what do good girls get?” she coyly replied.
“Some of my shortbread,” snapped Barbara Crook, standing between them as she offered the plate first to Jenna and then to Adam. She’d encouraged the girls to experiment and the slices of shortbread had been spread variously with fudge, caramel, chocolate, and orange icing, and one girl had layered mincemeat between the slices.
“These are actually very good,” said Adam.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” said Barbara Crook.
“We keep telling her she should compile a cookery book,” said Lauren Mathews.
“Sounds like a good idea,” said Adam. “My mother-in-law used to work in advertising and marketing. She might still know someone in publishing.”
Barbara Crook looked doubtful. Her class of senior girls had also made mince pies and she placed them on the coffee table, unaware that she had dropped a brown paper packet. Lisa picked it up and a sprig of mistletoe fell out. She put it back in the packet slowly weighing up the implications. No one else had seen it. Should she save Adam the embarrassment of an ambush by Barbara Crook, or would it just be a bit of harmless fun?
“Andy knows a photographer who specialises in food photography. He’ll know all the publishers,” Jenna said.
“You could involve the girls in the project and perhaps use one or two of their recipes. It would be a useful work experience for them,” said Adam.
“Perhaps I should think about it,” said Barbara Crook, her face in contemplative mode.
With Barbara Crook’s mind elsewhere, Lisa took the opportunity to sneak the mistletoe into the kitchen and hide it in the bin under some tea bags and orange peelings.
After the break Adam and Lisa took the Christmas gifts to the kitchen staff. They walked in to the unmistakeable Christmas smell of roasting chicken and spicy Christmas pudding and were greeted by wolf whistles and shouts of, “Aye, aye, captain.” “Hello, sailor.” “Ahoy there.” Most of the women had worked in factories and ragging the foremen had countered the boredom of repetitive jobs. Adam acknowledged their comments by raising his cap to them.
He went into Sue Lawrence’s office and placed the box of gifts on the floor before taking off his cap and placing it on her desk. He ran his fingers through his hair and sat down.
Lisa opened the box and took out the gift for Sue Lawrence and handed it to Adam who presented it to her and thanked her for her dedication to the thankless task of feeding teenagers.
Then he went into the kitchen and began handing out the gifts to the kitchen staff and shaking their hands. Winnie Jones was all simpering coyness and dissolved into giggles, which she did even when kindly Fred Smith spoke to her. But some of the women demanded, “Don’t we get a Christmas kiss?” and he laughingly kissed them on the cheek.
At two thirty they had their final assembly and once the girls had settled in their seats the teachers filed onto the stage and each was given a round of applause for their fancy dress efforts. But when Adam got up to give his end-of-term speech and took off his cap there was a chorus of “Aaawww, Sir.”
“Do you want me to leave it on?” he said, in mild surprise.
“Yes, Sir,” they all replied.
He put his cap back on and pulled it low over his brow as he delivered the speech, ending with a reminder for them to be careful when attending Christmas parties.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The first day of Spring term felt nothing like Spring. The typical January weather had brought blustery snow that melted and formed dangerous icy patches overnight. Fred Smith was kept busy salting the entrance to the school and everyone was glad to get inside out of the miserable cold and into the warmth of the school where the girls exchanged fur-lined boots for school shoes, and damp coats were hung above the radiators in the drying room giving off an overbearing musty aroma.
The girls spent their time catching
“Some of my shortbread,” snapped Barbara Crook, standing between them as she offered the plate first to Jenna and then to Adam. She’d encouraged the girls to experiment and the slices of shortbread had been spread variously with fudge, caramel, chocolate, and orange icing, and one girl had layered mincemeat between the slices.
“These are actually very good,” said Adam.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” said Barbara Crook.
“We keep telling her she should compile a cookery book,” said Lauren Mathews.
“Sounds like a good idea,” said Adam. “My mother-in-law used to work in advertising and marketing. She might still know someone in publishing.”
Barbara Crook looked doubtful. Her class of senior girls had also made mince pies and she placed them on the coffee table, unaware that she had dropped a brown paper packet. Lisa picked it up and a sprig of mistletoe fell out. She put it back in the packet slowly weighing up the implications. No one else had seen it. Should she save Adam the embarrassment of an ambush by Barbara Crook, or would it just be a bit of harmless fun?
“Andy knows a photographer who specialises in food photography. He’ll know all the publishers,” Jenna said.
“You could involve the girls in the project and perhaps use one or two of their recipes. It would be a useful work experience for them,” said Adam.
“Perhaps I should think about it,” said Barbara Crook, her face in contemplative mode.
With Barbara Crook’s mind elsewhere, Lisa took the opportunity to sneak the mistletoe into the kitchen and hide it in the bin under some tea bags and orange peelings.
After the break Adam and Lisa took the Christmas gifts to the kitchen staff. They walked in to the unmistakeable Christmas smell of roasting chicken and spicy Christmas pudding and were greeted by wolf whistles and shouts of, “Aye, aye, captain.” “Hello, sailor.” “Ahoy there.” Most of the women had worked in factories and ragging the foremen had countered the boredom of repetitive jobs. Adam acknowledged their comments by raising his cap to them.
He went into Sue Lawrence’s office and placed the box of gifts on the floor before taking off his cap and placing it on her desk. He ran his fingers through his hair and sat down.
Lisa opened the box and took out the gift for Sue Lawrence and handed it to Adam who presented it to her and thanked her for her dedication to the thankless task of feeding teenagers.
Then he went into the kitchen and began handing out the gifts to the kitchen staff and shaking their hands. Winnie Jones was all simpering coyness and dissolved into giggles, which she did even when kindly Fred Smith spoke to her. But some of the women demanded, “Don’t we get a Christmas kiss?” and he laughingly kissed them on the cheek.
At two thirty they had their final assembly and once the girls had settled in their seats the teachers filed onto the stage and each was given a round of applause for their fancy dress efforts. But when Adam got up to give his end-of-term speech and took off his cap there was a chorus of “Aaawww, Sir.”
“Do you want me to leave it on?” he said, in mild surprise.
“Yes, Sir,” they all replied.
He put his cap back on and pulled it low over his brow as he delivered the speech, ending with a reminder for them to be careful when attending Christmas parties.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The first day of Spring term felt nothing like Spring. The typical January weather had brought blustery snow that melted and formed dangerous icy patches overnight. Fred Smith was kept busy salting the entrance to the school and everyone was glad to get inside out of the miserable cold and into the warmth of the school where the girls exchanged fur-lined boots for school shoes, and damp coats were hung above the radiators in the drying room giving off an overbearing musty aroma.
The girls spent their time catching
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