man stormed off furiously down the corridor, past Lindsay’s hiding place. She leaned against the wall, exasperated with the melodramatic excesses that the weekend seemed to be producing. All Lindsay wanted to do was to get inside the skin of this school to write a decent piece. But every time she thought she was making some headway, some absurdly histrionic confrontation spoiled her perspective. Either that or, as happened even as the thought came into her head, Cordelia Brown appeared out of nowhere and reduced her to a twitchy adolescent.
Cordelia had just finished the auctioneering and had decided to slip out through the backstage area and down the back stairs behind the music rooms. ‘Hey,’ she said when she saw Lindsay, ‘the only reason I came through this way was to avoid you journos. But here I am, caught again.’
‘Sorry, it’s my nose for a scoop. I just can’t help it. But I wasn’t actually looking for you, honestly. Simply poking around,’ said Lindsay contritely.
‘Don’t apologise. I was only joking. You must never take me seriously; I’m incorrigibly frivolous. Lots of people hate me for it. Don’t you be one, please.’ Cordelia smiled anxiously, yet with a certain assurance. She was sharp enough to see the effect she had on Lindsay, but was trying not to exploit it; she never found it easy to guard her tongue, however. ‘By the way,’ she went on, ‘what on earth possessed you to spend all that money on my book? I’d have given you a copy if you’d asked.’
Lindsay mumbled, ‘Oh, I don’t have the book - though I’ve read it of course. It seemed to be for a good cause at the time.’
‘Oh-oh, the young socialist changes her tune!’ A glance at Lindsay’s face was enough to make her add, ‘Sorry, Lindsay, I don’t mean to be cheap. Look, hand it over and I’ll stick a few words in it if you want.’
Lindsay gave the book to Cordelia who fished a fountain pen out of her shoulder bag. Above the scrawled signature on the flyleaf, she scribbled something. Then she closed the book, embarrassed in her turn, said, ‘See you at dinner,’ and vanished down the side corridor where Lorna and the man had come from. Lindsay opened the book, curious. There she read, ‘To Lindsay. Who couldn’t wait. With love.’ A slow smile broke across her face.
Twenty minutes later, she had changed into what she called her ‘function frock’ for the evening’s activities and was again firmly embedded in Paddy’s armchair, clutching a lethal-tasting cocktail called Bikini Atoll, the ingredients of which she dared not ask. Paddy had relaxed completely since the previous evening. After all, she had argued to herself, the day had gone off well: much money had been raised and no one had so much as mentioned the word dope. Now she was gently teasing Lindsay about Cordelia before an early dinner. The meal had been put forward to six because of the evening’s concert, and Cordelia bounced into Paddy’s room with only ten minutes to spare. She looked breathtaking in a shiny silk dress which revealed her shoulders. She was carrying a shawl in a fine dark blue wool which matched her dress perfectly.
‘Hardly right-on, is it, my dears?’ she said as she swanned across the room. ‘But I thought I’d better do something to bolster the superstar image.’
‘We’d better go straight across; you’ve missed out on the cocktail phase, I’m afraid. We’ve been invited by my House prefects to sit with them tonight, so we’ll be spared the pain of eating with dear Lorna,’ said Paddy.
‘Terrific,’ said Cordelia. ‘I’ve managed to avoid her so far. If it weren’t for the fact that she plays a heavenly cello, I’d give this concert a miss and make for the local pub for a bit of peace. Oh, by the way, Paddy, how is the Cartwright girl?’
As they walked through the trees, Paddy said that Sarah was feeling somewhat embarrassed after her earlier outburst. She had decided to go to bed early. ‘I popped up earlier with some tea and I’ll take a look later on,’ said Paddy. ‘She’s very overwrought. I worry about that girl. She keeps too much locked up inside herself. If she’d let go more often, she’d be much happier. Everything she does is so controlled. Even her sport. She always seems to calculate her every move. Even Chris says that she lacks spontaneity and goes too hard for perfection. I think her father is probably very demanding, too.’
The subject of Sarah was dropped as soon as they entered the main building by the kitchen door. Cordelia remarked how little it had changed in the thirteen years since she had left. She and Paddy were deep in the old-pals-together routine by the time they arrived at the dining hall; it was only the presence of the Longnor House prefects and their friends which changed the subject. On sitting down to eat, Lindsay was immediately collared by the irrepressible Caroline who demanded, ‘Do you mostly work for magazines like New Left, then?’
Lindsay shook her head. ‘No, I usually write for newspapers, actually. There’s not a vast amount of cash in writing for magazines - especially the heavy weeklies. So I do most of my work for the nationals.’
‘Do you write the things you want to write and then try to sell them? Is that how it works?’
‘Sometimes. Mostly, I put an idea for a story to them and if they like it, either I write it or a staff journalist works on it. But I also work on a casual basis doing shifts on a few of the popular dailies in Glasgow, where I live now.’
Caroline looked horrified. ‘You mean you work for the gutter press? But you’re supposed to be a socialist and a feminist. How can you possibly do that?’
Lindsay sighed and swallowed the mouthful of food she’d managed to get into her mouth between answers. ‘It seems to me that since the popular press governs the opinions of a large part of the population, there’s a greater need for responsible journalism there than there is in the so-called “quality” press. I reckon that if people like me cop out then it’s certainly not going to get any better; in fact, it’s bound to get worse. Does that answer your question?’
Cordelia, who had been listening to the conversation with a sardonic smile on her face, butted in. ‘It sounds awfully like someone trying to justify herself, not a valid argument at all.’
A look of fury came into Lindsay’s eyes. ‘Maybe so,’ she retorted. ‘But I think you can only change things from inside. I know the people I work with, and they know me well enough to take me seriously when I have a go at them about writing sexist rubbish about attractive blonde divorcees. What I say might not make them change overnight but I think that, like water dripping on a stone, it’s gradually wearing them down.’
Caroline couldn’t be repressed for long. ‘But I thought the journalists’ union has a rule against sexism? Why don’t you get the union to stop them writing all that rubbish about women?’
‘Some people try to do that. But it’s a long process, and I’ve always thought that persuasion and education are better ways to eradicate sexism and, come to that, racism, than hitting people over the head with the rule book.’
Cordelia looked sceptical. ‘Come on now, Lindsay! If the education and persuasion bit were any use do you think we’d still have topless women parading in daily newspapers? I know enough journos to say that I think you’re all adept at kidding yourselves and producing exactly what the editor wants. You’re all too concerned about getting your by-line in the paper to have too many scruples about the real significance of what you are writing. Be honest with yourself, if not with the rest of us.’
Her remarks had the salutary effect of injecting a little reality into Lindsay’s attraction towards her and she scowled and said, ‘Given how little you know about the work I do and my involvement in the union’s equality programme, I think that’s a pretty high-handed statement.’ Then, realising how petulant she sounded, she went on, ‘Agreed, newspapers are appallingly sexist. Virginia Woolf said ages ago that you only had to pick one up to realise that we live in a patriarchal society. And the situation hasn’t changed much. But I’m not a revolutionary. I’m a pragmatist.’
‘Ho, ho, ho,’ said Cordelia hollowly. ‘Another excuse for inaction.’
But Caroline unexpectedly sprang to Lindsay’s defence. ‘Surely you’re entitled to do