There was a knock on the heavy oak door. "Come in." The voice was deep yet female; sonorous, used to being authoritative.
Chloe opened the door and entered. Instinctively goose pimples appeared on her arms; the very atmosphere in this room startled them into life. The smell of furniture polish and leather seating. The enforced quiet, something like a library, except for some kids in the distance, way outside the window. Perhaps even the chill of the room - it was a warm summer's day, and the study had no air conditioning; yet it seemed at least ten degrees cooler than the rest of the building.
"Ah, Miss Porter. Thank you for coming to see me." The woman who spoke these words sat behind a desk - again of heavy oak - which seemed to envelop her bottom half. The rest of her was power-dressed somehow out of the eighties - perhaps it was the big shoulders which were the giveaway. From her age, one would guess that was when she graduated. "I've being receiving reports about your slovenly work recently." She took a file from a drawer and opened it, flicking through the papers. "Late attendance... casual dress... work not up to standard... insolence, even." She turned the file towards Chloe, who was now standing sheepishly in front of the desk, as if inviting her to inspect it for herself. Chloe didn't need to. She knew the sort of thing it would contain. She stayed silent.
"I see you're not bothering to deny any of these reports. I take it then you admit this behaviour. Well?"
Chloe didn't reply for a few seconds; her mind was racing. What was there to say? She'd been caught "bang to rights". The iron gaze bored into her until she summoned up the courage to get a few words out. "Yes, Mrs Petrescu" was all she could manage.
"YES, Miss Porter? What on Earth does that mean?"
There was another long pause as Chloe tried to weigh up the options of what she could say, whether there was any way of talking her way out of what she knew was about to happen. Underneath, though, she knew it was futile. "Yes, Mrs Petrescu. It's true."
Mrs Petrescu closed the file, and put it back into the drawer it came from. "At least we won't need to argue over the evidence then, if you plead guilty. But I suppose you have some feeble excuse you would like to present me with to explain your sloppiness? Hmmm?"
Chloe looked down at her shoes. Was there any point in pleading? Of trying to explain the pressures she was under? Of trying to explain why she had shouted at Mr Huddersfield in front of everyone that he was a "rancid old twat"? Of trying to put across how that would surely have received silent nods from the whole building, even if nobody else would have dared to express the thought? No. Better to at least present a show of remorse. "No excuse, Mrs Petrescu."
The older woman's face broke into an ironic half-smile. "So you have the good sense not to prolong the agony, I see. Which of course is evidence of the sharp mind we know is hidden underneath such shabbiness. What concerns me though is that this is not the first time you've stood in front of this desk and admitted your culpability. As I recall, only a few months ago you were staring at that same patch of carpet as I lectured you on your behaviour. Perhaps it's time for stronger measures."
Chloe's head shot up from the floor. 'Stronger measures'? Perhaps the rumours were true then...
"I am not psychic, Miss Porter, but I see by your face that you may have heard whispers about my methods. It seems you now have a chance to find out for yourself. Of course, I cannot force you to comply; if you would rather pursue this by a different route - a tribunal, a school-wide inquiry, perhaps?" Another drawer opened; another sheet of paper was placed in front of Chloe. "Your choice."
Mrs Petrescu rolled a pen across the desk; Chloe instinctively put out her hand to catch it. She scanned down the writing, then, in a nervous scrawl, added her signature and the date to the bottom.
"Thank you Miss Porter - Chloe, as I shall call you now. Again you show good judgement." The form was stamped, then placed in yet another drawer. Chloe found herself idly wondering how many there were in the desk. "Go over to the door, bolt it and press the switch next to the handle. That will ensure we remain undisturbed."
Chloe did as she was told. As she turned back to the desk, she saw that Mrs Petrescu had risen from her chair to shut the venetian blind behind her. The room was darkened save for a few strips of light that landed on the top of the desk. To Chloe it seemed as if the temperature in the study had dropped even further.
"Remove your skirt, Chloe." The command made her heart flutter and the corners of her eyes water. She had made her choice, and there was no getting out of it now. She stole a glance at the headmistress: the iron gaze that was returned left her in no doubt as to the reality of what was about to happen. She unzipped her skirt, stepped gingerly out of it, and folded it carefully before placing it on the floor. As she stood back up, her hands instinctively went to cover herself. "No, Chloe, on your head." Reluctantly, she threaded her fingers together on top of her head: despite the chill, she could feel the sweat from her palms through her hair.
Mrs Petrescu walked round the desk towards Chloe, looking her up and down. "What does that say on the front of your knickers?"
"We Shall Overcome".
"Very witty." Mrs Petrescu grabbed the strings at the sides, and pulled them down to Chloe's knees. "Legs apart slightly - keep them there!"
Now Chloe could feel the cool temperature between her legs. There was no hair to insulate her. Just bare skin, which now she could feel the iron gaze being trained upon. Mrs Petrescu walked back behind her desk, pulled off her jacket, and draped it over her chair. She opened one drawer, pulled out a hair bobble, and tied her long mousy-brown tresses behind her neck. Even without the shoulder pads she looked just as severe as ever to Chloe.
Another drawer was opened. "I think this will do nicely for today" said the headmistress, as she extracted a strip of leather, and held it out towards Chloe: about two feet long, about two inches wide, dark brown and thick: and with one end cut into three strips for about four inches. "You know the name of this implement?" Chloe shook her head. "The tawse. As used in Scottish schools of old... and also in my study. Lean on the desk."
Chloe shuffled herself forward to the edge of the desk, and leaned forward, using her arms to support herself. "Further down, Chloe: otherwise you'll let yourself fall." Gingerly, she lowered her torso to the desk, her hands under her chin. The leather top of the desk felt cool; the edge of the oak cut into the tops of her thighs. Last time she was like this it was her kitchen table: but she'd been waiting for something very different to happen then...
She heard Mrs Petrescu walk round behind her. She clenched her cheeks, waiting for what was inevitably going to happen now...
THWACK!
"Aaah!" But she never thought it would be as bad as that!
"Count them, Chloe. And be respectful."
"One, Mrs Petrescu."
"Call me Ma'am."
THWACK!
