He looked around to see Amy standing in the open doorway.

'Is sir coming out to play?' she asked.

'You asking me to?'

'Who am I to be proud?' Amy strolled into the classroom, her hair tied back into a tight bun in an attempt to render her schoolmarmish. To Childes, it only heightened her sensuality, as did her light green, high-buttoned dress, for he knew beyond the disguise. 'Your eyes look sore,' she remarked, quickly looking back at the open doorway, then pecking his cheek when she saw it was clear.

He resisted the urge to pull her tight. 'How was your day?'

'Don't ask. I took drama.' She shuddered. 'D'you know what play they want to put on for end-of-term?'

He dropped papers into his briefcase and snapped it shut. 'Tell me.'

'Dracula. Can you imagine Miss Piprelly allowing it? I'm frightened even to put forward the suggestion.'

He chuckled. 'Sounds like a good idea. Beats the hell out of Nicholas Nickleby again.'

'Fine, I'll tell her Dracula has your support.'

'I'm just an outsider, not a full member of staff. My opinion doesn't count.'

'You think mine does? Our headmistress may not be the Ayatollah in person, but I'm certain there's a family connection somewhere.'

He shook his head, smiling. 'She's not so bad. A little over-anxious about the school's image, maybe, but it's understandable. For such a small island, you're kind of heavy on private schools.'

'That comes with being a tax haven. You're right, though: competition is fierce, and the college's governing body never lets us forget it. I do have some sympathy for her, even though . . .'

They were suddenly aware of a figure in the doorway.

'Did you forget something, Jeanette?' Childes asked, wondering how long she had been standing there.

The girl looked shyly at him. 'Sorry, sir. I think I left my fountain pen on the bench.'

'All right, go ahead and look.'

Head bowed, Jeanette walked into the room with short, quick steps. A sallow-complexioned girl with dark eyes, who one day might be pretty, Jeanette was petite for her age; her hair was straggly long, not yet teased into any semblance of style. The jacket of her blue uniform was one size too large, shrinking her body within even more, and there was a timidity about her that Childes found disarming and sometimes faintly exasperating.

She searched around the computer she had been using, Amy watching with a trace of a smile, while Childes set about unplugging the machines from the mains. Jeanette appeared to be having no luck and finally stared forlornly at the computer as though it had mysteriously swallowed up the missing article.

'No joy?' Childes asked, approaching her section of the bench and stooping to reach the plug beneath.

'No, sir.'

'Ah, I'm not surprised. It's on the floor here.' Kneeling, he offered up the wayward pen.

Solemnly, and avoiding his eyes, Jeanette took it from him. 'Thank you,' she said, and Childes was surprised to see her blush. She hurried from the room.

He pulled the plug and stood. 'What are you smiling about?' he asked Amy.

'The poor girl's got a crush on you.'

'Jeanette? She's just a kid.'

'In a girls-only school, many of them fulltime boarders, any halfway decent-looking male is bound to receive some attention. You haven't noticed?'

He shrugged. 'Maybe one or two have given me some funny looks, but I a what d'you mean halfway decent-looking?'

Smiling, Amy grabbed his arm and led him towards the door. 'Come on, school's out and I could use some relaxation. A short drive and a long gin and tonic with lots of ice before I go home for dinner.'

'More guests?'

'No, just family for a change. Which reminds me: you're invited to dinner this weekend.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'Daddy had a change of heart?'

'Uh-uh, he still despises you. Let's call it Mother's influence.'

'That's pretty heartwarming.'

She looked up at him and pulled a face, squeezing his arm before releasing it as they went out into the corridor. On the stairway to the lower floor she was aware of surreptitious appraisal by several pupils, a few nudged elbows here and there. She and Jon were strictly formal with each other in the presence of others on school grounds, but a shared car was enough to set tongues wagging.

They reached the large glass entrance doors of the building, a comparatively new extension housing the science laboratories, music and language rooms, and separated from the main college by a circular driveway with a lawned centre. In the middle, a statue of La Roche's founder stared stoically at the principal white building as if counting every head that entered its portals. Girls hurried across the open space, either towards the carpark at the rear of the college where parents waited, or to dormitories and rest-rooms in the south wing, their chatter unleashed after such long restraint. The salt tang of sea air breezing over the clifftops was a welcome relief from the shared atmosphere of the classroom and Childes inhaled deeply as he and Amy descended the short flight of concrete steps leading from the annexe.

'Mr Childes! Can you spare a moment?'

They both groaned inwardly when they saw the headmistress waving at them from across the driveway.

'I'll catch you up,' he murmured to Amy, acknowledging Miss Piprelly with a barely raised hand.

'I'll wait by the tennis courts. Remember, you're bigger than her.'

'Oh yeah, who says?'

They parted, Childes taking a direct path over the round lawn towards the waiting headmistress, her frown informing him that he really should have walked around. Childes could only describe Miss Piprelly as a literally 'straight' woman: she stood erect, rarely relaxed, and her features were peculiarly angular, softening curves hardly in evidence. Even her short, greying hair was rigidly swept back in perfect parallel to the ground, and her lips had a thinness to them that wasn't exactly mean, but looked as if all humour had been ironed from them long ago. The square frames of her spectacles were in resolute harmony with her physical linearity. Even her breasts refused to rebel against the general pattern and Childes had sometimes wondered if they were battened down by artificial means. In darker moments, the thought crossed his mind that there were none.

It hadn't taken long, in fact, to find that Estelle Piprelly, MA (Cantab), MEd, ABPsS, was not as severe as the caricature suggested, although she had her moments.

'What can I do for you, Miss Piprelly?' he asked, standing beside her on the entrance step.

'I know it may seem premature to you, Mr Childes, but I'm trying to organize next term's curriculum. I'm afraid it's necessary for parents of prospective pupils, and our governing body insists that it's finalized well before the summer break. Now, I wondered if you could spare us more of your time in the autumn term. It appears that computer studies a mistakenly, to my way of thinking a have become something of a priority nowadays.'

'That could be a little awkward. You know I have the other colleges, Kingsley and de Montfort.'

'Yes, but I also know you still have a certain amount of free time available. Surely you could fit in just a few more hours a week for us?'

How did you explain to someone like Miss Piprelly, who lived and breathed her chosen profession, that the work ethic was not high on his priorities? Not any more. Things had changed within him. Life had changed.

'An extra afternoon, Mr Childes. Could we say Tuesdays?' Her stern gaze defied refusal.

'Let me give it some thought,' he replied, and sensed her inner bristling.

'Very well, but I really must have the first draft curriculum completed by the end of the week.'

'I'll let you know on Thursday.' He tried a smile, but was annoyed at the apology in his own voice.

Her short sigh was one of exasperation and sounded like a huff. 'On Thursday then.'

He was dismissed. No more words, no 'Good day'. He just wasn't there any more. Miss Piprelly was calling to a group of girls who had made the mistake of following his route across the hallowed lawn. He turned away, feeling somehow that he was sloping off, and had to make an effort to put some briskness into his stride.

Estelle Piprelly, having reproved the errant girls (a task that for her needed very few words and a barely raised voice), returned her attention to the retreating figure of the peripatetic teacher. He walked with shoulders slightly hunched forward, studying the ground before him as if planning each footfall, a youngish man who sometimes seemed unusually wearied. No, wearied was the wrong word. There was sometimes a shadow behind his eyes that was haunted, an occasional glimpse of some latent anxiety.

Her brow furrowed a more parallel lines a and her fingers plucked unconsciously at a loose thread on her sleeve.

Childes disturbed her and she could not reason why. His work was excellent, meticulous, and he appeared to be popular with the pupils, if not a trace too popular with some. His specialist knowledge was a useful addition to the prospectus and without doubt he relieved a partial burden from her overloaded science teachers. Yet, although she had requested extra lessons of him because of the governing body's dictum, something in his presence made her uneasy.

A long, long time ago, when she herself had been no more than a child and the German forces had occupied the island as a spearhead for their attack on the mainland of England, she had felt a pervading air of destruction around her. Not uncommon in those tragic warring times, but years later she realized that she possessed a higher degree of awareness than most. Nothing dramatic, nothing mediumistic or clairvoyant, just an acute sensing. It had become subdued yet never relinquished with the passing of time, the pragmatism of her chosen career, but in those early days she had seen death in the faces of many of those German soldiers, an unnatural foreboding in their countenance, in their mood.

In a more confusing way, she sensed it in Childes. Although he was now gone from view, Miss Piprelly shivered.

As he returned from the hotel bar with the drinks, weaving his way round the garden tables and chairs, Amy was releasing her hair at the back so that it fell into a ponytail, an old style transformed through her into something chic. There was a subtle elegance to Amy that was inborn rather than studied and, not for the first time, Childes thought she looked anything but a schoolteacher a at least not the type who had ever taught him.

Her skin appeared almost golden in the shadow of the table's canopy, her pale green eyes and lighter wisps of hair curling over her ears heightening the effect. As usual, she wore the minimum of make-up, a proclivity that often made her resemble some of the girls she instructed, her small breasts, just delicate swellings, hardly spoiling the illusion. Yet at twenty-three, eleven years younger than himself, she possessed a quiet maturity that he was in just a little wonder of; it was not always evident, for there was also a tantalizing innocence about her that enhanced the pubescent impression even more. The combination was often confusing, for she was unaware of her own qualities and the moods could quickly change. Amy's slender and mockingly desperate fingers reached for the glass as he approached and early-evening sunlight struck her hand, making it glow a lighter gold.

'If only Miss Piprelly knew she had a lush on her staff,' he remarked, passing the gin and tonic to her.

She allowed the glass to tremble in her grasp as she brought it to her lips. 'If only Pip knew half her staff were inebriates. And she's the cause.'

Childes sat opposite so that he could watch her, sacrificing closeness for the pleasure of eye contact. 'Our headmistress wants me to put in more time at the school,' he said, and Amy's sudden smile warmed him.

'Jon, that would be lovely.'

'I'm not so sure. I mean, yes, great to see more of you, but when I came here I was opting out of the rat race, remember?'

'It's hardly that. This is a different civilization to the one you were used to.'

'Yeah, another planet. But I've got used to the easy pace, afternoons when I can go walking, or diving, or just plain snoozing on the beach. At last I've found time to think.'

'Sometimes you do too much thinking.'

The mood change.

He looked away. 'I said I'd let her know.'

Humour came back to Amy's voice. 'Coward.'

Childes shook his head. 'She makes me feel like a ten-year-old.'

'Her bark isn't as bad as her bite. I'd do as she asks.'

'Some help you are.'

She placed her glass between them. 'I'd like to think I am. I know you spend too much time on your own and perhaps a bigger commitment to the college might be what you need.'

'You know how I feel about commitments.'

A look passed between them.

'You have one to your daughter.'

He sipped his beer.

'Let's lighten up,' he said, after a while. 'It's been a long day.'

Amy smiled, but her eyes were still troubled. She reached for his hand and stroked his fingers, masking more serious thoughts with bright banter. 'I think Pip would consider it quite a coup to have you on the staff full-time.'

'She only wants me for an extra afternoon.'

'Two and a half days of your time now, tomorrow your soul.'

'You were supposed to be encouraging me.'

Her expression was mischievous. 'Just letting you know it's useless to resist. Others have tried,' she added, her voice deepening ominously, making him grin.

'Strangely enough, she has been giving me some peculiar looks lately.'

'Working her voodoo.'

He relaxed back in the chair. A few more people were wandering out into the hotel's beer garden, drinks in hand, taking advantage of a welcome relief from the preceding weeks of cold drizzle. A huge, furry bee hovered over nearby azaleas, its drone giving notice of the warmer months to come. Until recently, he had felt close to finding his peace on the island. The easy-going lifestyle, the pleasant nature of the island itself, Amy a beautiful Amy a his own self-imposed occasional solitude, had brought a balance to his existence, a steadiness far removed from the frenetic pace of the constantly changing microchip world, a career in and around the madding city, a wife who had once loved him, but who had later been in fear of . . . of what? Something neither of them understood.

Psychic power. An inconsistent curse.

'Who's serious now?'

He stared blankly at Amy, her question breaking into his thoughts.

'You had that faraway look, the kind I should be getting used to by now,' she said. 'You weren't just day-dreaming.'

'No, just thinking back.'

'It's in the past and best kept that way, Jon.'

He nodded, unable to explain it to himself. Unsure of the creeping uneasiness he had felt since the nightmare two weeks ago.

She rested her folded arms on the table. 'Hey, you haven't given me an answer yet.' She frowned at his puzzled expression. 'My dinner invitation: you haven't said you'll come.'

'Do I have a choice?' For the moment the bad thoughts had retreated, vanquished by Amy's wickedly innocent smile.

'Of course. You can either accept or be deported. Daddy hates bad manners.'