The Riverside Girl - Part 1 free porn video

It was during Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age, that she finally snapped. He was surprised it had taken that long. During Mars she had shaken her head, and those bodily signs of anger had grown steadily throughout the pieces. By the end of Venus she was twiddling her brown hair moodily. During Mercury she had taken opening and closing the glove compartment, and the mimicking the little locking noise it made. Half way through the jollity of Jupiter, she had started to make that tutting noise that she only made when she was really annoyed. "How long does this shit last!" she roared, just as Saturn's march began. "What have you been told about swearing, young lady?" he said. "Now you should be concentrating on the flow of the piece and what the march signifies." "As if." She rolled her eyes again. Of course, she'd wanted to listen to Antonio, that irksome singer that she and her friends loved so much, the one whose music he'd had to make her turn down on endless school nights, when she should have been doing her homework. Louis couldn't see the appeal, but then he knew he wasn't exactly the target market. He particularly hated that one song where Antonio just seemed to say "Yeah yeah yeah," over and over again, with some interminable drum noise behind him. That was Imogen's favourite, naturally. But it was his car and therefore his rules, so Holst it was. He knew it wouldn't help her mood, which was already in a dark and morose place because of their destination, but he also knew it was important not to cave to her demands. That was what Caroline had spent her life doing, and he wasn't going to make the same mistake. Their first fight of the day had been about her outfit. "Why the hell can't I wear what I want?" she had yelled when she'd seen the knee length cord skirt and white blouse. "We're not going over this again," Caroline had replied, but Louis couldn't help wonder if the scorn in her voice was meant for Imogen or for him. She had never been for sending her to Riverside and still probably wasn't, although the arguments on the subject had died down since the wedding. "Yeah but look at this!" She picked the skirt up and threw it back on to the bed. "I hate it!" There were tears in her eyes now. Indignant, angry tears. "You'll wear what your Mother tells you to wear," he had told her. It was one of his favourite lines, and one that he knew she hated. "Oh my God, this is so unfair!" She turned her attention back to Caroline, "I don't want to go that school Mum. Why are you doing this to me?" "It's for the best darling." "This is just what he wants," the girl continued, ignoring Caroline's maternal arm around the shoulder and instead pointing in Louis's direction, "he hates me and always has. He's just trying to get rid of me! Look at him, he's trying to not to laugh!" "Don't be silly," Louis replied, "your Mother and I both....." "You're not my Dad!" she shouted. This one was of her favourite lines, and one she obviously knew he hated. "...decided that this is the best option. It's really very important that you learn some better behaviour." "It might be fun, sweetheart," Caroline offered, "like a long sleepover." But Imogen was too clever to believe that. She had read the brochures and gone on the induction day. She had seen how the girls walked in perfect lines and kept their uniforms immaculate. She had heard how posh they all were. It wasn't her world, and he had decided she was more scared about joining it than she'd ever admit. She certainly looked scared as Louis pulled the Jaguar up to the entrance and pressed the intercom button to gain the attention of the snoozing guard in the gatehouse. "Yes?" the guard asked, his half-asleep voice crackling through the speakers. "Louis Hardiker and my daughter Imogen," he replied, leaning a little further out of the window to make sure he was heard. "Stepdaughter," Imogen sneered, although even that sounded like it pained her. He saw her wince as she read the sign next to the gatehouse - "Riverside School for Girls" in bold purple script , and then below it in green - Sapientia ducet ad astra. Wisdom leads to the stars. The guard took an age to look down his clipboard, running a pencil through his mop of curly black hair as he did so. "Oh, Hardiker!" he said finally, as though remembering something important, "of course. Imogen Hardiker." "Brownlee," Imogen muttered. She hadn't yet accepted her new surname, but Louis didn't mind. Three years at Riverside would sort that. The guard looked down at his clipboard again. "You're to park in space E, Mr. Hardiker. It's in the covered car park, next to the Mini." He pressed a button under his desk that made the green and purple barrier in front of them creak into life and start to rise slowly. There was something about the way he stared at them that Louis didn't like as they passed the gatehouse. From the outside, Riverside didn't look all that impressive. More like a country pile than a grand private school. The deception was in the length of the building, which wasn't easily seen when approaching the front entrance and was hidden at the sides by the large oak trees that guarded the building on its flanks. When they'd visited in the summer the trees had been full of life but now, in early September, their red leaves and dark brown acorns were starting to fall from the ground. The river that gave the school its name ran behind the building and Louis could just about hear the rush from the man-made waterfall as he pulled into his allotted parking space. "I'll get your bags out of the boot," he said, watching as Imogen flopped out of the car. She didn't even know how to do that with any kind of feminine grace. She was very good at looking at herself in the car window though - the girl seemed to spend most of her life looking at herself in mirrors and the other half looking at her phone. "Blimey, these are heavy," he picked up the first bag and put it over his shoulder, "what on earth is in here?" But he knew the answer. It was the mountain of equipment and clothing they'd had to buy for her, from floor length gowns for the social "events" (he'd teased her mercilessly about those) to the very precise shin pads for hockey. All in all it had cost him well into five figures, as if that mattered. Compared to the school fees and the "optional" donation, it was peanuts. "Hockey will be good for you," he said, picking up a second bag, "my Mother played hockey when she was a girl. Pretty well, actually. I think she played for her school." Imogen rolled her eyes again as she walked grumpily to the rear of the car. "I bet Mum forgot to pack my face-wash," she groaned. He was amazed at how tall she was getting, a fact brought home as she easily reached into the boot to pull out the toiletry bag that Louis had been struggling to reach. It was hard to believe she was the same girl as the nervous 10 year old that had arrived with Caroline on that rainy December evening. She was at least three inches taller than him now. "Mr Hardiker, how wonderful to see you!" The woman seemed to come out of nowhere, and the fright made him drop the two bags from his shoulder. "Miss Taylor-Bannister," he said, waiting for his heart to return to his normal rate, "you did give me a fright. How good to see you too though." "Vince called from the gatehouse when you arrived," she continued, "I always like to greet our new starters in person." "No wonder you want to greet me in person after my donation," he thought, wondering if he was the one paying for the men who were hard at work rebuilding the tennis courts. Louis had decided during his last visit that he'd never met anyone as suited to being a private school headmaster as Miss Taylor-Bannister. Some people are born to be doctors, some to be actors, some even to be astronauts. She was definitely born to be a middle aged headteacher. She was small and thin, with greyish-black hair cut into a short bob that made her look almost boyish. Under her mid length cardigan and tweed skirt she was wearing thick black tights, despite the warmish weather. "A good drive, I hope?" she asked, pushing her small circular glasses further up her face. "Not bad," he replied, "a bit of traffic, but nothing out of the ordinary. Where should I take these bags?" "Oh don't bother yourself with that," she snapped her fingers at two very tall girls behind her, "Emily, Billie, please take the bags to Imogen's room please." The girls were dressed in cord skirts and blouses like Imogen, and both kneeled over with perfect posture to pick up the bags, keeping their knees together and back perfectly straight. He was a little embarrassed to see them carry the bags so easily. In fact Billie, the taller one with the black hair, managed to carry three bags without a problem. "Two of our final year students," Miss Taylor-Bannister explained, before turning to Imogen, "so, Miss Hardiker. Are you excited about starting with us?" Imogen offered something that could be best described as a grunt. "Imogen, answer Miss Taylor-Bannister more clearly please!" He found her constant apathy infuriating at the best of times, but it really wouldn't do now that she was a Hardiker in name. "Whatever," the girl muttered. "You'll have to excuse her," Louis said, "she's not all that enthusiastic, as you can tell." The teacher smiled. "Well, we'll change all that. A lot of the girls are nervous when they start, but most end up loving it here. I'm sure you will too, Imogen." They walked slowly down the corridor towards her office, with a short history of the school being offered by Miss Taylor-Bannister as they did so. Louis had heard most it before when he and Caroline had visited - how the school was started by two wealthy landowners who wanted to ensure their daughters got the best possible education - quite a radical idea at the time, Miss Taylor-Bannister explained, but a maxim that they followed to this day. "Sapientia ducet ad astra," she said, her pronunciation perfect. They passed a number of progressively older photographs on the wall, each one showing an overhead picture of the school with the current batch of students standing in front of it. What struck Louis is how the appearance of the girls didn't seem to change all that much as they went back through time, which he liked very much. There were no faddy haircuts or fashions on show. Good standards, as his Mother always used to say. The younger girls always stood at the front in their bright green blazers and pleated skirts, and always with the green and purple ribbons tied into their hair spilling out from under their straw boaters, while the older girls always stood behind them in their more adult looking straight green skirts and white blouses. Only when the photos turned black and white did it become really clear that they were taking a trip back through time, and only when the photos ceased altogether, replaced by portraits of stern looking old men with handlebar moustaches and faces full of Victorian arrogance, did it become clear just how old the school was. "Our first headmasters," Miss Taylor-Bannister explained, "Mr Elphridge was the very first," she pointed at a fat faced man wearing a preposterous top hat, "a brilliant musician, too. Do you like music, Imogen?" "We listened to Holst's planets on the way here," Louis interjected, hoping to answer before the girl professed her love for Antonio, "you quite liked that, didn't you Imogen?" The girl looked at him like he was mad. "Mmm, I'm not a fan of Holst myself." She sat herself down behind her large mahogany desk and waved for both of them to do the same. "Bit modern for me. More of a Handel fan, myself." "Oh yes, I enjoy Handel too," Louis replied, wondering why he felt like he needed to impress her. "Did you play any music at your old school Imogen?" she asked. "No," Imogen replied, making even that answer sound like a huge effort. She slumped down in her chair too, her legs stretched out in front of her and her bottom half off the seat. It was how she sat at home, or at least how she had sat at home, before Louis had started to moan at her for it. "Sit up," he hissed, nudging her on the arm. She ignored him. "You know Imogen, you're very lucky to have a Mother and Father that can afford to send you here," Miss Taylor-Bannister told her. "Stepfather," Imogen murmured. "What was that?" the teacher asked, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Imogen. "You said he was my Father," she replied, the 'he' coming out with such venom that she made it sound like a swear word, "he's not my Father. My real Dad would never send me to a place like this." "No," Louis thought, "your real Dad is too busy spending all his dole money at the bookies." He was constantly amazed at Imogen's unwavering love for her worthless Dad, who hadn't even bothered to send her a birthday card when she'd turned 15, never mind make the effort to come to the garden party that Louis had thrown for her at great expense. And yet, he was still the bad guy. The headteacher was being surprisingly lenient, which Louis assumed was just because it was Imogen's first day. He doubted she'd been given such carte-blanch to say what she wanted once he left. "I understand how you're feeling," she continued, looking kindly at Imogen, "you're upset about leaving your old school and all your friends there. That's perfectly normal. But you'll soon realise that Riverside is much more than a school. We'll teach you a whole new way of life - one that you didn't know even existed - and enable you to reach potential you didn't even know you had." It sounded like a soundbyte from one of the glossy brochures Louis and Caroline had spent so long reading, and Imogen was unimpressed. "Whatever," she mumbled. "Lessons don't start for a week, which will give you time to settle in. Oh look, here's Emily and Billie now. They'll give you a quick tour of the grounds and then show you your room. I believe the other four girls sharing your dorm have already arrived." "I have to share?" Imogen asked. They had told the girl many times that she'd be staying in a dormitory, even argued about it once or twice, so Louis didn't understand her surprise, "we've discussed this, remember?" "I don't want to share a room with a load of snobby girls," she said, in a full blown pout now. "They're all lovely girls, you'll like them all," she nodded in the direction of Emily and Billie, "girls, will you take Imogen now please? Her Father...." "Stepfather." "...and I need to discuss the finer details." For a moment she didn't move, as though frozen to the chair, but after one final hateful stare in his direction she slide herself out of the chair and subjected the room to a overblown sigh, "I bet you're happy now," she spat, "finally got rid of me, didn't you?" He wanted to reply, but Miss Taylor-Bannister held her hand up to signify that he should stay quiet, and she kept her hand up until Imogen had left the room. For a moment he had felt sorry for her, looking small between the two tall girls. Normally she looked fierce, but for a moment she looked like a little girl again. "Often hard," Miss Taylor-Bannister said, as she stood up and straightened her skirt, "please don't be too tough on yourself. I've seen far bigger tantrums than that, and heard far worse language." "Well, I'm still a little embarrassed," he replied. "Don't be. I've prepared a little lunch for us to eat on the balcony. I was hoping you had time before your journey back?" He liked that idea. The journey there had taken five hours and he was in no rush to make the return one. "That sounds most agreeable," he replied, "if I'm not taking up too much of your time of course." "Mr Hardiker, after your very kind donation, you can have as much of my time you as like." ** "I really don't know about this," Caroline had said, as the green and purple barrier had raised in front of them. She looked uncomfortable, but then she always did when she had to get dressed up - and today she was very dressed up in a knee length navy blue dress. "You look like a film star," he'd told her before they'd left, to which she'd waved a dismissive hand in his direction. Never in a million years did he think he'd end up with a woman like Caroline. Louis had only ever known a life of wealth and comfort, and had always assumed his wife would come from the same background. So when he had fallen in love with one of the maids, and she in love with him, he had been the most shocked of all. Even more shocking was that someone who looked like Caroline would be interested in him. She was tall, with chestnut brown hair down to her shoulders that glimmered in the early morning sunshine and long slender legs that Louis liked to run his hands up and down after sex. She was the first woman he had seen naked, and he was relieved to find they looked the same down there as they did in those films he watched. "I hope I don't say the wrong thing," she said, as they parked the car. "Will you tell me if I'm doing something embarrassing?" He loved her meekness. It didn't seem possible that someone so attractive could be so self-conscious, "you'll be fine. I'll bet they're really nice people." She had arrived at the house four years before, with Imogen in tow and a bruised face. Helen, an old friend from school and a bloody good housekeeper, had suggested she come, telling her that Louis was a great boss and that he might even let Imogen stay in the house too. Well, he couldn't really say no, especially after he'd heard the stories about her husband being abusive. Mother was still alive then of course, and she took an instant dislike to Caroline, "I don't trust that one," she'd tell Louis over breakfast, "I make sure my jewellery is locked away if I know she's cleaning my room." "Don't be silly Mother," he replied. "You're just smitten, that's the problem," she shot back, making him feel like a naughty schoolboy. She had a way of doing that. "I'm not," he lied. It was hard not to be smitten There was something about the quiet way she slipped through the rooms, nervously trying to keep out of everyone's way, that he found incredibly endearing. He often found himself watching as she sat with Imogen in the gardens, helping the girl with her homework or putting her hair into plaits, marvelling at her gentleness. That she looked like model didn't hurt none, either. It was the night of his Mother's funeral that they'd slept together for the first time. He'd been sitting in his room, alone with murky memories of childhood and his Mother, when she'd come in to change his bedding. "I'm very sorry sir," she'd said, although he wondered how sorry she could really be. Everyone knew that Mother hated her. Then, incredibly, she had placed her soft hand onto his, and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. "Well, thank you," Louis had stammered, feeling a stirring down below and castigating himself for it. What kind of monster got aroused on the day of his Mother's funeral? But he had seen her looking at him, and though he could scarcely believe it, he was sure she'd been making eyes in his direction for some time. In the end, with her nervousness apparently banished for the moment, it was she who had planted her lips on his, and prodded her tongue into his mouth! From there matters had progressed quickly, and twice, for that matter. She had had to hide under his bedclothes in the morning when Helen had come to freshen the room, although it didn't take long for the whole house to hear the news anyway. A secretary, who introduced herself as Mrs Leadsom, told them both to take a seat. "Miss Taylor-Bannister is just finishing up a call." It sounded like fairly harsh words were being said on the girl, judging by the level of noise coming from the office. Apparently aware of this too, and perhaps used to it, Mrs Leadsom offered them an uneasy smile. "Mr and Mrs Hardiker," the middle aged woman with the grey hair and tweed skirt said, emerging from her office, "many apologies for the wait, just a little business I had to finish up. I'm Miss Taylor- Bannister, the headteacher. Won't you come through." Louis had done the chivalrous thing and let the ladies sit down first, before sitting himself down to a still visibly nervous Caroline. He already liked the school - liked the building, liked the grounds, liked the old oak trees on all sides that somehow gave the impression of hiding the school away in the countryside - but he became even more impressed as the headteacher talked. "We're not a normal school," she began, as the three of them sipped their gin and tonics, "but I'm sure you know that already. We operate six year groups, ages 12-18, but with only 10 girls per class. Our teachers are hand-picked from across the country and are the top in each of their fields. Miss Eardley, our Maths teacher, once worked for Nasa, Mrs Brightwell, our history teacher, read at Harvard. Mrs DeVilliers, our science teacher, is a remarkable biologist. She worked with Tate at Kings College, which not many people get to do. Mrs Cullen, our quite wonderful PE teacher, was capped 40 times by England at Hockey. I could go on, but you probably get the idea." "Impressive," Caroline said, somewhat redundantly. "But it's not just about teaching. We also show the girls how to be proper members of society," she cleared her throat a little, "you'll have to excuse me if I sound like an old fuddy-duddy at this point, I know you're both quite young after all, but I'm often aghast at the social ineptitude of our younger generations. I went to Kew Gardens with my sister a couple of months ago, we try to take the train there every year, and I was shocked when we pulled up to the station and looked at the other platform. There must have been ten young people there, and everyone one of them was staring down at their mobile phones. It was like something from one of those 50s B B-movies, attack of the body snatchers, something like that." Caroline shifted uncomfortably, probably hoping the mobile in her bag wasn't going to ring. "You don't allow the children to have mobile phones, do you?" Louis had asked, remembering that from the brochures. "Certainly not. This isn't a social club, it's a learning environment. The children are allowed two phone calls home a week, and of course you can call us any time to check on their well being. It's a system that's worked here for nearly fifty years, and I don't see the need for change. Ages 12-14 mainly stay in the east wing and 15-18 in the west wing. Each year have two dorm rooms with five girls in each. We also partner up a girl from the east and west wings, with the older girl acting as a mentor. It's a friendly environment." "We did have a question on that," Louis jumped in, "Imogen will be 15 when she starts, but her old school was...well, it wasn't the best. We're a little worried that she might be a bit behind the other children." "Don't worry. Even if she is, we'll arrange some extra tuition for her. She'll almost certainly need some help with Latin, I'd have thought?" "I'd imagine so," Louis replied. Imogen probably thought Latin was a type of coffee. "A lot of our new girls do. Sapientia ducet ad astra. Do you know what that means, Mr Hardiker?" "Wisdom leads to the stars," he said. He'd read it on the sign by the gatehouse, but was quite happy for her to think his Latin was that good. "Indeed. Wisdom leads to the stars. You see, we may be old fashioned in our ways and believe that ladies should comport themselves in a particular way, but we're not old fashioned in our thinking of women's roles. We've had girls go on to be MPs, girls go on to be scientists, girls go on to be CEOs. Our Oxbridge acceptance rate is 100%. We may teach girls how to walk and sit properly, but we will also teach them all of the sciences to a very high standard. Let me show you around." He could tell Caroline was starting to warm to the place as Miss Taylor- Bannister led them into the main hall and then into the East Wing. It was hard not to like it. Louis had sort of known what to expect - he'd gone to private school himself after all - but for Caroline, a former student of Millman High School, the same school her daughter went to now, it must have seemed like a different world. There were no tiled walls or graffiti here. The d?cor looked more like something you'd find in a stately home. "This is an English class," Miss Taylor-Bannister whispered, standing outside a wooden door, "our third years. So the same age as your Imogen, actually. Miss Chester is one of our best young teachers. We found her up in a secondary school in Manchester, completely wasted. Her Father was Humphrey Chester." "The author? Really?" Louis asked, impressed. "Wonderful man. He and his wife bring in a lemon drizzle cake when we have our Christmas party. Would you like to step inside?" They followed into the room and stood quietly by the wall. The room was split into five tables with two girls at each, and they offered only the slightly glimpse in the direction of their visitors before returning to the books in front of them. Miss Chester wondered over. "Very nice to meet you both," she whispered, giving a flash of her brilliantly white teeth as she smiled, "the children are reading Charles Dickens at the moment, Hard Times." "It's a GCSE book in normal curriculum," Miss Taylor-Bannister told them, "but we like to challenge the children as much as possible before they start their GCSEs." Louis marvelled at how all the girls were dressed in absolutely identical fashion in their green blazers, purple blouses and green skirts, right down to the height of their socks. Clearly no deviation was allowed. One of the girls, a black haired girl underneath a straw boater at the front of the class, raised her hand. "Yes, Erin?" "Miss Chester," the girl began, lowering her hand, "may I ask a question about this paragraph? I'm not sure what Dickens is trying to tell us about Louisa here." "Very impressive," Louis murmured, as the girl and Miss Chester began to discuss the text. He found himself a little taken by Miss Chester in fact. It was probably just the low cut blouse and fairly tight skirt, he decided. "These are going to be Imogen's classmates next year?" Caroline whispered, sounding very worried. "They will be yes," Miss Taylor-Bannister replied, "but they'll be in fourth year by then, so they'll be in the West Wing." She ushered them out of the door, "we allow the girls in West Wing a few more adult luxuries on account of their age. They can wear very minimal make up, respectfully done of course, and we allow them to stay up until 10pm. Girls in the East Wing go to bed at 9pm." "Forget that," Caroline whispered, tugging at Louis's arm, "she'll never cope with that level of work. We can't do this, Louis!" "Not now," he shot back, hoping Miss Taylor-Bannister hadn't heard them. Admittance to Riverside was hard fought, and he didn't want her to think Caroline was against the idea. She had shown them into a dorm room, where five beds were spread in a circle around a sizeable room. To the right of each bed was a medium sized wardrobe, and to the left a small bedside cabinet. "Nightwear is part of the uniform," she continued, "you'll see it in the clothing brochures we send out. The younger girls wear purple Winceyette nighties, and the old girls much the same, except theirs are green. The girls don't need to bring their own toiletries or sanitary products as we provide all of those." She briefly showed them through to the en- suite bathrooms. "Like a hotel," Louis marvelled. "Cleanliness is very important here. The girls are expected to shower every morning, and wash their hair at least twice a week." "May I ask something?" Caroline asked, sounding very small. "You don't need to ask permission Car," Louis whispered. "Why don't you have any male teachers?" "A fair question," Miss Taylor-Bannister replied, as she led them into the common room. This room was bigger than the dormitory, with plush green sofas encircling the finely decorated walls and racks of magazines scattered around, "we have had male teachers in the past, and I dare say we will again in the future. But I'm a big believer in creating strong female role models for the girls, and to that end, I think having female teachers is very important. There's a world of difference between the girls being taught by a male maths teacher who has worked at Nasa, and a female maths teacher who has done the same. Just imagine how inspiring that is for our young ladies." Caroline seemed sated by that response, but was on a roll now and asked another, "and is there much bullying? How do you deal with it when it happens?" "I'm very honest on that topic. We run a school that teaches sixty adolescent girls, so yes, there can be cruelty and name-calling. Some of the older girls can certainly be a bit mean to the younger ones especially, hence why we split them into different wings. Our head girl, it'll be an exceptionally bright girl called Billie next year, is also expected to look out for the younger pupils," she broke into a smile, "the first year girls are often called tadpoles, but it's affectionate really. All in all, I think it's a nice atmosphere. And each girl has a one on one session with a teacher each week in privacy, where they can share any problems they might be having" She was already leading them out of the common room and back into the main hall area. "This is our library," she continued, showing them a grand room full of books against every wall and with long mahogany tables running from end to end. Each space at the table was separated by a green banker's lamp, which immediately reminded Louis of his Father. Sometimes it felt like he'd only ever seen him bathed in the green light of his banker's lamp. "We try to keep an extensive library," she told them, "although it's not always easy. Text books are remarkably expensive, especially when you use the older ones like we do. New text books just don't cut it, in my opinion. Donations help with that, of course." Caroline squeezed his hand, clearly inwardly laughing at the barely concealed pitch for even more money. "This is our sick bay," Miss Taylor-Bannister said, quickly moving them into yet another room. Here there were two beds on either side and a sterile white colour on the walls, "our nurse, Mrs Templeton, has been with us for....oh, nearly thirty years now. She knows how to look after the girls, that's for sure. Again, I apologise if it's not up to the standards of our other rooms - it's another that we'd like to renovate and rebuild, when funds allow." "I think it looks fine," Louis said. "That's kind of you to say. Building a sick bay isn't a cheap business, so it may be some time before we can start. Anyway, what say we retire to the balcony for a little lunch? Chef has prepared a very agreeable menu, and I'm sure you'll agree that the views of the river and forest are quite stunning." The passed a group of girls returning from class as they headed back. The girls were walking in a neat line, and said, "good afternoon, Miss Taylor-Bannister," in almost perfect unison as they passed. "Deference to adults in another important part of Riverside," she told them as they sat down to lunch, "we like the children to debate topics with their teachers, but always with the structure in mind that the teachers are in charge around here. They must call each teacher Miss, and raise their hand before asking a question. The younger girls are expected the head girl and her deputy "Miss" too. It helps breed respect for ones elders, I think." Louis watched Caroline as she poked at her Ham Hock Terrine, and wondered if she'd been won around at all. It was hard for her he knew, to send her only daughter off to boarding school, but he had the feeling that she knew deep down that it was necessary. They discussed fees for most of lunch. These didn't come as a surprise to Louis, who had already worked out how much it would all cost from the brochures, but it still sounded a little obscene when said out loud. "And of course, there is the matter of an "optional" donation," she told them, making optional sound on par with cancer of the eyes. "would you be willing to donate?" Louis quoted her a number that made her smile just a little, in spite of herself. "Well, that would be most generous," she said, "most generous indeed." They were treated to a quick tour of the playing fields and gardens after lunch, during which Louis saw only the second male of the day, after the black haired guard who had let them in. "That's Robinson, the gardener," she told them, "he's been here for years. The girls love him." Robinson stooped painfully to wave his hat in Caroline's direction as they passed, which made her blush. He hoped the old hunchback gardener might seal the deal. But no smile followed the blush. "Come on then," he said, as they began their long drive home, "what do you think?" She was silent for some time, instead staring down at her phone. "Caroline, for goodness sake. Tell me what you're thinking." When she looked back up, she had tears in her eyes, "I can't send my baby there Louis. I just can't." She didn't start to sob dramatically like some women might have, but he could hear the pain in her voice, "she won't be able to cope. She's not as clever as those girls, and she'll miss me." "It'll be tough for her at first, certainly. But I really think it's the best thing for her." "You're not listening to me Louis," she said, sterner now, "there is absolutely no way I'm sending my daughter to that....that place and there is nothing you can say that'll make me change my mind," she put her phone back in her bag, "nothing at all." ** "What line of work was your Father in, if you don't mind me asking?" "A stockbroker," Louis replied, staring intently at an oak tree in the near distance, and watching leaves fall slowly from its branches. "A self made man?" Miss Taylor-Bannister asked. "Yes. His Father was a butcher. Good old boy, he was. Determined that his children should do better. They lived in poverty to make sure my Father went to University." He could tell she was wondering just how much money Louis had, especially after the sizeable donation he'd made. That was the whole point of the conversation after all, to scope out how much might be left in the coffers. She probably wanted to buy a bloody helicopter and keep it on the balcony. "Dad made most of his money in the 80s, god bless Maggie, but was clever enough to get out before Black Monday. He spent his last few years shorting the market, mostly." "When did he die?" "Oh, a while ago. I was only 14," he helped himself to another sip of his gin, and wished he didn't have to drive home, "a heart attack while he was playing squash. I never saw that much of him in truth. He was either at the office or at some social event. That's why I'm keen to do better for Imogen." "Well you've started by picking the best school," she replied, "and if you don't mind me asking, when did you get married? You weren't married when you came her for the tour, were you?" "A couple of weeks back." "Congratulations," she said, with a twinkle in her eye. "Thank you. It's been a crazy few weeks actually, what with planning the wedding and getting everything ready for Imogen coming here." "And have you honeymooned yet?" "No, there hasn't been time. Caroline and I have booked to go the Bahamas though, in a few weeks time. She wanted to leave some time to make sure Imogen was all settled in." For some reason he thought about telling her the whole story about the wedding, but thankfully his better senses came to the fore first. There was something about her that inspired honesty. He imagined it was a skill she learned in her time as a teacher. "So tell me a little more about yourself," he said, suddenly feeling like they were on a date and blushing at the roughness of the question, "how did you end up becoming headmistress here?" "There's not much to tell really. I was a teacher at a local secondary school for many years and then a headteacher at a few places. I was approached to work here about fifteen years ago or so, probably because my school was voted best secondary school in the UK." "Really? Which school?" She paused for a moment, and then smiled coyly, "St. Peters. You wouldn't know it. It's in the north." "Very impressive," he said. "I'm also a classical trained violinist," she added, almost as an afterthought, "I've played with the London Symphony Orchestra on a few occasions." Louis felt silly for trying to talk about Holst earlier, "wow. That's serious stuff." "Yes, but teaching is my passion. I still teach the girls music here, when I have time. We have a wonderful choir. Perhaps Imogen could join? Does she sing?" He thought about Imogen and her friends cackling along to Antonio during one of their sleepovers, "err, I think so." "We encourage the girls to sing. All of them have to give a musical solo during assembly at some point of the year." He couldn't imagine Imogen getting up in front of 59 other girls and singing. She was braver than her Mother perhaps, but even that seemed a step too far. As he looked down at gardens, he spotted Miss Chester guiding three young girls around. Like Imogen had been, the girls were all wearing a brown cord skirts and white blouses, although he hardly noticed that when faced when the opportunity to see right down Miss Chester's top. "Some of our new starters," she told him, peering over herself, "Chloe, Maisie and Polly, if I remember correctly," she lowered her voice, "Polly's Father is a very important man, but I couldn't possibly say who he is. Miss Chester is their form tutor. I always put her with the first years because she's younger herself, so the girls feel more of a connection." He looked over at the little blonde girl walking with Miss Chester and wondered who her Father might be. An MP perhaps? Blimey, maybe even the PM! Did the PM have children? He wasn't sure, but resolved to check when he got home. "I'll have to start getting back," he said, "may I say goodbye to Imogen before I go?" "Oh no, it would be better if you don't," she replied, "Imogen will already be in the common room with the other girls by now, and it would probably embarrass her. But please don't worry, and tell your dear wife the same. The week before school starts is actually very fun for the girls. We put on a few dances for them and have a big picnic in the gardens. I'll make sure she's fine and call you with her progress before school starts, though." They walked back to his car slowly, with the rich lunch and two gins making Louis feel a little woozy. It didn't take much to get him drunk with his small frame, or to make him feel full up. He hoped having the window down and Holst on full blast would help him home. As they neared the door a rather harried looking woman burst through from the other side, with a terrified ginger girl in tow. "I'm so sorry I'm late," the woman cried, her oversized bag swinging wildly and only just missing the ginger girl's head. Even from a distance, Louis could see the girl had tears in her eyes. For some reason Miss Taylor-Bannister stood herself right in front of Louis, "nonsense Mrs Barrett, you're actually early. I must apologise for not being in the car park to greet you, actually. And how are you, Victoria?" The little girl looked downwards, "I'm very well, Miss Taylor-Bannister. Thank you." He felt momentarily ashamed of Imogen and her surly responses, although he found his shepherding out the door even stranger. It was as though she didn't want him to talk or see other parents, or perhaps the other way round. "Safe journey home Mr Hardiker," she said, practically shooing him out of the door, before turning back to Mrs Barrett and Victoria. It was very odd, but he had almost forgotten about it by the time he collapsed into the Jaguar's comfortable front seat. His first thought was to call Caroline and tell her that everything had gone OK. He'd purposely left his mobile in the glove compartment after Miss Taylor- Bannister's tirade about phones, and expected to see at least ten missed calls from Caroline. "Bloody girl," he moaned, fishing out the discarded McDonald's wrappers that Imogen had left there. It was why he didn't like letting Caroline have the car. A sense of panic and confusion started to race through him as he grasped for the phone's reassuring, metallic touch. He had put it in the glove compartment, hadn't he? He was sure he had, because Caroline had warned him endlessly to call her as soon as he had dropped her off. "Imogen," he said to himself, suddenly convinced she'd smuggled it in there with her. It had probably been when she'd been slamming the compartment open and shut during Mercury. The winged messenger indeed! He'd have to go back inside and tell Miss Taylor-Bannister that Imogen had brought a phone in with her. He considered this for a moment. Would that really be the best way for Imogen to start her time at Riverside? Not only would she look bad in front of the teachers, he was sure it wouldn't endear her to the school either. And what if she'd hadn't taken it? How stupid would he look then? What if really had left it at home after all? Suddenly he was certain that he'd left it on the main hallway table, on top of his letters. He'd put it down when he'd picked his keys up and forgotten it. Caroline was going to be livid. He'd have to stop at a service station and call her. Still feeling full and a little woozy, he pressed the button to start the ignition and waited for the soft purr of the Jag's engine to waft in through the open windows and for Holst's Mars to start again in all its glory. Five hours home! Perhaps six with the traffic. And now, because he'd forgotten his phone, he'd have to stop at the poxy services too! He could only hope that Caroline would take pity on him when he got in, and offer some pity sex. "What the hell is the problem now!" he murmured to himself, as the Jag failed to start. Surely he hadn't lost his keys now as well? He rummaged quickly through his trouser pocket, and found the key fob safely in there, under his wallet. But still the Jag wouldn't start. He was still cursing his outrageously expensive car when Mrs Barrett, the harried looking woman with the big bag and ginger daughter, burst back out of the entrance and toward her own car, a black BMW parked a few bays away. Clearly she wasn't one for a boozy lunch on the balcony with Miss Taylor-Bannister. She was yelling into her phone too. "They want ?100,000 Michael. ?100,000! Can you believe it! Want to refurbish the library and the sick ward! I told her where to go!" A pause, as she pulled a cigarette from her bag, "no Michael, I won't pay. They bled us dry when Catherine was here, remember! Hello? Can you still hear me?" She threw the phone onto her car seat in disgust. "Fucking signal!" Before that he had considered getting out and asking to borrow her phone, but now he just wanted her to go without seeing him. She didn't seem like the kind of person he wanted to have a conversation with. "?100,000!" She was saying to herself over and over as she climbed into her car, which luckily for her, started first time. Louis made an internal note to buy German next time, rather than British. He tried to start it a few more times, before deciding there was nothing more to be done. He had to go back inside and call The AA. He could call Caroline at the same time, and tell her not to wear her sexy negligee tonight, because he wouldn't be home until the early hours. He just hoped they might find a comfortable place for him to lay down while he waited. "Problem?" a male voice asked. It was the old gardener that they'd met during their tour of the school. If anything, he looked even more hunchbacked than he had the last time. "Just my rubbish car," Louis complained, "I was going to pop in and call The AA." "What's the problem? Won't start?" "Just seems dead. I've never had it before." The old boy shook his head, his long grey hair swinging around his face as he did so, "these modern cars, hey? You know, Vince, the chap at the gatehouse, is good with cars. I can ask him to take a look, if you like...." "No really, it's fine," Louis replied, somewhat embarrassed at his lack of "man-skills', "The AA can get here in half an hour." "Not all the way out here they won't," Robinson said, chuckling, "we're out in the sticks here boy. Be at least three hours, if not more." Louis felt like he'd been punched, "three hours! Really?" He didn't think anywhere in Britain could be three hours from roadside support. "Not much need for them out here boy. We fix things ourselves. Let me get Vince for you." "Well, I suppose that would be good. Thank you very much," he made to get back into the Jag to wait, but Miss Taylor-Bannister saw him first. "Mr Hardiker! You're still here. There isn't a problem, I hope." He told her about the car, and she insisted he wait inside while Vince had a look, "he might need a while," she told him, "and I'm awfully sorry about barging you out the door like that when Mrs Barrett arrived," she lowered her voice, "she's such a troublemaker you see, and I didn't want her to sour your impression of the day. Her daughter is such a sweet little thing too. Miss Chester is showing her around now, with the others." Louis had no idea why she'd needed to share quite so much information, but he was happy to be led to a comfortable chase-lounge in the teacher's room. "Could I make a quick call home as well," he asked, spying the old fashioned phone on the wall. "Certainly, make yourself at home. Hopefully Vince will be done very soon." He decided to wait twenty minutes or so before calling her, choosing instead to have a rest on the comfy chairs first. When he did finally saunter over to the phone, it hardly rang before Caroline picked up. She sounded a little angry too, "you left your phone here, dozy," she riled, making Louis feel a little better and thankful that he didn't accuse Imogen of stealing it. She didn't sound too convinced when Louis told her that the day had gone well, and that Imogen seemed happy enough. In the end her downbeat attitude started to annoy him. "You know, for a woman who's just had a ?60,000 wedding, and seen her daughter go off to one of the best and most expensive private schools in the country, you don't seem very happy." "Don't you dare throw money in my face like that," she yelled, "the wedding was your idea, remember? And the school." He wasn't sure the school was his idea, actually. Perhaps he'd been the one to push it home, but she must have ordered the brochures originally. Why else would they have been posted to him? "Oh, and in another news," she continued, still yelling, "Marvin found out today that we've sent Imogen away and he's not happy about it. Says he thinking of suing, because we didn't involve him. I told you we should run the idea past him, Louis. He is Imogen's Father, after all." This made his blood boil, "some Father. Where was he on her birthday? Or at Christmas? Or at that play she did last year?" He could barely contain his anger, "fuck him. Tell him to sue me all he wants. I'll have him done for child negligence. Fuck him Caroline, fuck him...." A throat was cleared behind him. It was Miss Chester. Of course it was. "I'll have to go," he told her, while she kept shouting. Before he put the phone down, and perhaps not wanting to look like a hothead in front of his new company, he started to calm down, "look sweetheart, I'll be home later tonight. We can talk about things then. I love you OK?" There was a pause. A long pause. "I love you too Louis." She hung up. "Awfully sorry about that," he said, turning around and feeling all kinds of silly. Even childlike, somehow. Perhaps because Miss Chester was quite a bit taller than him, or perhaps because she was fixing him with the kind of stare that teachers gave naughty children. Still, even with that glare she looked very pretty. "I didn't mean to interrupt Mr Hardiker," she said, a little red faced, "but I was asked to tell you that Vince has looked at your car, and that he'll need to order a part for it. It won't come until tomorrow though." "Perfect," he groaned, a little relieved that he wouldn't have to face Caroline after all. Perhaps it would give her time to calm down. "Is there a hotel nearby? And would someone be able to give me a lift?" "Oh don't worry about that," she said, "Miss Taylor-Bannister has insisted you stay here tonight, as our guest. She's having a room in the teacher's wing prepared for you now." That didn't sound too bad. He could sleep off his full lunch and his two G&Ts, and be ready for a nice drive home tomorrow. He just had to make another phone call first. ** He found himself staring out into the dark oak trees as night fell. As a child, he'd always been scared of the dark, and especially scared of being lost in dark forest, a remnant of a poorly organised trek that his Father had arranged in some half arsed attempt at parenting, during which he'd been lost for two hours, wondering amongst the impossibly tall trees. He'd wet himself lavishly too, something which had disgusted his Dad even though poor Louis was only 7. It had been a thoroughly strange day, and not one he was going to remember too fondly. Caroline had been even angrier when he'd called back and told her the news, saying that she didn't want to be alone on that night of all nights, and sobbing down the receiver like a spoilt child. Suddenly her meekness didn't seem all that endearing. Had he been right to propose? He'd only done it because he'd found those bridal magazines hidden under the bed while he was looking for his golf clubs. But as soon as he thought of it, there was no going back. It was the perfect idea really. From the notes inside the magazines he had worked out that she longed for a big fancy wedding. It was Helen, Caroline's oldest friend, who really sealed the deal. He had overhead her talking in the hallway to one of the younger maids, "I've heard he's going to ask her to marry him, and that the ceremony is going to be a few weeks. A big old thing too, apparently. Caroline is very excited, although he doesn't know she knows. She found the meeting with the wedding planner in his diary." Louis cursed his sloppiness, but was heartened to hear how excited Caroline was. Helen continued, "and apparently she's going to let Imogen go to that private school if they get married." The young maid said something, too low for Louis to hear. "Yeah, but she thinks it's fair he has a say if they're married," Helen told the younger girl, "and between us, I think she secretly likes the idea of Imogen learning a bit of refinement anyway." So here he was, a married man. He'd been sad on the wedding day that his Mother couldn't be there, and even a little sad that his Father couldn't either, if only to prove a point to the old bastard. He'd never much liked Louis, and they both knew it. Both of Caroline's parents were dead too, but she had a LOT more friends to invite than he did. It was lucky really, because without them the church would have been empty. "Mr Hardiker," a voice said, from the other side of the door. "Yes?" He replied, a little startled. "It's just me, Miss Taylor-Bannister," he wondered why she hadn't just told him her first name yet. In fact, none of the teachers had. All through dinner they'd called each other Miss this and Mrs that. Very odd. "Just want to make sure you've got everything you need." "All perfect, thank you." Well, almost. They hadn't been able to find any nightclothes for him, so he was having to sleep naked. But with the cool air outside, that wasn't the end of the world. "Mrs Cullen has asked me to remind you about your run in the morning. Six am." He'd forgotten about that but hid his remorse. "Yes, thank you very much. Good night now." He hadn't really wanted to go on a bloody run with her, but she'd been so insistent that he'd finally caved. "None of these lot will ever run with me," she boomed, slapping him on the back, "we'll have a great time lad. Lots of hills around here." For a time earlier in the afternoon Louis had wondered if he might end up eating dinner in the large cafeteria just beyond the main hall. That would mean seeing Imogen again though, and thankfully Miss Taylor- Bannister was in agreement that it wouldn't be a good idea. So the two of them had eaten in her private study, with the conversation becoming more forced as they ran out of topics to cover. "Can you play an instrument?" she had asked him, as he finished off the last of his jam roly-poly. "I played a little violin at school," he told her, "but it's so long ago that I doubt I'd be able to now." "You never forget," she said, smiling and stirring her tea. After dinner they'd joined the other teachers in the teacher's lounge, and Louis was surprised to find quite a boozy atmosphere. At the centre of it was Miss Chester, who was sipping a gin and tonic, and Mrs Cullen, who was helping herself to a lager. "So what do you do then?" Mrs Brightwell, the history teacher, asked him. She was a pudgy older woman with brown hair and her body hidden under a long black cardigan. The question stumped Louis, who had otherwise been enjoying the atmosphere and helping himself to another G&T, "oh well, I have a few stock portfolios," he replied. It was his standard lie, and not one that would hold up under much scrutiny. "Oh really," Miss Eardley, the maths teacher who had worked at Nasa, cut in, "which shares are you in to?" "Fuck," he thought, suddenly wanting the conversation to turn back to the embarrassingly bad exam answers some of them had heard. Like the girl who'd thought the Nazi's had won the Second World War. "This and that," he boasted, "I err, just bought some shares in Jaguar." It was the best he could come up with. "Jaguar, really? Aren't they owned by Tata now? And isn't that a New York listing?" "Yep," he replied, not knowing if she was right or not. Miss Eardley smiled, "well I must say, that's rather exotic. A trader in the foreign markets." He got the feeling that she was mocking him. "Perhaps you should have bought more," Mrs Cullen said in her northern brogue, "your car might not have broken down then!" "And do you like to read Mr Hardiker?" This was Miss Chester now, and she was smiling at him sweetly. A little drunk, perhaps. "Of course. I've been reading some Proust lately." This wasn't a lie, but he hoped desperately that shouldn't ask him about it, because he'd only managed twenty pages of In Search of Lost Time before giving up and playing games on his phone instead. "Oh my," she replied, "Proust, really? I've always found his work very difficult. It's a shame you won't be here for longer, perhaps we could have worked through some of it together?" There was definitely something between them, he had decided. If only the G&Ts. When he'd set off in the morning with a surly Imogen by his side, he certainly hadn't expected to spend the evening with a bunch of middle aged teachers getting slightly drunk, but in the end it become quite agreeable. By the time he settled into bed, naked under the bedclothes and with a light breeze wafting through the open window, almost everything felt quite agreeable. He spent his last few waking moments staring at the locked door on the other side of the room, following the marks in the wood from the top of the door to the bottom, and trying to shake the feeling that Caroline had led him on. It was still pre-dawn when he woke, and it took him a few moments to remember where he was. "Oh no," he yawned, remembering his promise to call Caroline before he went to bed. Like the all too cold air coming in from the window, or the strange beeping going somewhere, the thought of her moaning at him for forgetting didn't do much to help his already fragile head. He stood up slowly to shut the window, remembering not to fall over the clothes he'd left laying on the floor. At first he thought the beeping was coming from the hallway, but as he neared the open window he realised it was coming from outside. It was accompanied by hushed voices too. Binmen, he decided, until he heard the familiar soft purring sound of his Jaguar. "What the hell!" he said out-loud, feeling a remnant of last night's Halloumi come back up his throat as he did so. He reached down quickly to grab his trousers from the floor, and was equally perplexed to find those gone too! Someone was stealing his Jaguar, and had apparently stolen his underpants too, and apart from running down the hallway naked, there was nothing he could do about it! "Hey!" he shouted out of the window, "I can see you! What are you doing?" He couldn't actually see them or the car itself, but hoped it might scare them off. "Mr Hardiker, are you OK in there?" He was relieved to hear Miss Taylor- Bannister's voice through the door. "No, I'm certainly not OK! Someone is stealing my Jag from the car park. Call the police, quickly!" "No no, there's been a misunderstanding," she laughed, "Vince arranged for the local garage to pick your car up this morning. He managed to get it started last night, but he tells me it will need a new part so that it doesn't happen again. I'm terribly sorry - I would have told you last night but I only found out very late and I assumed you'd be asleep." Louis felt slightly foolish, "oh well, that's good, I suppose. Oh, but my trousers and shirt are gone too. And my wallet was in my trousers." "What do you mean, gone? You asked me to give them to the laundry girls for you, don't you remember? You left them outside the door last night." "No, I put them on the floor. I'm sure I did." Was it possible that she was right? He had had a few drinks, but surely not enough to forget something like that. "Check your bedside cabinet. I'm sure your wallet will be in there." He hopped back over the side of the room. Sure enough his wallet was in there. "Well, maybe I did ask you to wash them then. Terribly sorry." He still wasn't convinced though. In fact, he was starting to feel very strange about the whole thing and wanted more than ever to get home. Ironically, he was beginning to understand how Imogen had felt. All in all he wasn't much in the mood for Mrs Cullen's boisterous knock on the door twenty minutes later, "our run, remember?" she called in. "I really can't, I'm afraid," he called back. He had hoped that would be enough, but she kept pressing him until he had finally given her the real reason. "But you couldn't run in your trousers and shirt anyway," she said, as though he was stupid, "I bought some thing with me for you to wear. I'll leave it outside the door here, and I promise I won't look when you get them." At least it'll be something to wear he told himself, as he quickly grabbed the clothes she had left. It turned out to be a pair of green drawstring jogging bottoms and a green t-shirt. Unless he'd gone mad, he was sure it was girls PE kit, and that they'd bought something very similar for Imogen. And yet still, he didn't know what choice he had but to put it on. She'd even left him a pair of sports socks and plain white trainers in his size, which he assumed he'd told her the night before. What a strange day it was, already. "So, you're good to go then," she said, hopping on the spot as he slowly opened the door, "I thought we'd go for a quick 5k, and then maybe a bit of hill work. How does that sound?" It sounded terrible, "fine," he lied, finding her more than a little imposing. At the same time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and told himself he was being silly to think the outfit was anything other than sportswear. He wasn't even sure it was PE kit actually, and was suddenly sure that they'd never bought Imogen a pair of joggers. "Come on lad!" Mrs Cullen had a habit of shouting. "We've hardly done 2k yet and you're puffing like an overweight old smoker." "I haven't done much running lately," he gasped, trying to keep up with her ridiculously long strides and failing. "No kidding lad." Worse was to come when they reached the hills behind the school and Mrs Cullen decided it would be "fun" to do three laps of the steepest climb out of the five or so in front of them. By the first time up he was already doubled over and preparing to be sick. "What's the matter Louisa!" she taunted, throwing an a onto the end of his name like the bullies had done at school, "can't you even manage one lap?" "I can't," he gasped, "I really can't!" "I'm going to keep calling you Louisa until you manage to get up here. Come on soft lad, even our first year girls can do this! Put some effort in Louisa." "Please.....enough for now......" "Oh Louisa, what a terrible effort. Maybe you'll do better tomorrow though." "Not bloody likely," he thought, "I'll back home with my new wife, and having lots and lots of sex to boot." He called the new wife from the phone in the teacher's lounge, as soon as the hour was respectable enough. "I'm really sorry," he said again, "they're fixing the car today though, so I'll be home later on." She had obviously softened since the last phone call, "I really miss you both," she said, sounding more like her meek old self again, "I can't believe you're both there and I'm stuck here. I knew I should have gone with you to drop her off." "Don't get all upset now," he advised, wiping yet another bead of sweat from his forehead, "I love you, Caroline." Less of a pause this time, "I love you too. Just come home, please!" "I will, I will," he replied, not 100% sure why he felt so certain about it. It was entirely possible that the car wouldn't be back in time for him to get home, and it was a fear that grew and grew as the morning passed while he sat in his room, looking out of the window and waiting to hear the soft purr of the Jag again. After a while he turned his attention the scene in the gardens, which he could far more clearly. The girls were having a picnic on the perfectly green lawns and he quickly spotted Imogen amongst them, talking to the black haired girl he remembered from Miss Chester's class during their tour of the school. She seemed happy too, even laughing a couple of times as the black hair girl told her something, and Louis made a mental note to tell Caroline about it. The girls had obviously been allowed to dress a little more casually too, because many were in jeans and t-shirts. This included the gaggle of girls closest to his window all wearing pastel coloured t-shirts and jeans, who he recognised as the first year girls, including blonde Poppy, she with the famous Father, and ginger Victoria, the little scared girl. They were giggling as they talked amongst themselves. "Mr Hardiker, are you OK in there?" It was Miss Taylor-Bannister again, "I've brought your clothes back from the laundry. Shall I bring them in?" "Please," he replied, no longer much caring about his green joggers but delighted to put his own clothes back on. "Any word from the garage yet?" "Not yet I'm afraid," she looked genuinely upset about it, which made Louis feel ashamed for doubting her honesty earlier, "I've told Vince to put pressure on the mechanic though, so hopefully not too long. In the meantime, I was wondering if you might like to accompany me to the music room? I'd love your opinion on a little piano piece I'm writing." "Piano? I thought you were a violinist?" "I play a little of everything really," she replied, "how about it? It's better than sitting here all alone. And Imogen is in the gardens with the other girls, so she won't see you." "I suppose you're right." She waited outside the door while h