by Anne Digby
'What, Justy asked you to take Holly under your wing?' inquired Tish, with interest.
'Well, no, I – I sort of offered,' mumbled Sue, looking embarrassed.
Behind Sue's back, Rebecca and Tish had exchanged secret smiles.
And now, back at school for the new term, they were once again smiling at each other.
So Sue was already over at the Hilary, helping Holly with violin practice? It seemed that she hadn't wasted a moment. She intended keeping her promise to Justin Thomas.
While Sue was doing that and Rebecca and Co. were lounging around in the big room at Court House, eating fudge, Miss Welbeck was receiving Margaret Exton's father in her study, over in the main building.
'I'm so grateful that you could spare the time to come and see me, Mr Exton,' said the principal of Trebizon School, 'so that we can talk over Margaret's future together and I can explain the situation fully. Do please sit down –' She nodded towards the chair. 'Won't you sit down?'
Instead of sitting down, the burly business tycoon came right up to Miss Welbeck's desk, and produced his cheque book, resting it on the corner of the desk while he unscrewed the cap of his very expensive gold-tipped fountain pen.
'Now, Miss Welbeck,' he said with a genial smile, although the smile was not reflected in the small, cold eyes, 'before we get down to our chat, I'd be very grateful if you'd accept a donation to the school's Magazine Fund. I'm sure it must need topping up by now and I intend to do it proud, just as I did once before –'
'Please, Mr Exton.' Miss Welbeck's hand shot across the desk and rested, palm down, on the open cheque book, before her visitor could start to write. He stared at her in surprise, and she met his gaze, unflinchingly. 'Your generosity to the school over the years has been greatly appreciated,' she said quietly. 'But I have to make it clear to you, Mr Exton, that in no circumstances whatsoever am I able to take Margaret into the Sixth Form in September.'
'You took Elizabeth in!' he said, suddenly becoming aggressive.
'Of course. She was suited to Sixth Form work. It was tragic that she behaved as badly as she did and had to leave before taking her A levels. But in Margaret's case –'
'Margaret's kept on the rails!' said the man. 'You're punishing her because of her sister's record –'
'What preposterous nonsense!' exclaimed the principal. Then, gently: 'Can't you understand, Mr Exton, that it would be extremely unkind of both of us to allow Margaret to spend two years in the Sixth Form, and a total waste of time for everyone concerned, most of all for Margaret herself. From the results of mock GCSEs in January it's absolutely crystal clear that she will not be able to cope with Sixth Form work and would simply spend two very miserable years here. What I want to discuss with you this afternoon are the many possibilities that exist for her elsewhere. I have a list of training courses that I know would be suitable for her –'
Freddie Exton picked up his cheque book, slowly closed it and put it away, along with his pen. He was staring at Miss Welbeck in uncomprehending anger, hardly listening to a word that she was saying.
'You're throwing her out then?' he said, jaw sagging in surprise. 'She's got to leave this summer, after her GCSEs? What's the point of my paying fees all these years to send my daughter to a good school if –' his voice began to rise in anger '– if she's not allowed to go right through. How's this going to look on her record! Didn't you do Elizabeth enough damage –'
'Please calm down,' said the principal icily. 'I think at least for Margaret's sake we should discuss her future options quietly and sensibly . . .'
'I don't want to discuss anything,' he said. 'Good afternoon to you.'
He turned on his heel and marched out of the oak-panelled study, slamming the door behind him. His face was a pale purple colour.
Miss Welbeck leant back in her chair, gripping the wooden arms, trembling very slightly. It had been a most unpleasant interview. Quite an ordeal. One did one's best.
But hard decisions had to be taken sometimes. Parents often found them difficult to accept. This wasn't the first time.
And it probably wouldn't be the last.
It was Sue who was the first to hear the news. She'd walked across to the dining hall from Court House with Moyra Milton, who was a Fifth Year in Court. In fact Moyra's study cubicle was right next door to Margaret Exton's, on the top floor. Sue and Moyra got on well: they were both music scholars at Trebizon and played in the school orchestra together.
Rebecca and Co. had looked into the Hilary Camberwell Music School on their way to tea, hoping to pick Sue up there – but they'd just missed her. She'd gone back to Court by a different route to dump her violin and so had walked to the dining hall with Moyra instead.
'Guess what!' said Sue, in a hushed voice, slipping into the seat they'd saved for her at one of the tables. 'Freddie Exton got a summons from Miss Welbeck today. She wanted to talk over Margaret's future prospects! They had a terrible row! Guess what her future prospects are –!'
'What?' asked Elf, leaning forward, wide-eyed.
'She's being chucked out at the end of this term!' whispered Sue. 'Apparently she failed all her mocks in January!' Sue turned and looked along the table to where Rebecca was sitting. 'Hi, Rebecca! Pass me some of that cheese and bacon pie, I'm starving.'
Rebecca did so, but her hand was shaking very slightly. 'Good riddance!' Tish was saying, but Rebecca wasn't listening.
We've been summonsed. That's what her father's letter had said. Miss Welbeck wants to see us . . . have a talk about your future prospects, Becky. She'd been rather pleased about that, but suddenly she wasn't so sure. She'd taken it for granted that it was good news but supposing – just supposing – it wasn't? Why had she taken it for granted? She was only just holding her own in maths and as for the science subjects, she was slipping badly in those. Definitely.
It gave Rebecca a nasty little jolt.
But then, from the next table, Josselyn Vining called across – and Rebecca's slight unease vanished almost as quickly as it had come.
THREE
TISH MAKES A SUGGESTION
'Congratulations, Rebecca!' called Joss, above the hubbub in the school dining hall. It was always noisier than usual at the first sitting after the holidays – four hundred girls catching up on each other's news!
Joss radiated good health and physical fitness and her serious, pretty face was lit by a smile as she waved to Rebecca. Rebecca, turning round to see who had called to her, waved across in delight.
'Welcome back, Joss!'
Turning back to her tea, Rebecca said to Tish:
'Joss is back for good, now. Hurray! I've got someone brilliant to play against, again. I know she's better than me, but I think I'm going to be much better competition for her now. I bet we'll have some really good games.'
'It's going to be interesting,' said Tish.
She knew that Rebecca was longing to pit herself against Josselyn Vining who, even before a year's special tennis coaching in the United States, had been one of the top players in her age group in the whole of Britain. At that time Rebecca, although already showing early signs of exceptional talent, could barely take a game off her. But in the thirteen months that had elapsed since then Rebecca, ten months younger than Joss, had caught up in height and strength and was considered by everyone who understood the game to have made very exciting progress. So how would she match up to Joss now?
'Is it true she might be going in an England youth team next season?' asked Elf, who was sitting on the other side of the table, opposite Tish. They were talking about hockey now. 'I saw Laura Wilkins just now and she said something about some selectors being at the seven-a-sides tournament you went to at the end of last term.'
'Yes, I heard that too,' said Tish. 'At least, I heard that they're going to want her for trials some time, now she's home again.'
'That girl is a paragon!' exclaimed Mara. 'She is pretty and clever as well. And nice. And brilliant at the long jump! It is not fair.'
; 'Cheer up, Mara,' said Rebecca, laughing. 'She's not as pretty as you.'
'Nor as rich!' added Margot. The black girl gave a wicked smile.
They all laughed. Rebecca was feeling happy again. It was good to have Joss back at Trebizon. A paragon. In Italian, Mr Pargiter had once told her, the word paragone actually meant touchstone . . . wasn't that odd? Mr Pargiter was supposed to teach them Latin, not Italian, but he often digressed and talked about words in general, which was one of the reasons why Rebecca liked his lessons so much. It was in Rebecca's nature to store up off-beat pieces of information and she reflected that Joss, to her, as well as being a paragon was a paragone – a touchstone.
In fact they had to go to a tennis meeting together, straight after tea. Miss Willis, the head of the games staff, announced it in hall.
'Trisha Martyn would like to see the following girls over in the sports centre now please . . .' She read five names from a piece of paper, Rebecca's and Joss's amongst them.
They ran over there together to see what it was all about.
Trisha Martyn was in the Upper Sixth and the school's Head of Games this year. Looking glamorous in a white track suit she greeted Rebecca and Joss with a smile. The other three, Lady Edwina Burton, Alison Hissup and Suky Morris, were there ahead of them.
'Right, just a quick meeting,' she said. 'Caxton High phoned Miss Darling this afternoon and suggested a friendly this Saturday, if we can get a team together. So the tennis season's off to a quick start! Is everybody here free on Saturday?' She looked at Rebecca and Joss. 'No county tennis?'
'Not till Sunday,' Rebecca said, quickly and eagerly.
'There's Athletics Club,' Joss pointed out, rather to everyone's surprise.
'Then you'll just have to miss it, won't you,' said Trisha. 'I want you and Rebecca to play as first pair.'
Rebecca drew in a quick breath.
This was just what Elf had predicted! But Rebecca herself had been far from sure . . .
'What about you then, Trisha?' she asked shyly.
'I think you're probably better than me by now, Rebecca,' replied the Head of Games. 'Besides, I haven't a hope of getting to Eastbourne in my age group, while you have in yours. So we want to give you the hardest matches we can this term. It's all going to help.'
Rebecca regarded her in silent gratitude.
'And so,' continued Trisha, 'I think Eddie and I should play second pair – Alison and Suky can play third. It's all a bit flung together at this stage, but it's only a friendly. We'll see how things go.'
'Can you and Eddie give us a game tomorrow, then?' asked Joss. 'Rebecca and I have never partnered each other before.'
It was all arranged.
Rebecca walked back across the school grounds with Joss. The other girl was in Norris House, which lay at the back of Court. It was cool now, for an evening breeze had sprung up, sighing through the branches of the avenue of sycamore trees where they walked.
'I'm looking forward to playing you this term,' Rebecca confessed at last, breaking the silence. 'I hope I can give you a good game now – better than I used to.'
'Not urgent, though,' responded Joss. 'If we're partners, let's get to play with each other – never mind against each other. I'm quite looking forward to that.'
'So am I!' said Rebecca and smiled. 'Do you think we can beat them, Trisha and Eddie?'
'We'll look pretty sick if we can't,' replied Joss.
'Of course,' nodded Rebecca.
But as they split up and she watched Joss stroll across to the side gate that led into Norris, a far away expression in her eyes, Rebecca had the distinct impression that her mind was on other things, not even on tennis at all.
It obviously hadn't impinged on her just how much Rebecca wanted to play against her. Well, Rebecca wasn't going to press it. The whole of the summer term stretched ahead of them.
She could afford to be patient.
In the meantime: I'm going to find the others and tell them the news! she thought happily. Oh, isn't life wonderful.
Tish thought life was wonderful, too.
She was lying on her bed in her track suit, on her back, legs stretched up in the air and looking very relaxed.
'I've just been to Mulberry Cove and back and I'm not even out of breath,' she said. 'Would you say that's 1500 metres? I'm looking forward to Athletics Club on Saturday. I'm going to ask Angela Hessel if I can try the 1500 metres this term.'
'What, instead of the 800?'asked Rebecca with interest.
'No, as well as,' said Tish.
'What a marvellous idea –' began Rebecca. And then, as Mara came into the room with her white dress for the Comrnem Ball (she had just been along to the single room to show it to Fiona Freeman), it brought something back to mind for Rebecca. 'Tish, what did you mean earlier about not going to Commem this year and hoping you'd have something better to do?'
Tish laughed, clapped her hands and then sat up straight.
'Rebecca, you're a mind reader, you really are!' she said, looking across at her.
'Why, has it got something to do with running 1500 metres?'
'Yes!'
Tish explained that she'd seen the term's Athletics Calendar over at the sports centre, earlier that day, and there was to be a West of England athletics meeting on the same day as Commemoration, always the last Saturday in June. The high point of the meeting was to be a 1500 metres race – minimum age fifteen years.
'I'd have to qualify, of course,' said Tish wryly, 'so I think that means a lot of hard work. But I'd love to have a go! If by any chance I got accepted for the race – well, the meeting's in the evening, so I wouldn't be able to go to the Commem Ball as well, would I? Even supposing there were anyone I wanted to go with,' she added as an afterthought. She glanced across at Sue who was engrossed in the task of applying rosin to the bow of her violin.
'What about Edward?' said Sue, referring to the elder of her two brothers. He and Tish got on quite well. 'If you're desperate, I mean,' she added hastily.
Tish laughed and there was a light in her eye. 'I'm going to see how I get on with the 1500 metres first!'
Mara and Rebecca exchanged indulgent looks. Tish had a new craze now: she was going to try a new distance. She would be quite single-minded about it; nothing would deflect her. Tish was like that.
'Well, Rebecca and I are going,' declared Mara. 'And so is Sue, I expect.' She glanced across the room. 'Will you go with Mike Brown?'
'He's taking Laura Wilkins,' said Sue, without even bothering to look up. She drew the bow across her violin, testing it. As Mara exclaimed with interest, Sue quickly closed the subject by saying: 'Quite a surprise, eh? Who'd have thought old Mike could be so romantic – he wrote to her in the holidays.'
'Then you're not upset –?' began Mara.
'Not in the least!' said Sue. She gave a brief smile. 'Apart from anything else, he's a terrible dancer. He treads on your toes! No, seriously, if I could choose anybody I wanted to take me to Commem, then I think Mike's the last person I'd choose. I really don't mind.'
She meant it. The Fourth Year boy at Garth College no longer occupied a place in Sue's thoughts – to Rebecca, that was obvious.
'Well, who would you choose then?' asked Mara.
'Oh, I don't know.' Sue appeared to be concentrating hard on slackening the bow, before putting it away. She shrugged. 'Nobody in particular,' she said quickly. 'Don't suppose I'll even go.'
Sue did not think life was wonderful.
Rebecca discovered that just before bedtime when, crashing into the bathroom with her wash bag, she almost collided with Sue, who was standing in front of the bathroom mirror in her dressing gown, her face full of woe.
'I'm ugly,' she pronounced. 'Mind-bendingly ugly. And my complexion's awful. And I wear glasses. And I'm getting too fat.'
'Sue!'
Rebecca burst out laughing in surprise.
'What a lot of rubbish!' she exclaimed. 'None of that's true and you know it, except the bit about wearing glas
ses and they suit you anyway. You've got the best figure of all of us, you look like a model even when you're wearing school uniform, you've got the most lovely sandy-coloured hair and – oh, Sue. You've got high cheekbones!' Rebecca caught a glimpse of her own face in the mirror and felt woeful herself, just for a moment. 'Oh, I wish I had high cheekbones. My face is sort of round and ordinary-looking, compared to yours . . .'
Sue turned round to face Rebecca, already looking more cheerful.
'You honestly don't think I'm ugly?' she inquired.
'Of course not, Sue.'
'But I am getting fat,' said Sue stubbornly. She pinched her own midriff, clutching about two spare millimetres of flesh. 'Look! Round the waist! What should I do about it? Do you think I should go jogging –?'
'Of course you should!' exclaimed Tish, suddenly appearing in the bathroom door, wash bag at the ready. She was grinning. 'Every morning, before breakfast. So should you, Rebeck. You've got to be super-fit if you're going to get to Eastbourne, haven't you?'
'Oh, let's do that!' said Rebecca eagerly. 'Evenings as well. Every evening before tea. Come on, Sue. It'll do you good.'
'Shall we?' said Sue. She looked enthusiastic, completely cheerful again. 'It'll do my complexion good as well, won't it? Lots of fresh air. Maybe the six of us but at at least us three! We've all got a good reason, haven't we?'
'Especially me,' said Tish. Then, giving Sue a thoughtful glance, she said: 'Perhaps we could take little Holly Thomas with us sometimes. Just for a bit of the way. She might come, early in the morning, when there's nobody around to see her.'
'Oh, Tish – what a lovely idea!' exclaimed Sue.
'Will she be able to keep up with us?' asked Rebecca anxiously.
'She can just do five minutes with us,' suggested Sue. 'We can slow down for her. As she gets better we'll let her stay longer.'
'Great,' agreed Rebecca.
It seemed such a good idea at the time.
FOUR
PERIGEE TIDES
However on the very first run, the next morning, it was just the three of them on their own. Mara didn't want to come. 'You are mad!' she stated, pulling the duvet over her head when she heard them moving around the room before seven o'clock, climbing into their track suits and hunting for training shoes. 'I am perfectly fit, thank you very much.'