They moved over to the deck-chairs.
“You have to be careful with deck-chairs,” Isabel said. “They can collapse and catch your fingers.”
“That happened yesterday. A boy called Brodie. He got his fingers caught and he had to go and get plasters put on them. Served him right.”
Isabel smiled. “Oh? Did he deserve it?”
“He’s a bully,” said the boy.
“Ah. And does he bully you?”
“Yes.”
Isabel looked at the boy’s face. He had freckles and green eyes. She noticed a small scar on his chin—a recent scratch, nothing serious. Boys were always scratching and cutting themselves, breaking things too.
“Can’t you do anything about it?”
He shook his head. “You can’t clype on him. If you do that, they hit you.”
“Who?”
“Other boys.”
It was a jungle. Of course it was. A jungle for boys between eight and eighteen.
“Are you happy here?” she asked.
He thought for a moment. “Yes. A bit.”
Then she asked, “And are you going to miss Mr. Slade when he goes?”
He frowned. “He’s going to Singapore.”
“Yes. To a school a lot like this one, I believe. Lots of cricket there.”
“I like Mr. Slade. I’ll be sorry when he goes.”
She smiled. “So you will miss him then?”
“Not as much as Miss Carty will. She …”
Isabel waited for him to finish his sentence, but something had happened on the pitch and his attention was diverted. A batsman had hit a ball in the air and a fielder was running towards it. There was a groan from the field as the catch was dropped.
“A near thing,” said Isabel. “But tell me, who’s Miss Carty?”
“She’s the school secretary. We call her Tarty Carty.”
Isabel tried not to laugh. “Not very polite. And may I ask why?”
“Because she’s a tart.”
Isabel drew in her breath. He looked so innocent—and probably was. He probably had no idea what he was saying.
“That’s not very kind. Do you think you should say that?”
“She’s in love with Sladey.”
Isabel said nothing. Miss Carty was in love with Mr. Slade. Nonsense. Schoolboy fantasy. Boys made things up; shocking stories dreamed up with no regard to the truth or even to feasibility. They made them up. But then she thought: Miss Carty, unhappy school secretary, in love with Mr. Slade, handsome headmaster. Headmaster announces his departure for Singapore; Miss Carty pleads with him not to go. He says he must. She thinks: If I stop them making an appointment, then he might stay, even for a few months longer. And anything can happen in a few months …
She watched the boy. He had taken a tube of peppermints out of his pocket and had peeled one off. “Would you like a mint?”
She shook her head. “How do you know that Miss Carty is in love with Mr. Slade?”
He answered nonchalantly. “I saw him kiss her. He didn’t know I was there. I had lost a ball under one of those bushes back there.” He gestured towards the rhododendron garden. “I was looking for it when they came along the path. They didn’t know I was there. I saw him kiss her. Tarty Carty. Yuck! Disgusting. I wanted to be sick right there. Yuck!”
ISABEL FOUND THE SCHOOL OFFICE by asking a boy where to go. He pointed to a staircase that gave off the main entrance hall. “Up there. There’s a white door that says
She climbed the stairs and reached a broad landing. There were several chairs placed around a glass-topped coffee table, and beyond that the door marked
She knocked and pushed open the door to a spacious room in which there were several desks, a bank of filing cabinets, and a pinboard covered in notices and aides-memoires. At the far end of the room, a woman sat at a desk under a window. She had streaky blonde hair and was wearing a red shift dress. Tarty Carty, Isabel thought.
The woman turned round in her seat when Isabel entered. She looked at her watch. “Miss Dalhousie?”
Isabel nodded. “Mr. Mackinlay …”
“Yes, he’s expecting you. He’s in the Governors’ Room—I’ll take you there.”
Isabel followed the secretary out of the room and along the corridor, which was lined with photographs of sports teams. Under-15s Rugby, First Tennis Team, Swimming Team. All schools were the same. This took her back
