‘Gimme another shot, will ya, Babe?’ The bejewelled hand, almost feminine in the length and elegance of its tapered fingers, rattled the ice cubes in the empty crystal glass it held out over the back of the leather sofa on which the speaker, on the phone to his broker, reclined.
‘Get it yourself. I’m not your maid,’ was the sullen response.
‘You were before I promoted you,’ came the unperturbed reply. ‘Don’t ever forget that. All that you have and all that you are, honey, is what I made of you. That’s the power of money for you.’
‘That teacher is still waiting to see you.’
‘What teacher?’
‘The blonde. I told you before you went for a swim.’
‘Jeeezus! That was hours ago. Why didn’t you remind me?’
‘Look. I told you. I’m not your maid. I’m going out shopping, and I’m taking the Testarossa.’
‘Do whatever the crap you like, but just go. Christ, this place is a pigsty.’
The door opened finally. A young man familiar to Caroline from newspaper photos, looking uncharacteristically dishevelled and harried came forward to meet her.
‘Miss Judge! What a pleasant surprise. I hope my business partner has not kept you waiting long?’
Caroline resisted the temptation to say she had just seen his business partner rush past in a bikini and a jangle of keys.
‘Not at all. I had some Trollope to read.’
‘Trollop?’ Only later did Caroline realize he must have thought she was reading something salacious.
‘Victorian writer. I’m sorry to trouble you at home, but I could not reach you any other way.’
‘No? Is it urgent?’
‘In a way, yes. I would normally have contacted Colonel Symington, as he is the board chairman, but he is abroad, and his deputy is having a baby. But you probably know this…’
‘No, I didn’t. But I have been so busy…so busy,’ he repeated, as if to convince himself. ’What can I do for you? Would you like a drink?’
‘No, thank you. The matter is a little unusual. It concerns the admission next term to the school of a special pupil, who may be a deserving case.’
‘May be?’
‘Yes. May be. I have not met him, and his eligibility would have to be assessed by an entrance committee, but I know enough of his circumstances to consider a novel approach to the question of his education.’
Anderson did not look interested. ‘What school is he attending at the moment?’ he asked, stifling a yawn.
‘He is enrolled at Las Mercedes de Peruta.’
‘I don’t believe I know that school.’
‘It is a state school. A public school.’
‘I see. A slum school. In a barrio.’
‘I have not seen it, but I expect it is… under-serviced, yes.’
‘Under-serviced. That’s a good one. Are you, by any chance, Miss Judge, a …socialist?’
‘Not that it is relevant, Sr. Anderson, but no, I am a Christian. But you can be both.’
