“Amazing, darling,” said Sarah, as the steward cleared the last of our plates. “I mean, British Rail’s food is legendary.” She laughed. “For all the wrong reasons, but that.” She pointed at the table. “That was a meal, well… that I would actually have paid for.”
And it was amazing, with three immaculately presented courses and accompanying wine, all managed with consummate ease, despite the confines of the dining car, by our friendly steward, Mervyn (how he managed to safely serve soup as the train pitched and rolled its way westwards was a particular mystery).
“Coffee sir, madam?”
“Yes please.” Once again, Mervyn showed uncanny balance, pouring the hot brown liquid into our tiny china cups without spilling a drop. As he did so, Sarah’s eyes suddenly sparkled with streetlight reflections shining through the carriage window as we hurtled past an isolated village, and I found myself wondering if a sleeper train, regardless of its comfort, wouldn’t have been such a bad idea after all.
*
“So, tell me,” said Sarah, finishing the last of her coffee. “I know you don’t like to talk shop, but how is everything going with the academy? I haven’t seen you for over a month, and you don’t mention it much on the phone.”
“Almost six weeks actually.”
“Seems like it as well, Jack,” she said with a sigh. “Anyway, is the school working, and did you get the extra funding today?”
“The school’s working, I suppose, although I still think we should have waited until the autumn term to admit pupils. And yes, the new funding’s secure.”
I had been against opening too early, my original plans for the academy, including a period of settling in for teaching, administration, and maintenance staff, plus ensuring classrooms, a gym, dormitories, the infirmary and so on were properly equipped and operational. Sir John, impatient as always, overrode me, and decided the academy would open first for modern and classical languages, art, and music, and later for sciences (thus allowing time to build laboratories and other more complex facilities). By February, his team had already identified fifty children gifted in these disciplines from schools around the country and, more importantly, offered them places at the academy starting after Easter. Sir John’s solution to finding appropriate teachers (many of whom had been university lecturers), part way through the school year and at short notice had been to simply double their salaries and pay all of their lodging and other expenses. This recruitment policy, of course, had the effect of alienating an already hostile Department of Education even further (‘Stuffed shirts in London think we’re elitist, Sangster, close us down if they could’).
I also explained to Sarah that the children themselves presented a challenge. This initial intake was aged between fourteen and seventeen years old, and besides all the usual problems associated with the pastoral care of teenagers, especially in a coeducational boarding school, the pupils’ exceptional intellects brought many more complications. Restless young minds, questioning everything, easily bored, needing constant stimulation. Principal Velinda Flimwell had prior experience teaching exceptionally gifted pupils, and I recalled her description of such children during the interview at the institute’s office in London.
“They have the same special needs as those with severely impaired mental faculties,” she had said, quite shocking me. “A child with an IQ off the scale can often be considered a handicapped child as well. So, if your academy is to thrive, you must cater for those special needs, and it won’t be easy.”
But despite a few teething problems, and in a large part due to Velinda and her husband Cyrus proving to be the superb head teaching team we had hoped for, the academy was able to open after Easter. Cyrus, a qualified chartered accountant, was the administrative brains of the pair, whilst the more flamboyant Velinda was the natural head teacher, empathetic towards, if not fully able to comprehend, the particular needs of the academy’s exceptional young charges.
And with the first tranche of pupils admitted successfully, the embryonic academy was thus far going very well. In fact, surprisingly well, to the point that Sir John had agreed, subject to Prendergast reviewing my numbers, to release additional funding for what had become known as ‘phase two’, which would involve staff and facilities for a further two hundred pupil intake in September.
“Well that all sounds marvellous, darling. Shall we go back to our seats?”
“Ah,” I yawned. “Yes let’s.” I yawned again.
“You look as if you’ve got an after-dinner nap coming on,” grinned Sarah, as we stood up and walked back through the Pullman car, which was still full of diners. Some were couples like us, some sat at four-seater tables, where strangers had become friends in the few hours since we left London.
“Look,” whispered Sarah as we passed one such table, “he’s got leather trousers on.”
“Who?”
“That priest, with the long black hair and the dog collar.” She jerked her head backwards. “Handsome man, youngish, big gold cross round his neck, in the window seat facing backwards, on the table with those three old ladies. I’ve been watching him all evening.” I turned to look, briefly catching sight of the passenger in question, before being pushed forward by Sarah. “Don’t stare, darling.”