Free Goodfellowe MP by Michael Dobbs Page B

Goodfellowe had gone in search of Samantha. But it was not to be. Parents were not welcomed in changing rooms where twenty teenage girls were in a state of considerable excitement and undress. Instead he spent a few minutes strolling around corridors which smelt of lunch and wood polish, remembering his own school days. The memories stirred once more, making him grow angry,stubborn. Even after all these years he could still feel the arrows of teenage torment, buried in him up to their feathers. The humiliation of being forced to pack, to leave in the middle of term through no fault of his own, yet in disgrace. The taunts of his fellow schoolboys who didn’t understand, and his wretched inability to respond because he didn’t understand either. He didn’t understand why his father had let him down, had let them all down, and why the name of Goodfellowe had become something which excited only derision. That had been the reason he’d gone into public life, to restore the name of Goodfellowe. And that was also why he could never let Samantha down in the same way, no matter what the cost.
    He squeezed in beside Miss Rennie onto one of the familiar coccyx-crushing chairs which breed in the storage rooms of every place of learning. She was sitting ramrod straight, as though on guard. A no-nonsense pose. He decided not to flannel.
    ‘Miss Rennie,’ he muttered, ‘thank you for your patience, but I think you’d like to know that I’m seeing my bank manager next week. I feel sure the problem with the fees will be resolved then.’
    That is kind,’ she nodded thoughtfully, staring ahead. ‘Kind. It’s been worrying.’
    ‘There’s no need for you to worry, Headmistress.’
    ‘Oh, but I do, Mr Goodfellowe, I don’t wish to be impertinent, but – well, this isn’t the first time. I’ve often wondered why you don’t do what I understand many other politicians do and take on a consultancy, perhaps, some outside interest which would help you with the school fees. Relieve the pressure.’
    He sighed. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I do have one consultancy as it happens, with the CPF.’
    Miss Rennie raised an eyebrow.
    ‘The Caravan Park Owners’ Federation.’
    The eyebrow, a tiny tangle of heather, rose still further.
    ‘But I’ve always thought,’ he continued, ‘that – how can I put it without sounding too pompous? – the job of an MP is in the House of Commons and his constituency. Not around boardrooms and lobby groups.’
    ‘But term after term, Mr Goodfellowe. And we all share in your pain, truly we do.’
    He doubted that, but decided this was not the time to argue the point. ‘I’ll think about it. I promise. But I must remind you. Not a word to Samantha. I don’t want her to worry.’
    ‘Mr Goodfellowe, I shall breathe not a word but it would surprise me if she didn’t have some grasp of the situation.’ He could see the genuine concern in her grey eyes. ‘Samantha is a very talented and resourceful girl. We would be sorry to see her go …’
    ‘I trust there’s no question of that, Headmistress. As I said, next week …’
    ‘It’s not entirely a matter of money, Mr Goodfellowe, but what is best for Samantha. To be honest, in spite of the excellent work of which she is capable and her initiative in organizing the fashion show, she doesn’t seem happy here at Werringham. Surely you must have noticed?’
    ‘Well, I … hadn’t noticed, to be honest. She’sgoing through a phase, of course. But most teenagers do.’
    ‘She’s a lonely girl, Mr Goodfellowe, with few friends.’
    ‘Oh,’ he responded, deflated. ‘I suppose it doesn’t always help having a politician as a father. She must get ribbed about that. My fault.’
    ‘It’s more than that. She doesn’t want to fit in. I’ve never been sure she ever wanted to come to Werringham.’
    ‘It’s true that she was very happy at her old school. But after her mother … well, I’m in London all through the week. It had to be boarding