Honeycote Read Free

she could appreciate Mr Sherwyn not wishing to discuss his private life over the telephone. But an e-mail that had obviously been typed by his secretary? She imagined the scenario: ‘Irene – book me a table for lunch at Eduardo’s. And confirm tomorrow’s flight: make sure I’ve got a window seat. Oh, and e-mail Mandy’s headmistress – tell her Mrs Sherwyn and I have split up…’
    And now it was up to Miss Cowper to tell Mandy. Initially, she had felt inclined to refuse Mr Sherwyn’s request to break the news to his daughter, but as he had indicated that he would be out of the country for the next few days, she was left with little alternative. Half the girls at the school were boarders, so, being in loco parentis , Miss Cowper often found she had unpleasant news to dish out, but it was usual in the event of a divorce or separation for the parents concerned to take their daughter home for the weekend while they told her themselves, and a special, kindly eye would be kept on that pupil when she returned. Mr Sherwyn’s request was a first, and Miss Cowper reflected that it might be harder to explain to Mandy why her parents had chosen not to tell her in person than to tell her they had separated. A few white lies would be necessary; she certainly wasn’t going to present the facts to Mandy in the bald, ugly manner they had been presented to her.
    Miss Cowper was proud of Redfields. She’d managed to transform what had been a less than mediocre girls’ school into a huge success story. She’d turned it round in the past five years, doubling the number of boarders and also attracting an impressive quota of day girls in a catchment area of up to thirty miles. And although it would never have the kudos of Cheltenham or Malvern, Redfields boasted a happy, healthy environment that turned out happy, healthy girls with the confidence to achieve their ambitions, even if they weren’t heading for rocket science. But she sometimes wished the parents would leave everything up to her. She’d make a perfectly good job of bringing their daughters up if only they wouldn’t interfere.
    She ran her eye down the list of Mandy’s classmates. One of them would have to be told in advance, to give the poor girl a shoulder to cry on and take her off for an illicit cigarette, to which the all-seeing headmistress would for once turn a blind eye. Sophie Liddiard. She was sensible; unlikely to gossip to the other girls before Mandy chose to tell them herself. She lifted the phone that connected her to the school secretary and debated a tot of Dutch courage from the handsome decanter that housed the sherry she dished out to visiting parents. Afterwards, she promised herself. She needed all the wits, tact and diplomacy she could muster for the task in hand.
    Later that afternoon, when everyone else had been dispatched off for compulsory games (Miss Cowper was a stickler for fresh air and exercise, even for the sixth-formers), Mandy Sherwyn and Sophie Liddiard sat on the huge stone sill of the mullioned window that dominated Mandy’s study bedroom. A half-demolished box of Maltesers lay between them and Robbie Williams was playing just loudly enough so as not to attract attention – music was forbidden until after six.
    Sophie sighed as she reached for another chocolate and looked down at the tops of her legs. If black opaque tights were supposed to be slimming, why did her thighs look so enormous? She looked enviously at Mandy’s colt-like limbs strewn carelessly in front of her, and carried on listening in round-eyed sympathy to the details of her meeting with Miss Cowper.
    ‘Apparently mum’s gone to Puerto Banus to recuperate. Fornicate, more likely. There’s a slimy bloke at her health club who’s got an apartment there.’ Mandy shuddered at the memory of the man, leathery and drenched in aftershave, endeavouring to put his hand up her skirt on more than one occasion. She’d solved that problem by wearing snow-white,