Free Moon by James Herbert Page B

She continued to study Childes with that unsettling, penetrating gaze and the fountain pen stood stiffly between her fingers, base resting on the desktop, like a tiny immovable post. He wondered about her, wondered about her sudden frown, what she was reading in his expression. Was there just a hint of alarm behind the thick lenses of her spectacles?
        She quickly recovered, leaving him unsure that he had seen any change at all in her demeanour.
        'I won't keep you any longer,' Miss Piprelly said curtly. 'I'm sure we both have lots to do.'
        I want him out of the room, she thought, I want him out now. It wasn't his fault, he wasn't to blame for this outrageous extra sense he possessed, just as she was not responsible for her own strange faculty. She could not get rid of the man on that basis; it would have been too hypocritical, too cruel. But she wanted his presence away from her, now, that instant. For a moment she had thought he'd seen through her own rigid mask, had sensed the ability in her, an unwelcome gift that was as unacceptable to her as adverse publicity was unacceptable to the school. Her secret, her affliction, was not to be shared; it had been too closely guarded for too many years. She would take the chance of keeping him on - he was owed that much - but she would keep away from him, avoid unnecessary contact. Miss Piprelly would not give Childes the opportunity to recognise their similarity. That would be too foolhardy, too much to give after so long. Dangerous even, for someone in her position.
        'I'm sorry, Mr Childes, is there something you wanted to say?' She deliberately quelled her impatience, years of self-discipline coming to her aid.
        'Only thanks. I appreciate your trust.'
        'That has nothing whatsoever to do with it. If I thought you untrustworthy I wouldn't have employed you in the first place. Let's just say I value your expertise.'
        He rose, managed to smile. Estelle Piprelly was an enigma to him. He started to say something, then thought better of it. He left the room.
        The principal closed her eyes and let her head rest against the high-backed chair, the sun on her shoulders unable to dispense the chill.
        
***
        
        Outside in the corridor, Childes began to shake. Earlier that morning he had assumed he was in control, that much of the anguish had been purged the day before, literally walked from his system, so exhausting him that when he returned home sleep would overwhelm him. And it had. There had been no dreams, no restless turning in the bed, no sweat-soaked sheets; just several hours of oblivion. That morning he had awoken feeling refreshed, the sighted images of Saturday evening a contained memory, still disturbing but at least uneasily settled in a compartment of his mind. Subconscious reflex, self-protecting mental conditioning; there had to be a legitimate medical term with which to label the reaction.
        The morning newspaper had easily shattered that temporary defence.
        Still he had gone through the motions of everyday living, unnerved but determined to get through the day. Halfway there and then his meeting with Miss Piprelly. Now he was shaking.
        'Jon?'
        He turned, startled, and Amy saw his fear. She hurried to him. 'Jon, what's wrong? You look awful.'
        Childes clung to her briefly. 'Let's get out of here,' he said. 'Can you get away for a while?'
        'It's still lunchbreak. I've got at least half an hour before my next lesson.'
        'A short drive then, to somewhere quiet.'
        They parted when footsteps echoed along the corridor, and turned towards the stairs leading to the main entrance, saying nothing until they were outside, the sun warming them after the coolness of the school's interior.
        'Where were you yesterday?' Amy asked. 'I tried to reach you throughout the day.'
        'I thought you were showing Edouard Vigiers around the