Part 2 (1/2)

”You don't look underweight. I don't want you getting that way though, so be careful. You can have a note today, but it won't be possible every Tuesday.”

Laura thanked her.

”What about registering as vegetarian? Would your parents agree?” the nurse suggested.

It was an idea. Laura tried to think of meat dishes she would actually miss. Beyond cottage pie, there weren't many. ”I'll write to them this evening.” She wondered why she hadn't thought of it before.

Thanks to the note she could safely avoid the dining hall altogether, and so she decided to sit and read in a sunny spot overlooking the tennis courts. For some time she lost herself in Rebecca, one of the approved novels in the school library.

”Isn't it lunch time?” She heard a voice behind her and froze. It was him. He seemed even taller outdoors in the sun, his shoulders broad, forming his body into a triangle shape as it narrowed to his hips. He looked so strong. She wondered wildly what it would be like to be crushed in his arms.

”I have a sick note.”

”Are you ill?” She realised there was actually concern in his voice, which made her feel embarra.s.sed, particularly given her very healthy train of thought.

”Actually no, but it's liver today.” This time he raised his eyebrows fully, and for a moment she wondered if he would smile, but he didn't.

”I haven't yet experienced that delicacy.”

”I hope you manage to enjoy it when you do,” she said. He continued to look at her, his gaze inscrutable, and then - still unsmiling - he left.

”Where were you at lunch?” Charlotte demanded, as they went to the Maths cla.s.sroom.

”I managed to get a note.”

”You're lucky you were looking pale before. It was even more of a struggle than usual, it really stank,” Charlotte said.

”Actually Nurse guessed it was liver, but let me off anyway which was nice. She's suggested going vegetarian.”

”That's still pretty awful you know. Very dull - grated cheddar one day, and a hard boiled egg the next. And you'd still be stuck with cabbage,” Charlotte warned.

”At least I could eat that.”

”If you did diabetes you could probably get off puddings too,” said Margery. ”But I think you'd need an actual doctor's note for that.”

”And syringes and things.” It wasn't a great idea.

The last lesson that day was Double Art - it was always two lessons back to back, due to the time taken setting up and clearing up. Margery hated art, but Charlotte and Laura regarded it more as fun than work.

Today they had to practice shading gradients with different hardnesses of pencil, then sketch a still life object from the art room. Laura chose a terracotta vase, made and abandoned by a long-ago sixth former. The Lower School didn't get to use either of the pottery wheels.

Mr Lanaway was in despair trying to help Margery. He was a very thin, pale man and a brilliant sculptor. Margery simply had no sense of light and shade. The fact that she despised art, considering it a waste of time that could be spent more profitably on academic subjects, didn't help either.

Having finished her sketch Laura wandered around the pottery room, looking at damp lumps of clay-in-progress under cloth on various trolleys. Cla.s.sroom discipline was quite different in Art, they were encouraged to explore what other people had been making. She saw that one cla.s.s - probably A-Level Ceramics - had been trying to sculpt human figures.

There was a huge block of clay on the table, ready for Mr Lanaway to cut up. It was solid, square and dark grey. Laura suddenly imagined pulling a form from it: sinewy shoulders, flat pectorals, a strong, well shaped neck. She wanted to make something she could touch.

”Sir, could you teach us how to sculpt this term?”

A lot of girls didn't like ceramics because of the sticky, muddy feel of clay, and getting it stuck under their fingernails. Art in terms of drawing or painting was considered less messy and physical. So it was an unusual delight for the art teacher to get such a request. Mr Lanaway was also delighted to find interest shown in his own area of talent.

”By all means. We'll start next week, those that are interested.”

”Dear Diary, he stopped to talk to me today. Did he stay longer than he needed to? I feel like this must be all in my head, but it's as if there is no one else in the world when he's there. I have to get over this. There's the whole of the sixth form before me.”

5. Lost in translation.

Charlotte was no fool. She knew she had put backs up through her new zeal for Latin and that it would be socially strategic to make amends.

She put her hand up in cla.s.s. ”Sir, I was wondering if it might help bring our Caesar text to life if we visited the Welchester Roman Museum one day? Perhaps on a Sunday afternoon?”

Seeing the Latin teacher's expression start to open to the idea she fired the killer shot. ”And of course it could be very useful to those of us thinking of doing Latin for A-Levels.”

Fewer and fewer girls every year took Latin in the sixth form, much to Mr Tyrrell's despair. The prospect of having Charlotte and some of these other bright girls in his cla.s.s next year was the perfect carrot.

”I should think that would be a splendid idea!” he said. One of the girls in the back row m.u.f.fled a sn.i.g.g.e.r. Only Mr Tyrrell could get excited about a town museum.

What Mr Tyrrell didn't know but what Charlotte and every other girl was keenly aware of was that St Duncan's boys were taken to Welchester Museum nearly every weekend, as their school was in the same town. Even if there wasn't a contingent at the museum itself that day, there was a good chance of seeing some of the sixth form boys down at the shops.

”I'll see about getting the school coach for next weekend,” he told them.

Charlotte's crown of popularity was restored.

”If only we could wear mufti,” Laura sighed. The days they were allowed out of school in regular clothes were extremely rare. Francis Hall's school uniform, which was nearly head-to-toe maroon wool in the winter term, was not considered fetching by any of them.

”I'm going to borrow Mary Rudge's skirt,” said Charlotte. Mary Rudge was the shortest girl in Michaelmas house.

”But she's half your height!” said Margery.

”Exactly. Her skirt will be above my knees, and if Gi-Gi or anyone else tries to get me to roll it down it won't be possible. I'll put it on it at the last minute so there's no time to change.” Rolling skirts up at the waist was a popular way to shorten them but you could get a demerit point if you were unlucky.

”We can manage some make up too, if we put it on in the coach,” Laura said. ”Depending on who's coming to supervise, of course.”

”It will probably be one of the teachers who can drive the coach if Jenkins is off,” Margery pointed out. Jenkins was the school handyman who doubled up as a coach driver, but a few of the teaching staff also held bus licences.

”That's ok then, it's all the gimpy ones that do that. They never notice stuff like that. Nor will Tyrrell.”