The Paper Chase Read Free Page A

But call me Hedda. I’m the old man’s niece.”
    “What do you do at the school?”
    “I’m the matron.”
    “The matron. ”
    “I was elected three months ago. Self-government. Elections every six months. You know the kind of thing. All the boys voted for me.”
    “I’m sure.”
    “What do you mean by that?” She turned to look at him.
    “Look out, ” Appleyard shouted. They had just turned a bend and he saw a stationary car a few yards ahead of them and another car coming the other way. He put his hands over his eyes and waited for the crash as he saw her pull on the hand brake. This time he was thrown forward against the windscreen. When he took his hands away from his eyes they were on a clear stretch of road, and the two cars had vanished.
    From the back Montague shouted: “Good as the Big Dipper.”
    “You shouldn’t drive like that.”
    “You should be more careful what you say to me. I’m a delinquent, you know. Or was, rather. Jeremy says I’m not any more, but I don’t believe him. Sex has always been my trouble. If only there were no men in the world.” She began to sing in a tuneless voice:
     
    “‘See the pretty lady up on the tree,
    The higher up the sweeter she grows.
    Picking fruit you’ve got to be
    Up on your toes.’
     
    How old are you?”
    “Twenty-three.”
    “Isn’t that odd, so am I. You don’t look it.”
    “There’s no point in trying to shock me. What’s your uncle like?”
    “Jeremy? He’s a nice old boy. A bit cracked of course, and a bit of a fake. Anybody must be to run a school like Bramley. But really very nice. You’ve had no experience as a teacher, have you? Neither has Frank, back there. You won’t stay, nobody ever stays. Except me. I’ve been here two years as delinquent, teacher, and now matron.”
    “How many pupils are there now?”
    “Eighteen. Twenty-one last term. Four left and one has come.”
    “But the school must run at a loss.”
    “It always has done. Janine provides the cash, she’s got quite a lot.”
    Applegate said no more, but concentrated on the drive through the winding Marsh roads. He noticed that Hedda’s handling of the car was reckless but skilful. The scenery appeared to him a duplicate of the scenery he had seen from the train. If these were not exactly the same fields and sheep they were very good imitations.
    “Here we are.” Hedda turned right between two iron gates and went up a long, weedy drive. At the end of the drive was a large courtyard. With a screech of brakes she stopped the car, which steamed like a horse after a race. “Bramley Hall.”
    It was a remarkable structure. The middle of it must have been at one time a pleasant Georgian house of moderate size. The original doorway had been replaced by a much larger one in Victorian Gothic, with a pointed church-like door studded with bits of iron. On the moulding above it was carved: JB 1937 . There were two additions to the original building. The first, on the left, was a variation on the Victorian Gothic theme. Built in Kentish ragstone it had mullioned windows. Above, the roof was castellated like a medieval castle. The addition on the right was aggressively modern, with a large expanse of glass window and a flat roof. The white paint used for this addition had flaked away in many places and was discoloured in others. The casement windows were rusty.
    Applegate, who was not particularly sensitive to architectural detail, was appalled. “Did Mr Pont do this?”
    Hedda laughed. “Oh, no, it was done well before Jeremy’s time. The house had been empty for a year or two when he bought it.”
    Now the iron door swung open and Pont, pinkly benevolent, advanced upon them. “Welcome,” he cried. “Welcome to Bramley Hall.”

Chapter Five
    Before Applegate sat down to supper that evening he had been all round the school, spoken to the ten boys and eight girls who were there, and had a long discussion with Pont. Against his will and belief he had been