The day Jane Laird had always dreaded may occur had finally arrived. In her eight years as headmistress, she had never before had to deal with a suggestion of a member of her staff sleeping with a pupil. The worst of it was, it was just a suggestion – well, a few overheard comments actually. Now Jane was about to, with the greatest reluctance, try to seek proof.
The trouble was that today's young teachers lacked discipline. When she had embarked on her career, more than 20 years earlier, there had been a clear dividing line between staff and pupils. Now she saw the new breed chatting and joking with the older kids, being altogether too familiar. 'Breaking down the barriers' her deputy called it – as if that was a good thing! Well, Rachael Webster certainly seemed to have dropped a few barriers with Mark Robertson.
The boy had only been at the school a few months, and Jane was only vaguely aware of him. A 6th former, he was apparently something of a polymath. Talented at sport, he was also a skilled artist whose clay models had featured in the recent school art show. That, it seemed, was where the trouble had started. Miss Webster, the young art teacher, had always seemed a little spaced out; but surely she would not be so reckless, so bloody stupid, as to put her career, indeed her liberty, at jeopardy in this way. There had, however, been no mistaking the sniggered comments about the couple that Jane had overheard two of her other young staff members making. She had also been slightly alarmed by the parting shot of one of the girls: "I don't blame Rachael, I would too if he asked me nicely!"
Ridiculous! How could such intelligent young women allow themselves to be attracted to a mere child of 18? Jane had decided to interview the boy first. After all, it was a serious matter to accuse a fellow teacher of such a grievous abuse of trust; the youth was likely to be easier for Jane to impose herself upon, to wheedle a confession out of him. There was a business-like tap on her door, and her secretary showed Mark Robertson into the head's office. Jane told her, "Thank you Janet, I don't want to be disturbed until further notice."
Jane had to admit to herself that Mark was a good looking lad, in a young Tom Cruise sort of way. Tall, perhaps just under six feet, with short, neat hair, almost black in colour, large intelligent eyes, a slim nose and a sensitive mouth above a firm chin. Wide-shouldered, slim but athletically built. Jane could see why some of the younger women might find him superficially attractive. There was a disarming self-confidence in the way he sauntered across her office towards the chair in front of her impressively large desk. Most pupils trembled making that short journey! Smiling in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, she waved him instead to a chair she had placed behind the desk, near her own. She wanted to put the kid at ease before dropping the bombshell on him. "Sit here please Mark."
Giving her a nervous smile the boy strolled to the chair, removing his school blazer and draping it over the back. Jane was mildly affronted by his presumption, but let it go: he had bigger troubles to face. Jane cleared her throat, but was surprised to hear her student speak first. "Good morning Mrs Laird, I'd like to thank you for this opportunity. I've been looking forward to it."
Jane was thrown off balance by the comment. "What do you mean, opportunity?"
"To meet you in person. You're a very impressive figure around school, but quite austere, and distant. I've always felt that beneath that forbidding image there's a very real warmth."
What rot, thought Jane. He certainly doesn't speak like an 18-year old. There was something magnetic about his voice though; almost hypnotic. It was the measured, confident cadence, the rich tone, the softly spoken manner which required Jane to incline forwards to catch every word, every nuance. Mark's final words cut through her reverie like a knife through flesh. "And of course, a considerable allure."
