"OK, FOLKS, that's it."
The bell for the end of school sounded as Evie finished
talking. Fifteen twelve-year-olds did a more or less
controlled scramble, and in seconds the classroom was
empty.
Evie rubbed her neck and stretched it a little to relieve
the tension.
"Hard week?" asked a voice from the door. It was Debra,
Deputy Head of the school, and the friend who'd asked her
to help out for a term.
"Yup," she replied. "Mind you, I'm not complaining.
They're good kids."
"Do you have time for a drink?" 'Lead me to it."
Later, as they sat on a pleasant terrace by the river,
feeding scraps to the swans, Debra said in a carefully
casual voice, "You really like those youngsters, don't
you?"
"Mm, some of them are smart, especially Mark Dane. He's
got a true feel for languages. By the way, I didn't see
him today."
Debra groaned. "That means he slipped away again. His
truancy is getting serious."
"Have you told his parents?" 'I've spoken to his father,
who said very grimly that he'd 'deal with it'."
Evie made a face. "I don't like the sound of him." 'No, I
didn't take to him either. Too much assurance.
I gather he's a big man in industry, built it up himself,
finger on a dozen pulses, everything under control."
"And that includes his son?" Evie said sympathetically.
"I think it includes everything — you, me, Mark —" 'And
the little mouse in the corner," Evie said whimsically.
"Justin Dane wouldn't have a mouse," Debra said at
once. "He'd hire a tiger to catch it. But enough of him."
She took a deep breath and said with an air of someone
taking the plunge, "Look, Evie, I had an ulterior motive
in asking you out."
"I was afraid you might," Evie murmured. "But don't spoil
the moment. Seize it. Relish it."
She leaned back on the wooden seat, one elegantly booted
ankle crossed over the other knee. Her eyes were closed
and she threw her head back, letting the late afternoon
sun play on her face, where there was a blissful smile.
With her boots and jeans, her slim figure and dark cropped
hair, she might have been a boy. Or an urchin. Or anything
but a twenty-nine-year-old schoolteacher.
"Evie," Debra tried again in the special patient voice she
kept for coping with her wayward friend.
"Skip it, Deb. I know what you're going to say, and I'm
afraid the answer's no. One term I promised, because
that's all I can do. It'll be over soon and then you won't
see me for dust."
"But the Head's knocked out by the way you've clicked with
the pupils. He really wants you to stay."
"Nope. I just filled in while the language teacher had her
baby. She's had him now, a bonny, bouncing boy, which
means it's time for me to go bouncing off into the
sunset." 'But she doesn't really want to return, and I
have strict instructions to persuade you to stay on, full
time."
Evie's response to this was to back away along the bench
with an alarmed little cry, like somebody fending off an
evil spirit.
"What's up with you?" Debra demanded. "You said the fatal
words," Evie accused her, wild-eyed.
"What fatal words?" "Full time." "Stop fooling around,"
Debra said, trying not to laugh. Evie resumed her normal
manner. "I never do anything full time, you know that. I
need change and variety."
"But you said you like teaching." 'I do — in small
doses." 'Yes, that's the story of your life, isn't it?
Everything in small doses. A job here, a job there."
Evie gave a grin that was wicked and delightful in equal
measure.
"You mean I'm immature, don't you? At my age I ought to be
ready to settle down to a nine-to-five job, one offspring
and two-point-five husbands."
"I think you mean that the other way around." 'Do I? Well,
whatever. The point is, you think I should be heading for
a settled life, suitable for a woman approaching the
big ''three''. Well, nuts to it! I live the way I want.
Why can't people accept that?"
"Because we're all jealous," Debra admitted with a
grin. "You've managed to stay free. No mortgage. No ties."
"No husband." Evie sighed with profound gratitude. "I'm
not sure that's something you should rejoice about." 'It
is from where I'm standing," Evie assured her. "Anyway,
the point is that you just up and go when the mood suits
you. I suppose that might be nice."
"It is nice," Evie said with a happy sigh. "But as for no
mortgage — what I pay on that motorbike is practically a
mortgage."
"Yes, but that was your choice. Nobody made you. I bet
nobody's ever made you do anything in your life."
Evie gave a chuckle. "Some have tried. Not with much
success, and never a second time, but they've tried."
"Alec, David, Martin —" Debra recited. "Who were they?"
Evie asked innocently. "Shame on you! How unkind to forget
your lovers so soon!"
"They weren't lovers, they were jailers. They tried to
trick me up the aisle, or soft soap me up the aisle, or
haul me up the aisle. One of them even dared to set the
date and tell me after."
"Well, you made him regret it. The poor man was desperate
because you'd kept him wondering long enough."
"I didn't keep him wondering. I was trying to let him down
gently. It just turned out to be a long way down. I never
even wanted him to fall in love with me. I thought we were
simply having a good time."
"Is that what you're doing with Andrew?" Debra asked
mischievously.
"I'm very fond of Andrew," Evie said, looking up into the
sky. "He's nice."
"I thought maybe you were in love with him." 'I am — I
think — sort of — maybe." 'Any other woman would think he
was a catch — good job, sweet nature, sense of humour.
Plus you're in love with him, sort of, maybe." 'But he's
an accountant." Evie sighed. "Figures, books, tax returns —
"
"That's not a crime." 'He believes in the proper way of
doing things," Evie said in a tone of deepest gloom.
"You mean about — everything?" Evie gave her a speaking
look. "One day," Debra said, exasperated, "I hope you'll
fall hook, line and sinker for a man you can't have."
"Why?" Evie asked, honestly baffled. "It'll be a new
experience for you."
Evie chuckled. It was the happy, confident laugh of
someone who had life 'sussed'. She had her job,
translating books from French and Italian into English.
She was free to travel and did so, often. She had all the
male company she wanted, and female company too for,
unlike many women who attracted love easily, she also had
a gift for friendship with her own sex.
It wasn't immediately clear why people were drawn to her.
Her face was charming but not outstandingly beautiful. Her
nose tilted a little too much and her eyebrows were rather
too heavy, adding a touch of drama to her otherwise perky
features.
Perhaps it was something in the richness of her laugh, the
way her face could light up as though the sun had risen,
her air of having discovered a secret that she would
gladly share with anyone who would laugh with her.
"Time I was going," she said now. "Sorry I couldn't help
you, Deb."
They strolled to the car park, where Debra got into her
sedate saloon and Evie hopped on to her gleaming
motorbike, settling the helmet on her head. A wave of her
hand, and she was away.
She enjoyed riding through this pleasant suburb of outer
London. Speed was fun, but dawdling through leafy roads
was also fun.
Then she saw Mark Dane. She recognised him from behind. It
wasn't just the dark brown hair with the hint of russet.
It was the fact that he was walking with his head down in
a kind of dispirited slouch that, she now realised, she'd
seen often before.
Mark had a bright, quick intelligence that pleased her. In
class he was often the first to answer, the words tumbling
over each other, sometimes at the expense of accuracy.
"Take it a bit slower and get it right," she often told
him, although she was pleased by his eagerness.
But out of class he seemed to collapse back into himself,
often becoming surly.
No, she thought now. Unhappy. She slowed down and tooted
her horn. The boy turned swiftly, glaring, but then
smiling as he recognised the goggled, helmeted figure
pulling up beside him.
"'lo, Miss Wharton."
She uncovered her head. "Hallo, Mark. Had a busy day?"
"Yes, I've been —" He stopped, reading the irony in her
eyes and gave up. "I didn't exactly come to school."
"What did you do — exactly?"
He shrugged, implying that he neither remembered nor cared.
"It's not the first time you've played truant," she said,
trying not to sound like a nag.
Again the shrug. "Where do you live?" 'Hanfield
Avenue." 'You've wandered quite a way. How are you going
to get home?"
Shrug. "Wanna lift?" She indicated the bike.
He beamed. "Really?" 'As long as you wear this," she said,
removing her helmet.
He donned it eagerly and she checked that it was secure.
"But now you don't have a helmet," he said. "That's why
I'm going to go very slowly and carefully. Now, get up
behind and hold on to me tightly."
When she felt him grip her she eased away from the kerb.
It took half an hour to reach his home, which was in a
prosperous, tree-lined street, full of detached houses
that exuded wealth. She swung through the gates and up the
drive to the front door, mentally preparing what she would
say to Mark's parents, who would be home by now, and
worried.
But the woman who opened the door looked too old to be his
mother. Her eyes were like saucers as she saw his mode of
transport.
"What on earth — ?" 'Hallo, Lily," Mark said, climbing off
the bike. "What do you mean, coming home at this hour? And
on this thing?" She glanced sharply at Evie. "And who are
you?"
"This is Miss Wharton, a teacher from school," Mark said
quickly. "Miss Wharton, this is Lily, my dad's
housekeeper."
"You'd better come in," Lily said, eyeing Evie
dubiously. "Mark, your supper's in the kitchen."
When she was in the hall Evie said quietly, "Can I talk to
Mark's parents?"
Lily waited until Mark was out of sight before
saying, "His mother's dead. His father won't be home for a
while yet."
"I'd like to wait for him." 'It could be a very long wait.
Mr Dane comes home at all hours, if he comes home at all."
"What does he do that takes so long?" 'He takes over." 'He
does what?" 'He's in industry. Or rather, he owns an
industry, and his industry owns other industries, and if
he doesn't own them he takes them over. If he can't take
them over he puts them out of business. That's his way.
Get them before they get you. I've heard him say so."
"So that's why he's not here," Evie mused. "After all, if
you're busy taking over the world it wouldn't leave much
time for other things."
"That's right. I'm usually all that poor kid has, and I'm
not enough. I do my best, but I'm no substitute for
parents." She checked herself, adding hastily, "Don't tell
Mr Dane that I said that."
"I'm glad you did. But I won't tell him, I promise." 'I'll
make you some tea. The living room's through there."
While she waited for the tea Evie looked around and
understood what Debra had told her about Justin Dane, plus
what Lily had just revealed. This was the home of a
wealthy man. He could give his son everything, except the
warmth of a welcome.