With the Headmaster's Approval (2 page)

CHAPTE
R TWO

The staf
f meeting had been held in the assembly hall where there was a long rectangular table large enough to accommodate them all. There had been disgruntled murmurings from the teaching staff when they’d been summoned to the special meeting, especially when Lisa had not disclosed its full purpose, telling them only that it was about Miss Edwards’ retirement. But when she’d walked in with Adam she would have said they were gob-smacked, if that had been a word in her vocabulary. Impeccably dressed in a navy blazer, blue shirt, and fawn trousers he stood commandingly, and blatantly male, at the head of the table, the tips of his fingers resting on the folder he’d placed in front of him. He gave them a slight smile that barely turned up the corners of his mouth, but lit up his eyes mischievously and greeted them. “Good morning, ladies. I’m Adam Wild, your new Head Teacher.”

Their faces
flashed variously with shock, dismay, hostility, resignation, excited anticipation, and unashamed flirting – emotions none of which had been apparent while Miss Edwards was in charge.
How long will it be before jealousy rears its unattractive head,
thought Lisa.

“As you will have recognised, I’m from the US, but I
’ve been teaching here for a number of years,” he added. “Perhaps you’d all like to introduce yourselves,” he suggested, sitting down beside Lisa who had her pen ready to take the minutes. She’d offered to give him some background on each of the staff, but he’d refused, saying he’d like to make up his own mind after meeting them.

Although it would have made sense to go clockwise round the tab
le, or at least begin with the deputy head, Barbara Crook offered, “I don’t mind going first. I’m Barbara Crook, but you can call me Babs,” she began.

“
Is that Miss, or Mrs?”

“Miss, of course.”

“Thank you, Miss Crook,” said Adam.

Lisa smiled. Adam had already got the measure of Barbara Crook. In her thirties and with, by her own admission, a
full figure that she liked to compare to Dolly Parton, she taught home economics, and by example – flirting. She’d already checked out his ring finger.

“And what does your wife think of you
r working in an all girls’ school?”

“I’m a widower.”

There were coos of sympathy, except for Barbara Crook who was already assessing her rivals.

“I don’t think we need volunteers,” he said. “This is a compulsory assignment. Let’s begin on my left.”

“I’m Eleanor Stannard.
Mrs
Eleanor Stannard,” she amended. “I’m your Deputy Head. I also teach English, Geography and Speech and Drama.” Her initial glare of indignation at being passed over as head had dissolved into a resigned acceptance.

Before Adam could reply Barbara Cr
ook broke in, “Oh, and I teach Home Economics.”

“Thank you, Miss Crook,” Adam replied, and then turning back to Eleanor Stannard said, “
I’ll have Lisa set up a meeting to discuss some changes that I have in mind.” Eleanor Stannard looked a little alarmed, she was a widow looking forward to retirement and set in her ways, changes were not something that sat well with her.

Smiling encouragingly he
awaited the next introduction, focusing the laser beam of his attention on the nervous teacher. Lisa had felt the disarming power of his steady gaze, which made you feel as if you were the only thing in his orbit and he was hanging on to your every word. Was it instinctive, or had he learned that careful listening was a powerful asset where women were concerned?

But Annette Woolf could not meet his gaze. A spinster in her fifties, she fiddled nervously with the cross she wore beneath her blouse. “I
’m Miss Annette Woolf. I teach Religion and History,” she said, as if it were a guilty admission.

Barbara Crook laughed. “Annette
, you sound as if you’re in an AA meeting.”

“Thank you, Miss Woolf,” said Adam
, ignoring the interruption and turning his attention next to Dee Taylor, who had only recently joined the school. She taught Gym and Sports and had the physique to prove it. She was in her forties with short dark hair and always seemed to be dressed in a tracksuit. She kept to herself and they knew very little about her private life. Barbara Crook however, had hinted darkly about her sexuality.

“Miss D
ee Taylor. Sports, gym, athletics,” she said in a flat emotionless voice.

They continued round the table.

A too-thin young woman wearing a long dress and beads and an other-worldly expression gave a sigh followed by a lengthy pause, as if she were booting up her brain, before introducing herself. “Mrs Hayley Price. Art and design.” She had a disconcerting way of answering questions, beginning with an enigmatic smile leaving you unsure if she had heard. When you were about to repeat the question she would suddenly utter a measured and thoughtful reply. This made chatting to her rather tiresome and she tended to be left on the periphery of conversations. She lived in a commune with her artist husband who was waiting to be discovered and therefore did not feel obliged to work, or contribute financially.

S
eated beside her was Lauren Mathews whose husband had gone off with another woman so was off men for good and wasn’t happy to have this one thrust into their midst. She had to admit he was a bit of all right, but Barbara Crook was welcome to try her luck. Men – lying, cheating scumbags, the lot of them.  “Mrs Lauren Mathews. Maths,” she said, adding, “Divorced,” in a tone that showed she was relieved to be so, and then quickly nudged her neighbour who was jolted into blurting out.

“
Mrs Kate O’Brien. Music and sex education.”  She hated admitting she taught sex education as it always brought knowing smirks, but at twenty-seven she was the youngest of the teachers and Miss Edwards had thought that being closer to the girls’ age they would be more likely to listen to her advice. But newly married herself, and with little experience, she’d found that the girls could probably tell her a thing or two. She spent a lot of time researching things on the internet, and deferring to her husband for advice.

“An interesting combination,” said Adam, his mouth turned up in the slightest of smiles.

Finally it was the turn of Jenna Murray, raw antagonism clearly written on her face. At five feet ten inches and with high heels she would be almost Adam’s height. Although in her mid-thirties, she still had the looks and flawless complexion that had attracted modelling agents when she was a schoolgirl. Slim and willowy, she’d been a photographic model for a short time, but soon realised that it wasn’t for her. Her controlling nature conflicted with having men tell her to smile, toss your hair, move this way, move that way. But some photographs still existed on the web and the girls were in awe of her. She wore her long fair hair swept up and away from her face and held back with a comb, a style that some of the girls tried to copy – mostly unsuccessfully. Her make-up was minimal, but always immaculate, and her perfume was clearly expensive. Jenna was one of those rare people who would look good in anything. She moved with a cat-like grace and the girls all wanted to emulate her, attending her after-school classes in posture and make-up hoping to make it so. Miss Edwards’ retirement should have seen Jenna a step closer to her own headship. If Eleanor Stannard had been promoted to head, then Jenna would have been next in line for deputy head and ultimately head when Eleanor retired in a few years.

Adam’s disarming smile was not going to
thaw Jenna’s icy resolve. He had thwarted her plans and he would not easily be forgiven.

“I’m
Ms
Jenna Murray,” she said, emphasising the
Mizz
.

Adam waited for her to continue, but
her prickly silence forced him to ask, “And your subjects are?”

“Science and computer science.”

“Then we have something in common. Computer science is also one of my subjects.”

Jenna
met his challenging blue eyes with the expressionless face that models adopt when walking down the catwalk. It was a stand-off – a cat confronting a dog.

When it became embarrassingly
clear that she wasn’t going to respond, Adam continued to address the staff. “I’ve been through the curriculum and will be leaving it as it is for the present. However, I would like to introduce life skills into all the subjects and I will be sitting in on the classes. For instance, Miss Taylor, perhaps we can introduce basic self-defence into your syllabus? I think it’s important that in today’s world the girls know how to defend themselves.”

“
I think that will be possible,” she said.

“I
f you need any help, let me know,” he said. “I also taught sports and I’m familiar with self defence.”

He turned to Eleanor Stannard. “I’d like the emphasis to be on speech rather than drama. The girls should be taught confidence in public speaking and how to give a presentation. It will be more useful
to them if they are going into the business environment.”

Barbara Crook
had caught the look of alarm on Kate O’Brien’s face when Adam said he would be sitting in on some of the classes. “Will you be sitting in on sex education?” she asked.

“I think Mrs O’Brien and I can go over that syllabus in private,” he replied.
“And I should also point out that I did relief teaching at a co-ed so I am not totally unfamiliar with teenage girls. I will be having a glass door installed in my office which will serve two purposes. I will be able to observe who is coming and going in the reception area, and my desk, and whoever is in my office, will always be visible. The inter-leading door to Mrs Ryan’s office will remain open, and she will sit in on any interviews I have with the girls.”

“You seem to have a lot of plans,” Jenna Murray said
stonily. “Does this mean your appointment is more than temporary?”

“My contract is renewable after one year.”

“I see,” said Jenna. “Then are we permitted to ask about your teaching background?”

Adam leaned
lazily back in his chair and tapping his pen on the table said with a slow smile, “What would you like to know,
Mizz
Murray?”

“To put it bluntly – why did they choose you for this job?”

There was a collective intake of breath from the staff, but they waited in expectant anticipation for the answer they all wanted to hear.

“I have a n
aval as well as a teaching background. The governing body felt the discipline would be good for the school.”

Jenna
made a sound that was between a derisive snort and laughter. “This isn’t a Naval Academy. It’s an Academy for Girls,” she said. “What sort of discipline do you mean to mete out? Are you going to be forcing teenage girls to scrub the deck as punishment?”

He gave a slow smile. “Hardly. But I might make them sweep the playground, or weed the hockey field.”

Lisa put down her pen. “I’ve switched the urn on in the staff room,” she said hurriedly. “Mr Wild, will there be anything else?”

“No. I’m good,”
he replied, snapping his folder shut.

“Then I’ll make the tea,” said Lisa.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay,” said Jenna. “Andy is waiting in the car. We’re going to a photographic exhibition.” She turned to Adam. “If that is acceptable to you, of course, Mr Wild.”

“You have my
permission,” he replied.

Lisa went ahead
to sort out the tea, leaving Adam to hold the door open for the rest of the staff to file through.

The staff room was across the passage from the
assembly hall, sandwiched between the staff cloakroom and the First Aid room, which doubled as a clinic when the nurse and school counsellor were in attendance.

The staffroom
was rectangular with high windows along one side that overlooked the tennis courts and, due to an overhanging roof, only caught the sun on rare occasions. To the side of the window stood a group of wooden pigeon-hole boxes, one for each teacher. Above it was a notice board with a neat but fading plea for staff not to leave dirty dishes over the weekend. Two cane couches rested along each wall their backs having left marks on the cream paintwork, their arms polished to a rich patina from years of use. Several matching chairs with fading floral cushions were grouped round an oblong oak coffee table its surface ringed with the careless placement of hot cups. An empty glass flower bowl stood in the centre waiting to be filled with fresh flowers when term began.

At the far end of the room were cupboards with sliding doors that housed an array of school material.
On the right of them a door led to a small kitchen with a hatch and within there was a fridge, microwave oven, an urn, a sink, and a small dishwasher that had been bought by the staff after disputes about washing the dishes when the cleaning staff was not around. The slight musty smell of a room closed for several weeks hung in the air and Lisa had opened a window. She set the tea out on the coffee table with the sugar and milk and a plate of biscuits.

Some of the staff were helping themselves to coffee, while others
were sitting waiting for the tea to brew.