Over Hill And Dale Part 2

"That's because miss took my pencil away, so I'm having to make do with this." He scrutinised the writing implement before observing, "And this pen's got a life of its own."

After morning playtime I joined the infant cla.s.s in a s.p.a.cious room which was neat and orderly with colourful displays depicting various fairy story characters covering the walls. There were six large, low tables with small, orange melamine chairs at each, a selection of bright picture books on a trolley, a carpeted area, a big plastic tray for sand and another for water and at the front a square, old-fashioned teacher's desk and hard wooden chair. The windows looked out on a magnificent view up the dale: a vast expanse of pale golden-green rolling to the grey-purple fells and clear sky beyond.

The five- and six-year-olds were in the charge of a serious-looking teacher in a grey jumper and dark brown skirt, called appropriately Mrs. Dunn. She had iron-grey hair pulled back severely across her scalp and wore a pained expression throughout the hour-long lesson. She had the rather unsettling habit of twitching nervously before glancing in my direction. The children read competently and their writing, though slightly below the standard I would have expected from children of this age, was sound enough. There was a great deal of copied writing, a few simple stories and no poetry.

At the end of the morning I returned to Mrs. Peterson's cla.s.s to make my farewells. The teacher beamed effusively as I entered her room.

"Now, children, look who's back it's Mr. Phinn." The children looked up indifferently.

"I've just popped in to say goodbye, Mrs. Peterson."

"It's been a pleasure, Mr. Phinn. We do like to have special visitors, don't we, children?" One or two children nodded unenthusiastically. "It's been a real treat for us and I hope it is not too long before you come back and see us again. That would be nice, children, wouldn't it? My goodness, Mr. Phinn, we do have such a lot of fun in this cla.s.sroom, don't we, children?" The cla.s.s stared impa.s.sively. "We really do have so much fun, don't we?" There were a few nods. I caught sight of Oliver in the Reading Corner. He looked up from his book, Creepy-Crawlies and Minibeasts and shook his head. Mrs. Peterson had spotted him too.

"Yes, we do, Oliver! We're always having fun." She fixed him with a rattlesnake look and gave a little laugh. It was not a pleasant little laugh. "Too much to say for himself, that young man, Mr. Phinn," Mrs. Peterson confided in me in an undertone. "We do have a lot of fun."

As I pa.s.sed Oliver on my way out, I heard him mutter, "I must have been away that day." I suppressed a smile.

"Oliver," continued Mrs. Peterson, her face now rather more leering than smiling and her voice with quite a sharpness of tone to it, 'would you go and ask the school secretary to ring the bell for dinnertime, please, there's a good boy." The last phrase was said with some emphasis. "And shall we all now say a nice, warm "Goodbye" to Mr. Phinn?"

"Goodbye, Mr. Phinn," the cla.s.s intoned.

"Goodbye," I said.

Oliver and I walked down the corridor together. "Can I ask you something, Mr. Phinn?" he said.

"Of course."

"How do you become one of these suspecters, then?"

"Inspectors, Oliver."

"How do you become one?"

"Well, you have to work hard at school, read a lot of books and when you go up to the big school you have to pa.s.s your exams and go on to college. You then take more exams and that takes a long, long time."

"How old do you have to be?" he asked.

"You have to be twenty-one to be a teacher and even older to be a school inspector, so you have a long way to go-'

"And then you can sit at the back of cla.s.srooms and watch people?"

"That's right."

"And hear children read?"

"That's right."

"And look at their writing?"

"And look at their writing," I repeated.

The little boy looked up and then scratched at the shock of red hair. "And you get paid for it?"

"And get paid for it," I intoned. He still looked very thoughtful, so I said, "Would you like to ask me anything else?"

"No, not really, but.. ." He paused. "Go on, Oliver. Have you got something to tell me?" "Well, Mr. Phinn, I was just thinking, that when I'm twenty-one, you'll probably be dead!"

"You've had a telephone call," announced David, when I arrived at the office one damp, depressing, early October afternoon. He gave a wry smile before adding, "You have been summoned to an audience with the Ice Queen herself."

"Who?"

"Mrs. Savage."

"Oh, no," I moaned. "Whatever does she want now?"

Sidney looked up from his papers, shook his head, adopted a pitiful expression and sighed dramatically. "She left a message that you are to go up and see her," continued David. "She was quite insistent."

"Sounds like Mae West," said Sidney suddenly. He mimicked the slow American drawl of the star of the silver screen. "Come up and see me sometime, honey."

"Anyone less like Mae West, I could not imagine," I told him caustically.

"My goodness," said David, taking off his reading gla.s.ses and folding them on the desk in front of him, 'someone is in a rather fraught condition this afternoon." "I can't seem to escape from the woman," I said, banging my briefcase down on a chair. "She was on the phone to me the very first day of term and since then I keep on getting messages and memos every other day."

"She's perhaps taken a shine to you," said David, finding the whole situation highly amusing. "You want to watch out."

"Huh!" I grunted.

"Or a certain young, attractive head teacher might start getting a trifle jealous."

"David, I've already had the third degree from Julie about my love life. Could we leave Christine out of it, do you think? I wonder what Mrs. Savage is after now?"

"Did you know," said Sidney, pushing aside his papers and leaning back expansively in his chair, 'that she once tried to lure a bishop up to her room?"

"Who? Mrs. Savage?" exclaimed David.

"No, no! Mae West. She met this bishop at some fancy function or other and said to him, "Come up and see me sometime," and this bishop replied, with a very serious face, "I'm sorry, Miss West, but that is quite impossible. It's Lent." Mae West was reputed to have quipped back, "Well, bishop, when you get it back from the person you lent it to, come up and see me."

"I'm sure you make all these stories up, Sidney," said David sn.i.g.g.e.ring, and returning to his work.

"Did she say what she wanted?" I asked.

"Who? Mae West?" asked Sidney.

"Sidney, will you be serious! Mrs. Savage. Did she say what she wanted to see me about?"

"No, no," said David. "Just for you to go up and see her in the Annexe and that it was a matter of some urgency."

"When is it not?" I asked in an exasperated voice.

"Now don't start getting comfortable, Gervase," continued David, as I began taking a bundle of papers from my briefcase, 'putting off until tomorrow what you can do today. She won't just disappear, much as we would like her to, you know. My old Welsh grandmother used to say that it is always best to meet adversity head on. "Grasp the nettle, David," she used to say. "Take the bull by the horns and face the music. Doing nothing, solves nothing." She's working late tonight and wants you to go up and see her at about six o'clock. She will be waiting."

"Your old Welsh grandmother? "asked Sidney, facetiously.

"You are becoming very tiresome, Sidney,"replied David, putting his gla.s.ses back on and looking at him over the top of them. "I am endeavouring to convey an important message and then complete this report. It is nearly six o'clock and I do have a home to go to."

"Go and see her now, Gervase," advised Sidney. "David's quite right, it's best to get such a deeply unpleasant and potentially hazardous experience over and done with like having an ulcerated tooth pulled or a giant boil lanced."

"Yes, I think you right," I said wearily, stuffing the papers back into my briefcase. "I'd better see what she wants."

"And if I were you, Gervase," said David, looking up from his papers, "I should enter her labyrinth with a great degree of caution. She becomes even more of a Gorgon after six o'clock."

"No, no!" exclaimed Sidney. "It was Theseus who entered the labyrinth to face the Minotaur. You're thinking of Medusa, one of the Gorgons, who had great sharp shoulders, barbed claws, enormous teeth and who could turn you to stone with an icy stare. Come to think of it, sounds rather like Mrs. Savage."

"Thank you for the potted history of Greek mythology," said David, removing his gla.s.ses again. "I am well aware of the difference between the Minotaur and a Gorgon. We were taught the cla.s.sics at my Welsh grammar school. One can't say anything around here without receiving a lecture from you, Sidney, or some clever comment or other. All I was attempting to say was that Gervase ought to be on his guard, to proceed with extreme caution. She's obviously taken a liking to him'

"No, she has not!" I exclaimed.

"And may have an ulterior motive for these late meetings. You are a very vulnerable young man. The woman has been through husbands like a killer shark through a shoal of sprats, and before you start to tell me, Sidney, that killer sharks don't eat sprats'

I left them both in hearty discussion and departed, thinking to myself, if only David knew.

I had never divulged to my colleagues the entirely unexpected and dreadfully embarra.s.sing confrontation which had taken place in Mrs. Savage's office a few months into my new job. We had worked closely together on a number of projects and Mrs. Savage had been uncharacteristically good-humoured and co-operative. When I had been given one of Dr. Gore's 'little jobs' to organise the visit of the Minister of Education Mrs. Savage had been enormously helpful and highly efficient. The visit had gone really well and she and I were on first-name terms by the end. Then I had visited Mrs. Savage's office late one March afternoon. She had looked like the star of an American soap opera, dressed in a scarlet and black suit with huge shoulder pads and great silver b.u.t.tons and with what, I imagined, she considered an alluring look on her face. She had tilted her head, moved near and confided in me that she had been so lonely following the death of her last husband. When she had moved closer, breathing heavily and fluttering her eyelashes, I had made hurried apologies and departed at high speed. Since then I had kept my distance and, on the few occasions our paths had crossed, Mrs. Savage had remained coldly formal. I had sensed, however, that beneath the icy exterior there was something still simmering.

It was with some trepidation, therefore, that I headed for the dreaded meeting. The school inspectors occupied the top floor of what could only be described as an Edwardian villa, some distance away from the main County Hall. We saw little of the occupants of the ground floor the educational psychologists who, like us, spent most of their time in schools. One of the villa's former bedrooms had been converted into our office, another was used as a store and the third, which was not much bigger than a box-room, was where Julie worked. The trip from our office to County Hall was a pleasant stroll on a bright summer's day and a bracing walk on a fresh winter's morning, but when the weather took a turn for the worse, I would arrive for a meeting wet and windblown and wishing I worked in an office near to the main Education Department.

But then I would be closer to Mrs. Savage which would be worse, I now mused as I quickly skirted the formal gardens, well-tended lawns and neat footpaths which surrounded the grey stone edifice of County Hall. It was a dark, rain-soaked evening and a ragged grey curtain of cloud hung from the sky and the wind drove the rain at a sharp slant, thoroughly soaking me. Once inside the main building, wet and cold, I headed for the cloakrooms where I dried my face and combed my hair in preparation for the ordeal ahead of me. I then set off for the Annexe and Mrs. Savage's room.

The interior of County Hall was like an empty museum, hushed and cool, with a succession of wandering marbled corridors, long leather-covered benches and ornate highly polished doors. The walls were full of portraits of former councillors, mayors, aldermen, leaders of the council, high sheriffs, lord lieutenants, members of parliament and other dignitaries, many of them bearded and all of them looking gloomy. They stared from their gilt frames in solemn disapproval, adding to my dismal mood. A jagged streak of lightning lit up the dark corridors, followed seconds later by a grumbling of thunder and a downpour of rain which lashed fiercely at the windows. As I turned the corner leading to Mrs. Savage's room, the clock on the County Hall tower struck six deep, melancholy, echoing notes. It sounded like a funeral bell.

The office of Dr. Gore's Personal a.s.sistant was at the very top of a modern three-storey structure attached to the rear of County Hall. The Annexe clung to the st.u.r.dy imposing Victorian building like some great gla.s.s limpet and looked entirely out of place. The architect, no doubt constrained by the Finance Department, had designed something large, utilitarian and cheap and had made no attempt to match the style or construction of the original building. The Annexe housed the administrative and clerical support offices and the Print Room.

Mrs. Savage's office was palatial compared to mine. The desk, which dominated the room, was a vast asymmetrical affair in rich mahogany. There were filing cupboards and cabinets of various sorts, an expensive-looking bookcase, an occasional table and two easy chairs. The walls, which were plain and the colour of sour cream, had four large paintings in metal frames, positioned at exact distances from one another. They were the sort of art Sidney described as meaningless, abstract splatters. There was a thick s.h.a.g-pile carpet and long pale drapes at the window. Mrs. Savage was sitting stiffly at her desk with icy imperturbability, a computer humming away on a console beside her.

"Do come in, Mr. Phinn, and take a seat," she said, catching sight of me hovering in the doorway like a naughty schoolboy waiting to see the Headteacher. "I won't be a moment." There was a note of sharp command in her voice. I sat in one of the easy chairs, crossed my legs casually and flicked through my diary, attempting to give the appearance of being entirely at ease. Inwardly I felt as nervous and anxious as a patient waiting to hear the results of some medical test. Mrs. Savage scratched away with a sharp pencil, for what seemed an interminable amount of time, glancing up occasionally as if to make sure I was still there. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She looked haughtier than ever. I had not seen her since the previous term and, as Julie had remarked recently, she seemed to have lost weight and a number of wrinkles and creases into the bargain. She was dressed in a close-fitting, pale green silk suit splashed with great crimson poppies which matched exactly the colour of her lipstick and nail varnish. She certainly was a striking-looking woman.

"Now then, Mr. Phinn," she said suddenly, looking up from her papers, 'thank you for coming up to see me." She was making it perfectly clear that we were no longer on first-name terms. So be it, I thought.

"That's all right, Mrs. Savage," I replied, attempting to sound relaxed. "I believe you mentioned that it was urgent?"

"It is," she said sharply. "It's about the Feoffees."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Feoffees," she repeated, picking at the word like a pigeon with a piece of bread. She stared and waited and it was clear that she had no intention of enlightening me as to what a Feoffee actually was. Well, two can play at this cat and mouse game, I thought to myself.

"What have the Feoffees got to do with me, Mrs. Savage?" I asked.

"As you may be aware, Mr. Phinn, Lord Marrick, the Vice-Chairman of the Education Committee, is to take up the office of Greave and Chief Lord of the Feoffees in the New Year." She paused for effect.

"Really?"

"Next year is the five hundredth anniversary of the foundation of the Feoffees. I don't know whether you knew?"

"No, I didn't."

i "Lord Marrick, who is a great one for tradition, as you I know, is keen to mark this very significant juncture in the I Feoffees' history by hosting an open day at Manston Hall ;. at the end of May, and he wants various events, involving a wide range of local inst.i.tutions and organisations, to celebrate such an auspicious occasion."

"I see," I said, nodding and trying to appear knowledgeable. I had not the first idea what a "Fee-Fo', or whatever it was called, was but I was not going to let on to Mrs. Savage. "And how do I come in?"

"Dr. Gore wishes you to attend a planning meeting at Manston Hall in November in his place. I have checked your engagement sheet and note that you have no important commitments at that time. Of course, Dr. Gore would have represented the Education Department himself but it is quite impossible for him to attend the meeting. As you are no doubt aware, he has been asked by the Minister of Education to sit on a major Government committee and will be exceptionally busy for the foreseeable future. It is, of course, a great honour for the CEO to be invited by the Minister to be part of such a prestigious group." She gave a slight smile as if she were privy to some secret. "Dr. Gore would not, under normal circ.u.mstances, have delegated such an important task to someone else, particularly to a relative newcomer to the county, but Dr. Yeats is leading a major school inspection in November and is not available. Dr. Gore understands that you had a number of dealings with Lord Marrick last year so he is not unfamiliar to you."

"I see," I said again, still totally in the dark.

"He would have seen you personally to explain what is involved but he is the guest speaker at the Fettlesham High School Presentation this evening so has asked me to deal with it. He would like this matter expedited immediately." She leaned over her desk and clasped her hands before her. There was a huge solitaire diamond ring on one red-nailed finger and a cl.u.s.ter of gold hoops on another. "He has also, Mr. Phinn, asked me to liaise with you over this." Her voice had taken on an even sharper edge. "I sincerely hope that we will, in fact, liaise and that you will not take it upon yourself, as you did with the H MI visits, to do everything on your own." I had guessed that she would raise that little matter but decided not to get into a further discussion about it.

"Yes, of course, Mrs. Savage," I said pleasantly. "And what does this particular initiative involve?"

"It involves joining the planning group and contributing where appropriate. Of course, the Education Department will have a significant part to play in the celebration of five hundred years of the Feoffees. I guess it will mean displays of various sorts, children's presentations, that sort of thing, reflecting the life and work of the Feoffees." It was as if she were speaking in a foreign language.

"Of course," I nodded.

There was a portentous pursing of the lips. Mrs. Savage eyed me for a brief moment before continuing. "Dr. Gore has asked me to deal with all the administration. I have already informed Lord Marrick that you will be representing the Education Department and I shall send you the agenda and the accompanying papers for the meeting just as soon as I receive them." She paused and gave me a frosty look. "And I would be very appreciative, Mr. Phinn, if you would see to it that I am kept fully informed. It makes my life so much easier if I know what is happening, when it is happening and how it is happening. I hope I make myself clear."

"Perfectly clear, Mrs. Savage."

She ran her eyes over me critically as a doctor might observe an interesting patient. "Good," she said. I stood up to go. "One moment, Mr. Phinn, I haven't finished with you yet." She gave a small, quick smile before rising from her chair and straightening the creases in her skirt. I felt a tingle of apprehension. Was she going to leap across the desk, launch herself on top of me in wild abandon, drag me on to the thick s.h.a.g-pile carpet, throw me over the occasional table? I stepped back as she moved stealthily around the desk like a predatory cat. I could smell her heavy perfume. The eyelashes began to flutter. My apprehension turned to cold fear. This was going to be a re-enactment of the earlier deeply embarra.s.sing incident. I was going to have to fight the woman off!

"What about a date?" she asked.

"Date?" I whispered. "What date?"

"You need a date for the meeting at Manston Hall."

"Ah," I sighed, 'that date." In my anxiety to get the meeting over quickly, I had completely overlooked that the date had not yet been mentioned. I had thought, for one appalling moment, that Mrs. Savage was pro positioning me for a date.

"The twenty-fifth of November at ten o'clock." I stared, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, rooted to the spot as if looking into the face of Medusa herself. "Is there something else, Mr. Phinn?" asked Mrs. Savage.

"No, nothing," I replied and headed at a brisk pace for the door.

Sidney and David were putting on their coats when I arrived back at the office.

"You managed to escape unscathed then," commented David, straightening the papers on his desk.

"He does look a little flushed and out of breath, don't you think?" said Sidney. "I hope your dealings with Mrs. Savage were entirely professional, Gervase. What did she want?" . "Have either of you heard of the Feoffees?"

"Are they a pop group?" asked David.

"I once went out with an amazing American girl at Oxford called Fifi," sighed Sidney. "Very good sculptor. Had wonderful muscles and flaming red hair. Ate nothing but lentils. Remarkable woman."