Trouble at the Little Village School (43 page)

‘I am here to ask the questions, Mrs Devine,’ said Ms Tricklebank, ‘and not to answer them.’

Elisabeth bit her tongue. She found this woman intimidating, but she did not intend to be cowed by her and met her gaze steadily.

‘And these characteristics of the good school which you have outlined,’ continued the senior education officer, ‘do you think the children judge a school by those same criteria?’

‘Probably not,’ replied Elisabeth.

‘So what do you imagine are the things that they would consider make a good school?’

‘Being with their friends, enjoyable lessons, teachers with a sense of humour, an adult they can talk to, lots of clubs and activities, good lunches of course, and decent toilets.’

‘Toilets!’ interjected Councillor Smout.

‘Yes, toilets,’ replied Elisabeth. ‘Bright, clean, well-maintained toilets. In my experience the environment of a school should be of the standard found in the very best home.’

‘An interesting answer,’ said Ms Tricklebank, giving a small quizzical smile.

‘But pupils and teachers will agree on one thing,’ said Elisabeth, ‘and that is that in a good school there is no bullying.’

‘Thank you, Mr Chairman,’ said the senior education officer, writing something on the papers spread out before her. ‘I have no more questions for this candidate.’

Chapter 21

Elisabeth curled up on the sofa in front of the open fire in her cottage later that evening, wondering what she would do if she had been unsuccessful. She felt that the interview had gone well until it came to Ms Tricklebank’s grilling, but that after that the atmosphere had become rather strained. Elisabeth had lost her composure when challenged so sharply by the senior education officer. The panel of ten, a rather daunting number for a start, was a disparate group who, apart from the ever-smiling and nodding archdeacon and Lady Wadsworth, appeared to be unimpressed by her answers and maintained its serious countenance throughout. She could count on the votes of both Archdeacon Atticus and Lady Wadsworth, but as to the others, she had strong doubts. At the conclusion of the interview, when she had been asked if she was a serious candidate, and to which she had replied that she was, Elisabeth had sensed by the expressions on some of the governors’ faces that she would not be offered the post.

Perhaps her answers had come out as too pat, she thought, and she had appeared overly confident. Perhaps the governors from Urebank had asked few questions because they had made up their minds prior to the interview that their vote would be for Mr Richardson, whom they knew, presumably admired and got on well with. Elisabeth was aware that she would not get the vote of Councillor Smout and the new governor. That young Councillor Cooper would no doubt follow his colleague’s lead. She clearly did not impress Ms Tricklebank in trying to answer the probing questioning which was put to her.

The more she thought about it the more anxious Elisabeth became. If she didn’t get the job, what could she do? She couldn’t give up her cottage after all the hard work and money she had spent on it. She didn’t want to move to another school, away from the village that she had grown to love and further away from Forest View, and yet she might have to. The overheard conversation in the school office troubled her. She knew the caretaker was one for gossip and for exaggerating, but nevertheless it had upset her to hear that Michael was on such good terms with another woman. The new curate was attractive and intelligent and personable. Had Michael now fallen for her, she wondered? So what did the future hold for their relationship? She loved the man but he seemed chary about taking things further, of committing himself. But she knew one thing for certain, and that was she could not work under Robin Richardson.

The phone rang. It was Major Neville-Gravitas. ‘Hello, Elisabeth, it’s Cedric Neville-Gravitas here. I trust I am not disturbing you?’

Elisabeth felt her heart miss a beat. ‘No, no, not at all. Good evening, major.’

‘Well, I hope you are sitting down,’ he said.

Here it comes, she thought, I haven’t got the job.

‘Are you still there?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I’m still here,’ she replied before taking a deep breath.

‘Well, I thought I’d give you a bell to let you know the outcome of the interview.’

‘Yes.’

‘Of course, strictly speaking, I shouldn’t say anything at all,’ he rambled on. ‘We were told by Ms Tricklebank that letters informing the candidates of the governors’ decision are in the post and it’s best not to say anything until everything’s official. Anyhow, I thought you ought to be put out of your misery.’

Elisabeth’s heart sank. ‘I see.’

‘You got the job.’

‘What?’

‘The governors decided to offer you the post,’ the major told her.

‘They did?’ cried Elisabeth.

‘Indeed they did, and may I be the first to congratulate you. Excellent interview, very impressive answers. Of course this is strictly off the record, me telling you – hush, hush, and all that, if you follow my drift. But the decision was unanimous.’

It had taken the appointment panel little time to make up its mind. Councillor Smout had listened with increasing unease as each of the governors from Urebank had stated their preference for Elisabeth. Then the four governors from Barton had readily concurred. Councillor Cooper, much to the chairman’s surprise, had said that he found Mrs Devine was in every respect the better candidate. Ms Tricklebank had then added her endorsement, referring to her recent visits to the two schools and the observations of Mr Steel, HMI, and herself. Both felt that the leadership and management at Barton-in-the-Dale school were far superior to that at Urebank. The chairman, faced with such a fait accompli, had no option but to endorse the decision to appoint Elisabeth.

‘I really got the job?’ asked Elisabeth now.

‘As I have told you,’ said the major, ‘you won’t officially know until you receive the letter from the Education Department in a couple of days’ time, but very well done. Of course I always thought you would get it, you know. Oh, and the other thing is that Councillor Smout is not to take on the chairmanship of the new governing body. I have been asked to do it.’

‘I’m very pleased,’ said Elisabeth.

‘Really? It’s very kind of you to say so. I look forward to working with you again.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you very much.’

When she had placed down the receiver Elisabeth shouted out, ‘Yes!’ Then, as she reached for the telephone to let Michael Stirling know the good news, it rang again.

‘Hello, Elisabeth. It’s Marcia Atticus here. I shouldn’t strictly be telling you this because Charles is so particular about procedures and protocols, but I just had to let you know the outcome of the interview. You got the job. Charles told me when he came back from County Hall. He said you were wonderful and was so proud of you. Evidently it took barely ten minutes for them to make up their minds and—’

‘Marcia, I know,’ said Elisabeth excitedly. ‘Major Neville-Gravitas has just rung to tell me.’

Mrs Atticus sounded peeved. ‘Well, so much for procedures and protocols. According to Charles the governors were told not to say anything. It took me a good half-hour to wheedle it out of him and then he asked me not to tell you because the appointment had to be confirmed by the Education Office. “Fiddlesticks!” I told him. “That’s just a formality.” Of course in this village news travels like wildfire. I expect Mrs Sloughthwaite will have already placed a poster in the window of her shop announcing the good news. Anyway, isn’t it just super? I’m delighted for you. And I have some splendid news too. You know that big marble monstrosity of a tomb in the graveyard which I so dislike? Well, I eventually got Mr Massey to cut down a dead branch on the big oak tree which overhangs it – evidently his nephew whom he passes all the work on to has finally broken loose and gone to live in Clayton – and the branch came crashing down on top of the tomb. Quite demolished it! The remains are being removed next week. It wasn’t quite such good news for Mr Massey. Unfortunately he came crashing down with the branch and is now in Clayton Royal Infirmary with a broken leg. Ashley went to visit him – Dr Stirling has been really good to Ashley and took her to see the chaplain and she’s now helping out at the hospital. Anyhow, I must rush as she’s cooking something special for dinner – sautéed sea trout in some special sauce. She’s an angel, she really is. There is nothing she can’t turn her hand to. I shall see you in school on Monday. Congratulations again.’

Elisabeth had no sooner put down the receiver when the telephone rang again. It was Lady Wadsworth. ‘Hello Elisabeth. I just wanted to let you know—’

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Helen,’ said Elisabeth, ‘but you are the third person to let me know I got the job, though it’s really kind of you to ring.’

‘Well, we were told not to say anything by that severe-looking woman from the Education Office, that Ms Tricklebank, who I don’t think is capable of smiling. She said to keep mum until the official offer was made, but I seem not to be the only one who just couldn’t wait to tell you. By the way she was most complimentary about your answers.’

‘She was?’ exclaimed Elisabeth.

‘Indeed she was. She said you are the sort of head teacher who sets the standard by which other head teachers should be judged. What about that, then? Anyway, my dear, may I add my heartiest congratulations.’

‘My feet haven’t touched the ground yet,’ admitted Elisabeth.

‘Well, I have some excellent news too,’ said Lady Wadsworth. ‘The statues went to the auction in London yesterday. It was the devil’s own job shifting them. They weighed a ton, but Mr O’Malley was most helpful. He’s proving quite a find. Anyway, they attracted a great deal of interest and they fetched a figure well in excess of the reserve. I can now go ahead with all the alterations.’

‘I’m delighted,’ said Elisabeth.

‘And I have had a serious word with Mr O’Malley this afternoon. He’s an excellent worker and seems to be able to turn his hand to anything. I should be very sorry to lose him, but he strikes me as someone with wanderlust. I should think it won’t be too long before he’s thinking of going off on his travels again. I did tell him that living in a caravan was no sort of life for a child and he should think of settling down.’

Elisabeth thought of Danny and his happy life with his grandfather in a caravan.

‘I suggested,’ continued Lady Wadsworth, ‘that he should think about staying here in Barton and that he and Roisin could live in the lodge. I could have it done up.’

‘And what did he say to that?’ asked Elisabeth.

‘He said he’d think about it. So we both have to work on him.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ said Elisabeth. ‘There’s the doorbell. I must go.’

‘Probably someone else to tell you the good tidings,’ said Lady Wadsworth. ‘I’ll speak to you again soon.’

Elisabeth hoped it would be Michael as she went to answer the door, but on the doorstep stood a rather dishevelled figure in a shapeless anorak and faded jeans.

‘Hello, Elisabeth,’ he said.

‘You!’ she exclaimed.

‘May I come in?’ asked her ex-husband.

Elisabeth was unable to speak, and stood in the doorway staring at the man she had not seen for six years.

‘So, may I come in?’ he asked again. ‘It’s really cold out here.’ He was shivering.

‘Yes, yes,’ she said, opening the door wider. ‘Come through into the sitting-room.’

Simon went over to the fire and warmed his hands. He looked drawn and ill at ease. ‘I’ve been outside for a while, summoning up the courage to ring the bell.’ Elisabeth didn’t answer. ‘You’re looking well,’ he said, trying to sound cheerful.

‘Yes, I am very well, thank you,’ she replied. She was standing by the door thinking how very different he looked. He was no longer the tall, immaculately dressed man she had married, the self-assured partner in a top accountancy firm. He looked small, he had lost weight and there were threads of grey in his dark hair.

‘And you’ve got this cottage.’ He looked around him. ‘It’s looking lovely, but then you always did have good taste. May I sit down?’ Without waiting for an answer he sat in a chair by the fire, placing his hands on his knees. ‘Any chance of a drink?’

‘A whisky?’ Elisabeth asked. ‘You still drink whisky, I assume?’

‘That’s fine.’

As she gave him his drink she asked, ‘Simon, why are you here?’

There was a strained, almost puzzled look in his eyes.

‘What is it you want?’ she asked when he didn’t answer.

He avoided looking at her and stared into the fire. ‘I wanted to see you,’ he said quietly.

‘Why?’

He looked up at her with a mixture of sorrow and regret. ‘Just to see you and talk to you.’ He sipped the drink and swallowed nervously. ‘We didn’t part on the best of terms.’

‘No, we didn’t.’

‘I’m pleased to see that things have worked out for you,’ he said. ‘I mean that, I really am.’

‘And how does your wife feel about you wanting to see me and talk to me?’ she asked.

‘Julia left me last year,’ he said. ‘It didn’t work out. I soon discovered that we had very little in common. She had a fiery temper and would fly into tantrums at the slightest thing. Work dominated her life. She was manipulative, too. When we split up she managed to get me edged out of the firm. I lost the partnership and was pushed into resigning. She was a fiercely ambitious woman and if anything or anybody got in her way, well, she—’