‘I would obviously be delighted,’ said Roberts, ‘but I am a very busy man.’
‘Well, you will have to take my word for it then. And they have water fights, filling their water pistols from the buckets in the toilets, put there for catching the rain—’
‘Are they allowed to bring water pistols to school? Surely not!’
‘Of course they’re not. But they do. And short of searching them all every morning, pockets, lunch bags – which we don’t have time for – well, again I can only say, Mr Roberts, you should try stopping them.’
‘So what is your question?’
‘Not a question! Merely an observation. Adding to Councillor Broadburn’s own plea for bigger budgets. But I would propose that before the next election, we add that to our manifesto—’
‘Yes, well, we could consider that and then possibly vote on putting it forward,’ said Roberts. ‘Now—’
‘And there’s something else,’ said Laura. ‘Something different. But it’s all linked and might help if it could be addressed. It is that we are one school governor short and it’s extremely difficult to recruit them. I thought if I brought this to your attention, you might be able to help.’
The committee looked at one another, spoke under their collective breath and then Councillor Roberts said, ‘Well, you’re right, it is difficult to find people willing to give the time and expertise. I consider it a position of utmost importance. More so with secondary schools, of course. Unfortunately, I am governor of a secondary school in Hilchester, so I can’t take another one on.’
‘Of course not,’ said Laura Leonard, and Tom could see her struggling to disguise her horror at the possibility that the councillor might join her team. ‘I – I wouldn’t dream of asking you. But there might be a – a person known to some of you gentlemen . . .’
There was a silence; then Mr Roberts wound up his speech.
‘I would like to propose a vote of thanks to Councillor Broadburn for sparing his valuable time to give us a most thought-provoking talk.’
Subdued applause followed; and then the chairman closed the meeting.
Tom stood up, winding his scarf round his neck; he had no overcoat and it was getting very cold. He caught Laura Leonard’s eye and smiled at her; she smiled back, and they stood there, two bright, promising young people among the dingy middle age of the meeting.
‘Come along, lad,’ said Jack. ‘We’ve a bus to catch.’ Tom turned obediently, to be intercepted by Ted Moore.
‘You know what, young Tom,’ he said, ‘you might consider that governor’s position yourself. You’re young, of course, but you’ve got the education and the energy, I’d guess. We could go and ask the young woman. I liked her – mind of her own. What do you say?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Tom, embarrassed. ‘I’ve no idea what school governors do.’
‘As much or as little as they’re prepared to. It can’t be hard, I’ve done it myself. Bit of fundraising, support to the staff in various ways, that sort of thing. But the right person can bring a lot to a school. Come along, let’s have a word with her. Miss Leonard – a moment of your time, please?’
And thus it was that Tom Knelston, aged only nineteen, became a governor of St Joseph’s Hilchester Primary, East Hilton, and, as a consequence, rather good friends with its feisty young deputy headmistress.
Chapter 5
1939
The engagement is announced between the Hon. Johnathan Gunning, youngest son of Sir Hilary Gunning, of Guildford Park, Yorkshire, and Diana, only daughter of Sir Gerald and Lady Southcott, of the Manor House, West Hilton, Hampshire.
So she’d done it. Well, it wasn’t surprising, Ned supposed. She had clearly been compelled to get her life sorted, or as near as was possible in this bloody awful world they were in at the moment. Everyone was doing that to an extent, rushing into all sorts of arrangements and liaisons. Hers was an entirely personal need, of course, nothing to do with the impending war.
He did feel a certain responsibility, though; he had to a degree, albeit hopefully a small one, driven her to it. He was sure she didn’t love the bloke, just needed a ring on her finger. If he’d responded to her more enthusiastically that night at the Savoy, both guests at a dinner dance, given by a friend of her brothers . . . but he hadn’t. He’d rejected a pretty blatant overture, with as much charm as he could manage. It wasn’t charm she’d wanted, it was sex, and with him, Ned Welles, not Johnathan Gunning. She’d been very drunk, worked every trick in the book on him, teasing, flirting, tempting, her lovely body pressed against him as she pulled him onto the dance floor, her mouth briefly on his, her eyes naked and hungry. She’d been so angry, clearly felt completely humiliated when he took her back to the table, thanked her, bowed slightly and asked to be excused. She wasn’t used to rejection, beautiful as she was, amusing and self-assured. And sexy, so sexy.
Anyway, Gunning had been there too, and she’d gone straight into his more than welcoming arms; he’d never seen any girl working on a man with such determination. It was a lesson in, well, women, he supposed. The expression in her eyes as she looked over her shoulder at him and waltzed off with Johnathan was of absolute triumph. I don’t want you, that look said, never did, I was just fooling around. That had been mid-December, this was mid-February. He’d put money on the wedding being pretty soon, almost certainly this summer.
Well, he really couldn’t worry about it any more. She was nineteen, not a child, and Diana Southcott was most assuredly not his responsibility. He had more immediate concerns. He was having dinner with his father at the Reform and he knew exactly why the invitation had been issued. Sir James was not convinced Ned was working hard enough; he wanted to check on that and also make sure that surgery would be his ultimate discipline. He was haunted by the notion that Ned would choose ENT or, God forbid, obstetrics. The first and only time Ned had voiced his interest in that, a casual listener might have thought a career in organised crime had just been mooted.
Well, he could tell his father he was set on surgery and had rather gone off the obstetric notion, though specialising in paediatrics seemed interesting. He wondered what the reaction might be to that. He could do with a good dinner; he’d blown his allowance for the month in two weeks, mostly on drink. It helped, pushed the nightmare away a bit.
Crossing London by bus, in the direction of Pall Mall, he looked out at the trenches dug in the great parks, offering shelter for people caught in any possible air raids; he couldn’t see they would be of enormous help, but at least they were there. Otherwise London seemed determined to ignore any imminent danger.