The Impossible Dream Read online

  ‘Miss Crane,’ Miss Tucker’s voice had become cold and stern, ‘I don’t wish to hear you say those words again. Mrs Arbuthnot obviously trained you satisfactorily or she would neither be employing you nor would she have recommended you to Mr Lambert. That point is settled. You may not have passed the usual examinations, but you are suitably trained. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Tucker,’ startled by the change in the headmistress’s voice, Megan said the words meekly.

  ‘Secondly, you must not allow any malicious gossip or even teasing to affect you in any way. Some of our staff have a peculiar sense of humour and you may find yourself called the teacher’s pet.’

  ‘The teacher’s pet?’ Megan echoed, shocked.

  Miss Tucker let herself smile. ‘They can be very childish, the staff, and also easily jealous. We must make it plain to them that your being employed here has nothing to do with the dismissal of Miss Pointer. There must be some reason for doing that. I think Mr Lambert should have consulted the Board before doing anything so drastic. But there is, of course, another side to it. Miss Pointer was always rather a rebel, not willing to conform happily with our way of living, so it’s quite possible that she did something that we couldn’t tolerate. Mr Lambert would keep it quiet to save her being hurt. He has such a soft heart,’ Miss Tucker added, a little contemptuously.

  A soft heart, Megan thought, unable to believe it. How could Craig Lambert have a soft heart and be doing his best to ruin poor Patrick?

  ‘Well, now.’ Miss Tucker drew out some sheets of typed notes from the drawer of the desk. ‘I’ll give you these to read. It’s a list of the classes you will teach, the rooms they will be in, the names of those who will play the piano for you. You will see it’s a pretty heavy programme, but I feel certain you can cope. As your hours are long, you will be left out of intracurricular tasks, but I would like you to join in our social life. Certain nights of the week, we play bridge, for instance. You can play?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t.’

  ‘How tiresome. Well, you can join the evening classes with the girls. Mr Parr will teach you. Mr Parr . . .’ Miss Tucker added, frowning thoughtfully. ‘Not always an easy man to work with, unfortunately. He’s an artist, certain he’s no good.’ Miss Tucker smiled. ‘How hard it is to convince people who lack self-confidence! I often wonder why they don’t trust themselves to be able to do anything they tackle.’

  ‘Perhaps . . . perhaps no one has told them they can,’ Megan began.

  Miss Tucker nodded. ‘You could be right, I suppose. When one is young, one needs a certain amount of praise. You got none?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There are many of you in the family?’

  ‘Just two of us. Patrick . . .’ Megan stopped dead. Now why, she asked herself miserably, had she to bring in Patrick, when she saw the way Miss Tucker’s face had changed.

  ‘Not the Patrick Crane?’ Miss Tucker sounded shocked.

  Megan’s cheeks flamed. ‘He lives on the island,’ she said defiantly.

  ‘Does Mr Lambert know?’ Miss Tucker literally demanded.

  ‘Of course,’ Megan told her. ‘Naturally I told him I had a brother living here. It seemed such a coincidence.’

  ‘It certainly does . . .’ Miss Tucker seemed to relax in her chair, folding her fingers together, not looking at Megan. ‘A most strange coincidence. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, Miss Weston will be able to advise you as to where the different rooms are. She’s in the flat next to you. You are used to dealing with children?’

  ‘Yes, and . . . and adults,’ said Megan.

  Miss Tucker smiled, an oddly cynical smile. ‘Adults! I’m afraid you’ll find some very strange girls here. Now, tonight is our social night. Please wear an evening dress. We all mix together and dance. Dinner is served at eight o’clock, but I’ll tell Miss Weston to take you down. That’s all, thank you.’

  Megan stood up. ‘Thank you, Miss Tucker.’ She glanced at her watch. It was four hours to dinner time. ‘Is there anything I should do?’

  ‘No, Miss Crane. You start work tomorrow. Why not wander around? Get to know the school. Most of the classes are over by now and the girls will be outside, playing games. There’s plenty to watch.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure, thank you, Miss Tucker.’ Megan almost ran to the door, eager to be outside. Miss Tucker, despite her superficial friendliness, was rather terrifying in many ways. Now Megan could understand Craig Lambert’s remarks about Miss Tucker’s military family. Megan could almost hear Miss Tucker’s huge, furious voice shouting out commands.

  As she closed the door, she jumped. Craig Lambert was waiting in the hall. He came to meet her.

  ‘She took a long time! Come along, I’m going to show you round,’ he said.

  But should he? Megan was wondering. If she was already being called teacher’s pet, wouldn’t it make things worse if she was seen being shown round by him?

  ‘Perhaps we . . . I mean, it might be . . .’ she began, stumbling over the words.

  Maybe Craig Lambert understood what she was trying to say. He took her arm firmly in his hand.

  ‘Of course we should,’ he said. ‘It was not a request I made, but a command I gave.’

  Looking up at him, startled, she saw the impatient anger in his eyes and she shivered. What had she let herself in for? she was asking herself, as they walked down the endless corridors, pausing by the empty rooms which were huge in many cases.

  It was a very fine school, Megan thought, and yet somehow so different from an ordinary school. She could hear the shouts and laughter from outside where the girls of all ages were playing games. From behind some closed doors, came the sound of music or the chatter of girls arguing but they met no one at all. It was as if the school had been deserted. She listened as Craig Lambert talked; he was interesting, his views on education fascinated her, there was no doubt he was determined the school should be a good one in every respect.

  But equally obvious, she thought with a shiver, that he was determined to keep it that way. No matter what it cost.

  CHAPTER II

  That first evening was rather a nightmare for Megan, for she felt absolutely exhausted and everything, even a smile, was an effort. She couldn’t explain her feelings; she wasn’t actually tired, yet the ability to do anything, to say anything, or even to think sensibly, seemed to have left her and she felt as if all her life had been squeezed out of her.

  Craig Lambert escorted her all over the huge building, and this alone was tiring, for he strode ahead, talking over his shoulder, making it hard for her to hear what he said and to give intelligent answers. He showed her the laboratories, the gymnasium, the girls’ sleeping quarters, their play rooms, the senior girls’ own sitting-rooms, the staff’s common room. It was impressive, but Megan was too tired to appreciate it.

  Later, when she escaped from him, she took refuge in a deep, warm bath, trying to relax, but her brain refused to slow down as inside her head it whirled her anxious thoughts.

  Could it all have happened by chance, she asked herself, or was it far too much of a coincidence? Had Craig Lambert employed the sister of a man he was determined to wipe out—financially, not physically, she thought hastily, though it was physically in a way, for Mr Lambert would obviously like Patrick to leave the island!

  Was it purely by chance that the sister of the man Mr Lambert wanted to erase had been given this job?

  After all, it could so easily not have happened, though, she thought, as she turned on the hot water tap again, loving the feel of the water against her skin, feeling for the moment safe, for she had not got to keep tense, watching her every word, waiting for one of Mr Lambert’s suddenly-thrown-at-her questions which always found her off guard.

  Now look at it sensibly, she told herself. Nothing could have happened if Patrick hadn’t written that desperate letter, asking for money. Nor could it have happened had her father not already discussed with Aunt Lily the sharing of her cottage in Dorset. In add
ition to this, Miss Pointer had been teaching here, so how could Mr Lambert have known she was going to leave?

  Megan caught her breath. But it was Mr Lambert who had sacked Miss Pointer. How could he have known Miss Pointer would do something that deserved dismissal? Perhaps she hadn’t? Perhaps he had just got rid of her in order to give Patrick’s sister the job? But there again, Megan thought, she came up against a lot of contradictions. The time element, for one thing. How could Mr Lambert have known when Patrick was writing to his father? How could Mr Lambert have known Megan would ask for Mrs Arbuthnot’s help? Indeed, how could Mr Lambert have even known that Patrick’s sister lived in Hastings and worked for Mrs Arbuthnot? None of that made sense, Megan told herself, as she stood up, dripping with water, and wrapped the towel round her body.

  Of course, she went on thinking, there were other things that didn’t make sense. For one, how was it Mr Lambert knew so much about her? Small things, yet things she felt sure she hadn’t told him herself? Of course it might have been Mrs Arbuthnot, for she was fond of talking.

  She looked at her watch. Comfortably off for time, she saw. She went to the window. How dark it was! A thin slice of the moon shone bravely in the sky. She could hear the roar of the ocean as it pounded against the rocks,

  She dressed carefully, choosing a pale green dress, long, high-necked but sleeveless. Her hair she had swept up from her face, pinning it carefully, allowing only two curls to fall on her cheeks. She looked at her reflection in the long mirror carefully. She wanted to make a good impression, this first night, particularly. She was twenty, but she was always being told how much younger she looked. Carefully she made up, using the false eyelashes that Miss Wilmot had shown her so patiently how to use.

  ‘It is essential,’ Miss Wilmot said, ‘that you take care not only of your deportment and behaviour but your appearance. It is so easy for a rebellious teenage girl to make herself look a mess as part of her defiance. This we will not tolerate.’

  Megan had wondered how they kept the girls at school, for how many today would tolerate such treatment? She thought how interesting in many ways it would be to meet the girls and find out what kind they were.

  There was a knock on her door and even as she spoke, it opened. A tall girl stood there. One of the staff? Megan wondered. She looked young, too.

  ‘Miss Crane? I’m Petronella Weston. I think Miss Tucker told you about me?’

  ‘Of course. Please come in,’ Megan said eagerly.

  Petronella Weston was tall, slender and had very dark hair and matching eyes. Her voice was husky and friendly in an impersonal way.

  ‘Well, what do you think of the convent?’ she asked with a smile.

  ‘It’s very impressive.’

  Miss Weston gave a little snort. ‘It’s supposed to be.’

  ‘It seems very strict. I mean for this day and age.’

  Laughing a little, Miss Weston sat down. ‘But we get paid well. Isn’t that right? We don’t have to stay.’

  Megan nodded. ‘Very right.’

  ‘How do you get on with Miss Tucker?’ Hesitating a little, Megan said: ‘Not too badly, but she was a bit . . well . . .’

  Miss Weston laughed. ‘How right you are! A very good description. A bit. . . well . . . She can be quite a dragon, but she does a good job. Trouble is that she and Craig Lambert rarely see eye to eye. By the way, what do you think of him?’

  ‘Think of him?’ Megan’s mouth was dry. She must be careful what she said. ‘Well, I hardly know him. I’d only met him once before today.’

  ‘Once?’ Miss Weston sounded startled. ‘He engaged you after meeting you once?’

  Megan, perched on the edge of a chair, smiled. ‘Well, he saw me twice before, but I didn’t know he was there.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘I know, but . . .well, it sounds funny, but . . .but Mrs Arbuthnot—I taught at her dancing college—knew I was nervous, so maybe it was her idea.’

  ‘Sounds more like his,’ Petronella Weston said drily. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, there’s not much to say. Apparently he watched me take two classes without my knowing he was there. Mrs Arbuthnot has always had . . .’

  ‘I know, one of those windows.’ Miss Weston sounded impatient. ‘Then you met him and he asked questions. Right?’

  ‘Right,’ Megan laughed. ‘Did he do it to you?’

  ‘He does it to us all. I think he must have a sadistic streak in him because he seems to delight in cutting one down to size. Has he done that to you yet?’ Petronella Weston’s dark eyes were narrowed as she looked at Megan’s face.

  Megan was thinking fast. Had Mr Lambert ever made her feel small? ‘No, actually he hasn’t . . . oh yes, he did, but then I found it happened to everyone.’

  ‘What happened to everyone?’

  ‘Miss Wilmot choosing my clothes. I felt . . . well, I thought Mr Lambert was implying that I couldn’t afford to buy decent clothes . . . which, actually, I couldn’t!’ Megan laughed. ‘And also implying my lack of taste, but I gather Miss Wilmot is always given the task?’

  Petronella Weston laughed. ‘Usually she has fights with us. I imagine you were more biddable. We’d better go down—mustn’t make you late on your first night. Miss Tucker is a maniac about punctuality—so is Craig Lambert, for that matter.’

  Outside the flat, there seemed a lot of people. Men, older women and girls, all swirling round, going down the curving staircase, laughter and voices filling the air. Megan found herself being introduced to so many people that she gave up the vain attempt to remember faces and link them with names. At dinner she sat next to a silent man with dark hair and a thin mouth. His name was Paul Taft. On the other side was a girl whose long, black hair fell almost to her waist. She had a rebellious, sulky mouth. Her name, she said, was Anarita.

  ‘You’re going to teach us to dance?’

  Megan smiled. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why did Miss Pointer go?’ Anarita asked.

  Megan’s heart seemed to sink. Oh no! Were the pupils also involved in it? The silent man on Megan’s other side looked coldly at the girl.

  ‘She broke one of the school’s rules so she had to go,’ he said sternly, and then looked away.

  ‘Rules!’ Anarita almost snarled the words. She looked at Megan. ‘How old are you?’

  The man turned round again. ‘That is a question ladies do not ask, Anarita.’

  ‘But I’m not a lady,’ Anarita said, tossing back her hair.

  ‘Obviously not,’ he said drily. ‘Though we’re trying to make you one.’ He turned away again.

  Megan felt uncomfortable. A sort of fight was going on across her.

  ‘You liked Miss Pointer?’ she asked.

  Anarita shrugged. ‘She was all right, I suppose. A bit of a bore. I hope your teaching methods are more interesting.’

  At last the dinner, which had been very good, was over and everyone was supposed to mix. The hall where dancing was held seemed crowded and might have been any ordinary party, Megan thought, but for the main difference, which was too few men! Megan found herself dancing with all the male staff in turn. Some she liked, some made her feel uncomfortable as they kept asking her how she had heard of the job, Obviously they all felt strongly about Miss Pointer’s dismissal and it was not helping Megan to be welcomed. Finally, feeling tired and bewildered, she found somewhere to sit out of sight, on a stone bench, half-hidden under the stairs by curtains. But as she sat down, she found she wasn’t alone, for a man sat there. He scrambled to his feet with some difficulty.

  ‘Miss Crane, I imagine?’ he said, holding out his hand.

  Megan shook his, grateful for the friendly gesture. She couldn’t see him very plainly, but there wasn’t much to see. He was the type of man no one could describe with his pale brown hair, a pale skin and freckles on his nose.

  ‘I’m Frank Parr,’ he said. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

  Megan obeyed. ‘Thanks. I’ve heard of you. You’ve got to teach me
bridge.’

  He pretended to groan. ‘Heaven help us both, because I’m an appalling teacher!’

  ‘And I shall be an appalling pupil?’ Megan laughed again. She suddenly felt relaxed, no longer afraid.

  ‘I’ll soon see to that,’ Frank Parr smiled. ‘You’re much younger than we expected.’

  ‘I’m twenty.’

  He grinned. ‘I’m twenty-eight, so you seem quite a kid. Think you’re going to be happy here? By the way, is it true you’re Patrick Crane’s sister?’

  Taken aback, for it was a question she hadn’t expected, Megan stared at him.

  ‘Well, yes, I am,’ she said defiantly, her body stiffening.

  ‘No business of ours,’ he said as if reading her thoughts. ‘It just makes it all rather surprising.’

  ‘It does?’ Megan drew a deep breath. ‘What makes what surprising?’ she asked.

  Frank Parr turned to look at her. ‘If you don’t know, maybe I’d better not tell you.’

  Megan twisted her fingers together, gazing down at them. ‘Well, I rather gather Mr Lambert doesn’t approve of my brother.’

  ‘Understatement of the year. That’s why it’s so odd that he should have engaged a member of the Crane family. Did he know you were Patrick’s sister?’

  ‘I don’t think so. When I told him, he seemed surprised and rather . . .’

  ‘Shocked?’ Frank Parr chuckled. ‘If he didn’t know, I bet he was. How do you get on with your brother?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him for three years. Not since he got married and came out here.’

  ‘What does he think of you coming out here?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Frank Parr chuckled. ‘It must have been a shock to him. His sister on the other side of the river! The acceptable side, of course. Have you met Gaston Duval?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. You’re the second one who’s asked me that.’ Megan was getting a bit annoyed with all the questions.

  ‘I bet I know who was the first. Craig Lambert. Right?’

  Her cheeks were red, much to her annoyance. ‘Yes, he did. So what?’