"Better see what we've got," said Luke, pulling the top box towards himself and opening it up. Inside, neatly stacked, were back-issues of the student-produced newspaper, Paper Dart.
"They keep copies of that heap of crap?" asked Wharton in surprise.
Luke was startled to hear that Wharton's opinion of Paper Dart tallied exactly with his own. He looked at the label on the next box. "Looks like they've kept all seventy years of it."
"Jesus," commented Wharton.
"Maybe we could link up some of the stories in Paper Dart with the photos?" suggested Luke.
Wharton grunted in a non-committal manner, but pulled out the first of the boxes labelled 'Photographs' anyway. These were from the 1940s and were a mixture of formal photos of Speech Days and class portraits alongside more casual shots of sporting and fund-raising events, arranged in folders by the year in which they'd been taken. Luke dug through the issues of Paper Dart and found the ones from the same period.
"Pick one year from each decade, d'you reckon?" he asked.
"If you like. Years ending in eight?" It was 2008 now, so that made sense to both of them. The Dart had always been published three times a year: once each term. Luke found all the issues from years ending in eight, while Wharton did the same thing with the photographs until they had two chronological piles, one of the student newspapers, the other of folders full of photographs. Then they had no choice but to sit and read the old issues of Paper Dart.
"It's bad enough reading the one they print today," grumbled Wharton. He divided the pile into two and handed Luke the half which dated from the 1940s to the mid-1970s. Luke soon realised that he'd got a bad deal: the Hawley Lodge students of the 1950s had written a lot more in their newspaper than their modern counterparts had, although much of it seemed to be poems and the like, which he decided he could safely ignore.
Wharton was reading through the 1998 issues.
"Did Mr Wilmot go to this school?" he asked, abruptly.
Luke looked up, surprised at the question. "No idea, why?"
"Because if this is about him, he was in big trouble in 1998," replied Wharton, passing the Summer 1998 edition across the table to Luke.
Police were called to the village on Friday 5th June when a public brawl took place between boys of Hawley Lodge and the High School. At the height of the battle, several of the combatants escaped from the fighting by running into the village pond, at which point the local constabulary became involved. A number of Hawley Lodge and High School boys were detained by the police and later let off with a caution, including prefects John Wilmot and Marcus Goodchild. The prefects have since been stripped of their badges.
"Ten years ago," said Luke. "Yeah, that would be about right, wouldn't it?"
"Explains why he hates you so much," observed Wharton.
"What d'you mean?"
"Well, you're basically a High School kid, aren't you?" said Wharton. "You came from a state school and so he thinks you're like the kids he was fighting with in 1998, the ones that lost him his prefect's badge."
This spark of insight from Wharton amazed Luke but also made perfect sense.
"I don't s'pose there'd be any photos of that event, though," he said, regretfully.
"Might have made the local newspaper," said Wharton, getting up to look at the labels on the remaining boxes. "Here we go, newspaper cuttings."
He dumped the box in front of Luke, who went through them with considerably more enthusiasm than before, looking for clippings from 1998. And there it was: a quarter-page article in the local newspaper about the shocking behaviour of yobs from Hawley Lodge and the High School. Setting it off was a photograph taken by an enterprising local citizen, showing a group of dripping teenagers climbing out of the pond under the stern eye of two police officers.
"Look at this!" Luke passed the clipping over to Wharton.
"It is Wilmot," said Wharton, snorting with laughter and then hastily suppressing it, with a glance in Mr Hannaford's direction. There was no mistaking the features of the housemaster. The only thing missing was his annoying little goatee beard. "He was involved in the fight and then he ran away from it, into the pond. We have got to use this!"
"No, we can't. Wilmot would crucify us."
"Why? It's just historical research. We could say we had no idea it was him."
There was no denying that Wharton's plan was extremely tempting.
"Let's copy the articles anyway," he suggested. "Then we can think about it a bit more."
Wharton took the clipping and the Paper Dart over to the photocopier and blew the copies of the articles up so they were easier to read. It was even more obvious that the sulky teenager in the newspaper was a young Mr Wilmot when it was enlarged.
After that, the research for the display was less exciting, but they got on quite quickly with it and found stories and photographs for each of the years they had chosen. Luke also copied the archive material relating to the school in its days as a country house and after two hours of work they had enough material to form the basis of their display.
"So now we just need to do captions for them," said Luke, stacking up the pile of copies. "That shouldn't take too long. We'll be ready well before Speech Day."
They carefully put all the items back in their original boxes and Mr Hannaford rejoined them at the table when he saw what they were doing. He nodded in approval at the methodical way they were reassembling the contents of the boxes.
"Good job. Did you find some interesting stuff?"
Luke caught Wharton's eye and then hastily turned his attention back to his box as he felt the familiar bubble of hysterical laughter rising in his chest. Luckily, Wharton seemed to have better control of himself.
"There were one or two interesting things in there, sir, yes," he said, solemnly.
Luke mashed his lips together with his teeth to keep the laugh inside. He jammed the lid of the box back on, stacked it on top of the others and moved quickly towards the door.
"Will you be needing these anymore?" asked Mr Hannaford.
"No, thank you," Wharton replied, picking up their copies and joining Luke. "I think we've found exactly what we're looking for." He glanced over at Luke again. "We've got a fighting chance of getting it done in time."
Luke hurried through the library door with Wharton on his heels. As the library's double doors swung shut behind them, they burst into snorts of laughter. They were back in the corridor outside the staff room, at the very spot where Luke had swung a punch at Wharton on Monday afternoon. The location reminded them both that they were supposed to be bitter enemies and this killed their hilarity more quickly than any intervention by Mr Thomas could have done.
Wharton coughed as though the laughter had been caused by a temporary blockage in his throat. "So when d'you want to do the captions?" he asked.
"Monday after IT?" suggested Luke.
"OK," said Wharton, gruffly. He held up the papers. "I'll put these in my locker." He strode off quickly towards the entrance hall, as if ashamed to be seen in Luke's company.
Luke headed in the opposite direction, out through the western entrance of the school, planning to spend the rest of the afternoon with Pagan.
He pulled the door shut behind him and started to jog past Julia's garden towards the school gates, passing the front of Ned's cottage. But he was forced to stop running just in front of the cottage when a car turned sharply in front of him from the main drive, kicking up a small shower of gravel as it skidded to an abrupt standstill.
It was a sporty Mercedes: not a vehicle Luke had ever seen around the school before (it wasn't the sort of car the teachers went in for). The deep red colour and its aggressive arrival made Luke think of Meredith and he was not at all surprised when the driver's door flew open and Meredith sprang from the car, smooth hair swinging around her face. She was dressed more casually today, but even her jeans and white shirt looked as though they had cost a small fortune. As she came around the car towards Luke he saw that sh
e was wearing a pair of cowboy-style boots.
Meredith was heading for Ned's door, but suddenly seemed to become aware that Luke was standing behind her car. She slowed her pace and looked across at him, her chin high and haughty. But then she stopped completely and paid him closer attention.
"It's Luke, isn't it?" she said.
Luke was so amazed at being addressed by name that he simply stared at her with his mouth open.
Meredith seemed unsurprised by his gormless appearance. She walked up to him and took his hand.
"I'm Meredith Morgan." Her hand was cool and her handshake brisk.
Luke managed to close his mouth and then open it again. "Hi. Luke Brownlow." His voice sounded rasping to his own ears. "Nice car," he added, for want of anything more intelligent to say.
Meredith did not honour this observation with a reply, but launched straight into her own agenda. "I've been wanting to have a talk with you since Graham explained to me about your…unusual relationship."
Luke's brain was working so slowly that it took him a moment to realise that Meredith was talking about Ned, whose real name was not Ned at all.
"Oh. Right," he said, conscious that he was not doing a good job of holding up his end of the conversation but at a loss to know why this stunning woman was making a point of talking to him. The only thing he knew for sure was that he did not want her broadcasting the news of his true relationship with Ned for the rest of the school to hear. He looked nervously back at the school building, hoping there was no-one in earshot of them. "I'm just heading to the village," he added, lamely.
"I'll give you a ride and we can talk," said Meredith, opening the passenger door of her shiny sports car. "In you get."
Someone somewhere in the back of Luke's mind was warning "Never take lifts from strangers" but it seemed that he had little choice in this scenario. He glanced at Ned's cottage, half hoping that his neighbour would appear and rescue him from Meredith's clutches.
Meredith saw his glance. "Graham's out at a meeting and won't be back until later," she told him. "I'm fixing dinner for us tonight, but I can take you to the village first."
Accepting his fate, Luke ducked under Meredith's arm and climbed into the leather embrace of the Mercedes' passenger seat. A waft of that same scent washed over him as Meredith pushed the door shut, imprisoning him in the car. Luke buckled his seat belt and watched nervously as Meredith walked slowly around to the driver's side, tucking her sleek dark hair behind her ears.
Meredith took her seat but did not start the engine. Luke was strongly reminded of the journey back to Hawley Lodge after Christmas, when Ned had refused to put the car in motion until Luke had confessed his knowledge of the smoke bomb affair. With that experience in the forefront of his mind, he eyed Meredith with some trepidation.
"I expect Graham has told you all about me, hasn't he?" began Meredith.
"Uh, no," Luke was forced to reply.
Meredith's eyes widened. "I wonder why," she reflected. "Perhaps you and he aren't very close."
Luke had no idea what Meredith was talking about, but felt the need to jump to Ned's defence. "He doesn't talk much about his time in America," he said. "But we get on pretty well."
"How would you like to visit the United States?" she asked, staring at Luke so intently that he felt uncomfortable.
"I- I'd like to, someday."
"Well that's fabulous, because Graham is planning on moving back there to be with me and it'd be great if you could come stay with us in the summer."
Luke had that same feeling of world-shifting that he'd had the previous year when he'd discovered that Ned was his biological father. His first thought was that Pagan was going to be furious. His second was to wonder why Ned hadn't told him about this plan himself.
"He hasn't said anything…" he managed to say.
Meredith started the engine and shifted the car's automatic gearbox into 'D'. "He hasn't had time to talk to you," she explained, "but we thought it was important to let you know what we've got in mind. Graham's always been so keen to start a family of his own."
She stepped down hard on the gas and the car bolted for the gates.
The road to the village was narrow and twisty, but Meredith drove as if it was a five-lane motorway. She blasted the horn at a group of Hawley Lodge boys who were walking along the road, scattering them out of her way. They responded to her aggression with rude hand gestures and Luke recognised them as Vikings from years seven and eight. He slunk lower in his seat, hoping that they hadn't seen him. Luke shut his eyes more than once on the remainder of the short journey. Another car had to brake hard and swerve out of Meredith's way as she swooped towards the village pond and screeched to a halt beside it. Luke recognised the other car as Julia's.
Anxious to avoid the possibility of Julia meeting Meredith, Luke groped at the handle of the door, but it wouldn't open. He looked at Meredith, who smiled and tapped the gear lever.
"You can't get out while I'm in Drive," she said.
Luke looked frantically over his shoulder at Julia, who was now climbing out of her own car, looking mad. The last thing he wanted to witness was a confrontation between these two women.
"I think that lady's going to come and complain about the way you were driving," he said. "Perhaps you'd better go."
Meredith sighed in resignation and shoved the gear lever forward into P for Park. Luke grabbed the door handle again and this time it yielded to his grip. He bounded out of the car in time to fend off Julia's advance. As soon as he shut the door, Meredith drove off, sweeping the car around the duck pond and then speeding back up the lane past Luke and Julia, leaving them standing in the dust her tyres raised from the road.
"I take it that was the famous Meredith," observed Julia.
"Yep," said Luke.
"What's she like?" asked Julia. "Apart from being an atrocious driver, that is?"
Luke managed to produce something that sounded a bit like a laugh.
"Pretty terrifying, actually," he confessed.
"Hm," said Julia, giving him a searching glance. "Can you give me a hand with the shopping?" she asked, pointing towards the boot of her car.
"Sure," said Luke, quite relieved to have a straightforward physical task to perform after dealing with Meredith's mind games.
Chapter Thirteen
Luke helped Julia heft the shopping bags into the cottage. Pagan jumped up from the sofa and came to help. She and Julia started to unpack the groceries and put them away. Luke lurked in the doorway of the kitchen, brooding about his bizarre journey to the village with Meredith and trying to stay out of the way of the Randalls as they worked.
Pagan got cans of Coke from the fridge when the shopping was all stowed away and she and Luke sat down together in the lounge.
"Has Ned said anything to your mum about going back to America?" asked Luke.
"What?" cried Pagan. "No way!" She twisted round on the sofa to call back into the kitchen. "Mum, did you hear that?"
Julia came through the doorway, carrying her trademark cup of tea. "Hear what?"
"Has Ned told you he's going back to America?" demanded Pagan.
"No," said Julia, taking possession of the armchair. "What makes you say that?"
"It's what Meredith just told me," Luke explained. "She said that he was keen to start a family." He looked miserably across at Julia. Her eyes widened slightly but she rallied quickly.
"Well I think you should wait and see what Ned has to say about it," said Julia briskly. "It might not be quite as settled as Meredith seems to think." Luke noticed that Julia's nose wrinkled when she said the word 'Meredith', as though she found it distasteful.
Pagan was full of indignation. "He can't go back to the States!" she cried. "What about Luke, what about you, Mum?"
"Pagan, calm down, we don't know if he is going back at all," said Julia. "Let's not jump to conclusions until we hear from Ned about what his plans are."
"She's making dinner for him at his house
tonight," Luke told them, feeling increasingly gloomy. Just when his life had started to get back on the rails, Meredith had come along and thrown an almighty great spanner onto the tracks.
Pagan threw back her head and sucked the last drops of Coke from her can. "Come on Luke," she said. "Let's go for a walk."
Once they were out of earshot of the house, Pagan shared her thoughts on the matter with Luke. "We've got to do something to sabotage this dinner tonight."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's obvious what Meredith's planning isn't it?"
"Is it?" asked Luke, rather lost.
"She's going to make Ned a fabulous dinner tonight, persuade him that he's still in love with her and wants to spend the rest of his life in America. She obviously knows that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. She's aiming to seduce him with dinner and then stay the night."
Luke groaned at the mental picture this analysis was creating.
"So we've got to interrupt it. Stop that from happening."
Luke's depression was starting to be replaced by dread.
"You're going to have to create some sort of emergency in the school which only Ned can deal with," continued Pagan, matter-of-factly.
"Like what?"
"Like that fire that happened before Christmas, something like that," Pagan said.
"You want me to start another fire?"
"Well, that's one idea," Pagan said. "Can you think of any others?"
"If I set fire to anything, I'll be expelled for sure," Luke pointed out. "And then it won't matter whether Ned's here or in America."
"He wouldn't expel you," said Pagan, confidently. She had only ever seen Ned in his off-duty mode and couldn't imagine him kicking his own son out of the school.
"Pagan, I think he would," said Luke, picturing the scenario all too clearly. "You weren't there after the last fire. He was livid. He'd tear me limb from limb."
"Well, OK, maybe a fire's not a good idea. But we need some sort of distraction; otherwise she's going to get her hooks into him. What else can we do?"
"Not interfere?" suggested Luke.
Pagan spun round with a fierce look on her face. "Do you want Meredith as your stepmother?"