The Stranger's Child - Alan Hollinghurst [125]
“No, well,” said the Headmaster, who resented his Oxford allusions.
“I’m assuming the place is locked securely at night?” said Colonel Sprague. “As I understand it, it contains various items lent by parents?”
“Yes, of course,” said Peter. “Dupont is officially the curator, and he gets the key off me.”
“We don’t want any trouble of that kind,” said the Colonel.
“I must try to get down and see it,” said Dorothy Dawes, as if it would require a certain amount of planning. She taught the “Babies” in the First Form, and seemed set apart from the rest of the school in a nest of knitting-wool and gummed paper. She was always equipped with two treats, Polos and Rolos, which she handed out liberally to reward and console. It wasn’t clear to Peter if the Daweses had had children of their own.
“I’ve lent them a couple of things myself,” said the Headmaster. “A portrait and a set of antlers. Just to get them started.”
“No, much appreciated,” said Peter solemnly. “And we’ve also got a few interesting items from the Valances’ days.”
“Ah, yes …,” said the Headmaster, a wary look coming over him. “Now this leads me to a somewhat delicate matter, which I must ask you to keep very much to yourselves.” Peter assumed they’d got to the sex part, and was suddenly doubting the witty remarks he’d been planning to make about Dr. No and Ursula Andress’s bust. “Well, you know already, John, and … It’s to do with Mrs. Keeping.”
There was obviously something thrilling about this, since Mrs. Keeping was such a hard nut and not at all popular with the other staff; a ripely responsible look settled over them.
“I’ve had a few, shall we say, comments before, but now Mrs. Garfitt has written to complain. She claims Mrs. Keeping has been hitting young Garfitt with a book, I’m not quite clear where, and also”—the Headmaster peered at his notes—“ ‘flicking his ears as a punishment for playing wrong notes.’ ”
“God, is that all,” murmured John Dawes, and Matron gave a short illusionless laugh. “Not that it will do any good.”
“I’ve told Mrs. Garfitt that judicious corporal punishment is one of the things that keep a school like Corley Court ticking over. But I’m not quite happy about it, all the same.”
“The trouble is she doesn’t consider herself to be a school-teacher,” said Mike Rawlins, without losing the track of his doodle.
“No, well, she has no qualifications,” said Dorothy, with a slightly shifty look.
“Ah, well …,” said Mike, now with a very heavy face. As far as Peter could make out only he and the Headmaster could boast university degrees, the others having various antique diplomas and in one case a medal. Neil McAll was the most exotic, with his Dip. Phys. Ed. (Kuala Lumpur), on the strength of which he taught History and French.
“Well, she is the daughter of Captain Sir Dudley Valance, Bart,” said Colonel Sprague, humorously but with feeling. Sprague himself, though only the bursar, showed a keen consciousness of long-erased ranks and sometimes assumed quite imaginary superiority over Captain Dawes and of course over Mike and the HM, who had both been in the RAF.
“Well, that can’t have made for an easy upbringing,” said Mike.
“Corley Court was her childhood home.”
“I don’t know …,” said the Headmaster, with a deplorably tactical air of vagueness, his eye wandering round the table, “but I was wondering if you might not best be able to have a word with her about all this … um, Peter.”
Peter coloured and blinked, and said at once, “With respect, Headmaster, I don’t think I can start disciplining other members of staff, especially if they’re twice my age.”
“Poor Peter!” said Dorothy, rustling protectively. “He’s only just got here.”
“No, no, not disciplining … obviously!” said the HM, flushing too. “I was thinking more of a … a subtle chat, a roundabout sort of conversation, that might be more effective than a dressing-down from me. I believe you play duets with her, or …?”
“Well …,” said Peter, almost guiltily startled that the Headmaster should know this. “Not really.