'Mr Childes! Can you spare a moment?'
They both groaned inwardly when they saw the headmistress waving at them from across the driveway.
'I'll catch you up,' he murmured to Amy, acknowledging Miss Piprelly with a barely-raised hand.
'I'll wait by the tennis courts. Remember, you're bigger than her.'
'Oh yeah, who says?'
They parted, Childes taking a direct path over the round lawn towards the waiting headmistress, her frown informing him that he really should have walked around. Childes could only describe Miss Piprelly as a literally 'straight' woman: she stood erect, rarely relaxed, and her features were peculiarly angular, softening curves hardly in evidence. Even her short, greying hair was rigidly swept back in perfect parallel to the ground, and her lips had a thinness to them that wasn't exactly mean, but looked as if all humour had been ironed from them long ago. The square frames of her spectacles were in resolute harmony with her physical linearity. Even her breasts refused to rebel against the general pattern and Childes had sometimes wondered if they were battened down by artificial means. In darker moments, the thought crossed his mind that there were none.
It hadn't taken long, in fact, to find that Estelle Piprelly, MA (Cantab), MEd, ABPsS, was not as severe as the caricature suggested, although she had her moments.
'What can I do for you, Miss Piprelly?' he asked, standing beside her on the entrance step.
'I know it may seem premature to you, Mr Childes, but I'm trying to organise next term's curriculum. I'm afraid it's necessary for parents of prospective pupils, and our governing body insists that it's finalised well before the summer break. Now, I wondered if you could spare us more of your time in the autumn term. It appears that computer studies - mistakenly, to my way of thinking - have become something of a priority nowadays.'
'That could be a little awkward. You know I have the other colleges, Kingsley and de Montfort.'
'Yes, but I also know you still have a certain amount of free time available. Surely you could fit in just a few more hours a week for us?'
How did you explain to someone like Miss Piprelly, who lived and breathed her chosen profession, that the work ethic was not high on his priorities? Not any more. Things had changed within him. Life had changed.
'An extra afternoon, Mr Childes. Could we say Tuesdays?' Her stern gaze defied refusal.
'Let me give it some thought,' he replied, and sensed her inner bristling.
'Very well, but I really must have the first draft curriculum completed by the end of the week.'
'I'll let you know on Thursday.' He tried a smile, but was annoyed at the apology in his own voice.
Her short sigh was one of exasperation and sounded like a huff. 'On Thursday then.'
He was dismissed. No more words, no 'Good day'. He just wasn't there any more. Miss Piprelly was calling to a group of girls who had made the mistake of following his route across the hallowed lawn. He turned away, feeling somehow that he was sloping off, and had to make an effort to put some briskness into his stride.
Estelle Piprelly, having reproved the errant girls (a task that for her needed very few words and a barely-raised voice), returned her attention to the retreating figure of the peripatetic teacher. He walked with shoulders slightly hunched forward, studying the ground before him as if planning each footfall, a youngish man who sometimes seemed unusually wearied. No, wearied was the wrong word. There was sometimes a shadow behind his eyes that was haunted, an occasional glimpse of some latent anxiety.
Her brow furrowed - more parallel lines - and her ringers plucked unconsciously at a loose thread on her sleeve.
Childes disturbed her and she could not reason why. His work was excellent, meticulous, and he appeared to be popular with the pupils, if not a trace too popular with some. His specialist knowledge was a useful addition to the prospectus and without doubt he relieved a partial burden from her overloaded science teachers. Yet, although she had requested extra lessons of him because of the governing body's dictum, something in his presence made her uneasy.
A long, long time ago, when she herself had been no more than a child and the German forces had occupied the island as a spearhead for their attack on the mainland of England, she had felt a pervading air of destruction around her. Not uncommon in those tragic warring times, but years later she realised that she possessed a higher degree of awareness than most. Nothing dramatic, nothing mediumistic or clairvoyant, just an acute sensing. It had become subdued yet never relinquished with the passing of time, the pragmatism of her chosen career, but in those early days she had seen death in the faces of many of those German soldiers, an unnatural foreboding in their countenance, in their mood.
In a more confusing way, she sensed it in Childes. Although he was now gone from view, Miss Piprelly shivered.
6
As he returned from the hotel bar with the drinks, weaving his way round the garden tables and chairs, Amy was releasing her hair at the back so that it fell into a ponytail, an old style transformed through her into something chic. There was a subtle elegance to Amy that was inborn rather than studied and, not for the first time, Childes thought she looked anything but a schoolteacher - at least not the type who had ever taught him.
Her skin appeared almost golden in the shadow of the table's canopy, her pale green eyes and lighter wisps of hair curling over her ears heightening the effect. As usual, she wore the minimum of make-up, a proclivity that often made her resemble some of the girls she instructed, her small breasts, just delicate swellings, hardly spoiling the illusion. Yet at twenty-three, eleven years younger than himself, she possessed a quiet maturity that he was in just a little wonder of; it was not always evident, for there was also a tantalising innocence about her that enhanced the pubescent impression even more. The combination was often confusing, for she was unaware of her own qualities and the moods could quickly change.
Amy's slender and mockingly desperate fingers reached for the glass as he approached and early-evening sunlight struck her hand, making it glow a lighter gold.
'If only Miss Piprelly knew she had a lush on her staff,' he remarked, passing the gin and tonic to her.
She allowed the glass to tremble in her grasp as she brought it to her lips. 'If only Pip knew half her staff were inebriates. And she's the cause.'
Childes sat opposite so that he could watch her, sacrificing closeness for the pleasure of eye contact. 'Our headmistress wants me to put in more time at the school,' he said, and Amy's sudden smile warmed him.
'Jon, that would be lovely.'
'I'm not so sure. I mean, yes, great to see more of you, but when I came here I was opting out of the rat race, remember?'
'It's hardly that. This is a different civilisation to the one you were used to.'
'Yeah, another planet. But I've got used to the easy pace, afternoons when I can go walking, or diving, or just plain snoozing on the beach. At last I've found time to think.'
'Sometimes you do too much thinking.'
The mood change.
He looked away. 'I said I'd let her know.'
Humour came back to Amy's voice. 'Coward.'
Childes shook his head. 'She makes me feel like a ten-year-old.'
'Her bark isn't as bad as her bite. I'd do as she asks.'
'Some help you are.'
She placed her glass between them. 'I'd like to think I am. I know you spend too much time on your own and perhaps a bigger commitment to the college might be what you need.'
'You know how I feel about commitments.'
A look passed between them.
'You have one to your daughter.'
He sipped his beer.
'Let's lighten up,' he said, after a while. 'It's been a long day.'
Amy smiled, but her eyes were still troubled. She reached for his hand and stroked his fingers, masking more serious thoughts with bright banter. 'I think Pip would consider it quite a coup to have you on the staff full-time.'
'She onl
y wants me for an extra afternoon.'
'Two and a half days of your time now, tomorrow your soul.'
'You were supposed to be encouraging me.'
Her expression was mischievous. Just letting you know it's useless to resist. Others have tried,' she added, her voice deepening ominously, making him grin.
'Strangely enough, she has been giving me some peculiar looks lately.'
'Working her voodoo.'
He relaxed back in the chair. A few more people were wandering out into the hotel's beer garden, drinks in hand, taking advantage of a welcome relief from the preceding weeks of cold drizzle. A huge, furry bee hovered over nearby azaleas, its drone giving notice of the warmer months to come. Until recently, he had felt close to finding his peace on the island. The easy-going lifestyle, the pleasant nature of the island itself, Amy - beautiful Amy -, his own self-imposed occasional solitude, had brought a balance to his existence, a steadiness far removed from the frenetic pace of the constantly changing microchip world, a career in and around the madding city, a wife who had once loved him, but who had later been in fear of… of what? Something neither of them understood.
Psychic power. An inconsistent curse.
'Who's serious now?'
He stared blankly at Amy, her question breaking into his thoughts.
'You had that faraway look, the kind I should be getting used to by now,' she said. 'You weren't just day-dreaming.'
'No, just thinking back.'
'It's in the past and best kept that way, Jon.'
He nodded, unable to explain it to himself. Unsure of the creeping uneasiness he had felt since the nightmare two weeks ago.
She rested her folded arms on the table. 'Hey, you haven't given me an answer yet.' She frowned at his puzzled expression. 'My dinner invitation: you haven't said you'll come.'
'Do I have a choice?' For the moment the bad thoughts had retreated, vanquished by Amy's wickedly innocent smile.
'Of course. You can either accept or be deported. Daddy hates bad manners.'
'And we all know his influence in the States' affairs.'
'Precisely.'
'Then I'll come.'
'How sensible.'
'How much coaxing did your mother have to do?'
'Not much. She relied on threats.'
'Hard to imagine your father being afraid of anybody.'
'You don't know Mother. She may seem all sweetness and light on the surface, but there's a hidden streak of steel underneath it all that frightens even me sometimes.'
'At least it's nice to know she likes me.'
'Oh, I wouldn't go that far. Let's just say she's not totally against you.'
He laughed quietly. 'I'm really looking forward to the evening.'
'You know, I think she's quite intrigued by you. A darkly attractive man with a shady past, and all that.'
For a moment, Childes looked down into his beer. 'Is that how she sees my past?' he asked.
'She thinks you're mysterious and she likes that.'
'And dear Daddy?'
'You're not good enough for his daughter, that's all.'
'You sure?'
'No, but it's not important. He respects my feelings, though, and I haven't disguised how I feel about you. Pig-headed as he is sometimes, he would never hurt me by going against you.'
Childes wished he could be sure. The financier's hostility on the few occasions they had met was barely masked. Perhaps he didn't like divorces; or perhaps he distrusted anyone who did not conform to his own standards, his perception of 'normality'.
In danger of becoming too serious again, Childes asked with a grin, 'Do I need a dinner suit?'
'Well, one or two of his business associates have been invited -and that includes a member of La Roche's governing body and his wife, incidentally - so nothing too informal. A tie would be nice.'
'And I thought the soiree was for my benefit.'
'Your being there is for my benefit.' She looked intently at him. 'It may seem a trivial thing, but it means a lot to have you with me. I don't know why there's this antagonism between you and my father, Jon, but it's unnecessary and destructive.'
'There's no animosity from me, Amy.'
'I know that. And I'm not asking you to bend his way. I just want him to see us together at a normal gathering, to let him see how well we go together.'
He could not help chuckling and she gave him a reproving look. 'I know what you're thinking and I didn't mean that. I'm still his little girl, remember.'
'He'd never understand how much of a woman you are.'
'He doesn't have to. I'm sure he doesn't imagine I'm still as pure as driven snow, though.'
'I wouldn't be too sure. Such things are hard enough for any doting father to face.' The intimacy of their conversation charged his body with a flush of pleasure and he felt good with her, warm in her presence. It was the same for Amy, for her smile was different, not secretive but knowing, and her pale green eyes were lit with an inner sharing. She looked away and gently whirled the melting ice in her glass, watching the clear, rounded cubes as if they held some meaning. Conversations from other tables drifted in the air, occasionally punctuated by soft laughter. An aircraft banked around the western tip of the island, already over the sea just seconds after take-off from the tiny airport, its wings catching the reddening sun. A slight evening breeze stirred a lock of hair against Amy's cheek.
'I should be going,' she said after a while.
Both were aware of what they really wanted.
Childes said, 'I'll take you back to La Roche for your car.'
They finished their drinks and stood together. As they walked through the garden towards the white gate leading to the carpark, she slipped her hand into his. He squeezed her fingers and she returned the pressure.
Inside the car, Amy leaned across and kissed his lips, and his desire was tempered and yet inflamed by her tenderness. The sensation for them was as paradoxical as the kiss: both weakening and strengthening at the same time. When they parted, breathless, wanting, his fingertips gently touched a trail along her cheek, brushing her lips and becoming moist from them. He realised that recently their relationship had unexpectedly, and bewilderingly, reached a new peak. It had been slow in developing, gradual in its emergence, each always slightly wary of the other, he afraid to give too much, she cautious of him as a stranger, unlike any other man she had known. It now seemed that they had just passed a point from which there could only be a lingeringly painful return, and both recognised the inexorable yet purely sensory truth of it.
He turned away, unprepared for this new, plunging shift of emotions, unsure of why, how, it had happened so swiftly. Turning on the ignition and engaging gear, Childes drove into the lane leading away from the hotel.
***
Childes pushed open the front door of the cottage and briefly stood in the small hallway, collecting his thoughts, catching his breath. He closed the door.
Amy's presence was still with him, floating intangibly in the air, and again he wondered at the startling new pace of their feelings for one another. He had held his emotions in check for so long, enjoying her company, taking pleasure in all her aspects, her maturity, her innocence, not least her physical beauty, aware that their relationship was more than friendship, but always in control, unwilling to let go, to succumb to anything deeper. Wounds from his broken marriage were not yet entirely healed, a bitterness still lingered.
He could not help but smile wryly. He felt as if he had been zapped by some invisible force.
The ringing phone made him start. Childes moved away from the door and picked up the receiver.
'Jon?' She sounded breathless.
'Yes, Amy.'
'What happened?'
He paused before answering. 'You too?'
'I feel wonderful and terrible at the same time. It's like an exciting ache.'
He laughed at her description, realising its aptness. 'I should say the feeling will pass, but I don't want it to.'
'It's scary. And I love it.'
He could sense her uncertainty and her voice was quiet when she added: 'I don't want to be hurt.'
Closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall, Childes struggled with his own emotions. 'Let's give each other time to think.'
'I don't want to.'
'It might be better for us both.'
'Why? Is there anything more to know about each other? I mean, anything important? We've talked, you've told me about yourself, your past, how you feel: is there any more that I should know?'
'No, no dark secrets, Amy. You know all that's happened to me. More, much more, than anyone else.'
'Then why are you afraid of what's happening to us?'
'I thought you were.'
'Not in that way. I'm only scared of being so vulnerable.'
'That's the answer, don't you see?'
'You think I would do anything to hurt you?'
'Things can happen that we have no control over.’
'I thought they already had.'
'I didn't mean that. Events can somehow interfere, can change feelings. It's happened to me before.'
'You told me your marriage was shaky before those dreadful things happened, that they just widened the gulf between you and Fran. Don't run away, Jon, not like…'
She stopped and Childes finished for her. 'Not like before.'
'I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way. I know circumstances had become intolerable.' Amy sighed miserably. 'Oh, Jon, why has this conversation turned out like this? I was so happy, I needed to talk to you. I missed you.'
His tenseness loosened. Yet a gnawing, subconscious disquiet remained. How could he explain his own almost subliminal unrest? 'Amy, I'm sorry too. I'm being stupid. I suppose I'm still masochistically licking ancient wounds.'
'Bad past experiences can sometimes distort the new.'
'Very profound.'
She was relieved the humour was back in his voice, yet could not help but feel a little deflated. 'I'll try to keep a tighter grip on myself,' she said.
'Hey, c'mon. Don't mind an old man's self-pity. So you missed me? I only left you ten minutes ago.'