved? Did they crave the sort of popularity among the children she’d earned so easily? Well, maybe not; but it was pleasant to think so, so think it she would.
The weather seemed to be willing to indulge Founder’s Day. The chilly rain of the morning cleared by the time the parade started, sent off with ironic cheers by the rest of the school, walking a little sheepishly in the middle of the road surrounded by policemen. The man in charge of the camera and the sound equipment busily leaping around where everyone could see him do so made loud appreciative noises about the thin sunshine that trickled through to light the wet roads to a bright gloss, and the bobbing scarlet surtouts and the glinting brass buckles on the shoes made a brave display. Hattie, to her shame, felt a little wave of emotion, made up of tears and pride and sheer pleasure, as she watched them go, and again was irritated. It shouldn’t be so easy to manipulate people’s emotions, she thought, and then saw Hilary Roscoe, striding along at the rear of his boys, about ten yards behind them, with the tassel on his mortar board bobbing and his gown billowing most magisterially, and could have given him a rude cheer herself. He was positively preening, she thought as the few passers-by there were stopped to stare. He loves it all. Silly man. Dangerous man because he’s so silly. And vain.
But that was ungenerous of her, she decided, and went inside again to get on with her work, and refused to think at all about Hilary or his staff or the theatricality of the morning. This afternoon, with so many assorted outside visitors coming to see the school put on a different and much better sort of show of its own abilities and efforts, would be much more fun.
After swallowing their oysters and porter (and Hattie made a point of doing her fair share of work with the former, though even to spite Tully she couldn’t cope with the latter), the staff climbed into their academic gowns and caps and she felt a little awkward at first as the only one in ordinary clothes, although what she was wearing, a dark amethyst dress cut to fit very well indeed and worn over black tights and shoes which gave her a severe and, she secretly thought, rather sexy look, was perfectly suitable; then Sam said approvingly, ‘Very nice,’ when he saw her all ready to face the fray and that cheered her greatly. She didn’t need fancy dress to be part of the afternoon’s events, after all.
The same people, it seemed to her, who had been at the autumn fair arrived at two sharp to be part of the Open Day. There was the same set of well-upholstered City men and their equally well-turned-out wives, the same look of unease on parental faces as they dealt with scowling sons who were clearly mortified at having to be seen by their friends and villains-inarms as having anything to do with such awful people, the same air of money spent ostentatiously if not always well. Freddy Langham this time was very lordly, very visible, with his camera crew collecting footage of parents eating and drinking the afternoon tea Hattie and the girls had organized (and she was very amused to notice more than one man making a very definite effort to keep well out of range of the cameras; what did they have to hide? she wondered. School fees paid out of undeclared income, or as a tax dodge? She wouldn’t be at all surprised) and Dilly in consequence hid herself inside the small form room that had been set aside to be used as a bakery/kitchen for the tea tent. And Hattie couldn’t blame her.
Once the tea service was running smoothly (and it enjoyed this time the assistance of some of the women who worked in the school kitchens and was less dependent on Hattie and the girls), she was free to wander and look about, and she took the chance happily, glad now not to be clearly identified as staff by the wearing of academic dress. She could have been just a parent, anonymous and uninteresting to all the other parents, and that made her feel free and relaxed.
The computer groups had set up a game involving the catching of mice by cats which scurried across the screen in a highly enjoyable fashion in response to pressing of the various keys, and she spent a good deal of time in the first of the two rooms devoted to the subject, and only went into the second out of a vague sense of duty, doubting she’d find anything more interesting than that she had already been playing with. She found the room was very quiet: just three boys were there with a couple of parents, and the only unoccupied boy was Arse.
She remembered just in time. ‘Hello — ah — Vivian,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you were a computer boffin.’
‘I’m not.’ He didn’t look at her. ‘Just doing a few things to help out. It’s better than the Cadets.’
‘Anything would be better than the Cadets,’ she said warmly and this time he did look at her.
‘Don’t you like to see them marching up and down with their little guns?’
‘I most certainly do not. I hate to see war and killing made into some sort of game. I won’t be watching, and don’t know how anyone can.’
‘Oh, they can make ’em feel safe. Lots of nice soldiers all ready to get themselves killed if the stock market plays up over oil or whatever it is they think is worth killing soldiers for.’
‘Well, I’m not one of them,’ she said and perched herself on the edge of one of the desks. ‘I’d be a conscientious objector if there were a war.’
‘There’s always a war on somewhere,’ Arse said. ‘Only most people don’t bother to notice unless it’s costing them money. Do you want to see this computer game?’
‘If you want to show me.’
‘Not really. It’s just what I’m here for, so I thought I’d better ask.’
Ther
e was a little silence between them broken only by the chatter of the parents being shown a game by the other two boys in the room, and then she said, ‘Are your parents here?’
He looked wooden. ‘No.’
She considered leaving it at that but chose to push a little. ‘Too busy?’
‘Not interested.’
She looked at him nonplussed and then said, ‘There’s no answer to that, is there?’
‘None at all. So I don’t think you should try to make one. And don’t feel sorry for me or anything like that. I’m a sight better off without having people hanging around here than some of the others.’ And he looked over his shoulder to where a woman was giggling in a high-pitched cascade of sound as the computer game, this time involving a cat and some fleas, defeated her, and Hattie laughed.
‘Well, I see what you mean. Parents can be hell. I remember how I used to feel about mine when they got out in public. Mortified, most of the time. Mind you, it was amazing how they improved as time went on.’
‘I know,’ he said sardonically and put on a pompous voice. ‘Let us quote Mark Twain: “When I was sixteen I knew I had a fool for a father. By the time I was twenty I was amazed at how much the old man had come on in four years.”’ His voice reverted to normal. ‘They’re always quoting that one at us.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No need. You weren’t going on, I don’t suppose. Well, if you don’t want to see that game —’ He stopped and she flushed, aware that he was inviting her to leave, and got to her feet.
‘If I’m in the way …’
‘Oh, no. I just thought you’d be bored.’
And then he lifted his chin and looked over her shoulder towards the door and it was as if someone had switched on a light inside him. The heavy flat expression he’d worn throughout melted into a smile and he looked his age for the first time instead of like a rather well-preserved middle-aged man.
Hattie looked over her shoulder too, and saw Dilly peering round the door and she too looked alive and happy, and Hattie thought, Well! That’s all right then. He’s going to be fine. And she smiled at Dilly warmly.
‘Hello, Dilly. Escaped the dreaded bread-spreading detail?’
Dilly seemed to become aware of her for the first time and came into the room, changing her expression as she moved from the excited one that had wreathed her face to a watchful closed look. ‘Well, they didn’t need me any more.’ She looked at Arse. ‘Wondered if you’d like to come to see the parade,’ she said. ‘They’re marching and then there’ll be some shooting practice. Targets.’
‘The Cadets? Why should I go and —’
‘I just thought you might like to,’ she said quickly, carefully not looking at Hattie. ‘We can be at the side where they won’t notice us.’
‘Oh.’ He looked at her and then at Hattie. ‘Oh, I see. All right. If you don’t want to see anything here, Mrs Clements …’
‘Nothing at all,’ she assured him. ‘You’re free as far as I’m concerned.’ The other people finished their game and, chattering loudly about how ridiculous it was that so much could be done with such a small set-up, went out of the room. ‘Though I thought you said you wouldn’t want to see the Cadets do anything.’
‘Oh, I didn’t think I actually said that.’ Again the wooden expression cloaked his face and she was suddenly annoyed with him.
‘Well, it’s nothing to do with me what you do. I just had the impression you agreed with me that schoolboys playing at soldiers — the sort who kill — was a repellent concept.’
‘I do,’ he said. ‘Dilly does too, don’t you, Dilly?’ He flicked a glance at Dilly who was standing staring at Hattie with a watchful look on her face. She said nothing. ‘But that doesn’t mean there mightn’t be a case for watching them do it. They might do it badly, you see.’ And suddenly he laughed as though suppressed glee had been too powerful for him. ‘You never know your luck.’
‘Come on,’ Dilly said with sudden urgency, pulling on his arm, and he nodded at Hattie and followed Dilly with alacrity, and Hattie stood in the empty room staring after them, puzzled. They were up to something, she found herself thinking. They’re just like Sophie and Jessica when they’ve done something outrageous, like the time they filled the bath with all the soap powder in the house, and turned on the taps so that the bathroom exploded into foam. It was the same look. They’ve done something involving the Cadets; and she got to her feet and made for the door purposefully. I think it might be worth watching the demonstration after all.
Eighteen
The sun had strengthened as the afternoon had worn on, and though the grass was still very wet and the earth beneath soggy, so that best shoes with high heels sank into little bore holes and white pumps became grass-stained, there was a sprightly air about the proceedings in the small playing field that lay at the back of the main school buildings. It was a long, narrow area, because much of the original acreage had been sold off piecemeal over the years to make money, but it lent itself well enough to a military type of display. At the far end there was a low dais on which Michael Staveley, looking absurdly pompous in the uniform of a major, was flanked by some of the sixth-formers in the uniforms, as far as Hattie could tell, of lieutenants, while numbers of boys from the fifth and fourth forms marched around in front of them to the tinny sound of a military march played by a record player over a loudspeaker system in a van parked in the far corner of the field, just by the gate that led out to Ratcliff Street.
By the time Hattie arrived it was clear the demonstration had been going on for some time. Most of the marching boys seemed to have got what they were doing right, though there was one group towards the rear who seemed to be thoroughly flummoxed and out of step in spite of the bawlings of the boy who was supposed to be directing their drill, and Hattie was amused to see how magisterially Staveley managed to ignore them. But within a few minutes the drill display came to an end, to scattered applause from the parents lined up watching at the end of the field opposite Staveley’s dais.
Hattie found herself a spot to stand in reasonable comfort, leaning against the brick and wood wall of the storage sheds which had been put up in one corner of the field, and settled to observe what she could. She tried to see Dilly and Arse, but they were lost somewhere in the crowd though she could see Freddy Langham, still very active with his camera, and wondered with some amusement just how long his film was meant to be. He could have been making War and Peace, he’d shot so much.
The next display involved four boys on motorcycles and it was rather embarrassing, even a little pathetic. She’d seen the sort of things that teams of such cyclists could do, but usually on television there were a dozen or so of them. These four made the best job they could of weaving in and out of patterns and getting closer to each other than would normally be countenanced, and when they’d finished the applause was louder than it had been for the drill, probably out of gratitude it was over, Hattie thought, as well as out of sympathy for its overall feebleness, doing her share of hand-clapping as much to warm her chilly fingers as for any other reason. But then she became more alert as some of the boys came on to the field tugging various contraptions with them, and began to set them up. They were the targets for shooting practice, with silhouettes of shoulder-hunched men pinned to them, and she looked at them with loathing. Why couldn’t they settle for the sort of familiar archery targets that wouldn’t have been so explicit? The use of the human form as something to aim at made her feel almost sick.
Some of the boys came down to the watching parents and started to shepherd them to a safer area and Hattie watched, amused, as Harry Forster, looking unbelievably handsome in his lieutenant’s uniform, bowed at some of the women who were clearly unsure of how to react to a black skin wrapped in the sort of clothes that demanded obedience, and sent them to the other side of the field to the one where they were standing.
They went cheerfully enough and then Hattie saw that some of the staff were there too; Bevan, looking disgrun
tled and leaning heavily on his stick, stood immovable at a place where there was some gravel and Hattie could hardly blame him for refusing to be budged. That stick with his weight on it set on this wet earth would be worse than useless. Harry seemed to shrug and left him there, and, after a moment, one or two other members of staff strolled over to join him. Hattie could see Martin Collop and Gregory Steenman and, a little to her surprise, David Tully. There was little amity between him and Bevan; she’d have expected him to keep his distance. But there he stood, leaning against the fence, very visible in the particularly artistic outfit he had chosen to wear today beneath his academic gown; a cherry-red velvet jacket with a matching cravat in silk and cream and shirtsleeves which were so exaggeratedly frilled at the cuff that some of the fabric fell halfway down his fingers. Hattie had seen a few of the puzzled and disapproving stares some of the fathers had thrown at him and enjoyed them; Tully was an unpleasant man to deal with but he did give people a run for their money.
She stayed where she was, well out of the way, and no one came to disturb her. She wasn’t surprised. Here she could not see the targets that had at last been set up to one side of the field. There was a curve to this side which hid them, and that suited her well. It was not the targets she was interested in, but Dilly and Arse, for she could now see them clearly, standing not too far away from the knot of masters on the gravelled area. The rest of the audience, largely parents, though there were some of the younger boys with them, were clustered where they could easily see the targets at which the boys who were to display their prowess were already staring from their own places halfway up the range.
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