Chapter 2
Like a ghost
Rafe
“Miss Summerfield,” I clipped, very close now to losing my fucking patience. What was wrong with these people? Anyone with this level of incompetence would have been fired from my chambers immediately. “Unless your first name is Clara, I’m afraid you can’t help me.”
Miss Summerfield narrowed her eyes at me and stood her ground. I was mildly impressed. Most people did not stand their ground with me; quite the opposite.
“No, Lord Sterling, my first name is not Clara, it’s Lily. But I am your son’s form teacher and, as such, am perfectly capable of answering any questions you may have pertaining to his education here.”
I scowled at her and crossed my arms over my chest. I did not have time for this level of fuckwittery.
“I need to speak to a Miss Clara,” I said through gritted teeth for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.
Did this Clara woman have the plague or something?
Why was it this hard to have a simple conversation with her?
“Miss Clara doesn’t deal with parents,” Miss Summerfield said, also for what felt like the hundredth time. “She’s only a teaching assistant.”
“Well, she’s the one my son has been talking about for the last month non-stop. And she’s the one who told my son his ‘brain works differently’ yesterday, so I would like to bloody well speak to her now.”
“Daddy, you can’t say swears here,” Ozzie said as he tugged on my trouser leg.
I uncrossed my arms to ruffle his hair as I smiled down at him. “Sorry, buddy. I’ll do better, okay?”
“Miss Clara’s super shy with big people,” Ozzie went on to say. “She only talks to Miss Lily. I don’t think she’ll wanna talk to you. Specially if you’re gonna use your scary voice.”
“I’m not using my scary voice,” I lied as I crouched down so I could be eye level with him.
“All Daddy wants to do is speak to her, okay? I’m not going to scare her.
She’s a grown adult and a teacher, Oz. She can handle talking to a parent.
” Ozzie looked sceptical, and I began to wonder what the fuck was wrong with the mysterious Miss Clara.
“Hello, Lord Sterling.” I straightened up at the headmistress’s voice. Finally, someone who could make sense of this shitshow.
“Mrs Clayton,” I said brusquely, straightening to my full height and towering over both women.
“Lily,” Mrs Clayton said. “Why don’t you and Oscar go back to class? I’ll deal with Lord Sterling.”
Lily let out a relieved breath and smiled at Ozzie who took her hand.
“No more swears, Daddy,” Ozzie said over his shoulder as he was led away.
“Sure thing, Oz,” I called after him. “I’ll see you later, buddy. Have a good day.”
The smile I’d worn for my son dropped as soon as they were out of sight, and I turned back to the headmistress.
“I’m not sure what sort of show you’re running here, Mrs Clayton,” I said stiffly. “But if I want to meet with my child’s teacher, that request should be accommodated.”
Mrs Clayton gave me a shrewd look. My scary voice certainly had very little effect on her. But then again, she’d been the headmistress of Molton Prep for twenty years, and before that she’d been my form teacher. Not much could scare Mrs Clayton.
“Rafe Sterling,” she said in her very own scary voice, “don’t you come in here and throw your weight around like I haven’t seen you shove Blue Tac up your nose and cry after Molly Anderson pushed you into a puddle.”
I felt heat creep up my neck. Bloody hell, she was like a damn elephant.
I’d been a scrawny little shit at prep school.
It was only after I hit puberty that I’d “hulked out”, as my sister liked to put it.
That bitch Molly Anderson had been twice my size back then.
I shoved a hand through my hair and shifted on my feet just like I was a naughty nine-year-old again.
“Okay, fine, I’m sorry,” I muttered, relaxing my stance as I looked toward Ozzie’s classroom, then back at Mrs Clayton.
“Listen, I’m not trying to throw my weight around.
It’s just that Oz has been talking non-stop about this Miss Clara.
And I know she’s the one assessing him for dyslexia.
I have a right to speak to the person educating my son. ”
Mrs Clayton tilted her head to the side as she stared up at me. “Are you unhappy with her input?”
“Not exactly,” I said carefully. “I mean, Oz definitely seems less frustrated now, but I need to know what’s going on. He talks about her all the time, and I’m not sure I agree with all this brain working differently chat.”
“Oscar’s brain does work differently, Rafe,” Mrs Clayton said gently. “And Miss Clara is the very best at helping children with different needs. I won’t have you coming in and bullying her.”
My eyebrows went up. “Bullying her? I just want to speak to the woman. I’m not sure what the hell is going on here, but you can’t hide employees away from parents who are paying exorbitant fees and, in the case of my family, making significant financial contributions to the school on a regular basis. ”
“Now see here, young man,” Mrs Clayton said in her most stern tone, the same one she used when I painted Molly Anderson’s ponytail blue, “I know you didn’t just try to use your money to get your way. I know this because I expect better from an Old Moltonian.”
“Yes, Mrs Clayton,” I chanted like I was back in her office as a naughty kid.
She stared at me for a moment, then let out a sigh. “You’re not going to let this go, are you, Rafe?”
I stood my ground and shook my head. No, I was not going to give up until I met the elusive Miss Clara. Where the fuck had they been hiding her? I hadn’t come across her at any of the school parents’ evenings or functions. She was like a ghost.
Mrs Clayton looked away from me for a moment and bit her lip in a highly unusual display of indecision and concern.
“Okay, I’ll see if I can set it up.”
I huffed out a frustrated breath. “Can’t I just see the woman now, for God’s sake?”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Mrs Clayton said distractedly.
She still looked like she was struggling with something.
Then she focused back on me and gave me a stern glare that would have had me shaking in my plimsolls thirty years ago.
“If I agree to this, you’ve got to promise me not to be so… well… you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Rafe, honestly, you know what I’m saying. You treat every situation and every person in it like you’re in your courtroom. I’m immune as I’ve seen you wee yourself at the school nativity but…”
“That was Ollie Harding!” I snapped. Bloody Ollie. Twenty-seven years later and I was still taking the flak for his lack of bladder control.
“Goodness, it doesn’t matter now, dear,” Mrs C said in her patented placatory tone.
Alright for her – she wasn’t the one being reminded of shit that went down in prep school.
“What I’m saying is that you’re intimidating.
This girl, Clara, she…” Mrs C trailed off and looked over my shoulder towards the classroom door, her expression troubled. “She’s quiet.”
“She seems to have plenty to say to my son.”
“No, not with the children. She has a natural affinity with the children. It’s adults Clara struggles with. Her employment agreement is clear on no contact with parents.”
I thought back to all the various ways Ozzie had described Clara.
Everything was “Miss Clara this” and “Miss Clara thinks that,” “Miss Clara told this joke and I nearly peed myself laughing” – what kind of stunt was this woman trying to pull?
Clearly, she just wanted to waltz off with her paycheck and not have to face any of the tricky aspects of teaching, like communicating effectively with the parents who were providing her damn paycheck.
It seemed as though she had Mrs Clayton and that form teacher wrapped around her little finger too. She must be some sort of master manipulator. Did I want another manipulative female around my kid? I’d had enough of that with his mother.
“I’m sorry, but I insist she makes an exception for me,” I said firmly.
Mrs Clayton stared at me for a long moment and I decided to go in for the kill.
“Of course, I could always take my concerns to the governors. Are they aware that there’s a teacher at the school declining meetings with parents and only answerable to the pupils?
Is that something they’d be happy with?”
Mrs Clayton’s face reddened and she narrowed her eyes at me again. “You always were a stubborn little blighter,” she said in a low voice, and I suppressed a smile. “Fine. I’ll set it up. But I need a chance to talk to her first.”
I felt a wave of frustration but tamped it down.
I could wait a few more hours. Tuesdays were my day with Ozzie, the one day I never scheduled court.
I took him to school and picked him up every week.
On my other days with Oz, his nanny did the drop-offs.
Officially, I only had fifty percent custody of Ozzie.
Unofficially, his mother was always fucking off to Europe and the States, so despite her having made my life hell in the custody battle, she rarely made an effort to be in the country to spend the time with Ozzie that she had fought so hard for.
I was determined to give him some stability and be the parent he could rely on.
So Tuesdays with Ozzie were sacrosanct, even if it pissed the clerk at chambers off.
“I will arrive here thirty minutes prior to collection time today. I presume I can meet her then?”
Mrs Clayton sighed, that troubled look was back in her eyes again and for some reason I felt a twinge of unease. But no, I told myself. It is not unreasonable to want to meet the person my son talks about nonstop. She couldn’t possibly be that pathologically shy, could she?