Читать книгу Original Sin - Tasmina Perry, Tasmina Perry - Страница 17

11

The Eton Manor School, on a quiet corner of East Ninety-Third Street, was a beautiful mansion with a quaint courtyard and functioning bell tower that had once been a Greek Orthodox church. Although the school was only twenty-five years, old, it had quietly become one of the most exclusive schools in Manhattan, challenging the old guard like Brearley, Chapin and Collegiate. Eton Manor did not pretend to have links to the great British boarding school, but with an austere British head teacher, it was the school of choice for the rich and fashionable who wanted a coed school where they could channel their inner Englishness.

As Paula pulled up in her Porsche, it was exactly eight fifteen a.m., right in the middle of the prime fifteen-minute window for the school drop-off. Paula ignored the bickering in the back seat of her two children, Casey and Amelia, for a moment, pausing to scout out the area, checking for anyone else in the school zone. Across the street she recognized the black Escalade belonging to Nicole Nixon, the wife of one of New York’s most successful record producers. A plume of exhaust fumes showed its engine was still running, and three giggling children were ejected onto the pavement. Noticing it was the Nixons’ nanny, not Nicole Nixon herself driving, Paula’s gaze moved on. Just to the side, Robyn Steel, who had a son in Casey and Amelia’s class, was parking her convertible Mercedes, the boy squashed in the back, her miniature schnauzer on the front seat, but otherwise it was fairly uneventful people-watching. It seemed today, more than ever, was a day for nannies to do the drop-offs: a harassed-looking Australian, English, and Filipino girls pushing Silver Cross buggies. Paula unloaded the children from the car and strode into the school’s courtyard, clutching the girls’ hands tightly.

‘It’s so great you’re taking us to school today, Mummy,’ said Casey, her eldest twin, looking up at her mother and smiling.

‘You know how busy Mummy gets in the morning,’ she said, squeezing her daughter’s fingers.

‘Why are you going to see Miss Beaumont?’ asked Amelia, always the more suspicious, guarded child. ‘Are you sure we’re not in trouble?’

‘Absolutely sure,’ smiled Paula.

Paula paused in the courtyard, positioning herself just below the head teacher’s office window so that anyone inside could see. Then she crouched down eye to eye with her girls and embraced them tightly. She watched them go, their blonde ponytails swinging from side to side under their felt berets, then straightened her Chanel jacket. She was ready to go to war.

‘Mrs Asgill, so good to see you again.’

Miss Fenella Beaumont, Eton Manor’s headmistress, extended a plump hand across the large walnut desk that dominated her office and settled back into her chair, smoothing down the heavy black robe she always wore over her blouse and skirt. She was a formidable-looking woman: tall with ash-blonde hair set on her head like a helmet, and a powerful speaking voice honed at the Oxford Union, Miss Beaumont having studied Classics at the university in the early 1970s. Paula was well aware that the school’s pupils and many of their parents wilted under her fierce gaze, but she had no intention of letting a pompous English spinster get in her way.

‘Thank you for making the time to see me,’ said Paula, giving the headmistress her sweetest smile. She was careful to conceal her true feelings here, but Paula had been absolutely furious when it had taken her a week to get an appointment with Miss Beaumont. They were paying ten thousand dollars a term each Casey and Amelia to attend Eton Manor. That was sixty thousand dollars a year, not including the hiked-up lunch fees, ballet classes, French tutorials, music lessons, and sundry ‘donations’ they paid on top. For that money, Paula had expected to see Miss Beaumont immediately. The teacher nodded graciously.

‘What can I do for you today?’ she asked.

‘It’s the girls,’ said Paula plainly, waving away the offer of tea.

Miss Beaumont glanced down at a sheet of paper in front of them.

‘I understand Casey and Amelia are both doing quite well.’

Paula did her best to look troubled.

‘Yes, that’s true, but … it’s not easy being a twin.’

Miss Beaumont’s forehead creased slightly, perhaps perceiving a slight against the school.

‘Generally speaking, of course, my husband and I are very happy with the school,’ continued Paula carefully. ‘But lately we are getting a little concerned that your teachers seem to be – how shall I put this?–seeing the girls as one.’

Miss Beaumont poured milk into her tea from a tiny china jug and nodded thoughtfully. ‘Please. Expand.’

‘Well, the girls say their teachers have addressed them both by the wrong names on numerous occasions. Casey, Amelia. Amelia, Casey. Amelia particularly has been getting very upset about it, as she is the more sensitive of the girls, as I’m sure you know. I could almost understand it if they were identical twins, but, well, that’s not the case.’

Miss Beaumont was not a woman to get flustered by fussy parents. She fixed Paula with a baleful gaze. ‘Well, naturally I’m sorry for any distress,’ she said. ‘I’ll talk to all the teachers concerned.’

Paula released a disappointed sigh. She had been rehearsing the sigh for two days.

‘Well, that would certainly be a start,’ she said. ‘But, really, I fear this is impacting on the girls’ personal development. My husband and I would be much more reassured if we could work out a way to try and stop this happening again.’

‘What did you have in mind?’

Paula took a breath. ‘Casey and Amelia should be separated, put in different classes,’ she said. ‘As soon as possible.’

Miss Beaumont’s brow creased. ‘Really? I understood that you wanted them to be together in class?’

Paula met her gaze without flinching. This was actually true. William had made a big deal about it when they had originally been accepted for the kindergarten class eighteen months earlier.

‘Secondly, I’m generally against moving a pupil into another class away from the friends she’s cultivated over the last year. Especially mid-way through the academic year.’

Paula examined Miss Beaumont’s face, looking for any trace of suspicion. Had any other parents heard of Princess Katrina’s arrival at the school and tried to get their child in the same class? But no, that was impossible. Word might have got out on the grapevine of Carlotta’s enrolment, but not even the admissions secretary’s sister knew which of the two Transition classes the royal child was going to be in. The beauty of twins, thought Paula with the smallest of smiles. With one of her beautiful daughters in each class, she would have all bases covered. Play-dates at the Princess’s palatial Seventy-Second Street town house were surely just a matter of weeks away.

‘Are you saying you can’t help us, Miss Beaumont?’ said Paula, introducing a note of challenge.

The headmistress shook her head.

‘Not at all, I’m simply saying I should talk to the teachers concerned and review the situation in a few weeks.’

She was as tough as old boots, thought Paula grimly. Fenella Beaumont had the inscrutable earnestness of someone that could not be bought; rather foolish of her, given the position of power she was in, thought Paula. Still, she had an ace up her sleeve.

‘A few weeks?’ she cried, adding a quaver of hysteria for effect. ‘Who knows what psychological problems might have set in by then? These are sensitive girls at a critical juncture in their development.’

Paula had, of course, anticipated Miss Beaumont’s objections and had spent many hours thinking of a way to combat them. She had thought of reporting that Amelia, the younger, quieter twin was being bullied, but that would involve accusation, names, and Paula had no intention of making unnecessary enemies of influential parents.

‘Miss Beaumont,’ she said, adopting the intonation of a political chat-show host, ‘you should know that we have already seen a child psychotherapist about these identity issues.’

She’d practised saying the words so many times that she now almost believed that Casey and Amelia had been to see a shrink. ‘Dr Hill is worried, very worried. In his professional opinion, the girls being in the same class, the name mix-ups; it’s all causing damage.’

She emphasized the word ‘damage’ and the implication was not lost on the headmistress. She might be British, but she still understood the litigious culture of America.

Fenella Beaumont exhaled slightly, her plump cheeks expanding like a goldfish’s.

She flipped open a class register and seemed thoughtful for a moment.

‘We do have one new pupil joining Transition B next term, but that’s cancelling out Lucy Kwong’s departure from the school.’ She looked up quickly. ‘Her father has been posted to Dubai.’

‘Well, if someone new is starting, perhaps another new pupil joining the class would make it easier for both of them,’ said Paula.

Miss Beaumont nodded. ‘I suppose that makes sense.’

She snapped the register shut and stood up, her gown billowing behind her as she rose. ‘I will see what I can do. For the welfare of the girls, you understand,’ she added with emphasis.

‘Thank you, Miss Beaumont. We believe Casey should be the one to move into Transition B,’ added Paula casually. ‘More buoyant, more confident. I think she will adapt to new classmates quicker than Amelia would.’

‘Yes, quite,’ said Miss Beaumont. ‘I certainly agree.’

Paula smiled. Beautiful, popular Casey. Her golden girl. The sort of child that everyone would want to befriend. Yes, she thought, with a soaring sense of triumph. Casey would be her entrée into the very highest society.