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Authors: Michael Campbell
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Number 7 .’
Their eyes met. She gave him the Scare Look, and was thrilled to see him all tensed up and in trouble.
‘They must be playing duets,’ he said.
She smiled, with contempt: she had disposed of this thought herself. It was something bad, and she wasn’t sure what, and she couldn’t think how to find out: the little windows were too high up.
‘Why can’t we hear any music?’ she asked, playing her trump card.
‘The rooms are soundproof,’ he replied, sharply and with truth.
She was taken aback, but no one could have guessed. They had become, in a matter of minutes, engaged in a duel of an intensity that astonished them both, and she had never suffered defeat, except by her mother.
She put her chin up, almost in imitation, and said: ‘My mother told me to keep a watch out. She said to report anything to her.’
This absolutely knocked him out. His face was all tight, and she would have giggled if she hadn’t been a bit frightened.
‘She did, did she?’
His jawbones were working again.
She stroked Persephone’s white head with one finger, saying: ‘They can’t be playing duets. There’s only one chair in each room.’
There was no answer, and she scarcely dared look up.
‘You’re a master. Why don’t you go and see?’
Ashley moved forward with the maniac intention of tearing the rabbit from her hands, but there was a loud and nervous cough, and he turned and saw Rowles and Milner coming up the slope.
‘I’ll see you another time,’ he said, and spun away.
‘Tell them ,’ she called after him, in one last daring fling that sent her heart scampering away under the rabbit.
It was necessary to get past these two, and on. Milner he had never managed to approach. They were not made for each other. Rowles he rather admired, even with a feeling of affection. But while he suspected that both sentiments were returned, it was done in an intolerable manner: Rowles viewed him like an exhibit.
They halted before him.
‘Ahh . . . !’ said Rowles, with his hands in his coat pockets jingling money and pushing up the thick tweed flaps. Going up and down on his soft heels he studied Ashley – the latter thought – not merely as a case, but as one who provoked both apprehension and pity. ‘Well, at least the sun shines upon our enterprise.’
‘Yes. But we appear to have inherited a child from outer space.’
‘I beg your pardon, Ashley?’
Ashley nodded his head backwards.
‘What has she been saying?’ asked The Pedant, leaning eagerly forward with a light sparking in his eyes.
‘It’s not repeatable,’ said Ashley, and he felt suddenly uncomfortable. Why not?
The Music Building was an awkward ten yards away. The nauseating girl hadn’t moved.
‘Ahh . . . well, we won’t inquire further. Listen here, Ashley . . .’ Rowles lowered his head, in obvious embarrassment, so that Ashley could only see the thin hairs on top, and moved his highly polished toecap and studied it. ‘I was most distressed to hear your news. Damn bad luck!’
This was said strongly, and Ashley was touched.
‘Yes. Very,’ said The Pedant; which was easier to answer.
‘Thank you, gentlemen. I think I’ll survive.’
‘I hope so, Ashley. I hope so.’
Ashley listened and looked for a glint of the familiar Rowles humour, but to his mild shock found none.
‘See you later, gentlemen,’ he said, awkwardly raising a hand and moving on.
What had that meant?
Rowles couldn’t have been serious.
But there was a lesser sense in which the problem of survival did have meaning. He was making a most unhappy debut with the Crabtree family.
Chapter Seven
The eminent Victorian divine had laid it down that the Chapel was to be ‘the centre of School life.’
So it was. But not exactly in the religious sense.
On Sunday nights it was the place of assembly for this entire enclosed Community; as with lunch in Dining Hall, (but then the Chaplain stayed away), it was a time when all the protagonists,
Their eyes met. She gave him the Scare Look, and was thrilled to see him all tensed up and in trouble.
‘They must be playing duets,’ he said.
She smiled, with contempt: she had disposed of this thought herself. It was something bad, and she wasn’t sure what, and she couldn’t think how to find out: the little windows were too high up.
‘Why can’t we hear any music?’ she asked, playing her trump card.
‘The rooms are soundproof,’ he replied, sharply and with truth.
She was taken aback, but no one could have guessed. They had become, in a matter of minutes, engaged in a duel of an intensity that astonished them both, and she had never suffered defeat, except by her mother.
She put her chin up, almost in imitation, and said: ‘My mother told me to keep a watch out. She said to report anything to her.’
This absolutely knocked him out. His face was all tight, and she would have giggled if she hadn’t been a bit frightened.
‘She did, did she?’
His jawbones were working again.
She stroked Persephone’s white head with one finger, saying: ‘They can’t be playing duets. There’s only one chair in each room.’
There was no answer, and she scarcely dared look up.
‘You’re a master. Why don’t you go and see?’
Ashley moved forward with the maniac intention of tearing the rabbit from her hands, but there was a loud and nervous cough, and he turned and saw Rowles and Milner coming up the slope.
‘I’ll see you another time,’ he said, and spun away.
‘Tell them ,’ she called after him, in one last daring fling that sent her heart scampering away under the rabbit.
It was necessary to get past these two, and on. Milner he had never managed to approach. They were not made for each other. Rowles he rather admired, even with a feeling of affection. But while he suspected that both sentiments were returned, it was done in an intolerable manner: Rowles viewed him like an exhibit.
They halted before him.
‘Ahh . . . !’ said Rowles, with his hands in his coat pockets jingling money and pushing up the thick tweed flaps. Going up and down on his soft heels he studied Ashley – the latter thought – not merely as a case, but as one who provoked both apprehension and pity. ‘Well, at least the sun shines upon our enterprise.’
‘Yes. But we appear to have inherited a child from outer space.’
‘I beg your pardon, Ashley?’
Ashley nodded his head backwards.
‘What has she been saying?’ asked The Pedant, leaning eagerly forward with a light sparking in his eyes.
‘It’s not repeatable,’ said Ashley, and he felt suddenly uncomfortable. Why not?
The Music Building was an awkward ten yards away. The nauseating girl hadn’t moved.
‘Ahh . . . well, we won’t inquire further. Listen here, Ashley . . .’ Rowles lowered his head, in obvious embarrassment, so that Ashley could only see the thin hairs on top, and moved his highly polished toecap and studied it. ‘I was most distressed to hear your news. Damn bad luck!’
This was said strongly, and Ashley was touched.
‘Yes. Very,’ said The Pedant; which was easier to answer.
‘Thank you, gentlemen. I think I’ll survive.’
‘I hope so, Ashley. I hope so.’
Ashley listened and looked for a glint of the familiar Rowles humour, but to his mild shock found none.
‘See you later, gentlemen,’ he said, awkwardly raising a hand and moving on.
What had that meant?
Rowles couldn’t have been serious.
But there was a lesser sense in which the problem of survival did have meaning. He was making a most unhappy debut with the Crabtree family.
Chapter Seven
The eminent Victorian divine had laid it down that the Chapel was to be ‘the centre of School life.’
So it was. But not exactly in the religious sense.
On Sunday nights it was the place of assembly for this entire enclosed Community; as with lunch in Dining Hall, (but then the Chaplain stayed away), it was a time when all the protagonists,
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