Page 94 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
Even as an adult, Nory found the school building to be imposing. She wondered if it was still as drafty as it had been when she had boarded. A prefect met them on the steps and led them into the entrance hall, which had been decorated for Christmas, and disappeared off to tell the head teacher that they had arrived.
For a moment, the old pupils stood silently, awed by remembrance. Katie and Dev, who had not attended Braddon-Hartmead, were suitably impressed by its grandeur. The splendor of the public areas had always belied the more modest reality of student life: cold dormitories and even colder shared bathrooms, parquet floors sticky with a century of yacht varnish, classrooms with ancient desks and peeling plaster, and a food hall that more resembled a crumbling monastery than Hogwarts.
The headmistress was not much older than the gaggle of ex-pupils and their partners who stood before her. Ms. Strathmoore wore a long old-fashioned teaching gown, unfastened to reveal a 1940s-style trouser suit that may or may not have been, butprobably was, Dior. The wireless earbud tucked discreetly into her left ear and the Apple Watch just visible below the gown sleeve, confirmed that there was nothing fusty about the current headmistress. When Nory had attended Braddon-Hartmead, the headmaster was well past retirement age. He had believed television was the devil’s work, “the cause of an epidemic of slackened brains!” And he felt that the removal of corporal punishment in schools was a violation of his human rights; he kept his cane laid across his desk to remind him of happier times.
“It is always such a delight to be visited by our alumni.” Ms. Strathmoore smiled, showing all her straight white teeth. “I was hoping that Ms. Baxter would be in attendance...” She craned her neck to look past Dev and Jeremy, who stood at the back, as though Jenna might be hiding behind them.
“Oh, she’s tied up with wedding things, I’m afraid,” said Charles. “Bride-to-be and all that.”
Ms. Strathmoore’s smile drooped, just for a second. “Of course,” she agreed.
The tour took them through the old halls, omitting the shabbier corridors below stairs, and through the new science labs.
“These were completed in 2014. We are very lucky to receive continued donations from benefactors long after their children have left Braddon-Hartmead to make their way in the world.”
With a wave of her hand, she directed their gaze to a plaque above the entrance to one of the laboratories, which readDonated by Mr. Montague-Smythe, with thanks. Charles flushed.
“And of course, we mustn’t forget the generous and continued donations from the Bailey family,” she went on. Now it was Guy’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Mr. Bailey, I’ve been doing my homework, and I see that you are now the proud father of your own children; I hope that in the not-too-distant futurewe’ll be able to welcome the next generation of Baileys through the doors of Braddon-Hartmead.”
“Not if Camille has anything to do with it,” Ameerah whispered.
Guy looked pained.
“She’s like a marketing machine,” Pippa added. “Has anyone checked to see if she’s got a USB charging port at the back of her neck?”
They moved on past the English block and stopped at the library.
“This is our most popular place for donations. Benefactors old and new have been drawn to the idea of inspiring a passion for literature in future Braddon-Hartmead pupils. Mr. McIntosh and Ms. Hadid”—she looked first at Jeremy, then Ameerah—“your families have made generous donations to our beloved library over the years.”
“She has really done her homework,” Charles murmured.
“She won’t mention my family,” said Pippa through almost entirely closed lips as Ms. Strathmoore continued to gush about benefactors and pupils who had gone on to become famous. “My mother sued after my sister got addicted to cocaine during her GCSEs.”
“I didn’t know that.” Nory struggled to keep her voice down.
“You are shitting me!” Ameerah hissed. “How did we not know this? I told you all about Ahmed, and you never said a thing.”
Pippa shrugged, as if not telling the group had been a mere oversight. But Elinor knew it wasn’t only Guy’s family for whom “sharing” was considered the forte of hippies and weaklings. Nory suspected that one of the reasons Pippa had built up a business out of making people’s houses and wedding venuesgorgeously welcoming was because she was trying to create some of the comfort her own homelife had lacked. Pippa’s mother was a woman so uptight she was almost Dickensian in her child-rearing and yet conversely an absolute socialite, famous for her soirees.
“You’re such a closed book.” Ameerah tutted.
“I’m sorry,” hissed Pippa. “I didn’t know my sister’s drug abuse was so important to you.”
“So not what I meant, Pip.”
“Can we keep it down a bit?” Nory hushed them. “I don’t want to get detention.”
“But of course, Braddon-Hartmead’s ethos isn’t built on money. We are very proud to have our scholarship program, offering pupils from underprivileged areas the chance of an education that their families would never otherwise have been able to afford.” Nory felt her cheeks burning, but to her surprise Ms. Strathmoore pointed straight at Katie. “Ms. Noel, I believe you were one of our scholarship pupils. I understand you run a bookshop now.” She smiled.
Dev poked his head between Ameerah’s and Nory’s. “Racist much?” he asked sardonically.
“Actually, I’m not Ms. Noel. I didn’t attend Braddon-Hartmead,” Katie piped up, with a defiant smile. “I attended Wycombe Abbey private school for girls. My parents paid in full.”
Ms. Strathmoore was momentarily ruffled.
“I was the scholarship kid,” said Nory. “And I own a secondhand bookshop.”
“Of course,” said Ms. Strathmoore, recovering herself. “I must have got my wires crossed, how silly of me.”
