the wall, while glancing at the clock at the far end of the pool.
The door opened as the first of the students came in. No one appeared to be behaving differently towards her and, thankfully, most of the staff had been out on their Sunday ramble so they would have missed the drama with Lord Lacey.
Lifting the ladder, she sidestepped further along the narrow path between the wall and the pool, then climbed again. The blasted nail wouldn’t go in. She brought the hammer forwards with such a force that the nail bent into an untidy L and tinkled to the tiled floor.
‘Damn it,’ she grunted through her tack-filled teeth, and released another between her thumb and forefinger.
The last of the diving girls filed through, making fourteen in total. They were missing just one.
‘She must still be in her room, Miss Flacker,’ Joan Mason told her.
‘Could you go and check on her for me, please? Try the riverbank if she’s not in her room.’
The preparations were completed just as the aristocratic trustees began to fill the front row, their toes just inches away from the edge of the pool. What did they know? They must have seen the Sunday Times themselves. She’d be the talk of the Phys Ed corridors. The parents of the girls who lived nearby trickled in now too. What would they think about their Vice Principal dabbling in such ill-informed teaching methods? I should have listened to my own better judgement and stayed away from Olympia.
The audience bubbled with conversation, but as she approached the podium, the voices stilled. Where is Miss Lott? She’d never missed a diving display.
The girls filled the seven tiered diving boards five deep, mirroring the shape of the pitched roof above them. They were dressed in matching white caps, fastened under the chin, and navy blue knitted bathing costumes. Focus on the job in hand. But even that’s a mess if Miss Wilkins doesn’t show up.
She avoided making eye contact with Mr and Mrs Wilkins. Why would they try and persuade their daughter to stay here after this? Behind them, leering through the dip in their shoulders, sat Lord Lacey. He would be smiling smugly. She didn’t need to look at him to know that. Everything was going just as he hoped.
‘What are we waiting for?’ a parent in the front row asked in a loud whisper. Her neighbour shrugged.
Natalie looked about her, taking it all in. The girls had been confused by her lingering smile. They furrowed their brows and looked at one another.
‘Why is she smiling at us?’ Joan whispered.
They probably think I’ve gone mad. Wilkins isn’t coming so just press on… She blew her whistle.
‘One at a time on the springboard. Only dive when the water ahead of you is clear. Please try to make a dignified exit from the water.’ Familiar instructions that she spoke without the need to think. ‘Swallow dive!’ She refused to allow herself to dwell on whether she would deliver them ever again.
Following her signal, the first seven obediently bent at the knees, swung their arms above their heads and each one of them tore through the water in just the right spot. Their feet all gulped up at exactly the same moment. The audience applauded and the next batch of girls shuffled forward and curled their toes over the edge of the boards.
She blew her whistle again. ‘Cannonball!’ And so they worked their way through the rehearsed schedule of dives until there was just one dive left to perform.
The door at the rear of the baths swung open. Mr and Mrs Wilkins’s heads turned, and everyone else followed. In sauntered Margaret, her hair tidied back, lips tinted. Apparently unaware of the stir she was causing. She slid her silk dressing gown from her shoulders and left it in a heap by the wall, and then she looked to Natalie to tell her which board to join. Natalie raised her forefinger. The high board. The pinnacle.
She raised her forefinger again.
‘Last dive, Wilkins. The gainer.’ Margaret was a nuisance, there was no doubt about it, and the other compliant girls were more deserving of her affections, but Natalie couldn’t help herself. Margaret and her fresh ideas were just what this place needed; it was her duty to encourage her.
She ran forwards three steps, sprung up from her right foot, the hurdle bounce showcasing her excellent balance, her bounce high. She landed with toes at the end of the dipping board and then sprang back high into the air, her somersault taking her towards the board. Gasps came from the audience, before she released at the last into the water.
Mrs Wilkins stood to lead the applause that broke out among the audience. Her hands clapping together like the wings of a hoverfly.
‘Bravo!’ called Mr Wilkins, his palms slapping together with force. ‘Bravo!’
Behind them, Lord Lacey’s face was stiff, his brow heavy. He broke Natalie’s gaze with a long blink. It was a small victory, and even though she knew it would be short-lived, she couldn’t help but smile to herself when she was sure he was no longer looking.
After the display the audience scattered. Once the Wilkinses had congratulated their daughter on a wonderful dive, Margaret leant into Natalie’s ear and whispered, ‘It would have been better to music.’
Then Lord Lacey appeared at her shoulder. He too leant in close, his hot breath on her ear. ‘When you’re quite ready, come straight to Miss Lott’s office.’
*
Lord Lacey threw open the door to Miss Lott’s rooms and rolled his palm sarcastically as if to suggest he was in the presence of royalty. Like a disgraced student, her head bowed, she went in.
Because the curtains were drawn, it wasn’t immediately obvious that the windows were shut. Bit by bit she sensed the change. The room was still, the usual animated breeze snuffed out, the scent of heather suffocated by soot. The fire cracked and hissed and doused her shins in its fierce heat.
Even though Miss Lott’s rooms were always bracing, Lord Lacey had taken the heat too far the other way. On the mantelpiece, the petals of Miss Lott’s roses were edged brown, the heads flopped forwards, unaccustomed to such warmth.
Lord Lacey stood in front of the fire, his arms behind his back.
‘I’ve told Miss Lott that enough is enough. She is too unwell to remain Principal,’ he said. ‘Her sister arrives in the morning to take her to Scotland to ensure she has a comfortable end.’
Natalie hoped he might point to one of the empty armchairs and invite her to sit down. She looked about her instead for something to support her, considered stepping to the mantelpiece and gripping it. She pulled her handkerchief from her tunic pocket. She didn’t care if he saw her crying. She hoped it made him feel ill at ease.
It was hard to imagine Miss Lott gone. Even her impression remained on the seat cushion of her favourite armchair.
He ran his thumbs and forefingers away from each other across his moustache as he paused for dramatic effect.
‘It’s been agreed that as Chair of the Trustees I will step into the breach until events reach a conclusion with Miss Lott. Then we can look for her permanent replacement.’
‘I see.’ She swallowed, wiping away more tears and wishing she could go and
