The car turned into the drive, crunching its way between the cropped lawns and herbaceous borders to the converted Tudor manor house, ivy crawling over the worn red bricks and timber beams. As they opened the car doors, they could hear the excited distant shouts of young male voices.
‘Wednesday,’ McGirl said flatly. ‘Rugby.’
Someone had already appeared at the top of the steps, a boy of about eleven in grey flannels and a school blazer. Clodagh noted the floppy wing of hair over the open smiling face.
‘Hello, can I help you?’
Clodagh whispered: ‘Stay here,’ to McGirl before turning to the boy. ‘I’ve come to see the headmaster.’
‘Oh, of course, is he expecting you?’
She smiled tightly. ‘Can you just show me the way?’
He thought better than to argue. ‘Yes, if you’d like to follow me.’ The doors opened onto a chequered tile floor, the walls and stairway in dark timber and smelling of polish. ‘Mr Hugget likes parents to make appointments.’
‘I’m not a parent.’
‘Oh.’ Then a thought, cheeky. ‘You’re not a schools inspector?’
Clodagh smiled. ‘No, I’m not a schools inspector.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Jamie — ‘ He corrected himself: ‘Well, actually I prefer James.’
Worth checking, she thought. ‘Well, James, do you happen to know a boy called Archie Harrison?’
‘ “Bomber” Harrison, oh, yes, he’s a friend of mine. He’s playing rugby at the moment.’
‘You’re not.’ They were in a panelled corridor now.
‘Sprained knee, rotten luck. Why, has Bomber done something wrong? You’re not from the police?’
‘Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid.’
He stopped outside the heavy polished door with the brass plaque and knocked.
‘Come!’
James pushed it open. ‘Please, sir, there’s a lady here who’d like to see you.’
Rows of books lined the wall behind the leather-topped desk where the headmaster worketi, his bald head looking up from an accounts book. ‘Oh?’
Clodagh stepped forward. ‘I’m so sorry to intrude, Mr Hugget.’
Pale grey eyes blinked in the narrow, waxy-white face, the thin lips curling into a somewhat insipid smile as he registered his glamorous and statuesque visitor. Self-consciously he removed the round wire spectacles and adjusted his master’s cloak. ‘Oh, dear, have I overlooked an appointment, Mrs?’
‘Mrs ScaifeCompton,’ she said with a stiff smile. Go for a double-barrelled name, McGirl had advised; the English class system was such that no one ever questioned someone with a double-barrelled name. ‘And I don’t have an appointment. I’m from the MOD, Ministry of Defence.’
‘Oh?’
‘Welfare Department. I’m afraid it’s about the father of one of your boys, Archie Harrison.’
Mr Hugget’s face paled as the name registered and he anticipated what was to follow.
‘Yes, I’m afraid he’s been injured. Oh, not too badly I’m pleased to say.’
She heard the gasp of surprise from young James behind her, as the headmaster said: ‘Was it a bomb?’
‘No, some accident with routine ordnance handling.’ She thought that sounded convincing. ‘The thing is he’s in hospital and is asking to see his son. It would be a great comfort to him.’
‘Of course, of course.’
‘I’ve been asked to take him along.’
Mr Hugget looked visibly shaken by the news. ‘I’m just surprised his mother hasn’t telephoned me.’
Clodagh concealed her smile of triumph. ‘I’m afraid we couldn’t contact her. They’ve separated, you know, and we didn’t have an address or telephone number.’
The headmaster raised a forefinger. ‘Ah, I can help you there! If only you’d phoned first.’ He reached for his telephone. ‘I’ll call her now.’
Suddenly Clodagh panicked; she hadn’t anticipated this. ‘It’s most important I take the boy…’
‘Come, come,’ Hugget chided as he dialled. ‘Philippa Harrison must be told. And if the father isn’t critical, then it’s only right that his mother goes with Archie. I’m sure that’s what she’ll want. Bit too much for a young chap to take — even a Hurlingham boy.’ He placed his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘What hospital?’
She’d rehearsed that, read a newspaper story about the injured Expo called Appleyard. ‘The Cambridge Military in Aldershot.’
‘Good, that’s not far, and it doesn’t take Mrs Harrison long to drive here… Ah, Mrs Harrison! Hugget here from Hurlingham, I’m afraid I’ve some bad news…’
Clodagh was hardly listening. Damn it, damn it! What the hell was she doing? Just standing here taking this crap? There was McGirl sitting outside with a gun and she was letting the headmaster take control because — Christ, because he was the headmaster! She almost laughed through her frustration.
Then, as she listened to the man explain the situation to Philippa Harrison, she forced herself to keep calm and to think. She could hardly demand Archie be dragged off the rugby pitch at gunpoint with an entire school of onlookers. Someone would phone the police or raise the alarm. A time lapse after the abduction was essential in order to cover their tracks and get clear of the area. Besides which, it was imperative that the whole business be kept low profile. Headlines about the Provies kidnapping schoolboys would not go down well with Fitzpatrick and the other IRA leaders just now.
And there could be another bonus. Philippa Harrison would be an additional hostage, another lever of pressure. She could also console and look after her son, saving them the trouble…
Hugget replaced his receiver. ‘She’s on her way.’
While she waited apprehensively, the headmaster went with James to the rugby field to break the news to the boy. It was half-an-hour before they returned, Archie having showered and changed into his uniform, his neatly parted hair still damp.
‘This is Mrs — er?’ the headmaster began.
‘ScaifeCompton.’
The boy had been crying, the skin red round his eyes. He sniffed heavily as he extended his hand to her. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. How is my father?’ ‘
Christ, she thought. How bloody English, formal and stiff upper lip! They start them young, so they do. And the handshake, those little bones in her palm, so strong and manly.
Ridiculously she felt her heart go out to him. Recognised the pain in his eyes, the bravery of the man’s words spoken with a boy’s voice. Doing what was expected. She wondered if he in any way resembled his father. ‘He’s fine, Archie. Well, not fine exactly. A few burns and stuff, but he’ll get better soon.’
The assertive clatter of high heels beyond the door heralded the arrival of Philippa Harrison. As she entered, Clodagh was surprised how petite she was, almost fragile. Yet the illusion was shattered by her confident stance and her articulate speech. ‘Thank you so much for calling, Headmaster. I don’t know why they couldn’t find my number. Typical army incompetence, I suppose.’ She turned to Archie; he was almost his mother’s height. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. Daddy will be all right.’ She hugged him briskly. ‘Don’t go letting him see you cry now.’
Clodagh was becoming impatient and increasingly agitated. ‘We really ought to go now.’
Philippa appeared to notice her properly for the first time. ‘You’re the person from Army Welfare? Really, you ought to get your act together. I’m still Tom’s next of kin and you really should have my new address details.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She sighed, resigned. ‘Oh, well, I suppose you do have the right hospital? I phoned the Cambridge before I left and they knew nothing about Tom.’
Clodagh felt suddenly malicious. ‘As you said, we ought to get our act together — anyway, I expect Major Harrison just arrived before his medical notes. Bureaucracy. That would explain it.’