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“SHE’S HAD ANOTHER ONE, you know,” said Imogen darkly to her neighbour at lunchtime. I followed her gaze across to the table that Oriana was supervising. For a moment I thought she was referring to her housemistress’s latest man. When her friend replied, I was glad I hadn’t admonished her.
“From Harrods again too,” said Poppy, rolling her eyes. “In a box so big you could sit in it.”
“I would be happy if my dad just sent me the box,” piped up Tilly. “With some cushions and a blanket, it would make a cosy den.”
Sometimes I forgot just how young the youngest pupils were.
“The thing is, not even the full box makes Veronica happy, although she pretends it does,” said Imogen. “She doesn’t even like half the contents. Honestly, you’d think her dad would know that she doesn’t like pink things or white chocolate. She’s not a baby.”
“No, but I do,” grinned Tilly. “She gave me a whole bunch of white chocolate roses to thank me for helping her with her French prep last night.”
There was a silence for a moment while the girls chewed thoughtfully on their sandwiches.
“I expect his secretary ordered it,” said Imogen, passing me the pastries basket. “That’s what they have secretaries for.”
When I declined and took it to offer to her, she helped herself to a sausage roll.
“If I was her, I’d have saved all the things in it to give as birthday or Christmas presents to my friends,” said Poppy.
“She’d need more friends than there are girls in the school to get through that many presents,” said Imogen.
I gazed across at Oriana’s table. “Which girl is it we’re talking about?”
“The one on Miss Blister’s right,” said Imogen.
I recognised Veronica as a quiet girl who seldom contributed in class. I’d wondered whether she was one of the heiresses, as her large stud earrings, the only jewellery the girls were allowed to wear apart from a watch, looked like real diamonds, and on her wrist was a top-of-the-range smart watch.
“Last exeat she invited me to stay at her London house,” said Poppy. “It was amazing. We spent most of the weekend in her underground swimming pool playing spies.”
“What was her dad like?” asked Imogen. Poppy shrugged. “I don’t know. I never saw him. Her nanny was nice though. She taught us to swear in Bulgarian.”
“If I did her maths prep for her, do you think she’d let me have the empty box?” asked Tilly.
“You could post yourself home in it,” said Poppy.
“I think Veronica would rather her father posted himself in it than all that stuff.” Imogen licked a fingertip to pick up a stray sunflower seed from her plate. “Please may we leave the table, Miss?”
“Yes, girls, thank you.” I remained in my seat while they all scraped back their chairs and departed, then got up to go just as Oriana dismissed her table. Veronica, lingering after the others had gone, was solemnly presenting Oriana with a chunky pink ballpoint pen containing twelve different coloured inks. When Oriana thanked her profusely for her kindness, Veronica gave a flicker of a smile before running off to catch up with her friends.
Oriana held up the pen to show me as she got to her feet.
“Unwanted gift,” she said. “We’re not really meant to accept gifts from the girls except for Christmas, birthdays and the end of the academic year, but it would be churlish to refuse Veronica. I wonder if her father realises the chief pleasure she gets from his constant lavish gift boxes is giving the contents away?”
I was relieved to find that Oriana seemed to have forgiven my intrusion on her flat, and we strolled across the hall together, keeping our voices low so the girls wouldn’t overhear.
“I suppose it must make her popular,” I said.
Oriana wrinkled her nose. “Not really. The other girls just feel sorry for her.”
I made a mental note to be especially attentive to Veronica in class.
“I can understand that. I bet she’d rather swap the whole box for a personal letter or email from her dad.”
Oriana leapt to his defence. “Poor man is far too busy. He’s very high up at the London Stock Exchange, you know.”
I wondered whether Oriana had ever targeted Veronica’s dad.
“Anyway, speaking of men –” she opened the staffroom door for me and stood back to let me go through first “– are you sure about me seeing Steven? You really don’t mind?”
I took that as an instruction as much as a question. I could hardly say if I did mind.
“You see,” she went on, “I’m seeing him again at the weekend. He’s invited me to Sunday lunch. And Saturday supper, in fact.”
I didn’t want to think about what might happen in between.
“No, that’s fine. You enjoy. Don’t think about me for a moment.”
I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t think about them. But I was glad to realise that I wouldn’t have swapped places with her for the world.
