Different Class Read Free

cigarette under the lid of the Master’s desk.
    ‘Morning, Straitley.’ The nose twitched, but refrained from comment.
    ‘Good holiday?’
    ‘Yes, thank you.’ He and I both know that Dr Devine hates holidays. On the other hand, as a married man, he has, I suppose, some responsibility to Mrs Devine, and so grudgingly, once a year, he packs off to the French Riviera and spends two weeks planning lessons in the shade while his wife – a well-preserved fifty – sunbathes, plays tennis and goes to the spa. ‘And you?’
    ‘Oh yes. Great fun. Been here long?’
    ‘Been coming in since last week,’ he said, with a casualness that filled me with suspicion. ‘Things to do. You know what it’s like.’
    I certainly do. Any excuse to get back to St Oswald’s. He’s an ambitious chap in spite of his age (sixty, damn him, and looks younger), and he must have guessed that there might soon be a Third Master’s job going begging, or if not, some new and highly paid administrative post. Besides, the New Head will surely need a friend on the ground, and Devine sees no reason for Bob Strange to be the only contender.
    ‘Inducting new staff?’ I said slyly.
    I know that this year, appointments have been mainly overseen by Bob Strange, the New Head and the Bursar; and that as Head of German, Devine feels that he should have had a more central role in the department’s restructuring. Kitty Teague’s promotion to Head of French, for instance, he feels to be inappropriate, and he is aggrieved at the fact that two new appointments have already been made, largely at her discretion. For myself, I’m rather fond of Miss Teague, whom I’ve known since she was a teacher trainee. I think she’ll make a splendid Head of French, and I suspect old Devine knows it too.
    As for his own department – well. The new German Master, his protégé, already strikes me as dubious. His name precedes him – Markowicz – though apparently his busy schedule means he won’t be in School until next week. I know that kind of member of staff – the sort who puts administrative work before the lowly business of actually teaching his subject – and I’m not sure his appointment will reflect well on his Head of Department.
    ‘I’ve not seen much of the new staff,’ said Devine in a frosty voice. ‘Even the New Head—’ He sniffed. Some say the eyes are the mirror of the soul, but in Devine’s case it is the nose that expresses most fully the hidden emotions. His had turned pink, like an albino rabbit’s, and twitched resentfully.
    ‘Have a Liquorice Allsort,’ I said.
    He looked at me as if I’d offered him cocaine. ‘No thanks,’ he replied. ‘I don’t indulge.’
    ‘A pity,’ I said, selecting a yellow one. ‘I’ve always thought a little indulgence would do you the world of good.’
    He gave me a look. ‘You would,’ he said. ‘Have you seen him? The New Head, I mean?’
    ‘I’m beginning to think he’s the Invisible Man. Still, he’ll be here at eleven o’clock for the Headmaster’s Briefing. I imagine everyone’s curious to see how he’s going to handle the situation. It’s not every day you get to meet a Super-Head.’
    Devine gave a percussive sniff.
    ‘I take it you’ve met.’
    ‘We exchanged a few words.’
    It struck me then that there was something distinctly odd about his manner. Dr Devine has never been the most outspoken of people, especially where criticism of the management is concerned. I wondered what the new man had said to him to provoke such a reaction.
    ‘And?’ I prompted.
    But Devine had regained his usual composure. His allegiance to the management means that whatever his personal dissatisfactions, he does not discuss them with the baser element. ‘You’ll see,’ he said, and left the room, leaving in his wake an unmistakable odour of sanctity.
    I spent the following couple of hours going over my records, writing in my diary and enjoying the occasional Liquorice Allsort. St Oswald’s