It was Christmas Eve and Miss Peters and Miss Potts rode across the cliff path as they did each morning of the holidays.
They stopped at the brow of the hill, their backs to the sea, and looked across the heath towards the small white buildings set on three sides of a courtyard some two or three miles away. They watched a small, red horsebox chug up the grassy lane to the house.
"Bill coming back for the rest of their belongings," observed Miss Peters, "I saw Clarissa move most of their belongings out yesterday. I shall miss them being down the road."
Miss Potts turned to her quizzically, "I think you will find it is Clarissa who has moved, not Bill."
They watched the horsebox park.
"We'll invite her to school for Christmas dinner on the way back."
"Oh, she'll spend that at home with her brothers, Potty, old bean." Blustered Miss Peters.
Miss Potts pursed her lips. "That's the last place she'll go, Petey, the very last place."
Bill opened the little door of the tiny flat above the stables. There had been something eerily quiet about the stairs. The stable hands were downstairs, mucking out, feeding, brushing as usual but there was not the bustling sounds coming from upstairs of someone getting ready for a busy day.
She opened the door and gasped. Half the furniture was gone. A note in a plain white envelope sat on the table, stark against the scrubbed dark wood. With growing unease, she slid her finger under the flap.
Dearest Bill, she read, there is no easy way to tell you this but I cannot live my life knowing I will never have children. Your brother Fred and I have decided to get married. I have been writing to him since Easter and we want to get married now before he starts at Sandhurst.
We will have to sell the stables because now I need my share to set up home. I know this will upset you and we will try to help you out.
Bill was unaware of how long she sat at the little table, staring at the note, tears rolling down her cheeks. A sharp rap at the door brought her to her senses.
"Miss Potts, Miss Peters. It's lovely to see you but now is not a good time. I've …" she fought for a word, "had some bad news." She finished lamely.
"I know, I heard," she looked as if she might hug Bill but her reserve kicked in in time. "Come over tomorrow for Christmas dinner. No, we insist," Miss Potts held up a hand to silence her as Bill protested, "Ride over to Malory Towers for three o'clock. The teachers who stay for Christmas have a little afternoon tea at four and then dinner at seven. Sharp. You can spend the night and ride home with us on Boxing Day. Thunder will be quite happy in the stables. Oh, and it's black tie."
"I don't own an evening dress." Said Bill sullenly.
"Nor do we," quipped Miss Peters, "But now that rationing is finally over let's return to doing things properly."
The next day Bill packed, spending the entire morning trying to decide what to take with her. Miss Peters had hinted that staff would not be wearing dresses but did that mean her evening suit was appropriate? Hers had been her oldest brother's while he was at university. He had a new one made when he graduated from Sandhurst. The tails were a bit long and the trousers tight over her hips but she knew she cut a dash in it. As she closed the front door she dashed back in and stuffed her smoking jacket into her knapsack.
Miss Peters met her at the stables and led her and Thunder to a space in a stable. "Glad you changed your mind, old thing."
Bill brushed Thunder down. He was getting too old but he loved the few miles out to Malory Towers. He whinnied softly as Miss Peters stroked his nose.
"Most of the staff go for the holidays but there's a few of us who stay. We like to be ourselves, slick our hair back a bit, if you know what I mean?" Miss Peters bounced her eyebrows.
"No," thought Bill, "I don't know what you mean."
Afternoon tea was served in Miss Grayling's private drawing room. Bill looked round in surprise. The teachers looked the same but somehow younger than they did during term time. A buzz of excitement was steadily building.
Suddenly, the door burst open and Mam'zelle Rougier burst in. She wore chefs whites and a tall chef's hat. To Bill's astonishment she was grinning widely.
She glared in mock anger at everyone in the room.
"Ah, every year you say you 'ate my cooking." She announced loudly. Then she smiled impishly. "But every year you 'ave ate my cooking." She looked round the group, now silent, sniggers escaping. "Miss Parker, you will be my 'elper this year." The group cheered wildly.
Miss Parker feigned a tantrum, then dropped to her knees in a fake prayer. Then slouched behind Mam'zelle Rougier, apparently resigned to her kitchen fate.
"You 'ave three hours to make yourselves preetie, ladies, too bad you need three years!"
The group screamed with laughter.
The gong sounded. Dinner was to be served in the small staff dining room. Bill waited, she felt self conscious in her dinner suit. She paced the small visitor room and looked at her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Why should she feel embarrassed? She was who she was. She spread a touch more Brylcreem on the side of her head and adjusted a little curl to lie on her forehead. She would show them.
Bill stood up straight, had a quick look front and back, then walked down the dark gas lit corridor. Bright, comfortable lights and the flickering of a fire spilled from the half open door at the end of the dark corridor. Bill adjusted her bow tie and cuff links, a nervous habit. What would they think? Miss Potts flung open the door as she approached it.
"Bill" she carolled joyfully, a wide martini glass in her hand. She turned to the room, "Hie, everyone, Bill's here!"
A cheer rippled round the room. Bill's jaw slackened slightly.
Most of her old teachers were lounging round the room in dinner suits. Mam'zelle Rougier still wore her chef's whites, now heavily stained. Three wore dresses. Miss Grayling and Miss Parker wore velvet evening dresses, the cut and heavy lace of the necklines suggesting they were bought before The War. The other figure wore pale, rose pink. Nipped in at the waist and flared out, Bill had seen photos like it in the papers. The New Look. Her hair was short, curled back from her vaguely familiar face. Bill stared, fog of memory began to consolidate in her mind. The figure turned round and tapped cigarette ash into an ash tray on the mantelpiece. Bill gasped, the dress closed at the top of the back in a halter neck but the rest of the back was uncovered.
Miss Potts followed Bill's wide eyes.
"Ah, yes, Bill, you remember Mary Lou? Our new French mistress."
Mary Lou extended a slender hand to Bill and smiled. Bill met her eyes, took her hand and gently kissed the back of her hand. Mary Lou's smiled warmed, her eyelashes fluttered. She made no attempt to pull her hand away.
The meal was magnificent. Bill was used to a large roast and boiled vegetables. Here a range of smaller dishes crowded the staff table and everyone took tiny portions. Unusual tastes exploded – ham with a vivid honey and orange sauce, salmon in a crisp pastry, pheasant with bacon and a kind of mushroom Bill had
never seen before, tender lamb with apricot and a slight spicy flavour, mounds of mashed and roast potatoes and parsnips – all delicious.
After dinner, Miss Grayling and Mary Lou excused themselves.
"You may join us in my sitting room" Miss Grayling said, linking arms with Mary Lou and Miss Parker, they left the room.
In the smaller staff dining room the remaining teachers pulled on smoking jackets and caps. Miss Maxwell handed round small, fragrant cigars. Mam'zelle Rougier appeared in a beautifully tailored tailcoat and a red silk smoking jacket. Her legs, spindly in a skirt, looked lean and elegant in perfectly fitting trousers and patent dress shoes.
"A triumph, Rougier," Miss Potts quipped, blowing smoke rings above Miss Maxwell's head. "As always. What did you think, Bill?"
"I didn't know you could cook, ..." Bill tailed off – what should she call her teacher now that they were in so patently different circumstances?
"I did not always teach French to children who do not want to learn" said Mam'zelle Rougier passionately. "Before ze war I was a chef in ze hotel of my family in Algeria."
They finished their cigarettes and whisky.
"Come on," said Miss Potts, "Let's join the ladies."
Miss Grayling and Miss Parker were playing cards, cocktails balanced on the table beside them. They piled the cards together as the group joined them. Mary Lou sat beside the fire. A jigsaw was spread on a large table in the window bay. Miss Potts and Miss Peters joined Miss Grayling and Miss Parker, debating whether it should be canasta or bridge. Miss Maxwell and Miss Oakes wandered over to the jig saw. Bill noticed that they held hands. Mam'zelle sat on the arm of a chair next to them and soon the three were laughing.
Bill settled herself in the small sofa beside Mary Lou. "French mistress? I thought you trained as a children's nurse?"
"I did." Mary Lou's little face clouded. "Daphne was a bit of a beast. She wanted to get married and have children so when she got engaged to one of the doctors in Great Ormond Street I … got upset. We had a row and neighbours called the Police. I was worried the doctors would send me to a psychiatric hospital to "cure" me so I ran away to France – our family employed a French help when I was younger and I am still in touch with her. She got me a secretarial job and then I taught English in a convent school. Miss Potts asked me to come back and suggested I change my name. Now I am Madame Marie Dans La Jardine du Femmes. Obviously I'll speak with a French accent when I'm teaching."
Bill smiled. She stretched her arm behind Mary Lou's head, just grazing her shoulder as she did so. Mary Lou smiled and moved a little closer.
"Ladies," said Miss Grayling, "A drink?" She proffered a tray. "Mint julips or Gin Rickeys? Or help yourself to coffee." She inclined her head towards the sideboard on the other side of the room.
Bill unbuttoned her jacket and settled into the sofa again, a little closer to Mary Lou this time, balancing her coffee on the arm of the sofa. Mary Lou sipped a mint julip. Their eyes met as they toasted each other.
Bill glanced over. Miss Maxwell and Miss Oakes were kissing passionately. Mam'zelle Rougier moved in behind Miss Maxwell and began kissing her neck.
"What did you think we did during the holidays?" Miss Potts whispered in Bill's ear.