One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [99]
One foot in a pot of bougainvillaea, another over a forty-foot precipice and hopefully not in the grave, I’d been in more comfortable positions. Despite the contortions, though, with lightning reflexes, I still managed to reach out and grab my mobile when it rang, in the pocket of my jeans beside me.
I stared at the number aghast.
‘Oh God. Oh God, quick – geddof, Ivan,’ I hissed. ‘It’s Mr Marshcroft!’
‘Who’s Mr Marshcroft?’ he murmured, nibbling my earlobe. ‘Can you shift that pot of mint, Hattie? It’s going right up my nose.’
‘Seffy’s housemaster – quick!’
Being over eighteen – please God – and not the recipient of a private education, his formative years having been spent in a comprehensive in Soho, where his parents ran a patisserie, this didn’t engender much fear in Ivan’s breast. With a superhuman effort I kicked out wildly, so that with a grunt, he did at least shift sideways, enabling me to roll out commando style – in all senses of the word – and stagger to my feet. Grabbing a few shreds of clothing and pushing my specs up my nose, I fled to the bedroom.
‘Mr Marshcroft!’ I gasped. I dived under the duvet, thanking God telephonic technology hadn’t quite got to the visual stage. ‘What can I do for you?’
Through the French windows, Ivan was getting languidly to his feet like a tall, blond lion. He stretched his arms high above his head in a salute to the sun, then reached for his jeans. Totally gorgeous.
‘Mrs Carrington, sorry to disturb,’ Mr Marshcroft was saying. Never having had a Miss on his parent register, he was incapable of uttering it.
‘Hattie,’ I muttered as usual.
‘Hattie,’ he went on uncertainly, ‘and nothing to be alarmed at, either.’ This always rang huge great clanging bells in my head and I sat up straight. Oh God, what? How much alcohol, how peroxide was his hair, how sick, and more to the point, where? On one horrendous occasion at his last school, it had been on his housemaster’s head.
‘But Seffen spent the night away from school last night, which I’m afraid we have to take very seriously.’
I frowned. ‘Away? What d’you mean? Where was he?’
‘At St Hilda’s.’
‘St Hilda’s!’ The girls’ school in the next town. Oh dear God.
‘There was a social there last night, which we took a load of boys to, and Seffen managed to miss the coach back, yet, at the same time, got another boy already on the coach to cover for him. Both boys are being suspended for a week.’
I shut my eyes. Oh, Seffy. Oh, for God’s sake. After all that’s happened. All my entreaties. How could you?
‘Well, of course,’ I said, dry-mouthed, ‘that’s… extremely reprehensible. Although I’m sure – I’m sure there’s a rational explanation…?’
‘According to Seffen, he genuinely lost track of time. And somehow found himself miles away, which of course he shouldn’t have been, in the grounds of the school.’
‘With a girl?’
‘Yes, with a girl. Who didn’t make it back to her dorm until two in the morning. Seffen finally arrived here at three, having walked.’
‘Oh – so he did make it back?’
‘Eventually, but three in the morning does not, in my book, constitute the same night.’
‘No. No, of course not.’ My heart was pounding. I licked my lips. ‘He was doing so well.’ I said, in a small voice.
‘He was, and will continue to do so, I’m sure.’
Mr Marshcroft was a decent sort: he knew Seffy’s history, and was very much onside. I thanked him for that remark from the bottom of my heart.
‘I’ve talked to Seffy, Hattie, and I do genuinely believe he missed the bus, and then panicked. Obviously he should have rung a member of staff instead of getting one of the boys to cover, but you do see, we do have to suspend him. To set an example.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ I swallowed. ‘Um, I’m in France, Mr Marshcroft, at the moment. But my sister, or my parents, will I’m sure collect him.’
‘If you could make the necessary arrangements…’
‘Yes. Yes I will.’
I clicked the phone shut. Sat very still on the bed. All the fun and frivolity of the last few days turned to dust and ashes in my stomach. Suddenly