PREP

PREP

By Jacqueline Grace

Quick foreword: 

In an attempt to ensure I keep the heat on writing, I am posting this story as is, where is until it is finished at which point I promise I will begin the editing process. I am looking for a beta editor, so if you're out there and interested please get in touch. I would love to hear from you. Due to the large host of characters introduced I have included a cast list, which I will continue to update as the story progresses. In the meantime I hope you enjoy (and survive) the first few chapters, I would welcome any comments or feedback. 

THE CAST

George Harrison – Jack’s father, business magnate

Tanya Harrison – Jack’s mother, ex-model

Jack Harrison – One of the heroes of our story. An ass.

Keith Harrison – George’s gregarious elder brother and co-owner of Harrison Global

Francis Harrison – George’s deceased father

Steve Bellamy – One of the heroes of our story. Smart ass

Anthony Bellamy – Steve’s adoptive father

Dana Bellamy – Steve’s adoptive mother

Sophie Bellamy – Steve’s eldest sister

Rick Anderson – Sophie’s boyfriend

Julia Bellamy – Steve’s middle sister

Katherine Bellamy – Steve’s youngest elder sister

Grace Fairchild – The heroine of our story. Kick ass

David Fairchild – Grace’s father, co-owner of Fairchild, Cartwright & Keyes

Janey Kingsley-Kerr – Grace’s beloved aunt, Dave’s sister

Quincy Cartwright – co-owner of Fairchild, Cartwright & Keyes

Herb Keyes – co-owner of Fairchild, Cartwright & Keyes

Dee Dee Keyes – Herb’s wife

Charlotte Rose – Lumley 3 Tutor

Sheard Keefe Draper – close friend of Dave Fairchild

Beatrice “Tressie” – Steve’s biological mother

Richard “Dickie” Clarke – St Valentines school curator

Professor Reynard Kolby Dickinson

Joord Indiana Travert

Sir Walter Delaney – ex Sergeant Major headmaster of St Valentines Preparatory

Theodore Delaney – his son

Abigail Delaney – Theodore’s wife

Penelope Delaney – his wife

Brigitta Delaney – his grand-daughter

Veronika Penners – Brigitta’s room mate

Marcellette Lynwood – Brigitta’s room mate

Charles Crawford – Jacks closest friend

Patrick Sword – Close friend of Jack’s

Stephen Sword – Distinguished Hollywood director & producer, Patrick’s father

Shyla Moore (Maggie Mayson) – former student, Oscar winner

Ms. (Tawny) Lear – Boys Matron

Ms. (Rommy) Sommerfield - Girls Matron

Christoffer Abrahamsen – School brain box & Steve’s good friend

Ena Foster – Old school friend of Dave’s, home economics teacher

Elaine Evenrude-Fox – St. Valentine’s firecracker. A real blast in a glass.

Simon (Never)Downey – Vice-Principal

Celia Downey – Philip’s wife

James Savage – St Valentines rugby captain, Elizabeth’s boyfriend

Elizabeth Penrose - Grace’s friend

Lavinia Lewis – St Valentines Head Girl

Georgie Jack

Octavia Bass

Brooke Anderson

CHAPTER 1

Throughout the 20 years of his career as curator of St Valentine’s preparatory college for young men and women, Richard Clarke, Dickie to his friends, had raised the Union Jack in front of the school’s main building all but two days. The day he was married and 6^th September 2012, his birthday. It was a bitterly cold autumn morning as Dickie wheeled his Voxhaul into the staff car park at the rear of the school. Rubbing his hands together he blew a few breaths to encourage the blood flow. The cold always made his arthritis worse, yet he was comforted by the thought this year would be his swansong. The down payment made on a condo in Malta had cleared and this time next year he and Annie would be languishing in the heat of the Mediterranean. Yet, Dickie reflected as he crunched his way across the gravel to the curator’s cottage at the edge of the park, this is home. At 24 years of age, Dickie Clarke, graduated from the Imperial College of London with a degree in teaching and was almost immediately offered a position in the Science Department of St Valentine’s Preparatory by the newly appointed Headmaster, Sir Walter G. Delaney a decorated ex-Army Sergeant Major who thought nothing of the previous incumbents use of the school’s horticulture room to grow medicinal marijuana. Three months into his tenure Dickie was promoted to Head of Department after the headmaster discovered the professor in charge using the sixth form chemistry class to make methane phentermine’s to fuel a cocaine habit. Sir Walter noted, as he presented his findings to the board that more than a few members seemed more inconvenienced about having to find a new dealer than concerned with the use of school resources. He had been bought in to raise the profile of the once elite establishment, not make friends, he was known to repeat when leaving such meetings. Dickie was Sir Walter’s star. A strapping young man who kept his face clean shaven, socks pulled up and was at least half a foot shorter than himself, an important quality when you’re only 5’8”. Unfortunately for Sir Walter, Dickie had also graduated university with honors in debauchery. His reputation finally caught up with him in a rather compromising position with the wife of an influential board member. The board wanted blood, or to reintroduce methane phentermine’s to the school curriculum, Sir Walter wanted neither but for the sake of Dickie managed to broker a deal that would allow him to remain on with the school if he so choose. Dickie had scoffed at the offer, too young and proud to realize and wrath of a powerful man and had left the school for “greater things” he noted at his leaving do. It took four months of interviews cancelled without explanation, unreturned phone calls and mounting bills for Dickie to knock on Sir Walter’s door and accept the curator position he had held to this date.

As the door opened and lights burst into life Dickie did a quick time check, the past 48 years had softened the edges of both men but punctuality was still next to godliness for Sir Walter, particularly at the beginning of a new term. 2012, chuckled Dickie as he sunk into the well-worn grooves of his office recliner, I never thought I would have seen the day. He allowed himself to reflect on the years that had been, ever since Annie had given him the ultimatum to retire or divorce he had been doing a lot of reflecting on his time with the school. Boy there had been some characters. As curator he had been forced to view these antics as a third party observer, until one day, after 10 years of his exile Sir Walter had appeared in this very cottage and asked him to substitute for a science teacher whose car had broken down. Oh, how marvelous it had been to be back in the classroom with the students. The students, while somewhat baffled by the explanation of car problems as their usual incumbent was widely known to never drive and was in fact a long distance cycling champion, were delighted by the passion and enthusiasm of their new professor who they quickly nicknamed King Dick. King Dick went on to achieve such astonishing pass rates that the board had no option but to reinstate him as a permanent member of the Science Department. Following this appointment the board swiftly decreed all staff events to be attended without partners and as such Dickie served out the next 25 years of his career, at 65 and with flagging health he resumed his former position as curator. Rising to his feet as the kettle clicked done, he patted the appliance fondly “not long to go now old girl.”

“I’ve heard that talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, Richard” asserted Sir Walter as he strode in the door. At 80 years of age he still cut a formidable figure.

“Good morning Walter,” smiled Dickie fetching a second mug from beneath the sink. As he brewed the tea, Sir Walter clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed the cottage. Horrible place really, needs a damn good clean.

“Considering a change in career Walt?” Dickie asked pressing a mug into his hand. Sir Walter stiffened, he hated two things in life, tardiness and being called Walt. He was Walter or Sir, nicknames were over familiar terms of endearment better left for the bedroom.

Dickie knew his friend well and placed a caring hand on the man’s shoulder “don’t take life too seriously Walter.”

“You’ll never make it out alive yes, yes, jolly good Richard,” then as an after thought added, “Thanks for the tea.”

Dickie ambled over to the glass doors that exited onto the side of the school’s largest sports field. His return to the Curator’s position had been conditional upon the upgrade of the cottage, which had been little more than an outhouse with a rotting roof that leaked like a sieve and no source of natural light. True to his word Sir Walter had delivered a masterpiece of architecture, the new cottage included plumbing, electricity a garage for the tractors and most importantly a wall of glass that looked out across the well manicured sports grounds that sprawled beneath the main buildings of the school. The horizon was beginning to glow with the promise of dawn, throwing shadows across the main buildings, which rose like soldiers in the mist across the fields.

Walter sipped on his tea, cringed and wondered if Dickie would ever remember to put in the sugar he always asked for. Dickie sipped on his tea, cringed and wished he would remember which cup he put the sugars in to. Neither man said anything.

It was Dickie who finally broke the silence, “One more year Walter. One more year then Annie and I are heading South for the winter.” Walter, who was a man of very few words longed to express to friend exactly how much he had appreciated his tenure and council over the year. Unfortunately years of military training had beaten any form of sentiment out of him and he merely managed a gruff “hmpf” in response.

Dickie continued undeterred, “I’ll miss this place though. What a run we’ve had.”

“Hmpf,” grumbled Walter rocking back on his heels.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about all the students we’ve had over the years…” Dickie started, at which point Walter, who was completely out his depth emotionally and terrified he might start crying, interrupted by making a show of just catching the time and chastising Dickie for nearly derailing the morning’s activities. Dickie smiled and slowly drained the last of his tea, as he returned the cups to the bench and went to fetch the flag from the cupboard by the door Walter clenched his jaw, clasped his hands and willed the tear in his left eye back into the duct.

Dickie padded back into the room, “Ready for duty Sir.”

Walter nodded curtly and marched past him but was stopped by his contemporary with the offer of a handkerchief.

“For that thing you got in your eye,” Dickie added softly.

Walter’s brow furrowed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” but he snatched the handkerchief and stalked out of the room without another word.

Sprawled across 200 acres of immaculate Bedfordshire countryside, St. Valentines has long been considered one of the great historic schools of England and one of the most beautiful. Founded on 14 February 1712 by the second Earl of Cranfield, St Valentines preparatory was built to rival Eton College in prestige and academic excellence and gave the Earl the perfect outlet to funnel his wife’s considerable family fortune into his other great passion, dog racing. His son, the third Earl of Cranfield, more widely known as the Brilliant Drunk lost the school in 1802 during a round of cards to a wealthy Sheik whose translator, unaccustomed to the effects of British lager, misunderstood the word preparatory and advised the Sheik he was betting on a brothel. Thoroughly excited by the prospect of securing a brothel the Sheik took advantage of the Brilliant Drunk and won the final two rounds of Blackjack with a 19 and a 22, walking away with the school. On arrival at the grounds the Sheik was horrified to discover that far from a brothel St. Valentines was a well-established boarding school attended by 120 boys in three boarding houses. Fortunately for all involved the Earl reclaimed the school the following evening along with a heard of 20 camels and 20 harem girls. The harem girls arrived the following month, it’s still unclear what became of the camels.

The flagpole was situated on a small grass knoll, ringed by gardens and presided over by the resplendent Cranfield building designed & built by the Lucas brothers in 1822. Sir Walter’s crisp military strides echoed evenly in the courtyard, by comparison Dickie’s loping gait sounded like someone was dragging a pig.

“For gods sake man,” hissed Sir Walter, “pick up your feet,” Dickie was too busy watching pair of copulating sparrows to take any notice. Funny, he reflected, that in less than a few hours this peaceful haven would be heaving with hormone addled youths thinking precisely that. He allowed his eyes to drift over the sloping lawn down to the cricket pitch rimmed by rich manicured hedges scintillating in the morning sun and sighed, but what a place to fall in love. Sir Walter, immune to such delicacies of nature, wondered about an upcoming prostate exam.

Reaching the green, Dickie initiated the ritual by ambling up the footpath to the base of the mast, and unwrapping the rope from the guides which secured it. He paused, giving Sir Walter time to recite the schools motto “Gente enim Excellentia Nulla Perago linea,” the race for excellence has no finish line, before attaching the first eyehook to the top of the flag. Dickie’s fingers while slightly arthritic, moved slowly and methodically as he secured the second eyehook on the rope to the lower hole on the flag. Giving it a gentle tug to ensure the rope moved smoothly he waited for the nod from Sir Walter before raising the flag to the top of the mast. Sir Walter stood to attention and saluted the Union Jack, few things filled him with as much pride as the sight of his countries flag flying the mast. Yet as the breeze caught the flag that morning Sir Walter’s eyes went wide and his color puce. “I wish I’d had a camera on me Annie,” Dickie admitted to his wife later that evening, “the look on Walt’s face… you’d think he’d never have seen a tackle in his life.”

There, flying half-mast on the St. Valentine’s flagpole was the Union Jack resplendent with a giant peach cock and balls, embellished with “God Save the Peen”.

Sir Walter’s voice box spluttered, then roared into life “Richard take it down…take it down now!”

Dickie stepped back and craned his neck upwards, “Well I’ll be damned,” he marveled, “I wonder how they snuck that one past me?” Sir Walter, burgundy with rage, stormed up the path and wrenched the rope from Dickie’s hands.

“I don’t care how they snuck it past you, of all the disrespectful, insolent acts,” Dickie, fearing Sir Walter was seconds away from a coronary, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Easy old boy, I’ll deal with this.”

Batting his hand like it was a hot coal, Sir Walter rounded on Dickie “This is your fault Richard. You’re too friendly with the students, let them walk all over you and this is what happens,” Dickie, who often bore the brunt of Sir Walter’s rage busied himself in lowering the offending flag.

“The youth need discipline and leader’s Richard, not washed up science professors trying to be their friends, it’s simply….simply….unprofessional,” spat Walter, “I wont have it, I wont,” Untying the rope from the eyehooks Dickie offered it to Walter who snatched it from his hand.

“I am going to find out who was responsible for this,” he raged stretching the material out between them and examining it like a map, “and there is going to be hell to pay Richard, HELL!” during times like these, Dickie knew it was best to remain silent. Sir Walter paused, held the flag so close to his face it was practically touching his nose then turned and held it out for Dickie to inspect.

His words were calm but laced with venom, “Does that say what I think it does?”

Dickie blinked, none to comfortable at the proximity of the colossal penis to his face, and tried to focus on the square of fabric in question. It took a second for his eyes to adjust and when they did he read the name with a chuckle, “the cheeky sod.”

“Just read the name Richard,” repeated Sir Walter through clenched teeth.

“I believe it says property of Steven Bellamy, Walt.”

Sir Walter’s face remained impassive, a result of years of meticulous training but beneath the calm exterior he seethed with rage.

“Harrison, that little shit,” he hissed, Dickie’s brow furrowed as he read the name again.

“Er, Walt you mean Bellamy? It says right here…”

“I know what it says,” barked Sir Walter, “but if you think for a moment I believe that Steven Bellamy…Steven Bellamy, who obtained distinction in A levels English would spell property, p-i-t-y, then you must think me a very great fool indeed,” as he spoke he began to hop from foot to foot the way he always did when a student got under his collar, “No Richard,” he raged, “This…this,” snatching the flag once again from Dickie’s hands he held it out once again at arms length, “this abomination, is the work of only one man.”

Oh Jack my dear boy, mused Dickie, you’ve cooked your goose now. As was inevitable with all schools, students often came through that left an impression on the staff and none more so than seventeen-year-old Jack Harrison, son of American business magnate George Harrison who had joined the roll after being expelled from firstly Le Rosey, then Eton, and finally Charterhouse within a 12 month period. Dickie had always had a soft spot for bad apples, as Sir Walter so called them, Sir Walter on the other hand believed bad apples should either be cast aside or stewed until they were something useful and had equally effective methods for both. Unfortunately for Sir Walter his traditional military style leadership was often at odds with the elitist board members, which governed the school, yet more often than not St. Valentines was the end of the line for over privileged youths who needed hauling back into line. Jack Harrison was one such bad apple, but over the past 12 months Sir Walter had found that his tactics, far from whittling away the boys soul seemed to only fuel the subversive disobedience. One of Sir Walter’s key impositions was running. Fitness helped both body and mind yet he had lost track of the number of kilometers he had run with Jack at his side over the past year. After a month of morning impositions Jack had met Sir Walter at the front gate of his campus house in a tracksuit that read “Sir Walter’s bitch,” resulting in a further month’s worth of impositions. And the woman! Relationships, of any sort, were strictly forbidden between students yet it was astonishing what ordinarily levelheaded girls could be coerced into doing by that hooligan. Born to a wealthy American father who had attracted an exquisite South African wife, policing the segregation rule between the school’s had suddenly become top of every staff agenda since Jack’s arrival. Sir Walter thanked his stars, not for the first time, that he and his wife Penelope had been blessed with a son Steven who, together with his wife Abigail had, had the presence of mind to send their daughter (his only grandchild) Brigitta away to a Swiss finishing school.

This year, stewed Sir Walter as he meticulously folded the offensive fabric in quarters, afterall part of it remained the Union Jack, he would break Jack Harrison if it was the last thing he did.

“Richard!” he barked, causing Dickie, who had busied himself securing the halyard back to the mast, to start. “You are to find another flag and ensure it is flying at the top of the flagpole by the time the students start arriving at 1000 hours,” Dickie gave a small nod,

“Of course Walt, I’ll go find one right away.”

Lowering his tone Sir Walter continued, “I would appreciate you not breathe a word of this to anyone. I do not want to give Jack Harrison the satisfaction of knowing what he caused this morning, understood?” Dickie gave another nod.

“Understood Walt,” Sir Walter winced and turned on his heel to walk back towards the Cranfield building.

“And Dickie,” he called over his shoulder, “One more thing. If you call me Walt again, I shall have you dismissed,” and with those parting words he strode briskly across the gravel and up the steps into the Cranfield Building. The door clanged shut with a resounding echo leaving Dickie alone in the courtyard.

He stared at the door through which Sir Walter had just departed, shook his head and swore “You old shit,” turning back towards his cottage the pair of copulating sparrows caught his eye again.

“Happy birthday indeed.”

Right around the time Sir Walter Delaney was bellowing about the offending flag, Brigitta Delaney was doing some bellowing of her own.

“Oh Jack…Stop, Stop…Oh No….Oh Yes!” she shrieked until Jack clamped a firm hand over her mouth and pressed his lips against her ear.

“Shut-up!” he hissed, before adding wickedly, “Unless of course you want me to stop?” Pursing her lips together Brigitta shook her head furiously. Until 6 weeks ago, Brigitta’s only interaction with Jack Harrison had been to lust after him whenever the opportunity arose to visit her grandfather’s college. At seventeen years of age, she still carried a generous helping of puppy fat that gave her a comely appearance. Far from a showstopper, there was something about her flawless porcelain skin, kind round face, pouting full lips and thicket of dark ringlets that necessitated a double take. Even so Brigitta had been bowled over when, on summer holiday with her girlfriends in Malaga Jack Harrison sought her out in a club, and insisted they join him and his friends back at his private yacht in the harbor. He had been so persistent in fact that Brigitta had thought nothing of handing him her virginity on a platter against the sink of the 84-foot yachts master bedroom ensuite. It was hardly the romantic encounter she had built up for so many years in her mind, but if Prince Charming existed he would most likely to look like Jack Harrison she reasoned and in its own way had been extremely romantic, particularly afterwards where Jack handed her a towel and offered her the first shower. While smitten, Brigitta was pragmatic and expected to be escorted off the vessel at first light with a kiss on the cheek and an “I’ll call you later” that would never eventuate. She was therefore stumped, when she was woken the following morning by Jack brandishing a tray of breakfast prepared by the boats chef beseeching her and her two friends to stay on as they sailed to Ibiza. The following weeks were a giddying alcohol fueled roller coaster of all night partying, sex and frantic covering of tracks as Brigitta’s over bearing parents expected a daily update as to her alleged “photographic intensive” in Malaga.

“It’s wonderful mummy, Aye’ve taken so many ah-mayzing photos I simplay don’t know how I’ll ever manage to edit them all,” she would lie, whilst reclined on the bow sipping Pims. Like a sixth sense Jack would appear and begin kissing her neck until one day she was so over excited that she dropped the phone off the side of the boat and into the water. It had taken 45 minutes and every ounce of her persuasive ability to convince her parents not to alight on the next plane to Malaga when she finally managed to reach them on Machellette’s phone five minutes later. Brigitta had never felt more alive, or out of her depth in her life.

Now, bunkered down in the yacht’s king sized master suite while their friends terrorized the bay in the 12-foot tender Brigitta wished, not for the first time, that this holiday would never end. Yet despite the euphoria there was a knot in the pit of her stomach that refused to believe this was all to good to be true. Brigitta subdued these thoughts by timidly caressing the powerful bronze shoulders hovering above her. Jack’s eyes softened, “good girl,” he cooed and reached up to gently stroke her face, “I didn’t think you wanted me to stop,” just as he was on his way back down to make her sing the hallelujah chorus there was a knock at the door. Brigitta froze and instinctively drew the bed sheets up around her chest, Jack’s reaction was somewhat more subdued.

“I’m busy,” he mumbled. The knocking persisted and through the door came the upper class drawl of Jack’s closest friend Charles Crawford.

“We have a big problem,” Jack paused and propped himself up on his elbows.

“Charles, I have complete faith that whatever problem it is you will be able to negotiate a resolution,” he looked at Brigitta and winked sending her heart into spasms.

“Jack…I really think you need to come out here now,” he persisted taking great care to annunciate the last four words clearly. Clearly nonplussed Jack threw his friend a “Fuck off,” and was about to continue his tongue tango when the door to the room flew open and in stalked an exquisite blonde entirely over dressed in a black evening gown and pearls followed by an equally over suited man in his late fifties wearing a tuxedo. Brigitta screamed and shot up the bed tearing the bed sheets off Jack who was entirely naked save a raging erection.

“Oh for gods sakes Jack,” drawled the woman, who had clearly seen it all before, “I would have been more surprised if you had been full clothed,” placing her bag carefully on the table she scouted the room, located his boxer shorts and threw them at Jack who seemed entirely comfortable reclining naked on the bed. The gentleman was pacing up and down the room like a carnivore playing with game, every so often he would pause and give the appearance an explosion was imminent before resuming pacing. For Brigitta it was all too much. She looked wide-eyed between Jack, who was begrudgingly pulling on a pair of Calvin Klein’s, the glamorous couple who looked ready to explode, and the door where other members of the contingent were now filming the encounter on their phones and burst into a flood of tears.

Far from the chivalrous knight she had come to know over the past six weeks Jack simply looked at her in disgust and said, “Oh shut up would you, it’s just my parents.”

The stunning blonde clearly unimpressed with her son’s manners threw an apologetic look in her direction and said, “Probably time for you to go sweetheart.”

Cloaking herself in the bed sheet she scurried from the room with nothing but an “I’m so sorry,” whisper.

It wasn’t until she was sitting on the tender with Marchellette and Veronika ready to head to shore that it occurred to her Jack never even said goodbye. The knot she had worked so hard to repress over the past six weeks grew arms, legs and an ugly head and told her she’d had it coming. Yet just as they were about to pull away from the vessel she heard her name and leapt to her feet expecting her white knight to appear by the bow and apologize for such despicable behavior. Unfortunately it was Jack’s charismatically good-natured friend Patrick Sword, not Jack who leant over the bow and handed Brigitta a small bag containing her clothes.

Brigitta couldn’t take it “tell him to call me,” she sobbed desperately.

Patrick, the consummate gentleman looked her dead in the eye and said truthfully.

“Baby, he ain’t never going to call,” and with that the deckhand took his cue to pull the tender away from the boat leaving Marchellete & Veronika to comfort a catatonic Brigitta all the way back to Malaga where her parents were waiting for an explanation as to why the apartment owner had neither seen or heard from the trio in weeks, and why Brigitta was clutching a bed sheet.

George Harrison made his fortune by sticking with his elder brother Keith as they transformed a midsized refining company inherited from their father Francis into the second largest privately held Company in the United States. Often the subject of media commentary, it was widely reported that George was a humble but intensely private man largely owing to the fact he left the entirety of the companies PR in the hands of his gregarious brother. It had dawned on George whilst studying business at the London School of Economics that the reality of propelling his father’s Company to such loft ranks as the top 50 would result in a life never lived far from the spotlight of media attention. For a young man so debilitated by shyness people often apologized to him for instigating conversation it appeared so painful, the thought of fronting media campaigns was tantamount to torture. He formed close, lasting relationships and those who knew him well sung praises of the affable, humble man who would give you the clothes off his back. This retiring nature earned him the nickname the “silent assassin” as when it came to business George was ruthless. He took no prisoners, suffered no fools and entirely refused to compromise in a business negotiation. The 2011 company prospectus listed Harrison Enterprise as having investments in pipelines, refineries, fertilizer, fibers and polymers, forest and consumer products, chemical technology as well as owning a paper products company, Shultz Pacific.

Despite considerable commercial success George maintained that his biggest achievements in life were his marriage, which celebrated 22 years this April and having the self-control not to write his 17 year old son Jack out of his will entirely. While Jack had inherited his father’s ruthless commercial acumen, the combination of Tanya’s perfect genetics had ensured that, on the advent of puberty, Jack’s talents had been wholly devoted to pursuits of the female genitalia and little else. Physically Jack was everything George was not. Blessed with his mothers exquisite bone structure, flawless bronze skin and piercing blue eyes George often wondered how he played any role in creating such a creature. Despite an upbringing that many in their social circle considered highly unconventional due to the frugality and discipline which George and Tanya had raised him, watching his son recline on the bed as if the past two minutes had been an apparition meant he had to concede defeat. They had raised an arrogant, egotistical and mortifyingly spoilt brat.

Tanya Harrison was engrossed in very similar thoughts, only Tanya couldn’t help but colour her concerns with an overwhelming sense of guilt that she had failed in the role she had assumed, and cherished so greatly 16 years ago, of being Jack’s mother. Catching sight of her reflection she sighed. While most woman at her age would sing from the rooftops to still be referred to as breath taking, Tanya’s critical eye only saw the creeping signs of age, exacerbated by emergency flights to Spain. Catching sight of Jack’s school friends still hovering by the rooms entrance she gracefully picked her way over bedding and stood arms folded in the doorway.

“Gentlemen, I hope you can respect the fact this is family matter that we need to discuss with our son,” over the years her voice had lost some of the South African accent that betrayed her heritage, but became more pronounced when she was furious. Being well accustomed to the hurricane that was Jack Harrison, and knowing the almighty parental fist that was about to come down Patrick, Charles and a handful of other boys she didn’t recognize crammed into the ships narrow corridor took it as their cue to depart.

“Patrick, Charles,” She called as an after thought. It went without saying that every one of Jack’s friends had a monumental crush on his mother, they were simply smart enough to avoid telling Jack. At hearing their names the two boys returned abruptly like moths to a flame. Tanya dealt them one of her infamous artic glares, “We will be discussing this little trip of yours later, don’t think I won’t be telling your parents,” and with that she firmly closed the door leaving the two boys in the darkness of the corridor.

“Well shit,” swore Charles, who always sounded slightly comical when saying profanities owing to the plums-in-mouth timbre of his accent, “If my parents find out where we’ve been Grandfather’s going to cut off my trust fund.”

Patrick ran a clammy hand through his dark mop of curls, heart rate elevating.

“You think you’ve got problems, if Jack tells his parents that this whole thing was my idea, loosing my trust fund will be the least of my worries. My father will castrate me. He will actually cut off my dick,” Patrick’s father, distinguished film producer Stephen Sword did not take kindly to his son’s abuse of the privileges he had been afforded. The son of an impoverished Polish immigrant Steven’s father Steven Sobczak, had given every ounce of himself, including his life in pursuit of the American dream, a work ethic passed on to his son. Stephen, lured by the glamour and pageantry that was 1970’s Hollywood had experienced early success in his career with touching exposé’s about the plight of immigrants in urban America. Eventually changing the name from Sobczak to Sword, because it did funny things to news presenters, Stephen became known as the “Movie Midas” turning everything he touched to cinematic gold. The irony that he should profit from the misfortune of his ancestors had not been lost on Stephen who was known to actively lobby popular support for his own political agenda’s through strategically framed movie scenes containing leading Hollywood actors.

“True,” agreed Charles nonchalantly, “but it was Jack’s idea to pick up Delany’s granddaughter which I think is what’s really pissed off his parents. If he’s even half as good at covering his tracks to George and Tanya as he was at pretending to be in love with that pudgy tramp for 6 weeks I think you’ll be just fine, although,” he added considering a thought intensely, “I will admit that her room mates turned out to be absolutely stellar ass.” Patrick felt sick. He’d wanted a summer of drunken debauchery on the high seas with a girl at each Port and had never warmed to the idea of bringing Brigitta and her roommates onto the boat regardless of Jack’s vendetta towards their headmaster. Seeing the utter anguish in her eyes as he handed over the bag of clothes and confessed that Jack wouldn’t call made him feel like he’d not only stuck in the knife but twisted it as well. Patrick had grown really rather fond of Brigitta over the past six weeks, unlike Jack’s usual leggy bed mates he’d been able to hold an actual conversation and found that they shared more than just a few things in common. Brigitta’s over bearing ex-military grandfather resonated with Patrick’s own experiences with his emotionally devoid father. Perhaps I’ll call her? He wondered to himself as he followed Charles back down the corridor to the bunk room they shared, yet he was fairly confident it wasn’t Patrick she would spend nights pining for beside the phone. Perhaps he would find an excuse to visit Switzerland and she could show him some of the mountain walks he had heard so much about? Retrieving his well worn overnight satchel, the only piece of luggage bought with him for the entirety of the 8 week junket Patrick’s thoughts were interrupted by another plums-in-mouth swearing offensive by Charles.

“Fucking whore!” he was raging tearing the linen off his bed in a futile search effort, “She fucking took it, she fucking took it so I would have to call her.”

Confused, Patrick turned to face his friend who had an upended mattress against the wall.

“Took what?” he asked before dodging a pillow flung across the room in the parlay.

Charles, a strapping lad with wide set eyes, a strong jaw and dress sense not usually seen off a golf course, rounded on Patrick, who stood nearly a foot taller, dark eyes flashing.

“My camera’s missing, I think that fucking bitch Veronika’s taken it so I’d have to call her again.”

“Is that all?” scoffed Patrick, turning back to his packing, “just buy another one, for fucks sake.”

“You don’t think I thought of that,” hissed Charles through clenched teeth, “It’s not the camera that I need, it’s the pictures that are on it,” something about the quaver in his voice made Patrick turn and face his friend with narrowed eyes.

“What exactly was on that camera Charlie,” Charles moved uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“Just a few mementos of our vacation.”

Patrick’s eyes narrowed into slits and he took great care to stress the next four words carefully “What kind of mementos?”

Charles exhaled rapidly, pushed his palms against his forehead and looked up at his friend.

“Shit I don’t know Patty photos. Photos of the last 8 weeks! Photos of us drinking and the girls, and the parties and…” he faltered.

“The drugs?” Patrick offered up.

Charles met his eyes awkwardly and nodded, “Everything…no one was meant to see them.”

Patrick abruptly sat down on the bed, swore then jumping up again pushed Charles firmly in the chest with both hands.

“Jesus Fucking Christ Charlie! What the fuck were you thinking?!” Charles, who had stumbled back against the wall never took to kindly to being pushed around and exploded forwards grabbing Patrick by the shirt.

“Hey, It’s not like I planned to make a coffee book okay?! They were just pictures of the crazy fucking time we stole Harrison’s super yacht…I didn’t mean for anyone else to see them….FUCK!” turning he punched the mattress leaning against the wall. Patrick realized they were getting nowhere fast and changed his approach.

“Look, when’s the last time you remember having the camera? Today’s been crazy, maybe it’s still on the boat?” Charles shook his head.

“No, the last time I had it was about an hour ago, we were using it when George and Tanya turned up.”

“Using it for what exactly?” Patrick asked, the look he received in return told him everything he needed to know, “You’re a vein fucking pig Charles,” he spat, “You know, I’m glad she took the camera, it shows she still has some self-respect.”

Charles gave him an subzero scowl, “I’d hardly set my moral compass by your bearings Sword, remind me again what the names were of those fetching girls were you kept me locked out of the room for a few nights back.”

Patrick went crimson and looked at the floor. What was the point of being in Ibiza if you didn’t live a little? “Well what’s your plan to get it back?” he mumbled.

Charles shook his head, “I don’t know, I’m thinking alright…any bright ideas?”

Patrick’s mind churned, he and Jack had a rich history of covering for each other’s misdemeanors yet even Jack couldn’t cover for him if those photos were leaked to the press, he’d be fighting his own world of shit.

“Fucking bitch, I knew I should have picked that other one,” Charles grumbled beside him. A switch flicked in Patrick’s head.

“Okay, I’ve got a plan,” perhaps he would be visiting Switzerland in the near future after all.

Still reclined, half naked on the disheveled mess of the king sized bed, Jack was willing to admit that this time they’d probably gone too far. He watched his mother pick her way across the room to close the door on Patrick and Charles before shifting his attention to his father who had opened the liquor cabinet and poured himself a generous Scotch.

Around two years ago over the course of a summer Jack had, at age 14, shot up nearly two feet in height and started turning heads for more than simply his famous last name. Since this moment, armed with the misguided adoration of most females he encountered, and a large portion of the men, he had learned the power of a decent charm offensive which he could turn on and off like a tap, often at a moments notice. The attention was always intense and always on Jack’s terms, in fact it had been well documented that many well-educated, levelheaded young women had been reduced to train wrecks of emotional turmoil in the aftermath of his flings.

Two people entirely immune to the effects of such behavior were currently standing in this room. Tough crowd, he thought raising his eyebrows before throwing a casual “You look superb mother,” in case he had misjudged them. An artic glare from Tanya put to rest any thoughts Jack may have had about pleasantries.

 “Don’t even think about trying to talk your way out of this one Jack,” turning to her husband she tenderly relieved him of the Scotch and took a swig. Shit, thought Jack and braced himself for the blitzkrieg. The silence was eerie and was followed by the one thing that could have unhinged him in the slightest, a single tear fell down the cheek of his much adored mother and dropped neatly onto the carpet. Jack, although he would never admit it, thought the world of his parents and for the first time felt a pang of regret tug at his middle.

With every intention of apologizing Jack pushed himself off the bed and stepped towards his mother with a hurt little boy voice.

“Mom….” but Tanya Harrison was having none of it and unleashed a torrent of fury that had been building since the Captain, having been unceremoniously dumped at the Port of Malaga nearly 6 weeks ago owing to the fact he was a notorious creep who insisted on wearing speedos when off duty, finally managed to obtain their private line where he took great satisfaction in imparting the whereabouts of their son, their $82 million dollar luxury yacht come floating frat house before finally advising the Harrison’s of the obscene $400,000 per week crew rate due on the 30^th of the month. Residents of the bay in which they were presently moored gathered around their windows listening to the disembodied voice of a woman switching erratically between English and what were rumored to be Afrikaans profanities. Jack, who was feeling horrendously guilty, compensated by being even more obnoxious and intolerable. 

“Oh I’m sorry Mum,” he spat, “Are you cross that I took the yacht or simply that I inconvenienced you so much you had to leave whatever function you were at to come sort it out?” George resisted the urge to hit his son across the room, and placed a firm hand on his wife’s shoulder to prevent her from doing the same. 17 years experience had taught him you didn’t win by fighting his son with fire. Eyeballing Jack with a tight jaw and calm demeanor he chose his words carefully.

 “I’m glad you asked Jack, your mother and I were mostly disappointed that the boat wasn’t available for the charter voyage it had scheduled two days back,” Jack rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“So money…that’s what this is all about for fucks sa…” George, who utterly detested swearing, shook his head in disappointment, which only served to make Jack feel even worse.

“Actually son,” continued George, clasping his hands firmly in front of him lest they did something silly like strangle his son, “The boat was chartered out to the Harrison Foundation this week, I understand they had planned to use it to host their ‘Nominate a Star’ programme,” Established by his parents in the late 80’s The George & Tanya Harrison Foundation had become the largest transparently operated private foundation in the world. Donations from the foundation totaled around $1.5 billion dollars annually generally in endeavors to enhance healthcare, expand educational opportunities, reduce extreme poverty and improve access to information technology. In previous years Jack had often accompanied his parents to various Foundation functions, including attending the extremely popular Nominate a Star programme that was aimed at giving under privileged youths the opportunity to spend their Summer holiday in an exotic location, while attending core leadership and development intensives designed to help them break the cycle of poverty. Jack knew how important the Foundation was to his parents, and more importantly those who benefitted from the funding. His face was deadpan, yet he wanted to put as much distance between him, this yacht and the memories of the last 6 weeks as possible. George watched his son slowly sit back down on the bed and realizing he had made his point so decided to ease up marginally.

“We got a call from the foundation last week,” he continued, “they arrived at the dock to set up but the boat hadn’t been seen in weeks. Unfortunately we couldn’t reach the Captain,” at which point he paused to add, “he’s fine by the way, enjoying Malaga.”

Jack threw up his hands in defeat, “Look I get it…Whatever…I’m sorry okay!”

Tanya who had been busy recounting Jack’s childhood in an attempt to understand at exactly which point her angelic child had become a demonic monster, narrowed her eyes at her son.

“Sorry? Jack have you got any idea what kind of damage you’ve caused?”

“Just add it to my tab,” he retorted rudely.

George mentally counted to ten.

“Well I thought you’d be pleased to know that we were able to accommodate the Foundation on another vessel so they’ve managed just fine,”

“Then what’s the problem?” asked Jack meeting his gaze evenly.

“Nothing a little elbow grease couldn’t fix I suspect,” replied his father with a hint of a smile, “I’ve arranged with the Captain for the vessel to be docked in Ibiza until the end of the week and have had the crew stood down which should give you plenty of time,” Jack looked up at him through his sun bleached hair.

“Time for what?”

“To clean the ship of course,” said his mother, and throwing back the final mouthful of Scotch placed the tumbler on the table behind her husband. Jack stared from his mother to his father and back in disbelief he suddenly roared with laughter.

“You’re kidding right?”

Tanya stepped forward and ruffled her son’s sun bleached hair.

“Oh babes, not at all, but don’t worry you and all your little friends will make light work of this small thing,” Jack batted away her hand and shook his head, eyes wide.

“No! I’m not cleaning the ship and I’m certainly not fucking getting my friends to clean it,” at the mention of a swear word George’s mouth pursed into a thin line before he lowered his voice and said very clearly.

“Jack, you will clean this boat until I am comfortable I can eat my dinner of the god damned bathroom floor. We can stay here as long or as short as it takes son, it’s up to you but if this boat is not spotless by Saturday when you’re due back at school then so help me god I will simply park it up until your winter break and you can keep cleaning then.” Jack glared at his father.

“You wouldn’t dare,”

George returned the look “Try me.”

Jack considered firing something entirely inappropriate back at his father but instead hurled himself back onto the bed spread eagle and swore loudly.

“This fucking sucks.”

“Just think,” chirped his mother who had perked up considerably since dealing him the cleaning blow, “If you finish early you’ll get to head back to school for a whole new year with all those people you’re always telling us about,”

Jack waved his wrist around in circles above his head and mumbled sarcastically “Whoop de-fucking-doo.”

Choosing to ignore her son Tanya continued, “What’s that young man’s name that you’re always talking about, Steve, Steven?” Jack propped himself up on his elbows and looked at his mother incredulously.

“Bellamy?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, turning her attention to the mirror and brushing an imaginary hair strand back behind her ear, “Steven Bellamy, that’s the one you’re always talking about.”

“Steven Bellamy is about as far from a friend as you can get Mom,” Jack was keen to change the subject. He didn’t feel the need to devote any personal time to thinking about his least favorite schoolmate, his mother shrugged her delicate shoulders.

“I’m just repeating what I hear from you Jack,” before adding coyly, “Perhaps you could find a girlfriend?” Always with the girlfriends, sighed Jack flopping back on top of the bed.

“I don’t need just one girlfriend Mom. Incase you hadn’t noticed, I’ve got plenty,” out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of his father admiring Tanya as she flattened out the skirts of her evening gown. Presently Jack couldn’t think of anything worse than being shackled to one person when there was so many exotic locations he had yet to explore, that said he was the first to admit that what his parents had was something very special indeed and eventually he wouldn’t mind finding something similar. Eventually.

“Yes,” agreed his mother dryly, “I had noticed,” then catching his eye in the mirror add “and stay away from Brigitta Delaney St. Valentine’s was the last school your father an I could negotiate you in to.”

“You mean buy,” muttered Jack under his breath, feeling at least pleased he could make good on the bargain with Brigitta Delaney. It was certainly no coincidence that he had encountered Brigitta and her friends in Malaga, making the encounter appear casual on the other hand had taken weeks of meticulous planning. Brigitta had bored him to tears with the incessant talk about Switzerland and her beloved grandfather, Jack didn’t even want to start on her parents, Christ what a nightmare they’d been! At least that had provided a nice challenge to keep him on his toes. Well aware of the pain his fling inflicted on the other party, Jack didn’t make a habit of singling out girls as objects of his desire. Truth be told he’d never really cared enough about any of them to bother, but ever since Sir Walter’s imposition regime ensured Jack was awake and running each morning at 0515 he knew it was going to take something monumental to crack such a tough nut. Not as unobservant as most would imagine, Jack had noticed Brigitta Delaney visiting her grandfather on a number of occasions and decided that while she was hardly a star attraction, Brigitta would fulfill his purposes precisely. In all fairness it had been a relatively bearable 6 weeks but for Jack who was usually unable to keep up pretenses of liking anyone for 6 weeks save perhaps himself, it had been a long and arduous sentence and he had altogether relieved to see Brigitta streaking from the bedroom 60 minutes ago. He was fairly confident that while his memory of Brigitta would fast fade, he had made more than a lasting impression on her.

“Don’t worry about Brigitta mom, it’s over.”

Reapplying her lipstick in the mirror, Tanya paused and waggled a well manicured figure at him “You need to be careful with people’s hearts Jack, or one day your philandering may come back to bite you on the ass.”

Jack treated his mother to one of his mega-watt smiles “If I’d known I could get bitten on the ass I would have been more careless.” George shook his head in disgust.

“Don’t be lewd,” Jack shrugged his shoulders, the picture of innocence.

“Mom started it?” Replacing the cap on her lipstick Tanya smacked her lips together and spun on her heel.

“You say that now Jack, but don’t come crying to me when you meet some nice girl you want to impress and she asks you about your past.” Jack yawned, bored with the conversation. He didn’t want to think about girlfriends and definitely not the kind that wanted to talk about your past. George decided there had been quite enough talk for one day and intervened by lobbing Jack’s top to him across the room.

“Time to get to work son,” Jack looked at him unsmiling.

“I thought you were kidding,” George gave his son the original mega-watt smile and shook his head.

“Not in the slightest kiddo, get to work. You’re mother and I will be out on the poop deck enjoying what’s left of our alcohol cabinet,” and placing a gentle hand in the small of his wife’s back, he led Tanya from the room.

Realizing his father had pulled one of his famous no negotiation deal closing lines on him, Jack leapt off the bed and made a frantic dash for the door calling, “What do you expect me to do?” down the corridor at his back.

Reaching the staircase George turned and with a hint of a smile replied, “Clean up your mess for once son,” before disappearing from sight.

“Fuck!” Jack swore, hitting the wall with his palm in frustration. Turning he surveyed the bedroom, took a swinging kick at a pillow sending it ricocheting off the wall and straight into a bedside lamp which shattered on the floor. Jack clenched his fists, you’ve got to be kidding me, only the voice of his friend Patrick Sword prevented him from throwing the remnants against the wall.

“Alright cupcake?”

Jack wheeled around eyes blazing, “No I’m not fucking well alright! It was your idea to come on this stupid trip, and once again I’m the one that takes all the blame.”

“Oh please,” scoffed Charles pushing his way past Patrick into the room, “If I had stolen my parents yacht there’s no way I would have got away with just having to clean the bloody thing, and besides, it’ll give us another few days in Ibiza before we head back to school,” catching sight of himself in the mirror Charles, who was appallingly vein straightened out his polo shirt and attempted to grow three inches in height. Patrick, too embarrassed to admit he was overwhelmingly relieved that Jack had once again taken the fall for him, and too scared that Jack may hit him if he made a joke of it all, simply leant against the wall and shrugged noncommittally.

“Well provided neither of you tossers drops the soap in the bathroom while we’re cleaning it I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Footsteps approaching down the hallway caused them all to turn, where they saw Tanya Harrison still resplendent in her evening gown juggling two buckets a mop and various cleaning utensils none of the three had ever laid eyes on.

“Here you go gentlemen,” she said handing them each an apparatus, “I suggest you start at one end and work your way back,” she took in one unsmiling face after another and cooed.

“Oh boys, boys, boys, when will you learn that age and wisdom will always beat youth and beauty,” and with that she pinched her sons cheek lovingly and sashayed gracefully out of site.

Patrick’s eyes lingered after her, she really was the most stunning woman, Charles caught sight of himself in a wall hanging and began adjusting his hair, Jack stalked sourly into the bathroom and began filling the bucket. He wasn’t going to waste another moment on this floating house of horrors. This boat was beginning to make another term with Steve Bellamy look bearable a thought that alarmed him to no end.

 Between 2008 and 2012, St. Valentines had increased its annual tuition fee by nearly 60 percent. The issue was tabled for discussion at the annual parents committee meeting where those present agreed unanimously that the £54,300 annual sum was paltry when compared to the hassle of raising teenagers and was swiftly removed from the agenda. It seemed to Dickie, who had often observed the pageantry of farewells over his years at St. Valentines, that the performance of many parents had started to border on the ridiculous. With the colossal number of tissues used by some, he could never be sure if they were drying their tears or making a nest. “I’d probably believe them too,” he related to Annie on arriving home in the evening, “If they didn’t look so damn pleased when they sped out the gate.”

CHAPTER 2

Following the arrival of their third daughter, and desperate for a son, Anthony and Dana Bellamy had initiated the adoption process through Adoption for Life (AFL) a well-respected international agency. Four years, two disappointments and countless interviews later they were about to revoke their application when they received the call they had been dreaming of. A baby boy had just been delivered to the unmarried daughter of a prominent conservative who, on discovering the illegitimate pregnancy and anxious it might impact on his campaign for Minister which included the tagline “Abstinence – 100% Pure for England” had swiftly bundled her off to stay with his wife’s pious Aunt in the Lakes District. Beatrice, who went by Trissie, had been entirely enraptured with the idea of having a baby, and wasn’t at all amused when the visiting obstetrician took great care to guide her through the different phases of pregnancy and outlined some of the parameters, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she shrieked upon discovering that smoking and drinking were significantly discouraged, “what the hell do you expect me to do for the next 7 months?” Trissie’s kindly Aunt Marion, crossed herself from the kitchen and spent the next 7 months praying for the soul of the bastard child. With one month to go Trissie was miserable. She looked like the Michelen Man had swallowed a beach ball and had experienced none of the glowing effects women raved about during pregnancy. Desperate to get back to her friends and reconnect with her ankles she finally picked up one of the adoption pamphlets she received on a fortnightly basis from her parents. The obstetrician strongly advised against any form of bonding following the birth when she informed him she had decided to adopt, but Trissie was adamant, and as she cradled her son in her arms following a very long and difficult labor turned to the midwife and said, “bring me a pen.”

Arriving at the hospital less than an hour after he was born, neither the AFL agency representative who had worked with the family over the past four years or Dana Bellamy couldn’t contain themselves as Dana was handed the swaddled baby.

“Oh Anthony,” sobbed Dana marveling at the baby’s this head of dark hair and smooth olive skin, “he’s perfect, just perfect.” Anthony, a levelheaded Civil Engineer who had never understood the palaver made over newborns, took one look at his handsome son and would from then on relate the story as the proudest moment in his life, except when his daughter’s were within earshot at which point it was moved to second after the soccer result. The agency representative, trying desperately to retain composure, only managed to look like a grieving Panda as she retrieved the formal documentation and cleared her throat.

“There’s a few things you need to know.”

Trissie had specified three criteria for her son’s adoption. Firstly, that his middle name be Sheard after his biological father. Secondly, that he attend her old school St. Valentine’s Preparatory in Bedfordshire courtesy of a generous grant she would make to the agency within the week. Finally, that under no circumstances was her son to contact her. The midwife had paused when Trissie asked her to write this final clause and watched as the young woman gazed forlornly at the agency representative gently bouncing the sleeping newborn in her arms. Aware she was being watched, Trissie pulled herself together and snapped, “If I wanted a son I would have kept him.” Her father, entirely out of his depth emotionally, turned the radio up twice on the way back to London Trissie’s sobbing was so hysterical.

True to their word, Steven Sheard became the newest member of the Bellamy family and an instant celebrity with his elder sisters. In her second unselfish act that week, two days after she left hospital, Tressie visited firstly her lawyer and then her father’s financial advisor withdrawing her trust fund in its entirety. Following a quick diversion through Marks, for a fetching pair of fuschia pumps, she transferred the remaining sum to AFL causing the poor Accountant to inhale his egg sandwich and nearly choke when he reviewed the accounts the following morning. Excusing himself for an early lunch, confirming his wife’s suspicions that he was having an affair when the receptionist relayed the story five minutes later at 9:24am, the Accountant bought himself a whiskey and, not for the first time in his career counted the countries exempt from extradition. Returning to the office six drinks later, confirming the receptionist’s suspicions that he was an alcoholic, he requested the Bellamy’s phone number and locked himself in his office to make the call.

“Oh god Anthony,” gasped Dana when her husband returned to the room white as a sheet clutching the phone against his chest, “has someone died?” Anthony looked at his wife and shook his head, yet it took another 5 minutes before he could relate the whole story in coherent sentences. At the end of the conversation the Bellamy’s had agreed on little except that honesty would not be the best policy when it came to their sons colossal educational inheritance.

Seventeen year old Steve Bellamy rocked back on his heels and eyed the slender brunette across the court as she bounced a tennis ball repeatedly.

“Are you going to hit that ball Soph or should I give you two some time?” he taunted, causing her to flick him a stiff middle finger. Leaning casually on his racket the athletic man beside her looked at her affectionately.

“Come on babe, it’s a social game, just hit the ball.”

“Shut up both of you,” she frowned lobbing the ball into the air and smashing it across the net. Julia, Steve’s athletic middle sister, returned the shot easily, and although Rick, Sophie’s affable partner had the shot lined up Sophie threw herself in the firing line and pelted the ball back across the net. Steve countered with a lazy backhand and scored the closing point throwing his competitive elder sister into a swearing frenzy. Leaving Rick to placate his sister, Steve slung his arm around Julia’s shoulders and strode off the court to where Kate, the youngest of his three sisters’ was lounging reading a book. She squinted reprovingly at her siblings over the top of the pages.

“Did you really have to do that an hour before you leave? Now I’ll have to deal with her all afternoon.”

Steve shrugged and unscrewed a bottle of water “I can’t help it if she’s a bad loser,”

“And dreadful at tennis,” giggled Julia, who was stretching against the net.

Kate, the resident peacekeeper shushed them both but couldn’t hold back the smile as her competitive elder sister stalked off the court and back towards the house. A few moments later Rick joined them and gratefully accepted the bottled water Steve extended to him.

“She’ll be fine,” he said to no one in particular, wincing slightly as he heard the back door slam. Steve patted him on the back fondly, he had a lot of time for Rick and not only because he was the long suffering other half of his eldest sister Sophie.

“You’re a giant amongst men Rick.”

“Happy wife happy life,” shrugged Rick before scuffing him on the shoulder, “but maybe next time you could help a brother out, there’s nothing wrong with throwing a game every now and then.”

Steve flashed him a lopsided grin, “For a brother I’ve got no problem throwing a game, come see me when that happens.”  Rick, who had been an honorary member of the family for nearly 10 years, and had been giving the very subject a great deal of thought lately simply raised his eyebrows and said mysteriously.

“You never know, you might get lucky.”

Dana, watching her children from the kitchen saw her eldest daughter steaming towards the house like an exotic freight train and braced herself.

“Argh!” vented Sophie, slamming the back door and throwing open the refrigerator, “he’s such a little shit!”

“Sophie!” she scolded although not harshly enough as to discourage her daughter from continuing the story, which she was desperate to hear.  Armed with a bottle of orange juice Sophie spun to face her mother, dark eyes flashing.

“Oh shut up Mum!” she bit, “For once could you just pretend like Steven isn’t your favorite child?”

“Hey!” bellowed her father, roused from his crossword in the next room, “You do not speak to your mother that way,” with an acerbic look Sophie snatched a glass off the bench and stalked out of the room. Watching her leave Dana wished, not for the first time, that her eldest daughter wasn’t such a bitch. Anthony studied his wife fondly from the kitchen table.

“You okay Smoodge?”

Dana exhaled and walking around the breakfast bar, wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and planted a kiss on his head.

“I guess with Steve leaving and Sophie’s new job, we’re all just a little on edge,” through a near miracle Sophie had managed to secure a coveted teaching fellowship at an extremely well regarding Swiss boarding school which had surprised no one more than Sophie herself. Absolutely terrified at the prospect of failure, and utterly miserable about leaving Rick, she responded by acting even more atrocious than usual.

Anthony peered up at his wife doubtfully.

“Smoodge, that girl has been living on edge for 26 years of her life, it’s a miracle she hasn’t grown talons and a set of wings.”

“Oh enough you,” she replied batting him playfully, internally she felt rotten. Over the years she had tried desperately hard to ensure each of her four children received an equal portion of her time and attention, a fact entirely lost on her eldest daughter, who’s attention tank ran permanently on empty. The patio doors were flung open interrupting both her thoughts and the peace of the room as firstly her daughters followed closely by Steve & Sophie’s affable partner Rick spilled into the room howling with laughter.

“Good game?” enquired Anthony without looking up from his paper.

“Eventful,” Steve grinned lobbing the tennis ball at him, catching it easily Anthony raised his eyebrows.

“We noticed. That event rolled through here about 5 minutes ago.”

Rick took that as his cue to scuttle from the room, gratefully accepting a glass off the tray Dana extended, while Steve slouched into the chair beside his father.

“Sorry Dad,” he drawled sounding like he was anything but, and leaning back glanced at the crossword, “34 down, curmudgeon.”

“Smart ass,” muttered Anthony, dragging his finger across the page and penciling in the word. Steve winked.

“You’re welcome old man.”

In an attempt to prevent civil war between their children, the Bellamy’s had asked the Accountant to place the money into a trust which Steve could access under the pretense of a scholarship. They had entered the ruse with every intention of telling their son, although as they watched him flourish under the single-minded pursuit of academic excellence they came to an agreement that perhaps a little white lie amongst family wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Steve, knowing how much the scholarship meant to his parents, swallowed the desperate homesickness and frequent taunts from his well-heeled schoolmates achieving astonishing results. The mere thought of returning to St. Valentine’s for another term made him feel physically sick, yet when he saw the pride in his parents eyes when they retold the story he realized this was bigger than him and some things were better left unsaid.

“30 minutes until we head to the airport,” called his mother from the kitchen.

Pushing himself from the chair and stretching like a cat Steve was picture of nonchalance.

“Suppose I should pack then,” he yawned, terrified that if he moved any faster his stomach would eject the contents of lunch across the kitchen table. Seeing the look on his Mother’s face he laughed and added, “I’m kidding!”

Safe upstairs with his bedroom door firmly shut Steve stuck his head between his legs and took a few deep breaths.

“10 weeks,” he told himself, “10 weeks until you’re back home. You can do this.” A knock at the door had him on his feet in seconds.

“Steve are you in there?” opening the door a crack Steve came face to face with Rick who was white, clammy and in decidedly worse shape than he.

“Can I come in?” he asked out of courtesy not waiting for a response before he entered the room and closed the door behind him. Steve, who hadn’t moved turned to face him.

“Everything alright?”

Without speaking Rick reached into his pocket and lobbed a small dark object at him. Steve opened the ring box and looked at the striking solitaire diamond, then up at the sweating mess of a man.

“For me? Oh Rick, you shouldn’t have.”

Rick, who was not the slightest bit interested in being teased, showed the first evidence of a back bone in the 10 years Steve had known him by snapping, “Oh shut-up alright, I want to ask Sophie to marry me.”

Steve, reading the signs, quit the act and said earnestly, “I’ve heard a diamond is a good start.”

Rick, clearly stressed, ran a hand through his hair, “I had it all planned out, I was going to wait until everyone was at the airport and I was going to do it there. I know Soph can be a bitch, but your family is everything to her. Every time I think about the airport all I see is thousands of people staring at us and I just…just,” his breathing was short and rasping. Perturbed by the change in fortunes, and fearing his soon to be brother-in-law might asphyxiate himself before he popped the “big question” Steve put a strong hand on his shoulder and forced him to sit on the bed.

“I think you should probably concentrate on breathing before you even start to think about any grand romantic gestures right now bud.” Rick glanced up at him with wide eyes.

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing Steve? God knows I love Soph more than anything in the world. I can’t imagine life without her,” Steve, who had imagined life without his eldest sister plenty of times, looked at him kindly.

“I think that when you love someone as much as you love Sophie, you make the world a worse place by choosing not to be together.”

They sat in silence. If Sophie goes I wonder if I could take her room, thought Steve irrationally. A second knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and Sophie’s head appeared in the gap.

“There you are,” she sighed in relief then paused to take in the scene. Rick sitting tense on the bed Steve standing above him still holding the ring-box. Sophie’s dark eyes narrowed into slits and darted from one to the other. “What’s going on here?”

With slow deliberate movements Steve attempted to remove the ring-box from sight, but Sophie didn’t miss a beat and placing her hands on her hips focused her attention on Rick, who was trembling like a greyhound.

“Rick, what the hell is going on here?” Steve, wishing he was anywhere in the world but his bedroom decided that evasive tactics were required and attempted to dodge his sister and make a run for the door. Sophie, although substantially shorter than her younger brother possessed astonishing strength for her size, and leapt at his back like a Lion on prey.

Yelling, screeching and tumbling down the hallway with Rick clambering after them they spilled into the lounge in a pile causing Steve to let go of the ring box which went flying through the air landing a few feet out of his reach. Sophie sprung at the box and wrenched it open triumphantly revealing the ring. Her subsequent shriek drew the rest of the family, who stood dumbfounded, trying to make sense of the situation. Eventually Anthony voiced what was on everyone’s mind.

“What the hell is going on here?” Steve, ordinarily a bottomless source of one-liners simply looked at Rick and said.

“I think Rick has something to say.”

As if someone had activated his on switch, Rick’s face erupted into life and he darted across the room to where Sophie stood on unsteady feet. Taking her small hand in his he beamed at her.

“Soph, I wanted this moment to be absolutely perfect for you but it’s completely gone to shit,” dropping to one knee he caused a collective inhalation from all women in the room. “Marry me,” Sophie, who looked like she was about to pass out only managed to croak out a syllable that sounded like it started with a Y before Dana cried out.

“Of course she will!” causing the rest of the room to erupt into hollers and cheers. Steve, who was still watching the scene from where he had landed on the floor was eternally grateful people assumed it was the euphoria of his sisters engagement, not the crippling homesickness that was the root of the tears streaming down his face.

CHAPTER 3

Discarding his sixth cigarette of the hour Dave Fairchild fingered the packet on the table and finding nothing swore loudly, causing the elderly couple enjoying breakfast on the terrace next door to frown at him unpleasantly.

“Oh fuck off,” muttered Dave, retreating back into the hotel room and coming face to face with his daughter and reason for his chain-smoking binge.

Still in her pajama’s Dave’s seventeen year-old daughter stood arms folded looking not at all impressed.

“I thought you said you’d quit,” she said evenly. Dave would never be able to intimate to his daughter that over the summer his worst nightmare had become a reality. Growing up the only daughter of an accountant father, fashion and appearances had never been an agenda item in the Fairchild household. Until recently this had suited Grace just fine as she had been an awkward teenager whose features, while nice enough in isolation, had never looked quite right together all at once. Desperate to ensure she had a feminine influence Grace always spent a week of spring break with Dave’s sister Janey, only this time had not been like the others. Whether he had been unintentionally ignoring the changes in his daughter or deliberately blocking them out Dave felt like he had been hit by a bus when he had arrived at Janey’s to collect her and instead of the slightly awkward teen, an absolutely stunning young woman had launched herself at him in the doorway.

“So what do you think Dad?” she had asked him eagerly, twirling around to reveal a new hairdo resplendent with creamy blond highlights and wardrobe that revealed far too much skin for Dave’s liking.

“You look…” he struggled for words before admitting truthfully “Wow!” satisfied Grace had bounced off down the hall leaving her poor father staring after her in disbelief.

“I know it’s a change,” admitted Janey, handing him a coffee a few minutes later, “but she’s not a little girl anymore, I just can’t get over how amazing she looks, and so much like Susan,” keen to avoid the ever sensitive topic of Grace’s mother she continued, “she needed this, especially going off to a new school.”

Dave, who’s only thought was that his sister needed a bullet, simply sipped his coffee and prayed he hadn’t made an entirely misguided decision to send his daughter to his old school for her sixth and upper-sixth years. How was he supposed to sleep at night knowing Grace was at a coed boarding school looking like that? It was right after this he had taken up smoking again.

“Dad!” Grace’s sharp reproach bought him out of his daydream. He looked at her standing in front of him, hazel eyes blazing, forehead creased in a frown. Even in pajamas with her blonde curls stuck to her head she was still a vision. No father should have to endure letting a daughter like this out of his sight around teenage males. Males at all, for that matter. Dave side stepped around her and into the kitchen foraging for the second packet of cigarettes he had stashed earlier.

“If you’re looking for the smokes I threw them out,” came the voice from the lounge. Striding over to the bin Dave opened the canister.

“Give me some credit Dad,” said Grace appearing at the breakfast bar, and seeing him looking in the rubbish scrunched up her nose, “I threw them into the skip downstairs, and ewww Dad that’s just nasty.”

Dave could feel himself getting twitchy, he needed a cigarette to calm his nerves before they started the journey up the M1 to Bedfordshire. Grabbing his wallet and keys off the hotel table he kissed her on the head.

“I’m going out,” and without giving her the chance to respond exited the room with a slam.

Grace stood in the empty room at a complete loss. Her father had been acting weird ever since he had arrived at Aunt Janey’s two weeks ago. Smoking was just the tip of the iceberg. As if summer wasn’t punishing enough, he had taken to insist she left the house in nothing short of a Burka. No skirt seemed long enough, no top high enough and in the end Grace had simply removed bikinis from the agenda altogether less she give her father an asthma attack. Even though she was terrified at the thought of starting a new school she had to admit it would be a welcome relief from the one stop band of crazy her father had become over the past couple of weeks. Returning to her bedroom in the apartment her father had rented Grace perched on the edge of the bed and stared at the uniform hanging on the wardrobe as if at any second it might leap up and assault her.

St. Valentines, she had heard so many stories from her father about his old school. He had met many of his closest friends at Prep, as he called it, people who had regaled Grace with stories of debauchery, wild parties, hard work and camaraderie. Grace, who had loathed her previous school, an all girls affair in Switzerland, figured that if nothing else it would be a nice change of scene.

Students weren’t required to present in uniform on their first day of term, although they were required to dress formal for the mandatory “Term Dinner,” put on for families in the evening. Grace, who up until three weeks ago had barely spent anytime in a shopping mall, was eternally grateful for her Aunt Janey who had helped her buy so many new outfits three quarters of them had already been sent directly to the school. For the dinner she had selected a cream silk dress that emphasized what little tan she had managed to obtain over the summer, and worked marvelously with her recently lightened hair. Girls in sixth and above, the invitation had specified, were allowed to wear heels. Grace, having never worn heels in her life, looked much like a baby giraffe on roller skates when her Aunt had finally coerced her into a pair. After that encounter it was agreed between the women that wedge heels and flats were where she belonged, and as such had selected a pair of modest open toed nude wedges for the evening.

She checked her phone. No messages. Not that she was surprised, the girls would be getting ready to arrive at Du Champs in Switzerland which was extremely formal and required each to arrive at a designated appointment time that had eventually broken Grace’s resolve.

“My bladder does not run to a time schedule,” she had shrieked at her father after receiving her third imposition of the month resulting from a failure to return from a bathroom break within the mandated timeframe. At the time her father had been thrilled she had finally shown interest in attending his old school St. Valentines preparatory. Now it seemed that every time she mentioned school his face would darken over and he would withdraw from the conversation.

She checked her phone again. Still nothing. She was dying to hear about the crazy holiday her closest girlfriends had just been on in the Mediterranean. Grace, who was meant to have joined Veronika in Malaga had opted to remain with her Aunt instead. It must have been a fairly wild few weeks though as after arriving home yesterday Veronika had been thoroughly grounded including loosing access to her cell phone, home phone and worse, facebook privileges. Veronika, Grace was certain, would find a way around these impositions within hours and couldn’t wait to hear all of the sordid details.

The apartment door opened and closed once more. Footsteps approached down the hallway and her father appeared in the door.

“I got you something,” he mumbled, tossing an object on the bed before disappearing from sight. Grace retrieved the Kinder Surprise and shook her head. It was something of a family tradition and indicated that he was sorry. Grace just wished she knew what was bothering him so she could fix it. Entering the bathroom she broke open the egg and nibbled on a square of chocolate while she waited for the basin to fill. 10:05am wasn’t too early for chocolate surely? While staying Aunt Janey had insisted she learn a proper face care and beauty regime, still, reflected Grace as she stared at the myriad of products lining the counter, life was so much simpler when she had just used soap.

When she finally emerged some forty minutes later, Dave plummeted into an even deeper depression. Her halo of blonde curls, offset by the delicate cream dress made her look positively angelic. Oh Jesus Christ, he groaned inwardly, plastering what he could only hope was a convincing smile as he held open his arms.

“I don’t know what to say…you look beautiful.”

Anxious at the length of the hem, which just grazed her knees but was at least four inches higher than anything she had previously owned, Grace was desperate for her father’s approval and looked at him unconvinced.

“Do you think it’s too much? I can just put on some jeans,” almost instantly she began gnawing at her thumbnail, which infuriated her as she had been working hard to kick the habit all summer. Dave’s face softened. The exterior may have changed but she was still his little girl.

“Sweetheart you’ll be fine,” he soothed, encircling her in a strong bear hug, “You’re going to love it there.”

Grace who was trembling like a leaf and felt like she was about to be sick, looked up at him with wide-eyes.

“What if they don’t like me?” Planting a kiss on her forehead Dave sighed, if only!

“Hey, since when did you every have any trouble making friends?”

Grace exhaled sharply. He was right. She was plenty things. The sensible one with enough wit and charm to navigate the tight situations her friends were always landing them in. The plain one, invited to parties as the wing woman and at the end of the night the inevitable agony aunt when events went pear shaped. She knew her Aunty had meant well with the makeover but Grace simply didn’t know how to be the glamorous creature staring back in the mirror.  

Stepping away from her father she tucked loose tendrils behind her ears, which promptly sprung free again and said, “Let’s get this show on the road,” to no one in particular.

Dave waited until she was out of site before bolting for the balcony, desperate to get in another fag before the enduring the car ride ahead.

When they arrived in Bedfordshire 90 minutes later, Grace’s fingernails looked like a prop from a low-grade horror film. With every intention of comforting Dave gently squeezed her shoulder causing Grace, who had so much adrenaline coursing through her system she could have lifted a small car, to practically leap through the windscreen in fright. Dave, having expected an entirely different reaction swerved off the road and onto a berm.

Retracting her hands from the brace position against the dashboard, Grace rounded on her father.

“What are you doing?” she screeched.

“Helping!” Dave roared in response, “I thought you were going to chew off your knuckles.”

The long pause interrupted by Grace snorting then dissolving into a fit of giggles, “I thought we were going to die!” she choked out. Shifting the gears into park, and turning off the car, Dave rested his head against the steering wheel. Oh god, thought Grace as she watched his shoulders start to shake, he’s finally lost it. Turning his head slightly Grace saw tears of laughter spilling from her father’s eyes. It took at least 10 minutes before either of them could form a sentence and a further five before Dave could restart the car.

“Wait!” cried Grace, catching sight of herself in the rear vision mirror. Laughing until she cried had been a whole heap more enjoyable when it hadn’t involved mascara, although walking appeared to have become an extreme sport she marveled getting out of the car, and it was a miracle she didn’t sprain an ankle shimmying down the bank to the trunk.

“Wholly hell,” swore Charles, as their limo approached the Fairchild’s car, giving the occupants a view of Grace’s splendid behind bent over trunk. Jack, who was still sulking over the past week, ignored his friend and glowered out the opposite window. It took Patrick, disarmed by the sight of Charles flattened against the car window like Turtlewax, to catch his line of sight and belt his head on the ceiling in an attempt to get to better view to attract the attention of the remaining members in the car.

Seeing the car askew on the bank, George requested the driver slow down and pull up alongside.

“Everything okay?” he asked kindly.

Grace turned, and brushing her hair off her face beamed at the pleasant looking gentleman.

“Fine thank you,” before adding, “Unless of course you happen to have a make-up wipe?” she knew the last part was cheeky, but she was getting desperate and frankly it would be amazing if they didn’t have an entire convenience store hidden in the limo. The gentleman smiled and held up a finger indicating for her to wait.

Jack, who turned just in time to get the full benefit of Grace’s smile felt as though he’d been clouted in the stomach and froze.

“Is everything alright George?” asked his mother, curious as to why such an attractive young girl would be standing on the side of the road clad in this seasons Zac Posen.

“Fine,” replied George with a hint of a smile, “but do you happen to have a make-up wipe?”

Tanya blinked, struggling to register what he had just asked.

“A make-up wipe?” she repeated doubtfully to which he nodded. A smile tugged at Jack’s lips. His father, a man that brokered billion dollar deals for breakfast was being asked for a make-up wipe. Tanya raised her eyebrows and fetching her Birkin produced a small packet of hand wipes.

“Could you ask if her if these would be alright?”

George returned to the window, “the best we can do is moist towelettes, would that suffice?” Grace smiled gratefully.

“Brilliant, thank you so much,” but before Tanya could pass the wipes to her husband her son had leapt out of his seat, commandeered the packet and ejected himself from the door.

“Hey, foul play!” yelled Charles, watching Jack circle the car, “I saw her first.” Patrick slouched back in his chair, “Well it’s all over now old chap she’s toast.”

Grace, oblivious to the battle scene being waged inside the car saw the side door open and a person leap out only barely missing an oncoming town car. She felt dreadfully uncomfortable standing on the side of the road in her dinner dress, even more so because she still hadn’t managed to fix her make up.

Rolling down his window Dave, who had been watching the events unfold from the car decided to check in calling, “Grace, everything okay?”

“Not on your way to school by any chance?” asked the gentleman in the limousine simultaneously. Grace looked between the car and the limo.

“Oh stop it George, can’t you see her father’s talking to her,” chided a clipped disembodied female voice from inside the limo. Grace frowned, how many people were hiding in that thing? A stunning woman suddenly leant into view, and smiled apologetically.

“Our son is just bringing around the wipes, I do hope they help.”

Stuck between four separate conversations she didn’t even register Jack’s presence until he was almost on top of her.

A number of things went through Grace’s head when she first laid eyes on Jack Harrison, none of which involved make-up wipes. Fortunately for Grace one by-product of the being the proverbial wingman was an incredible ability to size up teenage boys on sight. While her first thought was, Jesus Christ he’s gorgeous, her second was danger this guy eats girls for breakfast, which then had the unexpected effect of making her slightly weak at the knees.

Out of sheer nerves she smiled up at him through thick lashes and brushed a rogue curl behind her ear. This completely disarmed Jack who had been busy formulating one-liners and caused him to loose his train of thought entirely. What came out was a garbled mess that all occupants of the car witnessed in stunned silence.

“I…I…Ummm,” he stuttered, swore then thrust the packet of wipes towards her, “Wipes, here’s the wipes. Good luck…shit, I didn’t meant to say that, I meant enjoy…fuck I didn’t mean that either.”

“You can see this too right?” whispered Patrick to Charles in disbelief. Ordinarily witnessing Jack chase after women was like watching a cheetah sprint for its prey, you realize it will not be pretty but it’s a marvel of nature in its raw intensity. This was neither pretty nor marvelous. This, thought Patrick was a bloody disaster.

Grace, who didn’t really know what she had expected, only it was nothing like what had just transpired, joked.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” causing Jack to give her a smile that very nearly took her breath away.

“Usually it works a treat.”

“Well if that’s how you introduce yourself,” she quipped without missing a beat, “I would hate to hear a pick up line.”

Leaning over George nudged his wife, “I like her!”

Dave, who had been entirely uncomfortable when the situation merely involved the man in the limousine was practically beside himself with the flaxen haired Adonis who had materialized from the car door. Worse yet was the unmistakable look he was currently giving his daughter. Opening the door he stepped out of the vehicle and folded his arms across his chest.

Jack nodded to where her father was standing, “I think your boyfriend is feeling threatened.” Grace looked him up and down, and feeling brave remarked.

“By you I doubt it, but it appears you’ve made my father uneasy.”

Jack’s face gave away nothing but internally he was kicking himself. Father, of course it was her father.

Feeling he had let this go on long enough Dave interrupted the pair.

“Grace, we need to get on the road.”

Plucking the wipes from his hand she gave the couple in the car a parting wave, “Thank you so much for your help, I’m sorry to interrupt your trip.”

“Not at all,” replied Tanya, clambering across her husband to the window giving Charles and Patrick a perfect opportunity to eyeball her shapely dairie-aire.

Uncertain of what to do next and conscious that if he clenched his jaw any tighter her father would break a tooth, Grace threw the boy an apologetic smile and turned to walk back to the car. Two steps into the journey her wedge heel failed her, sliding on embankment and setting her on a collision course for the ground. Desperate to end the conversation in a better state than where it began, Jack’s lightening reflexes had registered she was falling before his brain had even processed the thought. He caught her smoothly and the pair locked eyes wearing a matching set of shocked expressions.

Of course she would slip, cried Dave inwardly. What father doesn’t need to see his daughter manhandled by an underwear model? He was about to traverse the bank when a sleek black Rolls purred up back window down and a buxom brunette yoo-hooed out the window.

“At least wait until you’ve seen all the new toys before you start spoiling the merchandise Jack!” Mortified, Jack righted both him self and Grace and fired back.

“Go fuck yourself Elaine!”

Tanya, who was mentally naming her grandchildren abruptly squashed both her dream of one day being a grandmother, and the palm of her hand to her forehead. Charles and Patrick, who were absolutely beside themselves with laughter waved amiably to the girl, who returned their greeting with an air kiss and raised the window as the car carried on. Grace narrowed her eyes. So you’re one of those guys are you Jack? She had seen this type before with her friends and if their experiences were anything to go by it had never once ended well. By the time Jack turned around to apologize she was already at the car door. All he could do was watch as her father, absolutely delighted with the turn of events, reversed the car off the grass, waited for a passing Mercedes before steering the vehicle back onto the road and out of sight.

Realizing that perhaps now was not the time for a lecture George opened his car door and said kindly, “I think that’s our cue to go son.”

Jack sank back into his seat not in the slightest bit interested in hearing the blow-by-blow of events Charles and Patrick seemed intent on reliving. He was struggling to recount the exact moment things had turned pear shaped, mostly because his mind was filled with images of that smile, that body and those stunning hazel eyes. Perhaps even more unsettling than his abysmal introduction was the fact that above anything else, it had been the way she had made him laugh that he was attracted to the most.

“So,” ventured Dave after five minutes of silence, “that was fun.”

Grace, who was looking out the window biting the skin around her nails, threw him a dirty look.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Thank god for that, thought Dave who hadn’t thought past his opening statement. The silence only lasted a second before Grace swiveled to face him and asked.

“Do you think they go to the school?”

As they were less than 10 minutes from the front gates Dave was willing to bet that all of the traffic along the narrow laneway was heading to St. Valentines. Smart enough to realize this was not the answer to give if he wanted to retain his daughter’s sanity he shrugged.

“Possibly, although it’s been a while since I’ve been back here so maybe they’re heading somewhere else?” her father could never look at her when he lied, as he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road Grace presumed that answer was closer to a yes than a maybe. She had no clue what had happened back there, or what on earth that guy had been doing even talking to her, but as soon she was settled in her room she was dropping this ridiculous act and pulling on a pair of pants. Period.

The road began climbing and as they reached the summit of the small hill all thoughts of the past 10 minutes left her mind entirely. Rising from the valley below as though it was straight out of the pages of a Jane Austin novel was the glorious stone buildings’ of St. Valentines. Grace let her eyes drink in the entire scene. The well-manicured lawns, impossibly green despite the height of summer sprawled out in every direction. The luscious mature Elm’s dotted throughout the grounds like chess pieces. The schools stadium, famed for its world class facilities rose from a woodland area to her right, and behind the main building she thought she could catch a glimpse of the schools auditorium which had been in the news lately due to a former student, Maggie Mayson, who had just won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress in a recent Steven Sword production. Grace’s heart caught in her throat. This was her home now, or at least for the next two years.

“Ain’t she something?” marveled Dave fondly, drawing the car to a halt behind the Rolls Royce. Grace twitched on her seat, now that she had seen the outside she wanted to get in and explore this wonderland.

“What’s the hold up?”

“Security,” replied Dave matter of fact. It surprised him that in the 17 years since he had been a pupil they had yet to find a more efficient way of screening pupils.

As they edged towards the gates Dave was distracted by an exotic looking girl embroiled in a heated debate with one of the security guards. Her hands were gesticulating wildly, and try as he might the dashing boy beside her could not calm her down.

Grace turned to him with a deadpan look

“Am I being punked?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed her father, straining to catch the conversation. Grace sunk into her seat and muttered to herself.

“Real people don’t act like this,” or, she thought eyeing the devastatingly handsome boy with the dark hair, look like that! Pulling up to the gate Dave produced the requisite documentation in the form of their passports, enrolment confirmation and boarding acceptance form. Old Cecil, who Dave was certain couldn’t have protected a secret, was more interested in assessing the shapely pair of legs in the front seat and waved them through within a few seconds. This caused the dark haired girl a few steps away to explode.

“He barely even looked at their forms!”

“Sophie, shut-up!” Steve hissed furiously, absolutely mortified at the scene his older sister had created.

“Look miss, I’m sorry but we cannot accept your University ID as identification.” Sophie, who felt atrocious about losing her passport refused to go down with out a fight.

“No you look!” she shrieked, “I’ve got an entire terms worth of his shit in this car, and only I can drive. How do you expect us to get it all to the room?”

“What are you doing?” yelped Grace as her father opened his door and stepped out. Waving her off with a dismissive hand Dave leaned over the roof.

“Need a hand?”

“Not unless you speak asshole?” she snarled. Undeterred by her bite, Dave looked at her evenly.

“If it’ll be easier we can take him to the dorms,” then turning his attention to Steven asked, “do you have much stuff?”

Keen to get as far away from his sister as possible, Steve shook his head.

“Only a few bags.” Dave looked back at the girl who still looked as if she might come at him like a spider monkey and raised his eyebrows.

“Just a thought?”

Sophie, who had just noticed the striking blonde apparently trying to melt into the car seat, looked up at her brother and decided to cut him a break.

“Fine!” she exhaled, then rounded on the poor security guard who was so grateful for Dave’s intervention he could have hugged him, and pointed a slender finger piercing the air, “You, will be hearing from me later!”

“Awww give it up Soph,” groaned Steve and returning to the Lexus retrieved his two suitcases.

Grace who wanted the car to swallow her whole she was so embarrassed slunk lower and lower into her seat until you could barely see her through the window.

“What on earth are you doing?” Dave asked, maneuvering the car off to the side to allow the snake of traffic to pass. The occupants of the cars all took a little longer presenting their documents to the guards, as they debated whether the fair-headed man was the father or sugar daddy of the girl in the seat next to him.

“Wishing I was dead,” she hissed in response. Starting a new school was stressful enough without her father white knighting it at the front gate.

Exiting the car, Dave strode over to help the boy with his bags.

“Is this it?” Steve nodded, handing over the lighter of the two.

“You weren’t kidding about packing light,” then extending a hand introduced himself, “Dave Fairchild.”

Steve smiled and shook his hand, “Steven Bellamy, pleased to meet you.”

They managed to fit one of the suitcases in the trunk and the other was crammed into the back seat. Eyeing the size of the boy Dave stuck his head through the window and looked at his daughter.

“You’ll have to ride in the back.” Grace looked at him incredulously.

“Excuse me?!”

“Back seat kiddo,” he repeated thrusting his thumb in the direction. Straightening out he turned to face Steve, who was saying goodbye to his sister.

“Good luck and don’t work to hard, for gods sake live a little,” she was telling him in what was possibly the most tender encounter the two had ever shared, “I love you.”

Steve squeezed her fragile frame, “Good luck with the new job Soph,” then feeling cheeky added, “Try to play nice.”

Dave cleared his throat.

“Ready to go?”

Steve gave his sister one final hug before turning back towards Dave.

“Let’s go,” he started towards the back of the car but Dave waved him forward.

“No, you sit in the front seat there’s more room,” knocking on the window he added, “My daughter was just moving.”

“Oh she doesn’t have to do that,” Steve started to protest, losing his train of thought entirely as a pair of slender bronze legs appeared out of the car door. Smoothing the skirt of her dress, she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground and went to open the door to the back seat. Seventeen years spent in the company of three elder sisters had taught him nothing if not manners and Steve sprung towards the back of the car to get the door. His poorly timed chivalry resulted in Grace being thrust backwards against the side of the car with a shriek as the door flew open.

“Oh Jesus!” gasped Steve abruptly releasing the handle, “I am so sorry, are you alright?” overwhelmed with the absurdity of the last half hour Grace looked up at him and burst into peels of laughter. Relived beyond measure with her reaction Steve gave her a feeble smile.

“Hi, I’m Steve.” Hypnotized by the dimple that appeared in his left cheek when he smiled, Grace held out her hand.  

“Grace.”

“May I get the door for you madam?” he asked.

“You may,” she began, “Whether or not you can do it without killing both of us has yet to be seen.”

You’ve got to be kidding me, thought Dave as he watched the interaction between his daughter and the young man, and he cleared his throat to remind them they were on a time schedule. Hearing the agitation in her father’s voice, Grace bit her lip and stepping around Steve lowered herself into the car with a breathy “thank you.” Closing the door with great care, Steve prayed there was no way she could have overheard his heart, which was currently jack hammering in his chest. Where the hell had she come from? He felt Dave’s eyes boring into him and quickly flashed him a smile.

“Should we go?” before catapulting himself into the front seat.

Should we go? grumbled Dave to himself and looking skyward narrowed his eyes, I hope you’re having a bloody good laugh about this.

“So Steven,” Dave began as they glided through the large stone gates and onto the school’s expansive grounds, “was that your sister?” Steve managed a half smile and nodded, trying desperately to steal a glimpse of Grace in his peripheral vision.

“One of them, yes.”

“Oh?” enquired Dave, keen to make small talk and prevent the boy from engaging in conversation with Grace.

“I have three sisters, all older,” Steve confessed, “that was Sophie, the eldest of the four of us. She’s…” and he struggled to find polite words to describe her.

“Intense?” offered Grace with a hint of a smile, from the backseat.

Steve nodded thoughtfully.

“I was going to say a pain in the ass, but that’s a much nicer way of putting it.” He gave her another dimpled grin, which was extinguished by a sharp look from Dave.

“Four children, they must keep your parents busy.”

“Well I’m the youngest,” he admitted limiting his vision to out the front window, “the other two are still at College and Sophie’s just got a job in Switzerland. I think my Mom is struggling to adjust to an empty house.” Dave nodded his head thoughtfully.

“Do they usually bring you to school, or do you always have the pleasure of your sister’s company?”

“Usually they take turns,” he didn’t want to admit that the regular return airfares from America were financially out of the question, so decided to leave the sentence open. “I’m actually on a scholarship.” Dave was impressed, a scholarship, perhaps he was more than just a pretty face after all?

“Where do your family live?”

“Chicago,” Steve responded absently, using the wing mirror to steal a glimpse at the back seat. Their eyes met briefly sending Grace fuchsia with embarrassment as she had been doing exactly the same thing. Dave had to repeat his next question twice before Steve heard him properly.

“I was just asking, what your parents do?”

“Sorry I thought I saw someone,” Steve lied, before redirecting his attention to the driver, “My father owns an Engineering consultancy and my mother was a Nurse,” feigning interest Dave nodded what he hoped was encouragingly. Half desperate, half terrified to catch his eye again Grace piped up from the back.

“Who is your sister working for in Switzerland?” Figuring it would be plain rude not to address the recipient face-to-face Steve swiveled on his seat and wiggled his eyebrows.

 “The Devil.”

Grace responded with a low whistle.

“Well if she’s up here who’s guarding hell?”

Catching the boys’ strong profile Dave was struck with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. This lasted a split second until he also caught the look he was giving his daughter and worse the look her daughter was giving the boy.

The wheels rumbled as the car veered off the gravel and onto the grass.

“DAD!” Grace screeched and assumed the brace position as an Elm loomed dangerously close to her door. Snapping his eyes back to the road Dave swore and swung the wheel frantically. The car lurched back to firm ground and fell in line behind a Bentley.

“What the hell is wrong with you? First the bank and now this!”

Looking from front seat to back and seriously concerned he may not survive the next 500 meters Steve decided it was worth risking the question.

“The bank?”

Dave kept his eyes firmly on the road and mumbled something inaudible. When it became apparent he wasn’t going to get anything out of him, Steve swiveled in his chair to Grace who had slumped against the back seat.

“Well?” he asked raising his eyebrows. Unsure exactly how to make sense of what had transpired Grace decided to start small.

“Do you know someone called Jack?” Judging by the way Steve’s jaw tightened she supposed he did, so continued, “Oh goody, well we met him just before.”

Try as he might Steve couldn’t prevent the next sentence from escaping through clenched teeth.

“Bet that was a treat.”

“It was ten minutes of my life I will never get back,” Grace admitted with a shrug, “And not something we need to relive,” Anxious to denote just how little the interaction had affected her, sort of, she changed the subject “before my father tried to kill us you were telling us about your sister’s new job.”

Steve studied her for a moment and was about to respond when he was interrupted by Dave. Having waited patiently for a way to muscle back into the conversation after his driving digression he made no effort to hide his delight in announcing their arrival at the dormitories.

CHAPTER 4

“It’s beautiful,” breathed Grace peering up at the glorious stone buildings, draped with English Ivy.

You’re beautiful, thought Steve careful not to let Dave catch him staring.

“I’ll just go and sign in.”

For once Dave, overwhelmed by memories, didn’t notice a thing. It had been seventeen years since he had last set foot on the campus. His farewell had gone nothing like planned, although in fairness little had gone to plan during that time. He felt his fists clench, the way it always did when he thought about Susan, and turned to face his daughter who was staring out the window in awe. His face softened, something’s turned out alright in the end. Feeling his eyes on her Grace turned to face him, bowling Dave over with another memory. Jesus she looked like her mother.

“Where are the girls dormitories?” she enquired casually.

“In a universe far, far away,” joked Dave, half wishing it was the case. “They’re around the other side of the school. This is about the only time you’ll be allowed in this area.”

“Lucky me,” she agreed, turning back to watch the hive of activity as families began unloading carloads full of items for term. The car door opened again and Steve’s head appeared.

“I’m in Womb 5,”

“Excuse me, Womb what?” asked Grace, figuring she had misheard him. St. Valentines split the boarding residences between a single junior block and five smaller senior residences, referred to as “the Mansions” by the school prospectus. Steve cracked another dimpled grin, which did all sorts of weird things to her stomach, convincing Grace that she had to get out more.

“We call the senior mansions the “Womb” because it’s our last stop before the real world,” he explained.

She scrunched her nose in distaste “That’s disgusting.”

Emerging from his daydream Dave turned to face him.

“Good house?” In his haste to return to the car Steve had forgotten to check the list other than to confirm his name was against Womb 5 with his close friend Christoffer Abrahamsen.

He threw Dave a casual shrug, “What’s the worse that could happen?”

Running a finger down the accommodation list Jack paused, re-read the names, paused again and swore loudly.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

The Matron, having spent the past three hours sweating blood over the last minute room allocation, attempted to make herself scarce.

“Ms. Lear,” he called and locating her through the bustle stormed across the room. Ms. Lear, one of the more seasoned Matrons at the school was well versed in the Harrison Hurricane and held up her hands defensively.

“I know what you’re going to say Jack, but it wasn’t my decision.” Confident that no member of the boarding staff was that suicidal Jack gave her a strained smile.

“Then who exactly do I have to thank for the pleasure of staying in Womb 5?” Ms. Lear folded her arms across her chest and met his cool gaze evenly.

“Look Jack, you’re all big boys now, I’m sure you will work it out,” without bothering to thank her Jack marched out of the room. Ms. Lear exhaled sharply and decided that she was going to have to take up drinking if anyone was to stand a chance of surviving the next school term.

“This is fucking bullshit,” Jack muttered to himself, returning to the car where the driver was busy unloading their suitcases from the trunk. Charles, noting the expression on his friends face nudged Patrick who was busy making eyes at one of the mother’s.  

“Not now Charles,” he sung waving to the woman with a debonair smile.

Charles cast a glance at the brunette and scoffed.

“She looks like she has taste,” then as an afterthought, “and probably syphilis, we’ve got a more immediate weapon of mass destruction heading our way right now.” Reluctantly diverting his attention Patrick caught a glimpse of Jack, face like a thundercloud and swore under his breath.

“What now?”

Barreling past them both Jack snatched his suitcases from beside the car and started in the direction of the senior residences. Charles and Patrick exchanged a look. Volume was bad, silence was deadly. Collecting their bags they rushed after him.  

Fucking Delaney, Jack raged furiously, all over a stupid flag!

Thinking about him laughing as he instructed the matrons to amend the accommodation roster nearly tipped him over the edge, and would have if it wasn’t for a voice in the crowd that caught his attention. He stopped dead causing firstly Patrick and then Charles to trip over themselves behind him, searching desperately for the source.

“Look,” began Charles running a hand through his wavy locks, “If you’re going to lose your shit can’t you at least wait until we’re somewhere we can have a cigarette?”

“Shut-up,” snapped Jack dismissively. Locating Grace in the crowd his face softened, she was leaning against their car talking to her father. What on earth is she doing here? He was about to walk over when the reason appeared from behind the trunk. Appearing by his side Charles followed his gaze.

“Ahhh…is Bellamy getting out of their car?”

“It would certainly appear that way,” Jack replied in a voice so acidic it was a wonder it hadn’t melted his tongue.

Patrick, trying to regain the gaze of the buxom brunette overheard none of the conversation and turning swore loudly.

“Oh shit, isn’t that Bellamy getting out of that girls car?”

“Grace,” hissed Jack, “Her name is Grace.”

Charles studied his best friend, who had been known on occasion to call him Chester, and followed his gaze to the blonde who was now engaged in conversation with Steve Bellamy. They appeared to be enjoying each others company as she burst out laughing and playfully pushed him on the shoulder. Jack’s fists clenched and unclenched, then he set off towards the pair.

“Here it comes,” groaned Patrick, who having finally caught the attention of the brunette, had been looking forward to a few minutes of uninterrupted eye-footsie.

Having discovered that Steve’s sister was going to be teaching at the school she had just fled, Grace had been keeping him entertained with stories of life at an all girls school.

“One of the worst parts,” she laughed leaning against the car, “Is that whenever you get a group of girls together in one place your cycles synch. I can’t even begin to describe the horrors you experience when that occurs.”

“It sounds like hell on earth,” Steve replied gravely.

Grace thought for a second.

“I guess that means your sister will fit in just fine?” Catching sight of something behind him, the smile on her face disappeared abruptly. Keen to restore the mood Steve joked.

“Don’t tell me she’s standing right behind me.”

“Well I’ve been called many things,” drawled a voice that made Steve’s blood run cold, “but a woman is never one of them.”

Whipping around he came face to face with Jack who was a least three shades darker than when he saw him last, and considerably more pissed off.

I must have grown, thought Steve irrationally noticing he had drawn level with Jack’s cool blue gaze, “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere frightening young children?”

Jack raised an eyebrow and replied smoothly,

“Now, now that’s no way to greet your new house mate.”

The response elicited a similar reaction from Steve, Patrick and Charles all of which froze. Allowing them time to digest the bombshell Jack turned to Grace and said considerably more amiably.

“So you drove up a bank and then ran into him? Perhaps we should buy you a lotto ticket?” Despite a steely resolve not to engage in the conversation Grace couldn’t resist responding.

“Well they say bad things come in three’s and here you are, so perhaps it’s not such a silly suggestion after all.”

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Steve, not entirely convinced he had heard right, “can you repeat what you just said?” Jack put his hands in his pockets and rocked back onto his heels.

“Didn’t you check the boards?” Evidently not closely enough thought Steve, color draining from his face as Jack pointed firstly at Patrick, then to Charles and finally at Steve.

“Womb 5, and it gets even better,” figuring it couldn’t possibly get any worse Steve folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes.

“And…”

Jack held out a hand, “Put it there roomie.”

Steve shook his head furiously, there had to be some mistake.

“You can’t be serious?”

Jack turned his palms to the sky.

“I’ve been told it’s out of our control,” feeling this would give him a fantastic excuse to understand exactly how Steve had ended up in Grace’s car.

Emerging from the initial shock of the conversation Patrick had been admiring Grace’s profile as she observed the discussion between Jack and Steve with amusement. A consummate opportunist he side stepped Charles and held out a hand.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Patrick Sword,” Grace studied him carefully before offering hers.

“Grace Fairchild, but I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

Patrick, who was used to people recognizing him nodded wisely.

“Probably in your dreams,” which caused Grace to flush beetroot.

Jack, noticing the exchange shot Patrick a murderous look that was followed right afterwards by one from Steve.

Lordy, lordy though Patrick, what do we have here?

Deciding to continue with the conversation he leant casually against the car door.

“Is this your first term at St. Valentines?”

Realizing she was going to repeat this conversation a million times over the coming days Grace tried to look interested.

“Yes, I transferred here from Du Champs.”

Patrick’s heart leapt into his throat yet his face remained expressionless as he enquired casually.

“Oh, we met a few girls that went there over Summer. I wonder if you know them?”

Dave’s fatherly senses were tingling all over, and searching for his daughter he realized quite rightfully so. He couldn’t even leave her for two minutes without a swarm of boys surrounding her. Scholarship or no he didn’t trust Steve in the slightest and the Ken-like one, she’d called Jack was no better, not to mention the other two had appeared out of thin air. Excusing himself from his conversation he strode back over to the car, interrupting everyone.

“Grace we need to leave now.” She looked at him incredulously and gestured to Steve.

“Dad, what is wrong with you? Shouldn’t we make sure Steve gets to his room?” Dave, who couldn’t think of anything worse than having Grace in Steve’s room was trumped by Jack thinking very similar things.

“He can come with us,” he offered with uncharacteristic kindness, “After all we’re all in the same house.”

“See,” replied Dave triumphantly reading the situation completely wrong, “Steve’s got his friends, we’d just be getting in the way.”

Grace, who was 100% certain Jack, Patrick and whoever the other boy was were anything but Steve’s friends threw an apologetic look at him.

“Sure you’ll be alright?” Feeling much like a lamb being left with a pack of wolves Steve gave her a reassuring nod.

“I’ll be fine, thanks for the ride,” adding hopefully, “perhaps we’ll see you at dinner?”

“If we ever manage to make it to the dormitory,” muttered Dave getting back into the car. Ignoring her father Grace gave the group a final smile.

“You might get lucky?” before climbing into the car which Dave peeled out of the car park.

Steve’s eyes lingered on the back of the town car, his mouth twitched in a half smile as he thought about the passenger. His daydream was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat and turning he found only Patrick still waiting, arms folded.

“Ready sunshine?”

Steve took a deep breath and exhaled.

“Why not, I’m a sucker for punishment.”

“And a 5’7 blonde dressed in cream,” joked Patrick, “unless of course you were a fan of the shoes in which case I’ve read this situation entirely wrong.”

Falling into step beside him Steve threw him a sideways glance.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows, and nodded.

“Hmmm…I’ll bet.”

Tanya who had been frantically trying to attract her son’s attention waved for him to join them.

“Come on,” he said clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder, “Time to meet the in laws.”

Stealing a glance back over her shoulder just as the car park disappeared from sight, Grace turned back to face her father who was gripping the wheel white knuckled. For a man who had been so excited when she finally asked to transfer to St. Valentines he had practically dribbled on his desk, he was acting increasingly bizarre.

“Are you alright Dad?” Dave gave her a reassuring smile.

“You’re a hard gig to leave kiddo.”

“Oh please,” she laughed, “It’s not like I haven’t been at boarding school for the last two years.”

Yes, thought Dave, that was when I didn’t have to worry about a teenage pregnancy. He realized the hypocrisy of his sentiment but at 35 he was nowhere near ready to be a grandfather. As if reading his mind, Grace narrowed her eyes.

“It’s the boys isn’t it?”

Dave scoffed, “Rubbish, it has nothing to do with the boys.”

Grace, who had enough on her mind without worrying about her father’s issues rolled her eyes and looked out the window. She had spent the whole summer looking forward to this moment and now, frankly, she felt dreadful. Her palms were clammy, she felt nauseous and she had chewed the skin around her nails so much they had started to bleed.

Dave tried to make small talk by pointing out various sights along the journey, but stopped when it became clear she wasn’t listening.

“Sweetheart,” he began changing tact after a few minutes silence, “They’re going to love you.” Grace nodded without moving her eyes from the road. She had caught sight of the steeple that topped the girls boarding residences, peeping through a glade of tree’s up ahead. Concerned that moving may result in a replay of lunch, she sat rigid in her seat. Like a cobra poised to strike, observed Dave inching further towards the window.

CHAPTER 5

As they pulled into the car park behind the junior block Grace, crippled with nerves, was certain of two things. She was going to throw up and black out. The order in which these would occur was still up for debate.

Dave inhaled and gently scuffed her shoulder, “Ready kiddo?”

“Sure,” she replied voice quavering.

Emerging from the car she noticed the car park was filled with girls squealing and hugging one another in recognition. Her stomach churned, I should never left Du Champs. Right now her friends would be settling into the familiar surrounds of her old school. Probably scheduling their bathroom breaks for the year too. The thought perked her up a little.

Two seconds from leaping back into the car and begging her father to turn around her attention was diverted by a shapely brunette with hair as glossy as an oiled collie. She was embroiled in a phone conversation and apparently didn’t give a toss who heard.

“Look I text to tell you we arrived okay? Jay-sus woman…Well perhaps if you stopped screwing your trainer long enough to check your phone you would have seen it!”

Tossing her shiny mane over one shoulder she caught sight of Grace, eye’s widening. “Look Mummy you’re boring me I have to go love you, love you, love you, mwah-mwah-mwah.”

Then lobbing her phone at a woman waiting patiently behind her with a trolley laden with bags added,

“Arrange another number Jin, I don’t want that bitch calling me again.”

Finally she looked at Grace and shrieked, “Oh my god it’s you!” so the rest of the car park who weren’t already staring, turned in their tracks.

Franken-barbie exists, thought Grace, and she’s wearing pumps. Frozen on the spot the girl tottered towards her in a pair of six-inch heels.

“Remember me?” she asked and without bothering to wait for a response confessed, “Look I’m sorry about before, but I couldn’t resist an opportunity to make Jack Harrison squirm.”

Realization dawned on Grace, the girl in the Rolls.

“Oh!” then waving her off continued, “Don’t worry, it was nothing.”

The girl eyed her skeptically.

“Bitch please, if there’s one think I know it’s that encounters with Jack Harrison are rarely “nothing”. The lucky ones emerge with only their hearts broken if you know what I’m saying.”

Grace, who had, had quite enough of Jack Harrison for one day folded her arms and said firmly.

“Then he’ll just have to find a new toy to play with.”

“Oh goody finally someone with some sass!” squealed the girl excitedly, “I’m Elaine, I can tell that you and I are going to be great friends. Let’s go see who we have to bribe to get a room together.”

Linking arms with her Elaine set off in the direction of the building. Where’s the off switch, thought Grace throwing a “SOS!” glance over her shoulder to her father who simply smiled and waved her on encouragingly.

“He’ll be fine,” said Elaine dismissively, “Now, tell me all about yourself.”

Certain that the moment she told Elaine anything it would be half way around the school before the end of the sentence Grace decided a solid charm offensive would be the best defense.

“Actually I’m just dying to hear all about you, would you mind going first?”  

Elaine, whose three favorite things were herself, shoes and men preferably in that order and where possible all at once, lit up.

“I thought you would never ask!”

By the time they had located the Matron, a no nonsense brute of a woman sporting a fierce five o’clock shadow, Grace had said very little but learnt an overwhelming amount about Elaine.

She was one of eleven children split across four families in a matrix that defied the laws of physics. She loathed both of her parents and was instead residing with her father’s fourth wife in Dubai. The woman, an aging bimbo, was harmless enough and had been the only member of her extended complex-family smart enough not to breed, thereby giving Elaine free reign of her substantial apartment.

“You’ll have to come visit on a home weekend,” she gushed, “The shopping in Dubai is ahhh-mazing!”

Eyeing the girl’s Louboutin’s with envy Grace felt the trip was probably worth enduring Elaine’s incessant babble. She’d either return home with a splendid wardrobe or have a fabulous pair of heels to wear to trial after she throttled her. Either way it was likely to end in shoes.

Having attracted the attention of the juggernaut Elaine plastered on her most fetching smile and cooed.

“Ms. Sommerfield could I possibly have a moment of your time to talk about the room allocations?”

Having spent the past four weeks of her summer break locked inside due to facial IPL, and now suffering appalling shaving rash Ms. Sommerfield was in no mood to be wooed. Especially not by teenage girls with flawless olive complexions.

“Do not even start with me Elaine,” she snapped, “You know room allocations are not up for discussion.”

Undeterred Elaine continued lowering her voice slightly.

“Now, now let’s not be hasty. What if I tabled a bottle of Glenrothes 1985, I know it’s your favourite?”

Ms. Sommerfield paused and encouraged by her progress Elaine continued smoothly.

“You know they say when you pair it with roast Aberdeen Angus it’s as if Christ himself has blessed every mouthful.”

For a second she thought she had her when suddenly, as if overcome with moral conscience Ms. Sommerfield furiously shook her head and glared at Elaine with a steely resolve.

“Certainly not Miss Doyle if you think I can be bought by a bottle of whiskey…”

Bringing out the big guns, Elaine interrupted her mid sentence.

“Not even for La Mer?”

Ms. Sommerfield ran a tentative finger over her raw chin, causing Grace to wince on her behalf. There was a moment silence before the woman held out her hand.

“Hand it over, and the Harry Winstone too.”

Elaine squealed with delight and reaching into her purse produced a monogrammed velvet carry bag, which disappeared into the folds of Ms. Sommerfield’s substantial skirt. Judging by the dimensions of the garment Grace could only presume she ran an operation akin to Santa’s workshop under there and the objects had been filed for later use.

Ms. Sommerfield’s beady eyes did a quick scan of the room.

“Give me one moment,” and she lumbered over to a computer in the corner.

Grace turned to Elaine with wide-eyes and said incredulously.

“Do you make a habit of toting around La Mer and Harry Winston, or was this just a special occasion?”

Elaine rolled her eyes flippantly.

“Oh please I was a Girl Guide, I know how to “be prepared”.”

“Yes,” hissed Grace leading the way to the Matron who was beckoning them to join her, “Be prepared with milk and cookies, not freaking bottled youth and diamonds.”

Elaine chortled.

“You’re hilarious! We’re going to have so much fun rooming together.”

Searching the computer Ms. Sommerfield looked up at Elaine.

“We have you as rooming with Bluebell Beauvoir.”

Elaine pulled a face.

“Ewwww, have you no decency,” the added as an aside to Grace with no attempt at privacy, “more like Snorebell, she’s an atrocious bore.”

The Matron cleared her throat impatiently.

“Are you going to tell me the name of your new roommate Elaine?”

The question floored Elaine who, for once in the brief time Grace had known her, was speechless.

Ms. Sommerfield sighed “Don’t tell me you didn’t even ask her name?” she asked sounding not in the least bit surprised.

Elaine went bright red, and realizing it was finally time to speak Grace introduced her self.

“Grace Fairchild Ma’am, pleased to meet you,” Ms. Sommerfield grunted and got to work on her keyboard.

“Sorry,” apologized Elaine in a voice so small Grace initially presumed it had come from someone else, “When I get nervous I talk far too much.”

Unsure whether it was a sincere admission or a joke Grace stared at her for a second before deciding she was being genuine.

“It’s alright Elaine,” and giving her a reassuring smile, “Honestly, after all the talking I’ve been doing today it’s actually a relief to listen to someone else for a change.”

It was as if the switch went back on and she was away again chattering animatedly.

“Well, I want to hear all about you and exactly how you ended up on the side of the road with Jack Harrison. Usually when he’s got a girl in his arms, he’s got his tongue down her throat so I’d say it was a unique experience for both of you!”

As with the boys, senior girls were accommodated in one of the four mansions adjacent to the junior block in their sixth and upper sixth years. Grace was relieved to discover the womb reference had not transcended genders and the women’s boarding residences were simply known as the Lumley block. The room she would now be sharing with Elaine was in Lumley Three along with nineteen other girls.

Returning to the car she found her father engaged in conversation with a kindly looking woman, who was the shape of an exaggerated pear.

“Oh Good Lord Dave!” she gasped when she caught sight of Grace approaching, “She ees zee spitting eemage of Soozan.”

Grace knew very little about her mother. Raised by her father, who had always been brief to the point of mono syllabic on the topic, and his parents who appeared allergic to the mention of her name, she had never had cause to think about her mother until she had agreed to attend St. Valentine’s, which is where everything had occurred.

She knew that her parents had met at high school, and her mother had fallen pregnant unexpectedly in their final year. The rest of the story was considerably grey and tended to depend on the number of beers her father had consumed to the version relayed. From what she could gather they had agreed to put the baby up for adoption but when Grace was born Dave reneged and refused to give her up. Susan, wanting nothing to do with a baby had fled leaving Dave with sole care of the infant. She didn’t know if her mother had ever tried to make contact with them during the past seventeen years or if she had simply left and never looked back. Evidently it was still an open wound for her father who still cringed whenever Susan’s name was mentioned and, to Grace’s memory, had certainly never been on a date in her life time.

Grace eyed the woman, who appeared harmless, and smiled.

“I hope that’s not a subtle way of telling me I look 35.”

The woman batted Dave on the shoulder with an open palm.

“And I zee she ‘as her sense of ‘umour too!”

Dave smiled fondly at his daughter.

“Well I think she looks exactly like herself and just perfect.”

“Oh of course, of course,” waved the woman dramatically, and pulling out a tissue dabbed her flushed cheeks, “but you must introduce us Daveed, I am sure she ‘as no idea ‘oo I eem.”

“You’re right Ena,” he began slinging an arm around Grace’s shoulders, “How rude of me. Ena, this is my daughter Grace, Grace this is an old school friend of mine Ena Foster.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Ena,” smiled Grace holding out her hand, which Ena shook enthusiastically, “Does your daughter go here?”

Ena snorted with laughter.

“Oh Gracie, so sweet. No I emm a teacher of…oh how do you say eet?” and she paused searching for the right words.

“Ena is teaching home economics, this is her first year,” Dave explained as Ena nodded encouragingly with a wide smile.

“I eem so excited to be back ‘ere. I just know you will love eet.”

Dave ruffled Grace’s hair affectionately.

“I’ve asked Ena to keep an eye out for you while I’m not around.”

“You know they have a name for people like you dad,” Grace teased, ducking out of his reach, “and it usually comes with a restraining order.”

Ena waggled a plump finger at him.

“Do not worry Daveed, your Gracie will be just fine. Ena will look out for her. We make cake together and send you photos on zee Facebook.”

Then catching the eye of someone in the crowd pulled Dave in for a bear hug. Grace, who had perfected the art of making small windowless buildings and little else, felt she could use all the help she could get in this department. As Ena enveloped her against her pillow like bosom, Grace figured you didn’t get a body like this with out true commitment to ones art form. If anyone was going to cure her kitchen dyslexia it would be this woman.

“I zee you soon Daveed, and nice to meet you too Gracie. You come see Ena when you have settled in your room.”

And with a parting wave she disappeared into the crowd, which for a woman of her proportions, thought Grace, was a rather nifty party trick.

Turning to face her father, she waggled her finger in jest.

“I can’t leave you alone for ten minutes without finding you surrounded by women!”

Dave suppressed a smile and thrust a pillow from the trunk into her arms.

“That’s quite enough from you young lady, now where are we going?”

Ten minutes, six wrong turns and four arguments later they finally arrived at the right double bedroom, on the right floor of the right house, no longer on speaking terms.

Elaine, who had been stretched out on a single bed reading a magazine while a woman unpacked her fleet of suitcases leapt to her feet.

“I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind roomie.”  

She stepped aside to let a ferocious looking Dave through, and ogling his bottom mouthed “Nice” to a mortified Grace.

“Off limits you Beastly Betty!” she hissed, “That is my father!”

Elaine stuck out a glossy lower lip and mumbled “spoil sport” before hurling herself back on the bed.

Dave dropped the load of luggage in a heap on the bed and turned back towards the door grumbling, “I’ll go grab the rest of it.”

Elaine’s eyes followed his behind out the door over the top of her magazine. Grabbing the closest thing to hand Grace lobbed a stuffed giraffe at her head.

“I saw that!”

“Hey!” laughed Elaine sweeping the giraffe off the floor, “Don’t loose your safari at me!”

Ignoring her Grace turned instead to the small exotic woman silently beavering away in the corner.”

“I’m Grace.”

The woman glanced up at her briefly, dipped a small bow and turned back to Elaine’s delicates drawer.

“Jin speaks Cantonese,” called Elaine, then rattled off a few sentences in a foreign tongue without bothering to look up from the page she was reading. Grace eyed her suspiciously as the woman paused, looked at Grace and giggled.

“What did you just say?”

Snapping her magazine closed Elaine sat upright on the bed.

“I told her your name was Grace, you have an attractive father and appalling taste in luggage.”

“What’s wrong with my luggage?” asked Grace placing a defensive hand on her favorite red carry-on. Elaine raised a well-manicured eyebrow.

“We’re not in Kansas anymore Toto. It’s time to surrender the Samsonite.”

Pausing Grace lifted the bag on the bag and threw Elaine a small smile.

“Just think though,” she began, “If it wasn’t for my poor choice of luggage I wouldn’t have any vices and then what would you have to work on?” Unzipping the bag she began to extract her belongings. Examining a picture of Grace and her father on a ski holiday three years earlier Elaine frowned.

“I’m sorry. Is that really you or did the girl in the picture eat you for lunch?”

“So I lost a bit of weight,” Grace explained stealing the picture from her hands and placing it gently on the table beside her bed. Even she had to admit the photo wasn’t exactly her best angle.

“A bit of weight?!” crowed Elaine, “What ever it was you did, bottle it…then put me down for twenty!” Admiring Elaine’s shapely silhouette with envy Grace shook her head.

“You don’t need to lose weight. Your curves should come with a warning.”

A sucker for flattery the compliment hit all the right notes with Elaine, who caught sight of herself in the mirror.

“Well,” she sighed poking out a hip seductively, “I have been called the white Beyonce.”

At that moment Dave bustled into the room laden with gear.

“Where should I put this?” then catching sight of Elaine in the mirror nodded his head in greeting, “You must be Grace’s room mate.”

Surprising the hell out of everyone in the room Elaine jumped to his aid.

“Let me help you,” she offered, and relieving him of two bags added in a silky voice, “I’ve given Grace the bed by the window. It’s got a nice view of the gardens. I thought she might enjoy it given it’s her first year here.”

Watching the conversation unfold was like observing a train wreck in slow motion. The only solace Grace took was that her father wouldn’t have recognized a pick up if it had backed up and run him over in broad daylight.

Mumbling a curt “Thank you,” Dave continued past Elaine dropping the contents on the bed.

“I think that should be all of it,” he panted, then glanced around the small room, “Ahhh brings back memories.”

Elaine, unaccustomed to being ignored, was reapplying her lip-gloss in the mirror. At Dave’s admission she perked up considerably and spun on the spot.

“Oh did you go here?”

“Well not exactly,” he admitted, jumping slightly a small Chinese woman emerged from the closet. Elaine waved her hand absently.

“That’s just Jin she’s my Personal Co-ordinator, although if anyone asks Daddy says to tell people she’s my Nanny. Apparently it looks better at tax time.”

Given she was rooming with his daughter Dave didn’t even want to begin to ask what a Personal Co-ordinator did for a seventeen year old. He nodded slowly then continued. 

“As I was saying I was over in the boys dormitories. Don’t get me wrong we all tried to get to Lumley,” and he paused to chuckle at the memories. It was as if years melted off him and Grace caught a glimpse of the father she had known pre Aunt Janey’s. My god, she gaped, this is the happiest I’ve seen him in weeks!

As if suddenly realizing his audience Dave cleared his throat and straightened up, “But errr, we were young and stupid. I’m sure you two will be much more sensible.”

Grace sighed. Nope. Weirdo Dad was still in residence.

Grabbing her arm Elaine was obviously still intent on laying it on thick.

“Don’t worry Mr. Fairchild, you have absolutely nothing to worry about with Grace and I rooming together.”

Liar, Liar pants on fire was the first repeatable sentence that crossed Grace’s mind. Dave, similarly, felt anything but “at ease” as he eyed the brunette beauty. This was the type of girl likely to have “trouble” prison tattooed across her midriff. Desperate to get Elaine away from her father Grace squeezed her hand firmly.

“Hey Beyonce, why don’t you go and find out what time they need us for dinner?”

Elaine turned to her and smiled sweetly.

“But I know that already it’s…”

Realising his daughter was about to throttle the girl Dave interjected.

“I could really do with a tea if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course,” beamed Elaine disappearing out the door so fast Grace was surprised she didn’t leave a smoke trail.

Clearing the edge of the bed Dave patted the space beside him. Collapsing with a sigh Grace leant her head against his shoulder.

“One of us is not going to survive the semester,” she admitted evenly, then stole a glimpse up at her father, “If it’s not her I want you to tell the jury that I did it for the good of all mankind.”

Dave patted her back soothingly.

“The friends I made at this place have been friends for life Grace, and you’re a much nicer person than I am.”

“True,” she agreed absently. Her father was widely known as a right Grinch, “But what are you going to do without me for the next 12 months?”

Tapping his finger against his lip Dave narrowed his eyes seriously, “You’re right…A single male in his mid-thirties with a house all to himself. What will I ever do to keep myself busy?”

“Perhaps,” Grace ventured with a sideways glance, “you could clear some time in that busy schedule to go on a few dates?”

Dave considered her question for a moment, “I’ll do what I can kiddo, but you know eating poorly and watching sport take up an awful lot of spare time.”

Grace sighed, always with the jokes, she was fairly confident the next sentence might be food for thought.

“Well don’t get cross with me when I come home with a boyfriend and you’re all by yourself.”

Dave’s mouth snapped shut as the horrible thought washed over him. Grace. His baby girl. A boyfriend. He stood up abruptly and dove into the closet clutching a wad of dresses. I’ve broken him now, thought Grace who didn’t have the heart to mention her wardrobe was on the other side of the room.

“That’s enough trash talk from you young lady!” scolded Elaine who had arrived just in time to catch the end of the conversation. As she passed Dave the tea and made an almighty fuss of seating him her desk chair, Grace speculated that they might just survive the year after all.

Her father’s impending panic attack was further allayed by a soft knock at the door.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” breathed a small voice sounding mortally sorry to be doing just that. Hovering by the door was a girl sporting the rough dimensions of a stick insect. Grace braced herself for an almighty snap as Elaine launched at the girls fragile frame shrieking.

“Lizzie!” at a volume most reserved for rock concerts and hostage situations. Lizzie looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole and threw an apologetic glance around the room.

“Elaine please,” she hushed her. The sentiment went unnoticed by Elaine who grabbed her hand and spun around to face the room.

“Oh Lizzie this is going to be the best year ever! You have to meet my roommate Grace,” then lowering her voice to just below shouting added, “I rescued her from Harpoon Harrison who was just about to sink his hook into her.”

Elizabeth handled the situation with characteristic poise. It hadn’t escaped her attention that at the mention of sinking hooks the gentleman nursing the tea had nearly passed out. Neither had she missed the eyebrows on the lovely blonde levitating into her hairline. Extending a delicate hand she mustered her most wholesome smile and said.

“Welcome to St. Valentines.” 

CHAPTER 6

In 1972 an overwhelming 87% of Alumni attending the school’s 250^th jubilee, listed the “lack of available female’s” as the key area for improvement. The newly appointed Head Master, Sir Walter Delaney, thought nothing of co-educational schools. In his mind the creation of mini-skirts was single handedly responsible for the dismal pass rates of British teenagers at the time. When the matter was tabled for discussion he sought solace in the fact the decision rested in the hands of the school’s board, a group of prehistoric chauvinists. Unfortunately for Sir Walter the head of the board, a notorious letch, had been left with no choice but to converse with his wife for the evening of the jubilee due to the astonishing lack of crumpet. Foul tempered and entirely un-amused by the situation he bullied the remaining board members into passing the motion.

The only hiccup was where to lodge the additional 130 female boarders who had applied to the school. Following a heated debate, and some deep pocket diving on behalf of the parents association, a refurbished Lumley block was opened to a glittering reception in the summer of 1974, 87% of Alumni in attendance listed “the Shrimp” as the key area for improvement when surveyed.

“Just to be clear,” Grace clarified once all formal introductions had concluded, “There were no hooks, lines or sinkers between Jack and I.”

Elaine made a ‘pft’ noise and rolled her eyes.

“Oh please! If I hadn’t driven past when I did god only knows what might have happened!”

Grace folded her arms firmly across her chest and narrowed her eyes at the girl.

“You would be rooming with Snorebell, that’s what might have happened.”

Elizabeth shot an appalled look at Elaine “Laney you didn’t call her that, that’s awful,” she didn’t think it was appropriate to add that she agreed wholeheartedly with the description.

Dave, who was still experiencing tunnel vision in the aftermath of the previous statement, rose abruptly and mumbling something about changing for dinner vacated the room. Watching him leave Jin interrupted the girls with a concerned statement directed at Grace.

“She’s worried that your father is having a stroke,” translated Elaine who couldn’t help but dissolve into a fit of giggles. Grace sighed. Her father was having something alright, she just wished it wasn’t in full view of the public.

“I’m sure your mother will look after him,” offered Elizabeth kindly, “All parents go through this.”

Elaine nodded in agreement, “That’s why I leave mine to “go through this” in the privacy of their own home!”

It was a brief, yet enticing proposition, which Grace considered for about her second before shaking her head. Who was she kidding.

“It’s just the two of us,” she admitted, causing Elaine to brighten considerably.

“So you’re saying the position’s vacant?”

Holding up her palms in surrender Grace laughed good-naturedly.

“If you’re willing to deal with that kind of mess by all means, be my guest.”

“Now, now girls,” giggled Elizabeth who went clammy at the faintest whiff of conflict. Turning to Grace she motioned down the hallway, “How about I introduce you to the rest of the house?” and without waiting for an answer took her by the arm and guided her out of the room.

*

Having endured her son and his new roommate argue incessantly since setting foot in the room, Tanya leaned over to her husband and whispered.

“Do you think they’ll serve Scotch with dinner?”

“I doubt it dear,” replied George patting her hand gently, “but just think, if they manage to kill one another this semester I promise you can adopt a dog.”

Tanya was certain of one thing. If she didn’t leave the room shortly she would do the job for them. Rising from the bed she clapped her hands briskly.

“I’ve had enough! We are leaving for dinner immediately and I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you.”

Left to rally the troops George motioned towards the doorway.

“Let’s wrap it up gentlemen, you’ve got a whole year ahead of you.”

“Don’t remind me!” snapped Jack, stalking past him in to the corridor.

George looked to Steve who was staring uncomfortably at his feet. Jack had spun some stories in his time but George had to admit that his character assassination of Steve Bellamy over the years had been one of his finer dramatizations. George had nearly swallowed his tongue when an intelligent, well presented and, above all, polite young man had introduced himself in the car park.

Folding his dinner jacket across his arm, George caught his eye.

“Ready to go?”

“Sir I wanted to apologize for our behavior,” Steve began before George interrupted.

“You gave as good as you got and I, for one, quite enjoyed the show,” placing a hand on the boys shoulder he guided him towards the door, “Anyway, if anyone should be apologizing it’s probably my son. I don’t know what he’s done to land you in this mess but please accept my deepest condolences.”

Steve managed a small smile and said only partly joking.

“Are you saying you’ll take him back?”

When George finally stopped laughing long enough to choke out a sentence he did so in all earnestness.

“That’s the best joke I’ve heard in years.”

*

Moving fourteen teenaged girls into a single house, observed Grace once they had navigated their way around the mansion, was much like provoking a perfumed beehive. The place was swarming with workers and pissed off Queens. Her cheeks ached from smiling and she was sick of the sound of her own voice. Stumbling back to the room she pulled up short at the door. The bed she had left in disarray was neatly made and the bags staked in a corner emptied.

Noticing her hesitation Elaine rolled to one side.

“I asked Jin to sort out your stuff,” she began sheepishly, “I hope you know I was only joking about your Dad.”  

Crossing the room Grace launched herself onto the bed, “Take him,” she sighed closing her eyes peacefully.

For a single serene moment she was alone with her thoughts. Almost immediately her mind strayed to a pair of toffee colored eyes, dimples and that smile. It was enough to make her stomach perform an involuntary somersault. Then all of a sudden the boy standing in front of her was blonde and the smile he gave her caused her to gasp. She snapped her eyes open, heart racing.

Elaine looked up and raised an eyebrow, “Bad dream?” then taking in Grace’s flushed cheeks sat bolt upright, “I know that look. Who is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” snapped Grace thinking this whole messy conversation could have been avoided if her mind had just read the brunette memo. Like a Pitbull with a gossip bone Elaine refused to be brushed aside.

“Oh no,” she chuckled narrowing her eyes, “Because if your mind was so much as entertaining the thought of a certain asshole you met today then you and I are going to have to have ourselves a little talk. I refuse to sit by and watch you be used and discarded like a dirty tissue, then spend the next nine months of my life listening to you bitch and moan about the experience.”

Grace stared at her. It was the nicest thing she had ever heard Elaine say. She was only too well aware of the casualty guys like Jack were capable of inflicting on a girls heart. She had attributed a large portion of her summer weight loss to the absence of Veronika and Marchellette who were notorious binge eaters during break ups.

“It was only for a second,” she admitted finally.

Elaine nodded triumphantly.

“Mmmhmm…that’s why we call him Harpoon Harrison. Once he sinks in his hook you’re a goner.”

“Is that speaking from experience?” bit Grace then regretted it immediately. Too self-absorbed to recognize a dig Elaine rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Well of course I’m speaking from experience,” she explained and indulged in a few mental mementos. Although she would never admit it out loud it irked her that in nearly two years the pangs of rejection still stung. She watched Grace, perched on the edge of her bed, fighting a loosing battle with her recently shortened locks. Her Aunt had chosen the length specifically so she couldn’t tuck it behind her ears. This was absolutely doing her head in as rouge waves kept falling in her eyes making them water. It was like watching an adorable puppy wrestle its tail.

Oh Lordy, thought Elaine with a sigh, this poor girl doesn’t stand a chance. All the bravado in the world was worth nothing against a solid Harrison charm offensive. Dying to ask all about ‘the experience’ Grace tried to play it cool throwing in a simple.

“Oh…And?”

“And…” began Elaine choosing her words with care, “It wasn’t worth the year of my life I will never get back so I suggest you learn from my mistake and stay away.”

As an after thought she was about to confess that the experience had done nothing to deter her from a repeat performance, when they were interrupted by a disembodied voice from down the hallway. They were expected at dinner in thirty minutes. Elaine closed the distance between her bed and the mirror so quickly Grace wondered if her feet had touched the carpet. With an expert hand she began to re-touch her already flawless makeup.

In contrast Grace rolled off the bed, checked to make sure her skirt wasn’t hitched into her knickers and walked out the door.

“Bitch,” muttered Elaine pausing half way through a sweep of mascara. She assessed herself in the mirror then, in a move that defied gravity, reached down her top and hiked up her boobs so high they were nearly level with her chin. “She might be the new toy on the block,” she thought smugly, “but this one comes with accessories.”

By the time she had located her father, Grace was spitting. After being chased by the beastly matron, Ms. Somerfield, for striking up a cigarette in the hostel driveway, Dave had taken refuge between a hedge and a camellia bush around the back of the building. Had it not been for his hacking cough, which had scared Grace senseless when the foliage had suddenly barked at her, he would have remained quite happily puffing through the remainder of his packet in peace.

“I can’t believe you!” she shrieked, ripping the half smoked cigarette from him lips and stomping it out furiously, “I’m going to be late to my first term dinner because my father couldn’t refrain from a fag!”

“I’m sorry Gracie I just popped out for a quick one,” he protested surreptitiously sweeping the extinguished butts into the garden with his boot lest he cause a complete explosion. Pretending not to notice, Grace grabbed the cuff of his shirt and dragged him back to the front of the boarding residence.

Rounding the corner they were confronted by a world in chaos. Daughters were screaming at their mothers, mothers were screaming at their husbands, and the husband’s were stoically ignoring the whole debacle and pretending to be engrossed with a phone call. Having expected to find the place deserted Grace was floored. She looked from her father to the bedlam her mouth open and closing like a fish out of water.

“I…I don’t understand,” she stuttered, “Shouldn’t we all be at dinner?”

Ms. Somerfield, who had been keeping a close eye on Dave Fairchild after his earlier smoking digression, appeared at her side seemingly out of thin air.

“Oh please!” she chortled, “Do you really think I would tell a residence full of teenage girls the actual time they needed to be ready?”

Having become accustomed to a regiment where you were either on time or in detention, Grace struggled to grasp what she was being told.

“I’m sorry, how long are you saying we have before we need to be at dinner?”

Ms. Somerfield cast a well-trained eye over the scene in front of her before admitting.

“I usually give myself at least forty-five minute buffer before we need to head over there.”

Dave broke the silence that followed with a reassuring clap on his daughter’s shoulder, “See Gracie there’s nothing to worry about. I might even pop out back and admire the garden a while longer.”

The look Grace shot him could have skewered a turkey. Seeing Ms. Somerfield temporarily distracted by Elaine, who had emerged from the front door with three inches less dress and substantially more thigh, she tightened her grip around his wrist and growled.

“If you even so much as look in that direction I’ll tell Ms. Somerfield exactly what you’re admiring in the garden.”

For not the first time that day, Dave wished he had, had a son.

Fresh from her first imposition of the year, Ms. Somerfield returned to the conversation with a spring in her step.

“We’ll be leaving here in twenty minutes,” she announced before barreling off in the direction of a Maserati which, having caught sight of Elaine’s outfit, had mounted a hedge.

Sold in the school prospectus as a ‘superb occasion for students, parents and teachers to mingle in an informal environment while forging bonds of camaraderie and trust’ the Term Dinner was none of these things. It did however fulfill two crucial functions. Referred to by seniors as “St. Valentine’s got Talent,” it was widely regarded as the best opportunity to assess the crumpet on offer before it was swaddled beneath layers of school uniform. Even though relationships between students were highly discouraged the event had resulted in more than one coupling over the years, owing largely to the quantity of alcohol served throughout the evening. Perhaps even more notorious was the following Wednesday, more widely known as “Weeping Wednesday” when various parties came to their senses and broke things off.

Carnal interests aside, the evening enabled Sir Walter to put to rest any pleasantries with the parents in one well-oiled reception line. It was the one aspect of his position he truly despised. Sir Walter valued honesty, which was, as it happened, not a virtue shared by most parents when it came to their offspring.

Perhaps the only person who detested the term dinner more than he did was his long-suffering wife Penelope, who was forced to shoulder the brunt of his vile mood.

Watching her husband stampede around the dining room like an enraged rhinoceros, bestowing his wrath on unsuspecting members of kitchen staff Penelope wished she had feigned a migraine. Downton Abbey was drawing to a close and she was dying to find out what would transpire between Matthew, Lavina and Mary.

“Walter dear,” she beseeched him, catching sight of a waitress fleeing the room in tears, “Do stop fussing, people will be arriving shortly.”

“There wouldn’t be a need to fuss if there wasn’t such inexplicable incompetence on this staff Penelope,” he barked thundering across the room. From experience Penelope knew inexplicable incompetence could mean anything from substituting Bleach for Lemonade to folding the napkins a less than precise 45 degree angle.

“Just as well you’re here to keep them on your toes darling,” she replied absently, turning instead to greet the Deputy Headmaster and his wife Celia.

“You’ll never guess who we just passed in the car park of Lumley on the way over here,” said Simon Downey, the school’s considerably more good-humored Deputy Headmaster, “I nearly drove off the road from the shock of it.”

“He ran over a pot plant,” giggled Celia Downey nervously. Sir Walter Delaney scared the pants off her yet she idolized Penelope and had spent the past eighteen years of their acquaintance trying desperately to feel accepted by either of them.

Sir Walter, who cared nothing for guessing games was certainly in no mood for one now.

“Well for heavensakes man, spit it out.”

“David Fairchild,” he announced with a raise of his brow, “terrific looking daughter, takes after her mother.”

Sir Walter clasped and un-clasped his fists, while internally his blood pressure rose above 180. When he thought of all the characters that had caused him trouble over his tenure at St. Valentines none stood out for him quite as vividly as David Fairchild. What with the pregnancy scandal, then the whole ordeal with parents who wanted answers about how exactly it happened. He bloody well told them exactly how it happened. They allowed their undisciplined teenagers to fornicate. Thankfully the board, in possibly one of their best decisions to date, hadn’t allowed Sir Walter within a mile of the situation. He was going to follow up with whomever had thought allowing the offspring of such an individual to be enrolled into his establishment and ensure they were exited faster that he would be able to eject the student.

“Goodness, has it already been that long?” exclaimed Penelope who always feigned interest in matters pertaining to the school. Simon, who knew the announcement would put Walter in a horrendous mood, gave him a nudge and a wink.

“Hopefully she’s not a chip off the old block right Walt?”

“Oh look!” interrupted Celia who remembered the names and antics of students relayed to her by her husband, and knew what a headache Dave Fairchild had caused for Sir Walter, “I believe the students have started arriving.”

Sir Walter’s spirits were lifted slightly when the Harrison contingent, including the unlikely addition of Steve Bellamy entered the foyer.

“Oh my, what is Steven Bellamy doing with the Harrisons?” whispered Celia to her husband. Of all the students this was her favorite rivalry, mostly due to the delicious leading characters.

“Last minute room change I believe,” replied Simon discretely, before greeting The Honorable Judge Abrahamson with a firm handshake, “Pleasure to see you as always your Honor, welcome back to the school.”

Celia couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Who suggested that?” she hissed, thinking it would have been delightful to have such creatures at school when she had attended.

“Sir Walter,” replied Simon through teeth clenched into a smile, “I understand there was an incident with the school flag this morning,” Celia giggled and vowed to corner Dickie Clark when she had a moment.

Tanya Harrison caused her usual stir as she swept down the procession line. Even Sir Walter couldn’t help but extend his usual monosyllabic greeting into brief pleasantries.

“Tanya,” crowed Penelope embracing her as if she was an old friend. Penelope was on a number of committees that could benefit from such a popular patron as Tanya. Tanya who had spent her life being schmoozed was a pro, and delicately extracted herself from Penelope’s grasp.

“Always a pleasure to see you Penelope and looking so well, now if you’ll excuse me I am so parched from the flight over this morning I’m afraid I will pass out if I don’t get a water,” and with that she swept from the foyer with a flotilla of drinks waiters trailing her like scud missiles.

Never one to beat around the bush, George Harrison shook Sir Walter’s hand and lowered his voice.

“I don’t know what Jack’s done to you this time Walter but did you really need to punish Steve Bellamy? He seems like a good kid.”

Sir Walter had a lot of respect for George Harrison and replied gruffly.

“I thought it might be character building,” before adding as an afterthought, “for both of them.”

George raised his eyebrows.

“Well, I hope you know what you’re doing,” then turning he ushered the four boys through the procession line.

“Lady P looking ravishing as always,” smirked Jack, before leaning in and giving Celia’s ample bottom a pinch.

“You get younger every year Mrs. Downey, perhaps one day we’ll be able to go on a date,” he winked.

“That’s enough Jack,” roared George, hauling him out of the line by his collar.

“Lovely to see you Mrs. Downey, I hope you enjoyed your break with your mother,” said Steve earnestly, taking Celia completely by surprise as she had entirely forgotten she had mentioned it to him at the close of term.

“Yes thank you Steven, it was delightful.”

“Excuse me,” he said rejoining the group of boys awkwardly. What a charming young man, she thought, good lord please don’t let Jack Harrison change him. Although she couldn’t help but flush every time she thought about him pinching her bottom.

Standing on the steps to the dining hall Grace felt nervous, but her father looked as if he was about to pass out.

“Dad are you alright, you’re sweating?

Dave didn’t want to admit that the source of his terror, Sir Walter Delaney, was standing only a few meters away so gave her a reassuring nod.

“Just a little hot.”

“Maybe you should take off your jacket?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped wiping his clammy hands on his trousers.

“Well if you pass out I’m just going to roll you to the side and pretend you came with Elaine,” retorted Grace folding her arms moodily. Elaine, who had been busy garbling to Elizabeth heard her name and wheeled around.

“Oooo we’re nearly there, I’ve heard these things are horrible if you’re at a bad table.”

Grace challenged any company to be worse than her father. The mere thought of spending a further four hours seated beside him was distressing enough. A few feet from the reception line Dave’s anxiety peaked and he searched for a quick out.

“I…Ah, I’m…Ah just going to duck to the bathroom I’ll meet you out here in a moment,” he stammered suddenly.

“What?!” said Grace through clenched teeth, “Dad, we’re almost at the front of the line can’t you hold it?” She noticed his eyes were wild, like a cornered animal, “Are you on drugs?”

Dave looked at her incredulously.

“Of course not!”

“Well then stop acting like it.”

Dave glanced at the line just in time to make eye contact with Sir Walter himself. Shit! He swore ducking behind Grace like a human shield.

“Oh my god Dad, cut it out you’re embarrassing me!”

“Grace,” he whispered holding her like a human shield, “I told you about my last few weeks at St. Valentines did I?” trying to look over her shoulder as casually as one can when your father is hunkered behind you, Grace whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

“No! As far as you told me this is the land of rainbow drops and gummy bears what on earth did you do?”

“Well,” began Dave struggling for words, “I wasn’t exactly the model student, I went out with a bit of a bang.”

“Well there’s no going back know,” she hissed under her breath, “We are going to get through this reception line, and then I am going to kill you with my bare hands,” then mustering her most fetching smile held out a hand to Sir Walter Delaney.

“Grace Fairchild, a pleasure to meet you Sir.”

As a gentleman who had survived three tours of active duty in the Royal Army, Sir Walter was not a man to be easily surprised. Yet he thought he was having an episode when a striking young girl introduced herself with a smile.

“Goodness me,” he marveled, “Aren’t you just the spiting image of your mother.”

“So I am told, you must remember my father.”

Sir Walter drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest.

“Yes, Mr. Fairchild it has been a few years hasn’t it?”

“Yes Sir,” he replied meeting his eyes briefly before staring at his shoes. He felt like a seventeen year old school kid all over again.

“Well Miss Fairchild, I trust you will not give me as much trouble as your father did during his time here.”

With a quick glance at her father Grace shook her head.

“We’re quite different people, I can assure you Sir.”

Sir Walter nodded curtly.

“Very well, jolly good. Welcome to St. Valentine’s Ms. Fairchild and David,” Dave’s head snapped to attention, “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Then just as quickly as he had greeted them he had turned his attention to the buxom Ms. Doyle.

“Good heavens!” he thundered, “Did Ms. Sommerfield approve of that attire Ms. Doyle?”

Leaving Elaine to navigate the wrath of Delaney, Grace and Dave made their way along the remaining line without issue.

“That was not as bad as you made it out to be,” she chided him, “You are such a drama queen!”

Dave had spent the last seventeen years of his life building an accounting empire none the least so he could rub Sir Walter’s pompous nose in it. He was mortified that after all that time their meeting had not been the triumphant success he had imagined and sensed he would spend the rest of the week having Sir Walter Delaney induced nightmares.

“Well are we going through?” chirped Elaine brightly, interrupting Dave’s pity party.

“How on earth did you get yourself out of that one?” admired Grace, who was brushed off with a wave.

“That? Please! I told him I must have put on weight over the summer and asked if he was saying I looked fat. Then I started to tear up, and his wife told him off. It works every time.”

A relatively new addition to the school, the dining hall was Sir Walter’s pat-on-the-back (to himself) at reaching 10 years in the position. Reconverted from the old greenhouse it was the final nail in the coffin for the hydroponic ring that had been rife within the school. The Board made rumblings until a particularly enterprising six former made them aware of a crop adjacent to the newly opened Pastoral Care block, at which point they promptly shut-up leaving Sir Walter to believe he had axed the issue once and for all. Much like the protagonist himself the conversion had been demanding, unforgiving and painfully expensive. Simply regulating the temperature of such a colossus had proven so expensive the Board had to forego their annual Christmas party in an attempt to recuperate costs. Despite the completed structure being widely regarded as a triumph of modern architecture, the monumentality of this sacrifice was not forgotten and for his twentieth anniversary Sir Walter received a pen.

Having made repeat attempts to charm the waitress into slipping them bottles of Dom Perignon, Patrick collapsed into his chair.

“Well gentleman,” he said solemnly, “We’ve got ourselves a situation.”

With a front row seat to the train-wreck that had been Patrick’s feeble crack at wooing, Steve couldn’t agree more, “I’d say,” he said speaking for the first time since they had been seated, “You’re fucking terrible at talking to woman,” causing Charles to snort his glass of bubbly.

“That’s a joke right?” laughed Patrick sanctimoniously.

Jack, who up until this point had been steadfastly ignoring his new roommate, shrugged indifferently.

“I can’t see any bottles.”

Deciding to twist the knife further Steve added, “The truth hurts.”

Ordinarily the one with the brutal one-liners, Patrick slouched in his chair boot-faced.

“Well if you’re such a ladies man,” he sulked, “Then why don’t you show us how it’s done?”

Figuring he was going to need more than goodwill alone to get through the evening, Steve scoped the room with a critical eye. So far the only waitresses he had noticed looked as though they relied on the income to supplement second jobs, meaning they were highly unlikely to risk their wage for a nice smile. What he needed was someone who neither needed the money, nor cared about the event.

“Now only if I’d known that it was as simple as sitting on my ass and looking stupid,” said Patrick sourly just as Steve set eyes on the perfect candidate.

“Bingo,” he mumbled and ignoring the comment bee-lined across the room. The boys watched as he approached a well-rounded brunette with a smile. A few moments later he returned to the table empty handed, causing Patrick to crow triumphantly.

“Oh I’m sorry, who’s fucking terrible at talking to women now? You couldn’t even charm tubby.”

“What can I say,” shrugged Steve apologetically, “We all have our off days.”

“Off days!” scoffed Patrick and was about to unleash a torrent of hell, when he was interrupted by the waitress brandishing a tray full of drinks.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized softly, “But I could only get four, they’re watching them like hawks, Sir Walter is such a tight ass.”

“Megan,” beamed Steve, “You’re incredible!” causing the girl to flush burgundy. She reasoned that smile alone would be worth losing her job over. After a discrete exchange she excused herself leaving the boys once again unattended.

“Patrick,” began Jack, accepting the bottle of Dom passed to him under the table, “Is there something you want to say to Steven?”

Patrick muttered something that sounded nothing at all like sorry.

“Now, now,” tut-tutted Steve, “There’s where you’re going wrong, women hate sore losers.”

Seeing Patrick about to launch himself at Steve, Jack smiled.

“Ladies, ladies let’s keep our panties on, the night is still young,” then collecting the remaining names from around the table added, “we still need to work out what we’re going to do about the seating plan.”

Unable to do a thing about his living arrangements Jack was determined to welcome in the term on a better note. This did not include spending the evening with his parents and several other men. Emerging from beneath the table with a glass of bubbles, like Venus from the sea Charles was all ears.

“Anyone in mind?”

“No,” lied Jack, who had been keeping a close watch on the entranceway for a particular female, adding with an uncharacteristic show of good will, “Bellamy, any thoughts?”

Possessing a photographic memory and being the only individual who had bothered reading the seating plan, Steve knew exactly which table he would rather be at that evening. Ordinarily a stickler for the rules, the mere thought of spending dinner with Harpoon Harrison and the Tweedle-Dipshits was enough to make him reconsider.

“Well Elaine’s on table six…” he began, and was interrupted by Jack who pretended to snore.

“Next!”

Undeterred by the lack of interest he continued, “she’s sitting with Elizabeth, Brooke and the new girl, Grace.”

Knowing full well that Steve-proverbial-wet-blanket-Bellamy, would have studied the seating plan like a menu, Jack’s face betrayed nothing.

“Any objections?” he asked simply, rising from his chair to make a direct swap.

“We can’t change everyone out,” protested Steve, reaching over and plucking George and Tanya’s names from the deck.

Giving him a cold blank stare straight off the North Pole, Jack paused mid-stride, “Why’s that?”

“They’ll know we changed it parents always sit with their children.”

Bored with the conversation Jack shrugged, “Tonight they can make an exception.”

“Because Delaney always makes exceptions for you Harrison,” taunted Steve.

Jack was caught. The only thing he detested more than admitting he was wrong was admitting Steve Bellamy was right. Weighing his options he was somewhat consoled by the thought they were at least on the same team when it came to dinner companions. What was it to him to leave the donkeywork to Bellamy, when he could sit back and enjoy the fruits of his labor. Tossing the cards across the table Jack studied him evenly.

“Knock yourself out.”

Following his complete implosion with Sir Walter, Dave was itching for a cigarette and a drink. Nothing about the evening appeared to be going his way as they arrived at their table to find their seats already occupied by a slightly awkward teenager and two androgynous women channeling David Bowie circa 1980.

Rising to greet him with a handshake so firm Dave winced, one of the pair took him aside and discretely explained their situation.

“I think we’re actually meant to be on table 10,” she explained in a low rasping voice, “but they’ve got our parties confused.”

Distracted by a comely waitress who whisked past touting four bottles of Dom Perignon, Dave failed to catch her drift.

“In what way?”

The woman cleared her throat and attempted to explain the next part as delicately as possible, “Well I can only presume they think we’re the Adam and Eve plus Eve, instead of the Eve and Eve plus Steve.”

For an Accountant it took Dave an alarming number of calculations to finally reach a conclusion.

“Oh Christ!” then glancing at his daughter and Elaine spluttered, “but we’re not even an Adam and Eve let alone an Eve and…never mind.”

Charmed by his gibbering awkwardness, she went on.

“We’d rather not cause a scene so if you wouldn’t mind taking our place this evening it would be much appreciated.”

Determined to avoid the all seeing eye of Sir Walter at all cost, Dave waved his hands so wildly that Grace could only assume he was having a fit.

“No, not at all. You stay here. Did you say table ten?” and to avoid further conversations pertaining to Eve’s, Steve’s or Adam’s tore off through the crowd like Moses parting the red sea.

Weathering an artic glare from Elaine, thrilled to have been seated at a table where she had slept with no one, and imploring looks from their should-be dinner companions who thought this ravishing duo looked a lot more exciting than their replacements, Grace battened down the hatches.  

“Look. He works in tax. They don’t let him out much.”

Within a few short minutes the atmosphere in the room had intensified into one of jungle warfare.

Mothers in jeweled colors circulated the room air kissing one another, wafting scent and trying stoically to outshine their teenage daughters in both youth and beauty. Their husbands, despite having wives present, were grouped at the bar admiring the display and wondering where all the fizz had gone while their sons in turn, had formed into packs and were hunting anything in a skirt.

By the time she caught her father, who had mercifully come to a halt, Grace felt as though she’d gone five rounds with Tyson.

“Could you please slow down!” she gasped, and taking absolutely no notice of her surroundings added, “Someone in that crowd is wearing Sex Panther and I think I’m about to faint.”

“Oh go on,” came a familiar clipped drawl from the chair behind her, “I happen to be an expert in mouth-to-mouth.”

“Jack!” reproved Tanya, rising to greet them with that famous smile one journalist had claimed ‘could beam into a thousand homes without the aid of a satellite’.

For a man who had been on deaths door only moments earlier, marveled Grace as her father scaled a chair to accept Tanya’s outstretched hand, he had made a miraculous recovery.

Utterly overdressed for the evening in a slinky gown there wasn’t a woman in the room not keeping a well trained eye on her husband. For now, Tanya’s eyes were for Dave alone, and she smiled graciously.

“We’ve been so looking forward seeing you. We were beginning to think you may have gotten lost.”

“I believe there was a mistake on the seating plan.”

“So the boys told us,” she said placing a delicate kiss on his cheek, “You must be David, Tanya Harrison pleasure to meet you, this is my husband George.”

While the adults exchanged pleasantries Elaine sidestepped Grace and wasted no time making herself right at home.

“Hello gentlemen,” she purred, pouring herself into the vacant seat next between Charles and Patrick, and giving anyone who cared to notice a splendid view of her cleavage, “This should be fun.”

A purveyor of fine women and flesh Charles kissed her on the cheek.

“Hello darling, doesn’t desert usually arrive after dinner? You look good enough to eat.”

“This old thing,” simpered Elaine, “I can’t believe you noticed.”

She opened her mouth to introduce Grace then closed it again. Out of the corner of her eye she had seen Jack looking in her direction so began flirting outrageous with Charles.

Still sour Charles hadn’t backed him up earlier Patrick pulled out his cell phone and posted an unflattering picture of the pair to Facebook with the caption “breast for supper?” knowing Charles’ uptight Anglican mother would see.

Across the table and feeling increasingly anxious about his part in the new seating arrangements Steve was so caught up in his own thoughts he didn’t even notice Elaine’s dramatic entrance. Due to the stringent obligations of his scholarship he was ordinarily a model student with exceptional grades and an uncompromising work ethic. This concept went right over the heads of his affluent peers who wrote him off as both a frightful bore and horrendous brown-noser. Tonight was the closest he had come to breaking a rule in the four years he had been at St Valentines and for what, a girl he barely knew?

His thoughts were interrupted by the school’s rugger captain James Savage. His nickname, the ‘Savage Cabbage’, was due to an astonishing ability to mow down opponents. Having sustained a serious concussion they day prior, James was seeing triple. Sizing up a group of fetching blondes he leaned over to Steve and said not at all discretely.

“Dibs on that middle one.”

“Who is he talking about?” muttered Patrick to Steve.

Seeing James’ eyes pointing in different directions, Steve chose the most stationary and followed his line of sight. Almost immediately his anxiety melted away as there standing next to her father was Grace.

Noting the lull in conversation Tanya seized the opportunity to introduce the new arrivals and pointed out their seats.

“I think you must be the only person here that I haven’t met,” said Grace sliding into the chair beside the Savage Cabbage who looked crestfallen.

“Sorry,” he apologized, “Nothing against you, I was just hoping you were that other blonde.”

No sooner had they been seated than Simon Downey rose to his feet and called the room to order. As usual he was frightfully over excited by such a glamorous and influential crowd and had drunk far too much champagne, which had gone straight to his nose.

He could lead Santa through a snowstorm, thought Celia trying not to giggle as Simon launched the audience into a rousing rendition of the school song. Composed entirely in Latin presumably by a tone deaf mute the song was a wretched affair aside from one saving grace. If you sung the words extremely slowly and took artistic license with the tune, it sounded nearly exactly like ‘row, row, row your boat’ which the majority of the audience were currently warbling with gusto.

Tone deaf himself, Jack kept his mouth tightly shut and instead studied Grace across the table. Her brow was creased in a frown as she tried to follow words to a song no one was signing. A curl slipped from behind her ear and Jack was overwhelmed by a desire to brush it back into place. He was so distracted that when she gave up entirely and looked up in frustration their eyes met instantly.

Dressed in a dove grey suit that set off his bronzed skin and cornflower blue eyes magnificently, he was easily better looking than anyone she had ever met.

Surely twelve months wasn’t such a high price to pay to have his undivided attention for one night thought Grace idly. Then remembering the three weeks of hell she had endured when a one-night stand had failed to call Marchellete last New Years checked herself and quickly looked away.

Thankfully Patrick and Charles provided an excellent distraction trying to one-up the other in an astonishing show of school patriotism. The duo bought the house down by belting a canon of ‘Row, Row, Row your Boat” with such sentiment a few parents on the surrounding tables could be seen dabbing their eyes at the close of the song.

While Simon Downey cheerily invited the room to take their seats, Grace snuck another glance across the table. She was caught off guard at her disappointment in finding Jack engaged in conversation with Charles. Elaine had been right. Jack was a virus that every woman caught sooner or later and she decided he was to be avoided at all costs.

Simon regarded his annual ‘term dinner’ speech as something of a career highlight. Having worked on this year’s sermon incessantly over the past twelve weeks he shuffled his cue cards out of habit rather than necessity.

“Good evening ladies, gentlemen, returning students and honored Alumni,” he began smiling grandly around the room. As he launched whole-heartedly into a biblical metaphor about new beginnings the audience took out their smart phones and sunk lower in their chairs.

Steve was desperate to continue his conversation with Grace but seated beside James, the Savage Cabbage, there was no way that was possible. Fucking flanker. His mood had not been improved by the fact that save a brief conversation with Charles, Jack had barely taken his eyes of her since they had arrived.

Simon, who loved the sound of his own voice, had managed to extend his sermon by an impressive 15 minutes. Even Celia, who watched her husband with the devotion of a Labrador, had glazed over by the end and had to be nudged by Simon to strike up a lackluster round of applause that trickled around the room.

Roused from their languor there was an audible buzz amongst the audience as iPhones were shelved, tablets put away and everyone vied to get a good view of the room. The next section was both painfully awkward and wildly popular as it involved introducing the new attendees.

Mercifully he conducted these in alphabetical order giving Grace the opportunity to swallow an impending panic attack. Poor Allison Barrington received no such warning and at Simon’s insistence rose to her feet trembling like a poplar in a ten-force gale.

“Four,” murmured Charles to Patrick who appraised the girl critically.

“Nice teeth, four and a half,” he countered earning himself a thunderous look of disapproval from George.

Simon smirked inwardly as he waited to announce the next name. He had leapt for joy when the application had arrived on his desk last year. Earlier that week Sir Walter had announced a second wage freeze for senior staff merely hours after the schools accountant had reported a record profit. He then had the audacity to lecture Simon, who had already made a down payment on a new Jaguar and was furious, on the virtues of a robust savings program. Knowing Sir Walter would never approve this admission, despite the schools policy on legacies, he had taken the trouble to make a personal phone call advising it had been accepted.

As he called Grace’s name Simon looked to table six and was caught off guard when he found the occupants seated. Scanning the room he saw her rising to her feet in the far corner at table ten. His smile grew like Pinocchio’s nose. Sir Walter would be absolutely seething.

Elaine liked her new roommate but didn’t appreciate being upstaged. Despite her best efforts (and assets) Jack Harrison had looked in Grace’s direction an infinite amount more than he had looked in hers.

Hearing her name called Grace drew in a few deep breaths. Elaine knew she should offer some words of encouragement but was instead comforted by the fact Grace look utterly dreadful and did a quick boob adjustment for good measure.

James’ immense proportions meant Steve had been entirely obscured from Grace’s sight. As she rose to her feet he finally caught her eye and mouthed “good-luck” with a dimpled smile that caused her to positively light up.

A murmur of excitement rippled across the room as the male population nudged one another in interest, and the females narrowed their eyes in recognition of a common enemy.

“Grace joins us in the lower-sixth from Du Champs,” Simon began, then realizing he had the complete attention of the crowd afforded himself a joke, “Both of Grace’s parents attended St Valentine’s and I’m surprised, David, that with your track record you would allow your daughter to be seated anywhere near that lot.”

The audience looked at one another confused, Dave sunk a few inches lower in his chair, Grace shot him a death stare and the all seeing eye of Sir Walter fell upon table ten.

Oblivious to the mayhem he had unleashed Simon chuckled to himself.

“I digress. Grace is an exceptional student and aims to study medicine at UCL. She is also a talented hockey player representing Mont-Fleuri in their first XI squad. There are many more achievements but in the interest of time I will simply say that Grace is a splendid addition to the St Valentine’s family, I am sure you will all join me in welcoming her to the school.”

I might as well have a giant L on my forehead, thought Grace miserably as she collapsed into her seat.

“Nine,” coughed Charles receiving a boot to the ankle from Jack.

“Raise you a half,” whispered Patrick pretending to scratch his nose, “sounds as though she can handle a stick and balls,” then scared Steve might stab him with a fork continued in a low voice “What the hell are you worried about? For once that big head of yours might come in useful because it sounds as though she’s smart enough to stay the hell away from Jack!”

Concluding his speech to a room thrumming with excitement, Simon reluctantly surrendered the floor.

Like heaping water on a flame, Sir Walter’s presence at the podium extinguished the atmosphere instantly.

Until moments earlier he had been rather pleased with his recovery following the events of that morning. He felt the room change was a stroke of genius and judging by the comment from George Harrison was already having the desired effect. That ought to teach that little shit a lesson, he thought viciously.

The return of David Fairchild on the other hand was unsettling. Sir Walter loathed reliving the past and this was a period he would rather forget entirely. The fact David had gone on to produce such a ravishing and, by all accounts, accomplished daughter only heaped fuel on resentment that had been smoldering for years.

As a result, the very last place he wanted to see a Fairchild, was anywhere near a Harrison.

Sir Walter curled his fingers around the corners of the lectern and glowered from one side of the room to another - “Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” even an innocuous greeting sounded as though he was ordering a military offensive, “I believe my esteemed colleague has done a commendable job of introductions so I will be brief.”

“A snake, having made his hole close to the porch of a cottage, inflicted a mortal bite on the Cottager’s infant son. Grieving over his loss, the Father resolved to kill the Snake. The next day, when it came out of its hole for food, he took up his axe, but by swinging too hastily missed its head and cut off only the end of its tail. After some time the Cottager, afraid the Snake would bite him also, endeavored to make peace, and placed some bread and salt in the hole. The Snake, slightly hissing, said “There can henceforth be no peace between us; for whenever I see you I shall remember the loss of my tail, and whenever you see me you will be thinking of the death of your son.”

“The moral,” he went on, directing the last sentence at the far corner of the room, “Is that no one truly forgets injuries in the presence of him who caused the injury. Please enjoy your meal.”

No sooner had Sir Walter finished imploring his guests to enjoy their meal than the kitchen doors burst open and a plethora of waiters and waitresses flooded the room brandishing the first course.

While people swooned at the ambrosial smell of the soup, the Maître De popped another Xanax, countered it with a Bisodol and washed down both with a swig of brandy meant for the pudding. It was a small miracle the food had made it out at all.

The school’s Chef de Cuisine, a French culinary genius with three Michelin stars, had not taken kindly to the serving delay caused by Simon’s over zealous speech. Rampaging through the kitchen hurling both obscenities and plates, the Sous Chef had been forced to detain him in the freezer after he had threatened to urinate in the soup.

Having heard rumors about the eye candy, every waitress seemed to converge on table ten fighting to serve the handsome patrons.

“Cracked pepper?” asked a male waiter, shimmying up to the table.

Jack waved him over, “Aren’t you an angel,” sending the man crimson at the endearment.

In a superhuman effort to keep conversation flowing, Grace listened politely to James talk about rugby and why Wales were the most underrated team internationally, and wondered if this was her punishment for being such a bitch to her father.

As if hearing the unspoken apology Dave, an avid rugger fan, stopped his conversation with George midstream to pick holes in James’ monologue. Two minutes later, with the Savage Cabbage sitting virtually in her lap, Grace casually suggested they exchange seats.

In the ensuing pandemonium with James so aggrieved he forgot to let Grace move before he sat down and Steve chivalrously pulling her to safety before she was flattened beneath 240lb of rugby muscle and Dave seeing his daughter in the arms of a young man, for the second time that day, crushing the champagne flute with his bare hand, Elaine decided she had been ignored long enough and launched a full frontal assault.

“Elaine!” howled Tanya on her return from the ladies “Put those away and good grief David what on earth happened to your hand?”

CHAPTER  7

As the waiters swarmed the tables, clearing plates, the Maître De polished off the rest of the pudding brandy and steeled himself for round two.

On his release from the freezer the Chef de Cuisine had threatened legal action then secretly liberated the champagne cupboard.

This sudden abundance of alcohol meant the evening had matured magnificently. Even Mother Nature gave her blessing. The sky was a masterpiece awash with burnt apricot and ruby red bathing the room in a honey-drenched glow that flattered nearly every skin tone and masked the mounting effects of the alcohol.

  It was rumored at least two parents had already thrown up in the bathroom. Judge Abrahamson had deliberately returned to the wrong table so he could leer at the girls on Table 6. Never-Downey’s nose glowed like a cheerful Christmas bauble. The head girl’s mother had disappeared half an hour ago and not been heard from since, enabling her daughter to sneak away with the Pastoral Care prefect.

Dickie Clarke, late as usual, stumbled over the pair as he snuck through a side door.

“If you’re going to beat about in a bush lamb,” he chided poor Lavinia Lewis, “might I suggest you don’t wear white.”

George Harrison, however, was having a lovely time sitting next to Dave Fairchild. Both thought the other to be totally unpompous, well versed in the intricacies of business and, being completely under the thumb of the women in their lives, recognized an ally.

“Have you ever visited the Caribbean?” George enquired after Dave solved a vexing tax matter.

“Not recently,” confessed Dave, taking a belt of his Dom, “but I hear it’s incredible.”

Tanya, on George’s left, had been quietly listening to their exchange and realized how important Dave could be to George’s business. At 35 he was extraordinarily young compared with the other parents. If he’d only loose a few pounds and the Boris Johnson haircut he’d be quite the catch. But there would be plenty of time to play matchmaker later, for now she needed to orchestrate their next meeting. Preferably somewhere that involved both David and his daughter. Hearing her husband mention the Caribbean she seized her opportunity.

Leaning across her husband she announced, “That settles it then. You simply must come stay with us on Bean.”

  Grace and Steve’s conversation had progressed noisily to field hockey.

“Most of the 1^st XI graduated last year,” Steve was telling her, adding hopefully, “Do you think you’ll try out?”

“I’d love too,” she admitted, “but I’ve got to get straight A’s if I want to make medicine at UCL,” then buoyed by the look of disappointment on Steve’s face quickly went on, “although I suppose it couldn’t hurt to trial, I might not even make the team.”

Patrick decided to help him out: “Why don’t you train together?” and seeing he had attracted Jack’s attention put the boot in over the way he had treated Brigitta, “Steve’s being modest, he’s vice of the boys 1^st XI, he’d be a great partner.”

As Patrick disappeared to the bathroom, Steve mumbled gratefully that he’d be only happy to.

“That would be wonderful,” gushed Grace, praying he couldn’t hear her heart hammering in her chest.

Their exchange was interrupted by the main course, arriving too much fanfare. Yet as a Matterhorn of prawns was placed before her Grace felt all color drain from her face.

“I never saw Prawns on the menu,” wailed Elaine, adding bitchily to Charles, “there’s always one who has to cause a scene.”

Bored with the conversations on either side of him and not at all interested in being polite, Jack had been surreptitiously gazing at Grace. He liked the way her eyes creased every time she smiled, and was thoroughly nettled that she was spending so much time smiling at Steve. Unaccustomed to being ignored Jack felt jolted and uneasy.

Seeing Grace stare at her meal like it had just been responsible for the death of her childhood dog, it dawned on him. Reaching across the table he picked up her plate and exchanged it for his own, boeuf bourguignon.

“Would you mind?”

“Yes,” growled Steve, kyboshed by Grace who smiled gratefully and said not at all.

“I’m severely allergic to shellfish.”

“Why order it then?” asked the Savage Cabbage between mouthfuls.

“I didn’t.”

“Oh of course, it was that other woman,”

“What other woman?” said Tanya sharply from the other end of the table.

 But suddenly those seated with their backs to the front of the hall started to shake, without knowing why. Then, gradually, as the faint acerbic scent of Imperial Leather reached the nostrils of the entire table and they heard the metronomic cadence of steel caps on hardwood, they realized it was Sir Walter advancing toward them.

Charles dropped his fork and promptly disappeared beneath the table, Elaine dropped her napkin and joined him. Patrick on his way back from the gents went sharply into reverse. Dave strongly considered faking a stroke. Knowing she would be called upon to divert Delaney’s wrath Tanya dutifully dove behind her husband, frantically combing her hair and reapplying her makeup. A waitress brandishing a fresh bottle of champagne melted away like snow in the morning sun, while Grace subtly, albeit regretfully, put a few more inches between her knees and Steve’s. The only two who appeared outwardly unaffected were Jack, who had anticipated this moment, and the Savage Cabbage who didn’t think much at all.

Like a Mexican standoff, the air was electric with anticipation. The entire room waited to see who would make the first move.

“Walter,” purred Tanya, turning in her seat so he received the full benefit of her backless dress, “What a pleasant surprise,” but not even Tanya’s charming smile, so bright it could have dried paint, could deter him.

“I find it peculiar,” said Sir Walter, dangerously quietly, “that this is the one year I have encountered an issue with the seating arrangements,” the rest of his sentence was finished by his eyes, so dark they appeared black, that darted accusingly from David to Jack and back again.

“What a coincidence,” said Jack smoothly, “this is the one year I have encountered an issue with the sleeping arrangements.”

Charles giggled nervously. Sir Walter fixed him with such a caustic stare he wilted beneath the table.

Dave was not given to fantasy, but more than anything else he longed to be in a position where an abject, penitent, penniless Sir Walter Delaney was seeking David’s favor and counsel. Propped up by two bottles of fizz he weighed in on the conversation.

“Wonderful evening Walter, much better than I remembered. Good to see you’ve been making some changes.”

“We haven’t,” Sir Walter’s voice was pure steel.

Then turning on Steve said, “Mr. Bellamy, perhaps you could explain the flag Mr. Clark presented to me this morning.”

Steve stammered in confusion, Never-Downey sneezed, Cynthia nearly suffocated him with a napkin, the air conditioning hummed ominously in the background. The rest of the room sat with ears on elastic trying to hear what they were saying.

About to protest his innocence Steve glared across the table at his roommate whose blank, blue-eyed stare seemed even more insolent than usual. He didn’t know which he resented most – Jack’s habitual contempt, his effortless acquisition of women or that he appeared outwardly unaffected by nearly every situation life could throw at him.

Sir Walter tapped his foot impatiently, “Steven,” expecting the boy to plead ignorance.

Steve cleared his throat:

“I apologize Sir. It was a poor joke.”

 There was a collective gasp across the room. Sir Walter, for his part, was speechless.

Steve went on, “I understand there will be repercussions.”

“Very well then, we will discuss this privately during the week, but I must say I’m disappointed Steven,” Sir Walter was desperate to regain the upper hand, “Perhaps you would care to enlighten me on this unorthodox seating arrangement?”

Deliverance arrived in the form of Grace, who had been quietly watching the whole exchange and was convinced of two things. That Steve had absolutely nothing to do with the flag and everything to do with their seating arrangement.

“Sir I feel terrible,” she began, making no attempt to disguise her trembling hands, “if anyone should be held responsible it’s me.”

Dave opened his mouth to object, but closed it when George caught his eye.

“We have a similar dinner at Du Champs where our senior tables are mixed. The boys did try to explain but we were already seated and I didn’t think there would be an issue. I completely understand if I have caused a problem and I’m extremely sorry.”

Sir Walter evaluated the girl. He knew she was telling the truth and by all accounts she appeared contrite but he was loathe to trust anyone genetically linked to Dave Fairchild.

“I appreciate your honesty Ms. Fairchild but you are no longer at Du Champs. We have different traditions at St. Valentines, I trust you will take the time to learn them from here on.”

“Absolutely Sir.”

“Very well, I will leave you to your dinner,” and he stalked off in the direction of Judge Abrahamson who was refusing to return to his seat.

For a very long time no one said anything.

Steve was furious with Jack over his first imposition and Jack was furious with Steve for so openly covering for him. Dave was furious with his daughter for lying while Elaine was furious with her for so easily resolving the situation with Sir Walter. George and Tanya were both furious with their son.

The mood was bolstered by Patrick returning to his seat:

“I wouldn’t worry about Sir Walter,” he said in stiches, “I’ve just found the Head Girl’s mother. She’s passed out in the closet with her panties around her ankles and the ahhh…head of another in her girl. Her husband’s gone to the car for his gun. We’re going to need more fizz.”

Later that evening the girls of Lumley 3 congregated in their communal area to share gossip and, as most of them were still tight, Berocca to ward off the impending hangover.

As it was so warm the door leading to the garden had been propped open, an intoxicating aroma of honey suckle mixed with smoke from a field across the valley wafted in.

Lights out was thirty minutes ago, but Ms. Sommerfield made no move to usher them off to bed. Having missed out on a dinner invitation she had to make do with gossip and was disguising her eavesdropping by serving tea and passing around the cookies Jin and left for Elaine.

“These are delicious,” said Harriet Stringer one of the house prefects in the upper 6^th, helping herself to another, “did you make them?”

And because Jin had left already Elaine said she had.

“They’re gluten free, sugar free and made from organic peanuts.”

Brooke Anderson, an athletic champion from Australia who was dressed as a Giraffe and insisted on calling everyone by their last name, frowned.

“I thought all peanuts were organic.”

“Tea?” called Ms. Sommerfield, bustling around the room thrusting hot cups into girls’ hands regardless of their response.

Desperate to sparkle and scintillate Elaine was currently holding court with an increasingly dramatic account of events, egged on by the fact Grace made no move to correct her. 

Harriet Stringer shook her head in disbelief, “I still can’t believe they switched the place names.”

“And got away with it!” agreed another house prefect.

Elaine nodded solemnly, telling the room she felt it was almost more shocking that Sir Walter hadn’t suspended the entire table on the spot, and after pausing for effect smiled at her roommate.

“Thanks to Grace,” and feeling she could afford to be generous, “she was so brilliant even I believed her story. It completely diffused Sir Walter.”

Sitting on an opposite chair comforting Elizabeth, who had disgraced herself by being the only member of the household to cry when her parents left, Grace mumbled it was nothing.

She was exhausted after such an eventful day and deflated by the way it had ended. She had wanted to say goodbye to Steve, but how could she with her father guarding her like Cerberus at the gates of Hades. God he was embarrassing. Ms. Sommerfield had virtually driven him off the premises with a broom.

More than anything she wanted to go to bed so she could see him in the morning. Her stomach was a knot of excitement and anxiety just thinking about it. He probably had dozens of girls chasing him it was incredibly presumptuous thinking she had even made an impression.

“Lizzie,” she said casually while the pair were brushing their teeth nearly three hours past lights out, “do you know if Steve has a…ah…girlfriend?”

Elizabeth smiled knowingly, “you mean Jack,” the girls were so accustomed to this question they placed bets, ordinarily it took minutes. Lizzie was pleasantly surprised Grace had lasted so long, she had put her money on it taking three hours. Yet when she looked at the girl she wasn’t blushing at the mistake, she looked confused.

“No, I mean Steve. Steve Bellamy.”

Elizabeth paused midway through removing a contact lens and squinted at her.

“Pardon?”

Grace’s nerves overcame her, she flushed scarlet and began putting away her toiletries stammering it wasn’t important.

Oh lord, thought Elizabeth, it’s not a mistake. Removing her second contact she quickly put on her glasses and managed to grab Grace’s arm before she fled out the door.

“I’m sorry,” she said earnestly, “it’s just no one’s ever asked me that question before.”

Grace was even more confused.

“Just to be clear, we are talking about the Steve Bellamy I was sitting next to this evening.”

They were interrupted by Elizabeth’s roommate, Octavia Bass, a severe looking girl in their form who possessed a heart of gold and the presence of a firecracker, exploding into the room as if detonated.

“I’m so sorry to eavesdrop,” lied Octavia who wasn’t, “but I overheard you asking about Jack. God he’s good looking right? We’ve all been dying to know when you’d ask about him. If you want my advice stay away. I describe him like one of the Old Master’s from a far it’s breath taking, but get up close and you realize what a pile of shit goes into it.”

“Elaine’s already warned me,” Grace thanked her, spurning the girl into a further tirade.

“Of course she would, I’ll bet she’s rotten jealous. Elaine’s always been partial to Jack, but we all know gentlemen prefer blondes.”

Grace decided it was time to end this madness and choosing a moment when Octavia was speaking the least, interjected.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your advice, but I wasn’t actually asking about Jack.”

Octavia, who was fashioning her short dark hair in to spiked peaks opened her mouth and then stopped.

“Grace was asking about Steve Bellamy,” after such exuberance Elizabeth’s voice was like a whisper.

“Oh, you’re being serious,” and following a brief pause, Octavia was away again, “He must have grown at least a foot over the summer, don’t you think Lizzie? To be fair I haven’t had that much to do with him, he’s on a scholarship and spends all his time studying but he seems nice enough. He is seriously good looking, funny, I’ve never really thought about that until now. I guess no one thought he was important enough to date.”

“On the upside,” Elizabeth reasoned kindly, once Octavia had swept back out into the corridor, “I guess it means he’s single.”

Grace would always remember that night as the first time she dreamt of dimples.  

CHAPTER 8

Du Champs Boarding School for Girls was internationally renown, both for its splendid academic reputation and for its outlook. Nestled in the slopes above Montreux and converted from an old hotel, nearly every room boasted uninterrupted views across Lake Geneva to the mountains beyond.

Yet as her roommates slept soundly in their beds, Brigitta Delaney gazed unseeingly out the window praying only for the dull, grey skies of England.

Despite the warmth of her blankets, and a set of thermal pajama’s Brigitta’s teeth chattered.

Like Icarus she had flown too close to the sun and been burnt. As Patrick predicted, in the two weeks since being evicted off the yacht, she hadn’t heard a word from Jack. Like an addict who suddenly discovers their supply has been cut off, Brigitta’s behavior had become increasingly erratic.

The previous morning, as the household searched for the keys to her Mother’s A3 did she discover she had placed the keys in the recycling and an empty Kleenex box in the key bowl. Then opening her suitcase to unpack found she had packed several pairs of her father’s socks, two of his shirts and no underwear.  

Marchellette had been horrified when Brigitta had arrived that afternoon looking like a child dressed in her mother’s clothes, she had lost so much weight.

She had then proceeded to talk non-stop about Jack Harrison, issuing declaratory statements such as ‘he was attracted to my uniqueness, we had a connection,’ and ‘how could he be expected to call when I never gave him my number?’ as if cutting and pasting between Mills and Boon and Bel Mooney, until Veronika had snapped;

“I’m beginning to understand why he hasn’t called,” then softening when she saw the look of utter despair cross her friends face, mumbled, “I’m sure he’s just been busy.” It was to this hope Brigitta clung, like a life raft in a storm.  

She had spent hours trawling social media through Patrick Sword, the only member of Jack’s inner circle to accept her friend request, both infuriated and passionately relieved by the dearth of information from the past six weeks.

Her phone, which she daren’t let out of her sight these days, not even to pee, vibrated across the mattress. Snatching it up, hands trembling, she struggled to open an image Patrick had just posted, but it was only Charles nose-diving into the cleavage of a brunette she didn’t recognize.

What was Grampy thinking? she wondered taking in the outfit the girl was wearing.

Not that she was surprised. Her MI5 level reconnaissance only confirming her suspicions that the pair were atrocious influences, what chance did poor Jack have with friends always leading him astray?

Swiftly ramming her phone beneath her pillow, Brigitta pretended to sleep as Matron did her final room checks.

Seriously concerned for her daughter’s mental health, her mother had dragged her to the family doctor. Dr. Mutch had nodded sympathetically throughout Brigitta’s obsessive monologue, mostly because he had conveniently left the volume on his hearing aid down, then prescribed both anti-depressants and sleeping tablets in such bright colors they seemed more like tic-tacs.

Far from delivering relief, the pills had only trapped her in a never-ending nightmare where she would wake sweating, clawing the blankets and sobbing for Jack only to drift back off moments later where the cycle would repeat.

After that she started flushing the pills down the loo.

Retrieving her phone her eyes stung as they adjusted to the bright light of the screen. She was exhausted, yet wired as if possessed she reopened the photo studying it in case Jack had been captured in the background, but he was nowhere to be found.

Disappointment gave way to shock, I must be seeing things, gasped Brigitta.

Pressing the screen to within an inch of her nose she studied the image, but no matter what way she looked at it the picture remained the same.

Standing at the foot of the table, shaking hands with a man Brigitta recognized as Jack’s father, George Harrison, was Grace Fairchild.

Having only attended Du Champs for a single year Brigitta knew her in passing, Grace had been closer to Veronika and Marchellette, both of whom she had known since childhood.

Shock way to horror, God she looked incredible, she must have lost nearly 2 stone. She was knocked sideways by a wave of jealousy and gripped her phone so tightly it shot out of her hands and clattered across the carpet.

Veronika stirred, Brigitta pretended to sleep once more. The last thing she needed to give Veronika was another reason for a lecture.

Only when she was satisfied her friend was asleep did she carefully slip out of bed.

Kermit the Frog beamed at her from the side of Marchellette’s duvet cover. Brigitta groaned, Kermit’s bug-eyed happiness only seemed to accentuate how desperately unhappy she was.

Collapsing on the bed she gazed at the photo once more. I’ll bet that’s why she’s standing by that table, she thought furiously, consciously aware Grace had just become her most powerful ally. She’d have to get her number from Marchellette in the morning.

As sleep was nearly upon her she fumbled in the drawer beside her bed, which contained a well-worn bible.

Forgive me father for I have sinned, she murmured, retrieving the camera from a recess she had carved between the covers.

Once again Brigitta’s character assessment of Charles was confirmed as she was convinced neither Veronika nor Marchellette knew about the camera, or his dalliances with the other party.

Skimming images so debaucherous she still had to avert her eyes, she was at last rewarded with nirvana.

Good night, she whispered gently touching her lips to the screen.

She belonged with Jack, she had never been so sure of anything in her life. The thought helped her drift into a restless and uneasy sleep.

Meanwhile Dickie Clarke, having over indulged in wine, danced in the door four hours after his curfew after parking on top of his wife’s perennials, then proceeded to wake the entire house.

“Oh Annie, Annie dum-dee-dee what a glorious evening. No don’t get up dear I’m just going to nip through the shower.”

Alerted by the barks of her trusty spaniel Mabel, Annie discovered him fast asleep in the bath still fully clothed and blocking the plughole so that the water was spilling out across the floor.

Her good humor was further tested when on hearing the home phone ring, he sprung up as if electrocuted and, trailing a puddle of water across the carpet collapsed on her fresh sheets to take the call.

“Susan, oh Annie it’s Shusan! How are you pet? No its not too late at all, I’ve just this second got home. How are you, how ARE you?”

Gathering her favorite lavender scented pillow and Mabel, Annie stalked out of the room. He could jolly well clean up his own mess.

“You’ll never guess who I met this evening. Even more exciting than that, I’ve just spent the night with your daughter,” Annie heard him say just before she slammed the door.

CHAPTER 9

The next day didn’t so much as dawn, as lighten progressively over the course of the morning.

“England’s green and pleasant land indeed,” murmured Grace bleakly, gazing out the window.

All the magic from the previous evening was gone as desperate not to miss a moment of term, a thick mist had descended on the valley.

Beyond the hedges surrounding Lumley 3, she could only make out looming silhouettes and wondered if she was dreaming.

Reality swiftly reasserted itself with the arrival of Georgie Jack from across the hall.

“God I’ve got a killer headache,” she groaned collapsing on top of Elaine, who grumbled in protest from beneath her covers.

Then prodding the mountain of blankets went on, “You’d better get out of bed Ellie,” adding to Grace, “It takes her a million years to get ready, honest to god, I’m not even exaggerating.”

Grace liked Georgie. She had a sweet round face with a snub nose and eyes that, despite the hangover, were permanently creased into a smile. She talked like an Italian, with wild hand gestures that made her halo of brunette ringlets bob about her face as if on springs.

After taking advantage of the excess champagne, she had kept the entire house in stitches by doing impersonations of various teachers.

“Guess who I am! Now class, class, now class…oh god that one’s too easy!” until Mrs. Sommerfield had finally packaged her off to bed.

Rooting around in her desk drawer Grace threw her a packet of Panadol.

“These should help.”

“Thanks doc,” said Georgie with a wink and taking a swig out of the drink bottle beside Elaine’s bed threw two back in one hit.

Hearing voices Elizabeth appeared in the doorway.

“Oh good you’re awake.”

“Barely,” said Georgie pressing her palms into her eyes.

Elizabeth waggled a slender finger at her friend, “serves you right after what you drank last night,” then turning to Grace, “I wanted to see if you’d like to go to breakfast with me?”

Realizing Elaine wasn’t going to be ready anytime soon Grace said she’d love to, and pulling Georgie who was starting to turn green off her roommate, followed the pair out the door.

In defiance of Sir Walter who didn’t believe in paying his staff time and a half for overtime, the Maître De had ordered the room to be left status quo.

The round tables remained richly dressed in white linen, instead of their usual long bench arrangement. Sir Walter had been apoplectic yet, facing a coup from his catering staff, there was very little he could do and students were now enjoying breakfast in a room more appropriately dressed for a wedding.

Rows of towering arched windows set against exposed brick were topped by a spectacular glass ceiling from which a departing board chairman had commissioned an equally impressive chandelier.

Wafting scents of bacon and warm toast added to the heady perfume coming from obscenely sized urns which, after yesterday’s glasshouse effect were as fragrant as ever, festooned with lush garden arrangements bearing hydrangeas, roses and delphiniums interspersed with sprays of greenery, frothing around the base with gypsophila.

Watching a server place a mound of eggs on Elizabeth’s plate Georgie turned grey.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said and bolted for the bathroom.

Elizabeth found them seats next to James, The Savage Cabbage and his rugger mates who had been about to leave, then had a change of heart.

Half listening to the conversation Grace hoped it wasn’t obvious her mind was elsewhere as she gazed around the room, yet Steve was nowhere to be found.

“Thanks,” mumbled Georgie gratefully, sliding into the seat Grace had saved her and pinching a piece of toast from her plate.

“How are you feeling?”

“Horrid. Like I’ve licked the floor.”

Grace nudged her playfully with her shoulder; “I didn’t see you after you left the lounge, you jolly well may have.”

“Thanks,” said Georgie with heavy sarcasm, but it was enough to raise a smile.

After such a long and rewarding conversation with her father the previous night, James began showering Grace with questions about her family.

“Your dad was a bit of a rock star.”

“Could have fooled me,” said Grace dryly.

“He’s on all the sports trophy’s,” pinching a piece of bacon off Elizabeth’s plate he prodded it in her direction, “They said both of your parents went to St. Valentine’s, who’s your mum?”

“Susan Campbell-Brown.”

James chewed thoughtfully; “Sounds familiar, did she play sport?”  

Grace shrugged, “never met her,” and keen to change the topic rose from her chair, “I’m going to get some water.”

Returning to the table she found her seat occupied by Jack who was engaged in a heated discussion with James over rowing.

“James rows in the Senior VIII,” said Elizabeth proudly as Grace leaned over to hand her a glass.

Knowing she was waiting Jack deliberately ignored her and carried on talking. As much as she had piqued his interest, Jack wasn’t about to let on, he would let her do the chasing that way things always went faster.

He was aware of her perfume, how she shuffled from foot to foot impatiently, the length of her legs extending from beneath a navy lace dress. Almost without thinking he reached out and placed a casual hand on the back of her thigh.

The next moment Grace gave a shriek and dumped a full pitcher of water all over the table, launching the remainder of Elizabeth’s breakfast all over Georgie, who fled back to the bathroom, and an approaching Elaine who was wearing a new four hundred pound dress from Beulah. 

“You stupid bitch,” shrieked Elaine forgetting herself, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking your advice,” snapped Grace with uncharacteristic sharpness, then ignoring the howls of laughter from James’ rugger friends slapped Jack and swept an almost hysterical Elaine back to their room.

Elizabeth turned on Jack; “You bastard,” she yelled, “This is her first day at school, you just can’t help yourself?” then seeing a swarm of teachers bearing down on the table lowered her voice, “Grace wants to get in to medicine, which means she needs a good recommendation from the school. She’s hardly going to get that if she ends up on the radar for misdemeanors on her first day.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jack convulsing with laughter as he picked pieces of broken glass from the table, “With looks like that I wouldn’t have thought a career was that important.”

“Don’t be such a fucking chauvinist.”

Seeing Elizabeth, who was always so mild and sweet, absolutely seething and smart enough to realize that whatever he said would be relayed to Grace, Jack relented.

“I’m sorry Lizzie it was entirely my fault. Really though, she shouldn’t be wearing such a sexy outfit to breakfast. I’ll confess my sins at chapel.”

“Leave her bloody alone,” snapped Elizabeth, who suddenly found she had lost her appetite.

“In his defense,” said James kindly walking with her to the door, “Being hit on by Jack Harrison has become so common place you almost feel insulted if he hasn’t made a pass at you. I’ve heard they’re seriously considering updating the welcome guide to include a section about managing him.”

Back at the room Elizabeth found Elaine being ineffectually patted by a swaying but slightly less green, Georgie.

“I think I’ve got it all out, the dry cleaner should be able to get the rest,” said Grace, reappearing in the doorway, then seeing Lizzie dropped her eyes, “I’m so sorry about ruining breakfast.”

“And my dress,” wailed Elaine dramatically from the bed.

“Oh shut up Elaine,” Elizabeth rushed forward to hug Grace, “none of this was your fault. Jack can’t resist a beautiful girl. Are you alright?”

Before Grace could answer a girl with chestnut hair weaved into a fishtail braid, and an infection of freckles poked her head in the door, “Good morning girls,” then taking in the scene looked alarmed, “Elaine what happened to your dress?”

“Jack Harrison.”

The girl’s eyes widened into saucers, “I know he has a frightful reputation but surely you didn’t let him get that far.”

“It wasn’t me he was interested in,” said Elaine darkly, she had bought that dress with the intention of attracting his attention, fat lot of good it would do her now.

“His loss,” said the girl kindly, or perhaps not she thought as her eyes landed on the girl hanging the dress in question beside the window so it could dry.

“You must be Grace. I’m Charlotte Rose, the tutor for Lumley 3. Because we didn’t meet earlier I’ve scheduled time after chapel to go over your timetable. I’ve asked Elizabeth to be your buddy in the coming weeks, she’ll show you around the grounds.”

Elizabeth beamed, “I’ll take you to meet Nimbus, he’ll cheer you up, he’s a true gentleman.”

CHAPTER 10

The common area in Womb 5 was much more relaxed, with boys lounging across couches watching morning TV before Chapel.

It was all too civilized for Charles Crawford who decided to stir things up “I hear your girlfriend laid into Jack this morning,” he called as Steve entered the room.  

This was the last thing Steve wanted to hear.

He had been awake since 5:00am so Jack, who was fanatical about exercise could go for a run. Instead of making himself scarce he had turned on nearly every light in the room, then left the radio on. Steve had only just managed to drift back off when he returned and repeated the ritual.

In retaliation Steve had locked the shower door and read his book so that Jack had only had 5 minutes before he was due at Chapel.

 “Leave off!” said James, the Savage Cabbage hurling a pillow across the room.

Charles ducked, but such was the force that poor Christoffer Abrahamsen was knocked to the floor.

“Th-thanks,” he stammered as Steve pulled him to his feet, the rest of his sentence was interrupted by Jack, who stormed past deliberately knocking Steve with his shoulder so that he fell against the wall.

Christoffer winced, “I’ve been meaning to come and see you,” he said watching as Jack ejected one of the boys in the Upper Sixth from the couch so he could sit down, “but I didn’t fancy my chances with your roommate.”

“Hmmm,” said Steve who didn’t fancy his chances either.

“How did you end up in the same room as Jack?”

“I need the money.”

Christoffer sucked in a breath, “What happened to your scholarship?”

Despite being one of the eldest in the year Christoffer, with his wide-set eyes, undersized mouth and pudding bowl hair cut didn’t look a day over ten.

Like Steve he was an easy target for the endless taunts of their peers, this is a big boys conversation you’ll understand one day, yet Christoffer had money and an influential father, Supreme Court Judge Abrahamson on his side. 

Still, of all the students at St. Valentine’s he was the only one Steve had ever felt comfortable confiding in.

“I’m kidding.”

Christoffer lowered his voice, “Could you ask to change rooms?”

“Don’t you dare,” called James from the couch without bothering to turn around, “I’ve put a monkey on you outlasting this shit.”

Charles looked up from the paper, “Well I’ve bet you wont last the week, so if you want to change rooms then by all means please do.”

“I must say,” said Patrick momentarily distracted from his phone, “your odds are not looking good.”

“Oh shut up,” squeaked Christoffer forced to hide behind Steve as another pillow flew his way.

Firing two missiles back, sending Charles’ paper flying, Steve ushered Christoffer to a couch by the window, his mind churning over the conversation.

To keep himself sane he checked the price of flights to Chicago every morning.

“What’s the pool up to?”

 Producing a notebook from his pocket, Patrick consulted the numbers, “Two thousand, but it’s based on time and date so it’ll grow.”

Jesus, thought Steve. Two thousand would be more than enough for a round trip, his parents would be sure to send him back at some point. The rest could be put towards an engagement present for Sophie and Rick.

“What’s the buy in?”

“One hundred.”

Steve winced, he couldn’t justify blowing nearly half his monthly allowance on a stupid bet.

Determined to brush it off he looked back at Patrick, “I think you need a better hobby.”

“Why?” said Charles, who needed the cash to replace his mother’s camera, “You pay so well.”

“You realize you’d get more if I win you dumb shit,” snapped Steve.

Charles paused from collecting his paper and smiled maliciously, “but you’re such a good loser.”

Roused from his languor Jack plucked the notebook out of Patrick’s hands and thumbed the pages, “He’s right,” and handing over a wad of notes added, “Put me down both ways.”

Then looking at Steve for the first time since dinner said with a smirk, “That way if you win at least I can use the extra to take that new girl out somewhere nice.”

Steve felt his fists clench, and for a brief moment he weighed up thumping him. Instead he turned to Christoffer and said in a low voice, “would you spot me the cash?” 

As he tossed a fistful of notes onto Patrick’s lap, it occurred to Steve this was the second time he was making an irrational decision over a girl.

“You can put me down for the year,” then turning to Jack, dark eyes narrowing added, “that way when you loose I can take Grace out on your behalf,” before stalking out the door to Chapel.

“Ignore them,” Christoffer told Steve when they were a safe distance away, “I’ve bet you’ll last the term. I’ll even get my Father to convince the police you performed a community service if you smother Jack in his sleep.”

“Please don’t,” the sound of approaching footsteps caused them both to turn, “I’ve bet you’ll last the year and he’s worth far more to all of us alive.”

Yes, thought Steve angrily, but you don’t have to live with him.

Instead he said, “What do you want Patrick?”

“I want to make a deal.”

Steve laughed, “Why in the world would I trust you?”

There was an extended pause.

“You shouldn’t but my enemy’s enemy is my friend. Jack left some collateral damage this Summer. I’m hoping you’ll make his life a misery.”

Steve found it hard to believe Patrick would hang his friend out to dry over something so trivial.

“So this has nothing to do with the money?”

Patrick turned his palms skywards, “What can I say. My father’s seriously rotten with allowances. He thinks it’s bad enough he has to pay for my schooling,”

The chapel bells rang out in agreement, yet Steve wasn’t convinced.

“I think you’re overestimating my abilities.”

“Au Contraire,” Patrick led the way up the steps and into the chapel without bothering to pause for the reception line of teachers, “you’ve never done anything half assed in your life, you’re a safe bet.”

Mumbling greetings Steve hurried to keep up, towing Christoffer who was practically jogging.

As the girl’s school was already seated, Patrick selected a pew on the facing side closest to the wall.

“Hallo Georgie,” he grinned sliding alongside Georgie Jack who was stretched out on her back wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses.

“Bugger off,” she groaned, “I’m dying.”

“You can’t die in a church, it’s unholy.”

“This pain in my head is unholy,” then pushing back her sunglasses squinted at the trio, “Oh hello Patrick, hello Christoffer, my-my Bellamy you made quite an impression on someone last night. If I have a nap under the seat would you promise not to rat me out?” and oblivious to their looks of astonishment, Georgie curled up at their feet like a cat and promptly fell asleep.

Steve’s stomach somersaulted, what was that supposed to mean?

“Well that’s encouraging,” said Patrick reading his mind, then picking up on their earlier conversation, “The way I see it, you’re going to need people in your corner if you’re going to stand a chance of surviving this year. Jack’s a bigger bastard than you’ll ever be and he’s got nothing invested in staying here.”

“And you’re going to be that friend?”

“For a price.”

This was ludicrous, “What do you expect me to pay you with?”

“If you manage to stay the year I want thirty percent of your share.”

“You’re dreaming.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

“Think about it.”

Christoffer, seated to his left suddenly piped up, “haven’t they done a great job on the refurbishments?” he was so unobtrusive Steve had forgotten he was even there.

The thought hadn’t even cross Steve’s mind, but he appreciated the excuse to have a decent look around. He needed to think about Patrick’s offer and of course there was the other thing.

Few people had welcomed the refurbishments, which included an extension to the Eastern side of the building, more than the chapel choir. Clad in their dress robes, they were presently enjoying the luxury of space at the front of the room.

Increasing student numbers had pushed them further and further into the chapel wings. In recent years they had been forced to perform from the top of the founding father’s tomb.

The organist, perched behind the priest using her score to conceal the latest copy of People magazine, was particularly grateful she was no longer gazing at the choirmaster across the breasts of the founding father’s well-endowed wife.

All around them rose smooth columns of white stone, along which were wooden pews topped with intricate carvings. New stained-glass windows glowed like jewels in the soft light of the morning, casting patterns across the congregation, which Steve was now searching.  

“Two o’clock,” murmured Patrick.

“Pardon?”

“Grace is over there, sitting next Elizabeth.”

Steve didn’t reply, but found he couldn’t take his eyes of her.

“Fifteen,” he said without hesitation.

Cuffing him on the shoulder, Patrick gave him a wide grin.

“Congratulations, you’ve just bought yourself a friend.”

Steve wondered if Citizen’s Advice would have endorsed his purchase.

Bringing the congregation to their feet the Priest called for quiet. As he began his blessing the doors to the chapel opened, Charles and Jack were ushered in by Mrs. Lear with a face like thunder.

“Sorry to hold you up,” called Jack blithely, then with a smile that sent the entire right side of the chapel into a collective swoon added, “Perhaps we could pray for my immortal soul.”

“Sit down,” hissed an apoplectic Mrs. Lear

“Isn’t he utterly faintworthy?” sighed Elaine clutching Grace’s arm.

Utterly narcissistic, Grace mused, after the incident that morning she decided Elaine was welcome to him.

Without taking his eyes off the Priest, Sir Walter leaned back where Mrs. Lear was settling herself alongside the other matrons, “I shouldn’t think to remind you that Chapel begins at ten sharp.”

“Then pay me more,” snapped Mrs. Lear.

Ignoring the empty pew at the front, Jack surveyed the chapel and seeing Patrick, climbed to the back.

“Wish I’d thought of that,” he said carefully stepping around Georgie, “Move down.”

“There’s no room,” hissed Steve.

“There’s plenty.”

There wasn’t. It merely meant that Christoffer, who dreaded public attention, had to move to the row in front, beneath the eyes of the entire room.

The Priest began his sermon, a carefully selected anecdote about fatal temptations. Rolling on to her back, Georgie started snoring. 

The Priest plowed on undeterred, “Suffering may endure for a night but joy comes in the morning…”

Georgie’s snoring intensified.

Students began sniggering, teachers around the hall narrowed their eyes hunting for the culprit.

Jack turned to Patrick, “Do something.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Patrick nudged her ineffectually with his toe, Georgie took in a great gulp of air managing to sound almost exactly like a hog being castrated. The pew directly ahead of them looked over their shoulders in astonishment.

Steve’s smile quickly disappeared when he saw Sir Walter rise to his feet, surveying the room like a hawk. He was already dreading the conversation he knew was coming this week.

With a swift movement Steve leaned over and booted Georgie in the stomach. She coughed and rolled over but mercifully stopped snoring.

Patrick exhaled sharply, and seeing Sir Walter take his seat said in a low voice, “Thanks.”

Furious that it was the second time in as many days that Bellamy had saved him, Jack turned his back and continued his conversation with Charles without even bothering to lower his voice.

Steve’s jaw clenched and he felt his blood pressure rise steadily. To hell with Jack. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Georgie,” said Steve gently shaking the girl’s shoulder, “Time to go.”

Excusing the congregation the Priest had to leap aside to avoid a stampede as students made for the door.

Georgie blinked her eyes open in surprise, “Did I sleep through the whole thing?”

“Like an angel,” Jack told her.

Georgie flushed, and accepted the hand Steve extended, “Can I hide behind you until I get outside? I’d hate to be caught now.”

“Of course,” said Patrick quickly, “follow us,” and dragging Steve behind him they made their way into the crowd.

The mist had intensified, the air heavy with the threat of rain. Once outside Georgie replaced her sunglasses, looking every bit as hung over as she claimed.

“How did you enjoy last night?” Steve enquired. He was desperate to find out what she had meant earlier, but couldn’t forget his manners.

Georgie was smart enough to see right through him.

“Not as much as someone else I’ve just met.”

Steve’s face betrayed nothing.

“Oh?”

She wasn’t going to let him off that easily.

“I heard you got lumped in the same room as Jack. Is that true?”

“We’re taking bets on how long they’ll last,” said Patrick clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder, “This is my winning horse.”

“Oh look there’s Elizabeth. Lizzie!” called Georgie waving to her friend, then with a sideways look at Steve added, “Come and say hello.”

Before they could go any further, Jack brushed past the group and fell into step beside Grace. He was determined to recover the ground he had lost that morning.

“Do you have a moment?”

Grace didn’t, at least not for Jack, “Do you have an off switch?”

“You’re presuming I’m turned on,” girls loved playful banter, it made them feel important.

Grace stopped walking and gave him a look only marginally more welcoming than a Balinese prison.

“You’re presuming I care,” and she stalked off into the crowd.

Nudging Steve in the ribs Georgie said, “Now’s your chance, go and talk to her.”

It was all the encouragement he needed, and running after her he deliberately knocked Jack with his shoulder.

“Grace!”

Seeing Steve all hostility melted away;

“So you are still here,” her smile caused everyone around them to turn, “I was worried you might have fled back to Chicago.”

“Worried?” he scoffed pretending to take offense, “I’m a tremendous pen pal I’ll have you know.”  

Georgie turned to Patrick and said in a low voice, “If you’re serious about winning that bet this is something you’ll want to encourage. I’ll help you but I want half.” 

“Sixty-forty”

“Half,” then strolling over to Octavia Bass, Georgie said casually, “Don’t they make a cute couple?”

The school’s gossip vine went into overdrive.

‘That’s the girl Jack groped at breakfast. I heard she slapped him, about time someone did. Have you seen Steve Bellamy? I’ve never noticed him before either, but god he’s lush.’

“Half,” conceded Patrick as she returned to his side.

As if finally deciding on which side of the fence it would sit the great grey mist keeled over in a tidal wave. Students shot off the paths like cats.

Seeking shelter beneath an oak, Grace was able to truly look at Steve for the first time and found she was struggling to make sentences.

“I didn’t get the chance to say thank you,” he was telling her, “You saved us last night.”

Studying his broad shoulders and flat chest, which narrowed to a tapered waist Grace suddenly realized she was staring at his crotch and blushed from her collarbone.

“I think we’re even,” she said finally, praying he couldn’t hear her heart hammering in her chest every time he brushed against her shoulder. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Last night wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun if you hadn’t switched our seats,” the corners of her mouth twitched in a smile, “What happened with the flag?”

“I suspect we should ask my roommate,” he said looking over her shoulder, not the least bit surprised to find Jack watching them with a face like thunder.

The rain was bucketing down now, and showed no signs of relenting.

Inadequately protected from the deluge by her hands, Elizabeth ran over to join them.

“Come on, we’d better make a run for it,” she said apologetically, “Ms. Sommerfield will kill us if we’re late.”

He’d be worth it, thought Grace dreamily, she had never been so wildly attracted to someone in her life.

Steve looked as though he was about to speak, when he was distracted by something behind her and his face darkened like nightfall.

“Surely you’re not letting her go out in this weather unprotected,” chided Jack, extending an umbrella he had charmed off a passing senior.

For a second Grace thought Steve might hit him, then in a flash of inspiration she turned and tapped Elaine on the shoulder saying;

“Elaine, Jack’s just come over to give you his umbrella. Terribly thoughtful of him, I know.”

“I couldn’t have you melting in the rain,” said Jack through a clenched jaw, after Elaine made a colossal fuss about accepting it;

‘I couldn’t possibly, what about everyone else?’

While this was going on Grace had turned back to Steve, “If you survive the night I suppose I’ll see you at school,” then clutching Elizabeth’s arm the pair ran out into the downpour.

After an extended pause Steve turned to Jack and said smoothly;

“How are my odds now?”

CHAPTER 11

Each of the senior mansions at St. Valentine’s boasted a live-in tutor, who had the unenviable task of coaxing over-indulged, hormone riddled teenagers to academic excellence.

Living quarters were cramped, pay was sub-standard and they had to work for Sir Walter Delaney. Most had converted to Buddhism convinced no subsequent reincarnations could be worse.

None were as loved as Charlotte Rose, who had joined the school five years ago, and seemed able to coax miracles out of even the most hopeless of cases.

The door to Charlotte’s room was open, and entering Grace found her sitting cross-legged on her bed reading George Martin.

“I don’t want to cheat on the books with the series, I think it’s dishonest,” she admitted, marking her page with Benedict Cumberbatch before placing it on her bedside table which formed part of a larger bookshelf that stood the height of the room.

Charlotte’s room was impossibly small. Aside from the bookshelf there was a single bed and a desk, beyond which there was a door leading out into the garden.

“It was originally the laundry,” she said by way of apology, waving Grace through the door.

“It’s darling,” said Grace gazing around at the photos decorating every surface that wasn’t already covered by books. There were pictures of Charlotte graduating, pictures of her accepting an award, a few pictures, which looked professional, of Charlotte on the tennis court.

Motioning to the desk Charlotte settled in a chair and opened a packed of HobNobs, holding them out to Grace.

“I always work better after chocolate. It’s not too early is it? I’m told you’re interested in medicine, that’s no small ambition.”

The conversation felt more like a catch up with a long lost friend and nibbling their way through the biscuits, covering topics including her timetable, classes, teachers and their various merits and general school gossip Grace wondered if she hadn’t known Charlotte her entire life. Had it not been for a knock on the door signaling Charlotte’s next appointment, Grace was convinced they could have talked for the rest of the afternoon.

As the rain had past Elizabeth suggested a tour of the school. The pair headed out to the garden through a yew hedge that divided the Senior Mansions then turned left, down a pathway that led around the bottom field towards the Equestrian Centre.

Listening to Grace gush about her meeting, Elizabeth nodded in agreement.

“We’ve all got terrific crushes on her. Everyone was devastated when her fiancé ran off and left her the week before the wedding. Rotten bastard.”

Grace gasped, “When?”

“Two years back. He was the upper-sixth History teacher so it was all terribly hush-hush. Octavia overheard the Matrons talking and apparently he met someone online and ended it. Just like that,” she snapped her fingers for effect; “Can you imagine? I heard they’re married with a second child on the way already. Isn’t that simply horrible? I think if I ever saw him in a car park I wouldn’t hesitate to run him over…oh god, I don’t mean that really, sorry…”

Lizzie looked at the ground ashamed. She had been raised better than to gossip about the misfortunes of others. To compensate she began pointing out elements of William Kent’s superbly designed country estate; the small Rotunda, Cupid and Psyche the Palladian Bridge as if hosting a Red Bus.

To their left stretched the bottom field, fringed with beech trees already tinged with the first colors of Autumn, beyond which the distinctive curved roof of the school’s stadium rose from the treetops like a giant egg.

Reaching a fork in the path, Elizabeth pointed out the boundary between the school grounds and the National Trust property.

In the early 1900’s the sheer operating costs associated with maintaining some 200 acres of country estate finally took their toll. The school board handed management of a vast proportion of the grounds over to the National Trust, and were strictly out of bounds to students.

As the mist was beginning to lift, Grace got a glimpse of the rolling expanses of grass, framed by artfully placed belts of trees and shrubs, it truly was a breathtaking landscape.

Poor, poor Charlotte. How could you possibly do that to someone you had been about to marry? She must have been devastated, and to remain at the place where there were so many raw feelings.

The path sloped down and leveled out into a vast expansive field where the first of the school’s three all-weather arenas was located.

Elizabeth waved to a rider who was already mounted and warming up on the canter track that ringed the field. Nodding in recognition the girl pulled up her mount, a glorious dark bay mare;

“Thank goodness you’re here. Oscar’s lunatic filly kicked out a wall last night and nearly severed a tendon. Nimbus is dweadfully low because no one’s paid him the slightest bit of attention all morning.”

“Oh dear,” Elizabeth upped the pace, splashing mud up the legs of her jodhpurs.

Lord, thought Grace wishing she had kept up her fitness over summer, I’m going to die at Hockey trials. She’d start jogging again tomorrow.

At the sound of footsteps long faces appeared over the tops of stable doors. Elizabeth greeted them all like old friends, scratching between their ears and slipping them pony nuts when the Grooms were out of sight.

The door to the last stall on the row was curiously vacant, Elizabeth clucked her tongue.

“My, my we are in a huff,” unhinging the door she slipped inside.

Grace made no move to follow her. She hadn’t wanted to upset Elizabeth by admitting she was terrified by horses. Peering in she saw the rear end of an enormous horse wedged across the stall with its head buried in the corner. An ear twitch indicated he was aware of their arrival, not that he made any move to acknowledge them.

“This won’t do at all,” sighed Elizabeth tickling his powerful hindquarters, “I’ve bought someone to meet you and you’d better make a good impression.”

Nimbus stomped a hoof and gave an agitated tail swat. Elizabeth whacked him on the rump.

“That is quite enough. Honestly Nimbus, self-pity is terribly unbecoming,” then she tenderly stroked his coat, pulled at his ears and whispered sweet words until he felt sufficiently placated and turned around, searching Elizabeth’s pockets.

“Alright, alright,” she laughed and produced a Kit Kat, “he loves chocolate.”

With the speed at which Nimbus hoovered it up Grace was amazed she didn’t also loose her hand.

A great dappled grey head appeared over the door. Grace took a small step backwards.

“He’s huge.”

“Seventeen hands,” said Elizabeth proudly, “He’s a gentle giant though, he’d never hurt a fly.”

A bit like James, mused Grace watching Elizabeth fawn over the great beast. She hadn’t quite figured out what was going on between the two of them. Gingerly she reached out and stroked Nimbus’ velvety nose.

“He’s ever so good. Mummy and Daddy had a terrible mole infestation so he’s been living at my Aunts for the past couple of weeks. They trucked him over with Charles’ polo ponies yesterday.”

“Charles?”

“Crawford, he was at your table last night.”

“Charles is your cousin?” that certainly explained a lot. She knew it was unfair to judge, but Charles hadn’t exactly made a favorable first impression. Grace thought he was a raging snob, the complete antithesis of sweet Elizabeth. It had puzzled her to see them talking on a number of occasions the previous evening.

“You seem surprised.”

For Elizabeth’s sake Grace tried to think of something nice to say, but Elizabeth bet her to it.

“Charles isn’t all bad you know,” wrapping her arms around Nimbus’ neck she promised to return in the afternoon, “none of them are, not even Jack. Charles’ brother on the other hand,” she shuddered and determined not to dwell on the thought any longer lead Grace out of the stables, and back along Chevalier Stream to the school’s sports complex. 

“It may have won a bunch of awards but I still hate this stadium,” scrunching up her nose in distaste she recited the school motto, “people keep telling me it’s a visual translation but all I see is a giant egg. I shouldn’t complain, the old roof leaked so badly you could barely move for buckets. Though one got a terrific tan during summer.”

Grace gazed over the structure. There was something about the lines, curving upwards as if any moment the whole building might take flight that she quite liked.

A large plaque next to the entrance acknowledged generous sponsors who had contributed towards the project.

Figures, thought Grace not at all surprised the familiar HE logo of Harrison Enterprises was nearly twice the size of the others. After their kindness towards her father, she had developed a soft spot for George and Tanya Harrison and wondered if ‘contributions’ such as this weren’t more a sign of goodwill to the school for not expelling their son. Having witnessed Jack being downright rude to several teachers as they were leaving, Grace felt it was probably a wise investment.

“I will say,” Elizabeth conceded after a whistle-stop tour of the facilities, “It is the perfect place to watch the rugby when the weather packs in.”

Grace saw her opportunity.

“Exactly what is your relationship with James?” 

“Relationships are strictly forbidden,” said Elizabeth without meeting her eyes, “I’ll show you the Turf.”

Like groupies hanging around to catch a glimpse of their idols, the school’s hockey turf was bordered on three sides by immature poplar trees. Sprinkler jets were hard at work watering the ground in preparation for trials the following week.

Grace felt her stomach knot, she didn’t want to tank at trials especially not in front of Steve.

Sensing her nervousness Elizabeth said kindly, “Every second year we play a tournament against Du Champs and loose. If you made their first eleven, ours will be a walk.”

Grace didn’t like leaving things to chance, she must get fit again.

Instead of continuing along the path, which disappeared into a grove of Willow trees, Elizabeth doubled back, “The boys boarding hostels are that way, it’s out of bounds.”

“What a shame,” said Grace with a small smile.

The majority of classrooms were housed in a central block, which had been extended over the years behind the Cranfield Building.

Grace was taking four A-Levels in her sixth; Biology, Chemistry, Mathematics and, at the advisement of the sixth form Dean, French. The workload scared her senseless yet would position her well for nearly all the best medical schools.

Elizabeth linked their arms as they strolled through the empty corridors. Despite wearing multiple layers beneath her Barbour she was all bones. Grace temporarily forgot her anxiety about classes, convinced if they tripped she would snap her like a twig.

“You must be terrifically smart to study medicine. I couldn’t imagine becoming a Doctor.”

“Me either,” confessed Grace, “but it’s what I’ve always wanted to do,” and after spending six weeks in the care of the Royal London Hospital aged eight she had her heart set on studying at UCL.

Wandering through a labyrinth of classrooms, her dream suddenly felt terrifyingly close. What on earth was she going to do if she failed? She had no plan B.

“Doctor Fairchild,” said Elizabeth grandly, “it really sounds rather nice, do you think you’ll change it if you ever get married? Doctor Grace Bellamy sounds rather lovely too.”

“Elizabeth!” gasped Grace turning scarlet and quickly checking lest someone had overheard.

“Wouldn’t that be nice though?” Elizabeth had plain, regular features and perfectly ordinary dark blonde hair. It should have been a recipe for obscurity, yet she was always immaculately presented and there was something about the soft breathiness of her voice that always left an impression. Right now she had a wicked twinkle in her eye, “Childhood sweethearts just think of the stories you could tell your grandchildren.”

Grace thought two could play at this game, “Why don’t you go first Mrs. Savage?”

“That’s Lady Savage to you,” said Elizabeth, then dissolved into giggles, “that sounds atrocious, I would most certainly have to hyphenate.”  

“I thought you told me relationships were strictly forbidden.”

“They are,” sighed Elizabeth,  “but dreams are free.”

Grace squeezed her arm gently, “Lizzie, you may just be the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”