Trouble at the Little Village School Read Online Free

Révélation du Baron is very palatable. It has been coolly fermented to capture the bright tropical fruit flavours, an opulent wine with an elegant peach and honeysuckle note and a hint of spice.’
    ‘That sounds fine,’ replied Dr Stirling.
    The food and the wine were excellent, as was the service. The owner seemed to spend more time at Dr Stirling’s and Elisabeth’s table than any other. Over coffee and a complimentary digestif they sat for a minute in contented silence. Then Dr Stirling reached across the table and took Elisabeth’s hand in his.
    ‘You look lovely tonight,’ he said.
    ‘Thank you, kind sir,’ replied Elisabeth, ‘and you’ve made quite an effort yourself. You look very well-groomed.’
    ‘I sound like a horse,’ he replied laughing.
    When she had first met him Elisabeth had been less than impressed with Michael Stirling’s appearance, and ‘well-groomed’ had been the last words that came to mind. She recalled for a moment that first meeting when she had been called for interview for the headship of the village school. He was the governor who scowled and said little, and although he was not unattractive it was clear he cared little about his appearance. Elisabeth noticed that his suit was shiny and unfashionable and had seen better days, that his shirt was frayed around the collar, his tie crumpled and that his shoes could do with a good polish. She smiled to see him now. Quite a transformation.
    ‘That’s the influence of a good woman,’ he said, interrupting her thoughts.
    ‘Pardon?’
    He smiled. ‘You were miles away. I was saying that I just needed someone, a good woman, to take me in hand.’ He looked down and thought for a moment. ‘After my wife died, looking after my appearance was the last thing on my mind.’
    This was the first time he had mentioned his wife, who had been killed and had left him and his young son devastated. Elisabeth let him talk. ‘I threw myself into my work,’ he continued, ‘and became so very tetchy and depressed. I lived for each day and was no company for anyone. That’s why I was offhand with you and said things I very much regret.’ He looked up. ‘But you’ve brought me out of myself, Elisabeth, you really have. You’ve made me feel there is a future, that life is worth living again.’
    Elisabeth felt tears in her eyes. ‘Well, it’s been a super evening,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me, Michael. It was a really nice thought.’
    He looked earnestly at her, then cleared his throat and swallowed hard. His eyes glistened. ‘I wanted to tell you that over the last few months my feelings towards you—’
    ‘Now then!’
    A broad individual with an exceptionally thick neck, vast florid face and small darting eyes approached the table. It was Councillor Cyril Smout, former governor at the village school in Barton and the only dissenting voice when the governors had voted against the proposal to close the school the previous year. When the Education Department had rescinded its decision and the school had remained open, he had tendered his resignation. There had been questions asked at County Hall about his excessive expenses, but nothing had been proved conclusively and he continued to be the loud, bullish and blunt member on the Education Committee he had been since winning the seat.
    ‘Good evening, councillor,’ sighed the doctor.
    ‘Mrs Devine,’ said Councillor Smout, a broad smile on his fat face.
    ‘Councillor,’ replied Elisabeth.
    ‘You two look nice an’ snug ’ere tucked away in t’corner. I saw you when I come in but din’t want to spoil yer little chinwag.’ A smile still suffused his face. ‘I should ’ave thought that you’d ’ave a lot on yer plate, Mrs Devine, what wi’ it bein’ t’start o’ t’term an’ all, to find t’time for winin’ and dinin’ at t’Bon Voyeur.’
    ‘And I should have thought that you would be far too busy with council business,’ retorted the doctor