Maxwell's Revenge Read Free

record, leaving as she did at 12.07 precisely, having arrived at 11.45 and learnt that Dance was not an A-level subject at Leighford High and, even if it had been, would not alone be sufficient to get her into Oxford.
    The staff meeting had begun at three o’clock sharp. The newly qualified teachers, looking younger and more newly qualified this year than ever before, had stood and introduced themselves and the business of the term was begun. Lois was a Business Studies teacher; Malcolm taught Maths; Ronaldo was a Spanish assistant, but everyone knew he’d just been taken on for hisfootballing skills. Maxwell was sitting as usual, an offshoot of the back-row element at the very front of the assembled staff, ready to fight the good fight whenever necessary, but particularly when Legs Diamond was the adversary. Mostly, the droning updates passed him by, the need for IEPs, the Assessment for Learning programme, the rather debatable notion that Every Child Matters; but Dierdre Lessing’s name brought him to full consciousness with a start.
    ‘As we all know, since Dierdre’s unfortunate … er …’
    ‘Death,’ Maxwell said clearly.
    ‘Yes, thank you, Max.’ James Diamond could waffle for England. He put the bland into blandishments and his skills more or less ended there. ‘Yes, since her … since … we have been without an assistant Headmistress. The advertisement went into the Times Educational Supplement at the end of last term, and over the holidays Bernard and I have compiled a shortlist. We have whittled it down to three …’
    ‘From?’ Maxwell asked.
    ‘Pardon?’ Diamond had been dreading this meeting for weeks. Maxwell was always at his sharpest at this time of the year, having been resting his irritating synapses over the summer. The last chance he’d had to demolish his Headmaster was GCSE Results Day, two and a half weeks ago. How he’d missed it.
    ‘Whittled, Headmaster,’ Maxwell said. ‘Whittled to three. From how many? Ten? Twenty? Two hundred?’
    ‘Four, actually,’ Diamond said, tersely. ‘Senior posts are hard to fill, these days.’
    ‘Right,’ Maxwell beamed, not at all surprised to hear that. ‘Carry on.’
    Diamond bridled. ‘I beg your pardon?’ There were limits, even for Legs.
    ‘Where are my manners?’ Maxwell asked, rhetorically, clicking his tongue. ‘Carry on, Headmaster.’ He beamed and closed his eyes, the better to snatch bad grammar and illogicalities out of the air.
    ‘What was I saying?’ Diamond appealed to his secretary, though probably not to anyone else, as she sat, as always, at his right hand.
    ‘Hmm?’ the woman asked. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Diamond. I wasn’t listening, I’m afraid. This isn’t a minuted meeting, is it?’ She looked momentarily frantic, her expression that of a passenger on an express train who has just seen her station flash past.
    ‘Oh, don’t bother,’ Diamond said, testily. Roll on Christmas. ‘I remember … Dierdre’s replacement. The interviews are to take place the day after tomorrow, Thursday. There will be a light lunch provided in the staff section of the dining hall, so that you can all meet the candidates.’ He glared at the soccer heartieslounging at the back. ‘If you could hold your department in check, Mr Massie, I would be so glad. Three sandwiches are adequate for anyone and the normal lunch menu will be available as usual to fill up any corners.’
    The massed muscle of the PE department managed to look both huge and affronted at the same time. Their brain cells rattled. There was muttering and an outbreak of miming the eating of one tiny sandwich. This was followed by muffled laughter. The Newly Qualified Teachers looked horrified. Was this the Professional Conduct they had been told to maintain, the subject of a lecture every third Thursday?
    Diamond had learnt over the years to let the staff room settle down in its own time. When the shuffling had reached the minimum possible, he began again.