Part 21 (2/2)
”Who?”
”Geraldine Mullarkey.”
”No, she's not married.” I tried again to change the subject. ”It was a gruesome production of Hamlet they did here last year. The stage at the end looked like a scene from the First World War, full of people wounded and bleeding and dying and dead'
”And is she coming tonight?” she asked, walking ahead of me.
”Christine, will you stop going on about Gerry. No, of course she isn't coming tonight. She's the science inspector. What would she be doing at a school play? If I didn't know you better I'd say you were jealous.”
”Well, she is very attractive.”
”So you keep telling me.”
”And you've been spending a great deal of time with her. She said you had been particularly helpful by attending a difficult meeting with her a week ago. Was that when you cancelled our night out at the theatre?”
”Yes, it was, as a matter of fact.”
”Mmmm.”
”What's ”Mmmm” supposed to mean? Christine, there is nothing going on between me and Gerry Mullarkey. She's just a colleague.”
”But a very attractive colleague with whom you have been out quite a few times now.”
”I've not been going out with her as you put it. Ours is a purely professional relations.h.i.+p.”
”Has she got a boyfriend?”
”No, I don't think she has.”
”Mmmm.”
”There you go again.”
We found our seats, smack in the centre of the front row and Christine continued the conversation.
”You seem to be surrounded by good-looking women.”
”Christine, most of my time is spent with small children, spotty adolescents, ageing women teachers, married men, crusty county councillors and nuns. I don't know where you get this idea that I spend my whole day with the contestants for Miss World. You make me sound like some sort of Casanova. And, as for the Education Office, it's like a men's club. There's hardly a woman in sight.”
”There's your secretary.”
”She's not much more than a teenager and she's engaged.”
”There's that very attractive woman with the expensive clothes.”
”Which very attractive woman with the expensive clothes?”
”She was with Dr. Gore earlier this week when he came to speak to the infant school head teachers She was wearing this incredible silk said affair with ma.s.ses of silver jewellery.”
”You mean Mrs. Savage!” I exclaimed.
”She's very unusual and striking.”
”Christine, the limestone caverns beneath Malham Tarn are very unusual and striking, Pen-y-ghent in winter is very unusual and striking, Hopton Crags are very unusual and striking, but I don't want to spend all my time down a cave, up a mountain, or hanging off a cliff. Mrs. Savage would be the last woman on earth I would have any designs on. I'd sooner play postman's knock with the bride of Frankenstein. Mrs. Savage is the most disagreeable person I have ever met. And,” I added hotly, 'she's old.”
”Mmmm,” hummed Christine, smiling, ”I do seem to have touched a raw nerve.”
I had been hoping for a pleasant, stress-free evening and a chance to forget about the hectic couple of weeks I'd just had, but things were not turning out like that.
Following my visit to Ugglemattersby County Junior School, I had taken great care over my written critical report and then shown it to Harold. He had sighed, shaken his head and told me to take a copy over to Dr. Gore, who he felt needed to see it. I had arrived at the CEO's office first thing the next morning, despite knowing full well that there would be very little possibility of getting a direct audience with the great man himself. Mrs. Savage, no doubt, would be keeping vigil. Sure enough, she had spotted me creeping down the top corridor, had shot out of her room like a keen-eyed guard dog and had impeded my progress, insisting that Dr. Gore was very busy. I had then been asked to complete one of her wretched pieces of paper Form SIN i: Schools in Need and I had spent a tedious ten minutes ticking a series of little boxes, while she hovered over me like a malign presence.
Later that day I had been called to the telephone and informed by Mrs. Savage that the CEO, having read my report, was very concerned about the obvious weaknesses at Ugglemattersby School and a full inspection was to be organised and that I should get on with it.
I emerged from my reverie about the tiresome day when the man who had just come to sit on the next seat engaged me in conversation. ”Good evening, Mr. Phinn.”
I turned to face the florid countenance and great walrus moustache of Lord Marrick.
”Oh, good evening, Lord Marrick,” I replied.
”I'm a governor here, you know,” he said, explaining his presence at the school play. ”Like to show the flag, support the school and all that. Actually, I'm glad I've b.u.mped into you. Just this week sent a letter off to Dr. Gore thanking you and your colleagues for all the help with the Feoffees Pageant. Went off really well.”
”Yes, it seemed to be a great success,” I said.
”Cracking day!” he exclaimed.
I put my arm around Christine's shoulders and nudged her forward. ”Lord Marrick, may I introduce you to Christine Bentley, Headteacher of Winnery Nook Infant and Nursery School?”
Lord Marrick leaned across me, took Christine's hand in his, patted it gently and smiled warmly. ”Very pleased to meet you, Miss Bentley.”
At this point we both caught sight of a large figure ambling towards the front of the hall. I recognised the thick neck, vast red face, purple pitted nose and mop of unnaturally s.h.i.+ny, jet black hair. It was Councillor Peterson.
”Good G.o.d!” exclaimed Lord Marrick, turning towards me. ”I hope George Peterson isn't going to inflict himself on us. I've never met a man who can talk like him. Case of verbal diarrhoea. Pain in the proverbials, he is.” The councillor spotted us, waved and headed in our direction. ”He's seen us! He's coming over. Brace yourself, Mr. Phinn.”
Just at that moment the lights began to fade, the orchestra stopped tuning up and the conductor, a dapper little man in a dinner jacket, made his entrance. Councillor Peterson thought better of coming over to us and found a seat further along the row. Both Lord Marrick and I sighed with relief.
”Have you met Councillor Peterson?” Lord Marrick whispered.
”Yes,” I replied, ”I've met him.”
I had seen umpteen school productions of Oliver! but this was the first where live animals formed part of the cast. I had advised the Head of Drama, when he telephoned me before Easter to invite me to the performance, that it was extremely risky to have animals on stage. Children were unpredictable enough, but animals! He told me that the cat and dog he planned to use were very well trained and that he wanted this production to be as authentic, different and memorable as possible. He ignored my advice.
All went well in the first half of the show. In Act I, Widow Corney's cat behaved impeccably, purring and mewing at just the right moments to the delight of the audience. When Mr. b.u.mble stroked its head, it meowed and yawned widely as if it had rehea.r.s.ed this very movement; it received a well-deserved flutter of applause. The fat, bow-legged bull terrier, Bullseye, pulled on to the stage by the fearsome-looking Head of the PE Department playing the part of the villain, Bill Sikes, also behaved remarkably well. It sat obediently when commanded, growling on cue and even snarling when f.a.gin appeared. It was a vicious-looking creature with a body like a small white barrel and when it yawned it displayed a set of serrated teeth of frightening proportions. The Head of PE really took on the part of the bullying thief with a vengeance. He was a huge, hairy, swarthy complexioned individual with a great booming voice and a twisted sneer. He roared and threatened, banging his cudgel so hard on tables, chairs and anything in his path that the very stage set shook. The children in f.a.gin's gang looked genuinely terrified of him.
It happened in the very last act. Nancy (the Head of the Food Technology Department) had just finished a rousing rendering of'As Long As He Needs Me'. She had put her heart and soul into the singing because it was the last night and all her family and friends occupied a large block of seats in the middle of the hall. They had shown loud appreciation every time she had made an appearance on stage. It was the denouement of the drama. Nancy had brought Oliver to the meeting place on London Bridge to return him to his family but she had been followed by Bill Sikes. He entered a darkened stage dragging the fat, snarling brute behind him. The stumpy little tail was tucked down (not a good sign, I learned later), the barrel body was quivering and the small, grey, shark eyes looked distinctly sinister.
”What you doin' on London Bridge at this time o' night, Nancy, my gel?” growled Bill Sikes. The dog made a deep, low, rumbling sound.
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