Free From a Safe Distance by Julia Bishop Page A

because he was overwhelmed by the wonderful fact of her presence, her amazing eyes, her beautiful, expressive hands …
    â€œMax, are you OK? Only you didn’t answer my question.”
    â€œSorry … er, what did you say?”
    â€œWhat time have you got to be back at the Royal?”
    â€œOh – now!” he stood up and put some money on the table.
    â€œCall me!” She smiled to herself as he headed out towards a sunlit Morningside.
    While Max was working at the Royal Edinburgh Hospital, Helen made their first few weeks together an adventure. As she had been born and brought up in the city, she was able to show him round. Edinburgh is amazing, full of contrasts, not least where the weather is concerned. Of course they saw all the tourist sites and places of interest inthe area: the castle, various monuments and several museums for example; Max had particularly enjoyed the National. They walked their legs off.
    Max appreciated the fact that as well as knowing the cultural highlights, Helen knew all the right restaurants and cafés to go in, when they were too shattered to walk any further. They were both free at the weekend and spent most of the time together. Max remembered those Sunday mornings in her flat, in bed by her side one minute, then smelling the toast the next, and hearing her sing in the kitchen. He had the wonderful, comfortable feeling that he could say anything to Helen and she would understand. He could tell she was totally at ease as well. This was going to work.
    Coming back to the present in Howcester, he steeled himself to read the next chapters: Lexby was imminent. Once again, he had to try to be objective, a difficult task when he remembered the special party. Although aware that Vee’s account was allowing him a greater insight than usual into another’s thoughts, Max also had to bear in mind his main reason for reading the book: to find out what she wanted him to do.

    Castlebrough School for girls, in Lexby on the south coast, was in fact a row of five imposing houses dating from the early 1900s. They had been converted in the ‘50s and were linked at the back by a covered way. The sound of deep gravel in the parking area dignified the arrival of my taxi.
    â€˜Miss Gates?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Do come in. I’m matron. If you wouldn’t mind waiting in here, Miss Henshaw will be with you in a moment.’ She smiled graciously and I sat in a corner of a large room, my stomach fizzing with nerves.
    Miss Henshaw, the headmistress, was a short, round, pink woman of about fifty. She had a slight Irish accent. After my interview, in the few anxious minutes alone in that room with the high white ceiling, I knew I would have to saysomething: when Miss Henshaw reappeared, I admitted that I’d failed my probation. I could not look at her and the seconds passed. Her tone of voice did not alter, however.
    â€˜I would like to offer you the post of French teacher,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you in September. And thank you for your honesty.’
    While my first thought was that Miss Henshaw must have been desperate to fill the post, the next moment I felt optimistic. Having passed my driving test in Howcester, the first thing I did was buy a car.
    A few years would pass with no hint of trouble, no sign of the black wave, making me think the dream of Aunt Mary was just that, a dream, an ineffectual force.

8
Affairs at Lexby
    The staffroom was full of sunlight the first time I went in; the enormous windows faced south east.
    â€˜You’ll be in charge of the French teaching,’ my new head of department told me. Miss Gibson was tall and thin and had a strange laugh, which seemed to require a lot of effort. She was responsible for the German teaching.
    â€˜So – right through to ‘A’ level?’
    â€˜Yes. The classes here are small, much smaller that I expect you’ve taught before, so you’ll get to know the