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A Modern Education
Rosalyn Beauchamp carefully placed one foot in front of the other as her stylish high heels clacked their way down the parquet floor. This gave her a sashaying gait that coupled with her expensive skirt suit made her feel like a model on a catwalk. Judging from the glances of the older boys and masters alike she guessed she also looked the part, and the expression that lightly touched her lips was bordering on smug. At 40 you still have it, she thought, her smile now barely contained by her full pouting lips.

To avoid meeting any male gaze she kept her eyes and nose turned upwards in a gesture of aloofness as if eye-contact might break the spell and give her away as a fraud. It was a posture that drew her glance to the high school windows that were set too far from the ground to see out of. This and the airy wide corridor added to the feeling that the school was turned inwards and remained an elite haven from the world. And so it should be, Rosalyn thought, her step-daughter's school fees certainly cost her enough.

She smelt the old wood and polish, a scent to take her back to her own school days and a building much like this one. The only difference was that her alma mater had no boys. Catherine must be having a high old time, Rosalyn thought, and that was the trouble.

She was just pondering this as she arrived at Catherine's housemaster's study door. Rosalyn's tummy did tumbles as memories came flooding back, and her bottom twitched against the fabric of her D&G pencil skirt. Unconsciously, she fussed with her auburn red hair as if to be certain that it did not reach her collar, but catching herself she pressed her tongue to her cheek and remembered her business.

The door was cold and hard to her knuckles and she still couldn't quite suppress the apprehension of old, perhaps with good reason.

She was admitted by a handsome rugger type pushing 50. His smile was genuine and for once she made an effort to remember his name, as if being bonkable rendered him more significant than being the mere guardian of Catherine's education.

Peter, she thought, her mind in a scrabble. "Mr Trent," she managed, but saying it a shade too quickly.

"Mrs Beauchamp," he said warmly as he ushered her in.

"I hope you don't mind me calling in, I know it isn't really done." She made a grimace. "But I gather our Catherine has been rather troublesome."

Peter Trent pulled a chair from the desk and gestured her to sit. His smile became relaxed and he made a dismissive gesture. "No more so than any other spirited 18-year-old about to leave us," he chuckled. "When faced with their final term these eager young people do tend to jump the gun when it comes to obeying the rules and imagine themselves immune."