9.59am. Wednesday, 8th November
Outside Bannerman’s study, North brushed himself down. He couldn’t see any of the Professor’s skin flakes on him but he didn’t want to take any chances. Honor was right – the good Professor was stomach-turning. The less they had to deal with Bannerman, the happier he’d be.
He checked with the departmental secretary about the Chinese student. Mrs Craggs was almost as unhelpful with him as with Honor but then Honor didn’t possess North’s slow smile. He used it on the secretary like a Pathfinder missile to take out her defences. It didn’t yield much but it did yield the information that Peggy was helping a particularly bright teenager.
“Not a nice child. At all.” He pictured the girl’s scowl. Her scorn. Walt Bannerman is an idiot. The intense brooding waiting. Was she waiting for Peggy? Hoping she would walk back in?
“Kids,” he’d said, not having any idea what it meant, but noticing the picture of three ferret-faced children on her desk.
Mrs Craggs softened, simpered, nodded, and he took it to mean. What can you do and You do your best and It’s never enough and I wish I’d never had them.
The Chinese girl didn’t come into the department the normal way. She wasn’t a pupil at a school with established links or where students did outreach. So how had Peggy come across her?
He felt his own temper rise. She’d been right in front of him. She’d spoken to him and he’d let her walk away.
‘Ciao moron-person.’ The kid called that right. Honor would not be happy.