Yorke Millen sat back, and viewed the letter on the desk in front of him. How, in the present circumstances, was he going to handle the next few months as temporary head teacher? Being deputy head was fair enough, the buck didn't stop with you. But now, he was standing in for Gordon Rafter, the actual head, who had suffered a heart attack just over a month earlier, and school problems were multiplying.
He wasn't too concerned about the general running of Barnside Middle School. All of the staff were well motivated, if a little apprehensive, at this time, but they were most supportive. As he picked up the letter that confirmed the big problem he had inherited, there was a gentle knock at the door, and school secretary, Tina Lorder, poked her steely grey coiffure around it.
"In the mood for a member of the Press? The Enquirer," she asked.
Yorke frowned. The Enquirer was the local area newspaper, which, like any newspaper, was eager to latch on to any hint of bother.
"What could they want?" he mused out loud."Did he give any clues?"
"It's a lady," Tina said, and her lips tightened. "Karen Marking."
That had him sitting up straight, his wife Carol's untimely death, three years earlier, instantly on his mind. "Oh, you said the Enquirer."
Tina shrugged, her eyes admitting her own surprise, "Apparently, that's who she's with now."
Discomforted, Yorke wondered what she could want. In no way did he fancy stirring up cruel memories. Karen Marking was the presenter of a television show doing a piece on drink driving, shortly after Carol's death. Without realising the trauma of that time was still with him, he had foolishly accepted an invitation to take part.
He recalled sitting uncomfortably in the studio, mindless of the cameras on him, while this round faced, slender, young woman, outlined the circumstances of his wife being struck by a car driven by a drunk driver..
Yorke, with emotion building inside him once more, was only vaguely aware of Karen Marking asking him quietly, "Mr Millen, do you think that seven years was an adequate sentence?"
On a shuddering breath, eyes down, he had replied, "Seven bullets in his sick brain wouldn't have been enough. Nothing would." That said he broke down completely, and was guided off air. What he did recall was Karen Marking's show of understanding and sensitive empathy.
But now, successful television presenter to local newspaper seemed a strange career move, but burying the apprehension that old wounds might be opened, he asked Tina to send the lady in.
The lady who appeared in his office was totally stunning. She, literally, took his breath away. His state of mind at the time of their last meeting had blunted any appreciation of looks.
In a tight black skirt, white blouse, and maroon waistcoat style jacket she was captivating. The loose jacket could not disguise the generous thrust of her breasts. But it was the face he might have passed without recognition. The roundness had gone. Now there almost a gauntness about the cheeks. A couple of little lines at the corners of the eyes indicated that something stressful had overtaken her since their last meeting. But the smile on her full lips was as genuine as ever. For the first time in a very long time, Yorke experienced a surge of desire.
"This is a surprise," he said, controlling his emotions, indicating a seat.
"I thought it might be," she replied, hitching at her skirt as she sat opposite him, enabling him to appreciate a flash of shapely thigh.
She asked how he was, and his reply was less enthusiastic than it might have been. As if detecting this she observed, "We don't seem to meet in the best of circumstances."
"And you? What happened to television?"
For the briefest moment her blue eyes clouded, "Can we just call it redundancy?"
"They can't have found anyone better?" he said with applied charm.
She shuffled before replying, "Well, let's say they thought so."
Yorke pressed just a little further. Her reluctance intrigued him. "Given your ability though---the Enquirer?"
She shrugged, "Jobs aren't all that easy to walk into." She was reluctant to talk about whatever had happened, and she changed the subject herself. "Anyway, it's a challenge. And that's why I'm here really."
"What's on your mind?" Yorke asked, while thinking please not the despair of three years ago.
Her blue eyes regarded him frankly, and her left hand stroked at the dark hair behind her ear, before she said, "Your school is in a testing situation at the moment. What with the closure rumours, and all."
Such expressive blue eyes, that were able to dispense sympathy. The eyes of a highly desirable young lady. As she half turned her body, a blouse covered breast pushed out of the waistcoat, and Yorke wondered if it was just a good bra or did her breasts really have that pointed boldness? God, he had almost forgotten how pleasant such observations could be, but hardly the situation for such thinking.
"Oh, yes, definitely testing." He forced his mind back on track.
"It must be a nightmare for you. All the rumours. I was wondering—" " And here her eyes lowered briefly, "I'm surprised to find you so composed. I was expecting more grey hair—or even less hair."
They laughed together, while an inner hand preened Yorke's ego, "Well, thanks for that much," he said. "By the same token, I may not have recognised you."
"Maybe I don't handle stress that well," she sighed, and before he could initiate a follow up, she went on. "What I was after, Mr Millen, is your permission to write some in-depth articles about the school."
"In depth?"
"A few good human interest pieces— Parents, children affected . Concerns of the staff.
Yorke wasn't too sure, and shook his head, "I don't know---what you must understand is that the school must maintain a certain image---I can't see—"
" All very newsworthy." She broke in, holding up a hand of apology, before stroking the hair behind her left ear again. "This could help that image. After all, it's only rumours"
Yorke sighed, and held up the letter that had remained in his hand, "More than just rumours now."
"May I?"she asked, holding out a hand.
Yorke shrugged. What harm it would do now? He handed her the letter. Watching her face for reaction as she read, he realised that he was watching because it was a good face to look at.
Karen Marking's brow creased as she read, occasionally certain key phrases out loud, " –-closure is being considered----pupil numbers---" The wide eyes looked up at him, "What are your pupil numbers?"
"At present two hundred and fifty five—but if parents take fright—" Again, he shrugged.
