An All-Consuming Passion. Anne Mather

Stephen, the morning passed without incident. Her painting lessons with the younger children and more advanced charcoal sketching with the older ones took her up to break, and afterwards two cookery classes completed her schedule. She also helped Hannah Dessai, the sports mistress, with her games instruction, and made preparatory lists of the scenery they would need for the coming production. The school was like that. Although the staff had regular duties, they all took a part in the general running of the establishment. There were no lines of demarcation here. They all wanted to do the best they could for the eighty or so pupils.

      To her relief, Stephen did not attempt to speak to her again privately before she left for home. At break, he was his usual friendly self, and she hoped she showed by her attitude that she appreciated his restraint. In all honesty, she had never taken Stephen seriously before. She had treated his overtures of affection with the inconsequence she had thought he expected, and she had been stunned to learn he had taken her remarks to heart. No doubt it was her fault, she sighed. She had initiated his declaration. But his hypocrisy had irritated her, and she had used the only means at her disposal to prick his pompous balloon.

      The headmaster, Gerald Frost, caught her just as she was leaving. ‘Oh, Miss Forsyth,’ he said, loping across the car park towards her, his cassock flapping in the breeze. ‘Could I have a word with you? It is rather important.’

      ‘Of course,’ said Holly, turning from loading her belongings into the buggy. She hoped it was nothing to do with Stephen. It would be terribly embarrassing if he had confided his feelings to someone else.

      As well as being in charge of the small school, Reverend Frost was a minister of the Methodist church. A graduate of Trinity College, Oxford, he could have enjoyed a more academic career, but twenty years ago he had come to the island for a holiday and decided to stay. A shy man, he had never married, and his spare, angular figure was a familiar sight in Charlottesville. Paul always said—rather irreverently—that he wore his ecclesiastical robes like an actor wore his costume: because they provided a character he could hide behind.

      ‘I’m so glad I caught you, Miss Forsyth,’ he said now, panting a little as he came up to her. ‘You’re not in tomorrow, are you? Isn’t it one of your free days?’

      ‘That’s right.’ Holly nodded, still somewhat apprehensive. ‘What can I do for you?’

      ‘It’s more in the nature of what I might be able to do for you,’ murmured the headmaster ruefully. ‘Stephen tells me you may be leaving.’

      ‘Oh——’ Holly’s tongue circled her upper lip. ‘Well, nothing’s been decided yet.’

      ‘No. So I understand.’ Reverend Frost took a deep breath. ‘But, if I were to speak to your father, explain what valuable work you’re doing here, he might conceivably look more favourably on your desire to stay.’

      Holly hesitated. ‘What exactly did Stephen tell you, Reverend Frost?’

      ‘Oh—only that your father is eager for you to return to London, and that you don’t want to go.’ He sighed. ‘I can understand how he feels, of course. Your father, I mean. He must miss you terribly. I know I—we—would, if you were to leave.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Holly gave him a grateful smile. His suggestion was well meant, but she doubted it would carry much weight with Andrew Forsyth. Nevertheless, it was kind of him to make her feel wanted. It was not a sensation she had often experienced in her short life.

      Looking into the minister’s concerned face, she reflected on the irony that this man was probably only a couple of years older than Morgan Kane. Yet, she never thought of Reverend Frost as an equal. In all honesty, she seldom thought of him as a man at all. Not that he was at all effeminate, but simply because his sex was usually obscured by the character he had created for himself.

      ‘Well, anyway,’ he added now, ‘if there is anything I can do, you have only to ask me.’ A trace of colour entered his face, accentuating the freckles that arched across the bridge of his nose. ‘I—we’re all very fond of you, my dear. In a comparatively short space of time, you’ve become an integral part of our community.’