V. McDermid - Report for Murder

‘Yes, but by that stage, one is well on the way to being a finished product. You forget, I’d never come across people like you before. I wanted to see how young you’d have to catch kids before their assumptions and preconceptions become ingrained. How much comes from schooling and how much from a general class ethos imbibed at home along with mother’s milk and Château Mouton Rothschild.’

‘And how much of what made you the woman you are comes from home rather than education?’

‘I suspect about equal amounts from each. That’s why I’m a mass of contradictions.’ By now they were walking through the woods and Lindsay was well into her stride. ‘Sentimental versus analytical, cynical versus idealistic, and so on. The only belief that comes from both home and education is that you have to work bloody hard to get what you want.’

‘And do you?’

‘Sometimes - and sometimes.’

They fell silent as they entered the main building, neither willing to pursue the conversation into more intimate areas. A large number of people were milling around the corridors, ignoring the arrows pointing them towards the main hall. Lindsay and Cordelia struggled through the crowds and nodded to the girls as they slipped into the hall. But even here there was no peace. All the stalls were laid out in readiness, and behind most of them schoolgirls were making last-minute adjustments to the displays. Lindsay looked around and from where she stood she could already see stalls of embroidered pictures, knitted garments, stained-glass terrariums and hanging mobiles, hand-made wooden jigsaws and pottery made in the school’s kiln. As Lindsay and Cordelia stood admiring a stall of patchwork, the senior mistress called out from her vantage point by the doors, ‘Two minutes, girls. Everyone get ready.’

Lindsay had moved on to look at a display of wooden toys when she saw Chris Jackson hurrying through the hall. She made straight for Lindsay and spoke to her in a low voice. ‘Do you know where Paddy is?’

‘She’s rehearsing with the cast in the gym.’

‘No, they’re having a half-hour break. I thought you might have seen her. I’ve got to get hold of her now.’

‘Hello Chris, long time no see. Hey what’s up?’ asked Cordelia, joining them.

‘I’ve got one of the sixth in floods of tears behind the stage. She’s just had a stand-up row with a couple of other sixth-formers. The girl is absolutely hysterical, and I reckon Paddy’s the only one who can deal with her. There’ll be chaos if we don’t sort it out. And soon.’

Immediately, Cordelia took control. She grabbed a couple of passing juniors and said, ‘I want you to find Miss Callaghan for me. Try Longnor, or her classroom or the staffroom. Tell her to come to us at the back of the hall as soon as possible, please.’ The girls scuttled off at top speed. ‘I wasn’t Head of House for nothing,’ she added to the other two. ‘Wonderful how they respond to the voice of authority. I say, Chris, sorry and all that, I hope you didn’t think I was trying to usurp you?’

‘No, you were quite right. I lost my head for a moment when I couldn’t find Paddy.’

‘But what on earth happened?’ asked Cordelia, putting the question that Lindsay was longing to ask.

Chris said, ‘Sarah Cartwright’s father is the developer who’s trying to buy the playing fields. Apparently she said something about it being a real bore to have to give up Saturday morning games for this, and the others rounded on her and told her straight out that if it wasn’t for her rotten father we wouldn’t have to do it at all. That set the cat among the pigeons and it ended with Sarah being told that her classmates take a pretty dim view of what has happened; she’s more or less universally despised, they informed her. So she’s weeping her heart out. Paddy’s the only one who can help; she’s the only one that Sarah lets near enough. In spite of the fact that I spend hours in the gym with the girl, I may say.

‘She’s gymnastics mad. She wants to teach it, but you need temperament as well as talent for this job. Mind you, this is the first time I’ve seen her lose her cool. I’d better get back there now till Paddy comes, in case the girl makes herself ill. Besides, I’ve had to leave her with Joan Ryan, who is neither use nor ornament in a crisis.’

‘Do you want either of us?’ asked Cordelia. ‘No? Okay, we’ll wait here for Paddy and send her through to you as soon as she appears.’ At that moment, the doors opened and people surged into the hall, separating Lindsay from Cordelia. She saw Paddy arrive and be hustled off to the rear of the hall. It seemed to Lindsay as she browsed round the stalls that there was no need for Cordelia’s play; there were altogether too many mini-dramas taking place already. So much for her quiet weekend in the country.

The play was an unqualified success, Cordelia had used the limitations of cast and sets and turned them into strengths in the forty-five minute play which dealt wittily, sometimes even hilariously, with a group of students robbing a bank to raise money for a college crèche. As the audience sat applauding, Cordelia muttered to Lindsay, ‘Always feel such a fraud clapping my own work, but I try to think of it as a way of praising the cast.’ There was no time for more. Even before Lindsay could reply, the young local reporter intent on reviewing the play was at Cordelia’s side.

‘Any other plans for this piece, Cordelia? Are we going to see it again?’

‘Certainly are,’ she replied easily, switching the full glare of her charm on him. ‘Ordinary Women start rehearsing it in a fortnight’s time. They’re doing it for a month as half a double bill at the Drill Hall. Though I doubt if even they will be able to give it more laughs. That was a remarkable performance, wasn’t it?’ And she drifted off with the young man, giving Lindsay no chance to produce the detailed critical analysis of the play she had been preparing for the past five minutes.

She couldn’t even discuss it with Paddy who, with her young cast, was surrounded by admiring parents and friends from the nearby towns. So she perched in a corner of the hall as the audience filed out and scribbled some notes in her irregular shorthand about events and her impressions. So far, she had no clear idea of the shape her feature was going to take but, by jotting down random thoughts, she could be reasonably sure of capturing most of the salient points. She had also found that this method helped her to find a hook for the introductory paragraphs and, in her experience, once the introduction was written, the rest fell neatly into place. The problem here was going to be striking the right tone, she mused as she stared out of the window into the afternoon sunlight. Beneath her was the flat roof of the kitchen block, surrounded by a sturdy iron railing which enclosed tubs of assorted dwarf conifers. She admired the mind that could appreciate details such as the decoration of an otherwise depressing expanse of flat roof. Beyond the roof, the woods stretched out, and she caught a glimpse of one of the other buildings as the breeze moved the trees.

Lindsay was roused from her reverie by Cordelia’s voice ringing out over the public address system. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The book auction is about to begin and you really mustn’t miss any of these choice lots.’

The hall was filling rapidly again. Paddy wove through the crowds and made her way to Lindsay’s side. ‘We’re doing very well so far,’ she said. ‘And I recognise at least a couple of book dealers among that lot, so perhaps we’ll get some decent prices. There are one or two real rarities coming up. Shall we find ourselves a seat?’