Chapter 7
The next day heralded a visitor from a North Island catering college and Miss Henrietta Dawlish arrived on the dot of twelve o’clock, in plenty of time to set up in the common room. Anka phoned Hana from reception, holding her hand over the receiver. “That massive woman’s here,” she stage-whispered. “She’s even bigger than last year.”
Anka pulled a face from behind the counter as Hana glided downstairs and shook Miss Dawlish’s meaty hand. Then Hana’s friend turned her attention to a dying student bearing the hallmarks of ‘Sickness-of-PE-Disease.’ He gripped the counter and gesticulated towards the sick bay. “I’m not ringing your parents again!” Anka exclaimed. “You’ll have to do PE at some point in the next five years.”
“How many boys do we have this year?” Miss Dawlish asked. “Last year saw a tremendous turnout. Nobody enrolled though; very strange.”
“A few boys expressed an interest,” Hana lied and fixed a smile onto her lips. Miss Dawlish’s talks were dull, although the previous year a rainstorm provided the incentive to sit indoors. The boys grew bored when they realised Miss Dawlish intended to talk about food and not actually provide any. “She ate ‘em herself,” one boy remarked. “Then she ate the baker.”
“Such a long way up,” Miss Dawlish puffed, hauling herself up the stairs and clinging feverishly to the banister. Her mound of fluffy hair breached the last step, attached to her nodding and perspiring head. She reached her destination gasping and pretended to look through the floor length windows. “More stairs than last year,” she grumbled, forcing Hana to halt in surprise. She showed no real interest in the panoramic views of the rugby, soccer and cricket fields, but used the time to catch her breath and mop her damp brow.
“I’ll fetch you a glass of water,” Hana offered, wincing at the spreading sweat stain under the woman’s armpits. “Just wait there for a moment; I’ll be quick.” She hovered in the doorway for a second, wondering if she should get the designated first aider as Miss Dawlish heaved in giant breaths and shuddered on her tiny feet.
Making for the water cooler, Hana noticed Peter North sitting on the veranda picking fluff from his belly button. Hana groaned. He’d forgotten the sixty curious male occupants watching from their study period in the Year 13 common room. Anka wandered in for her lunch break and Hana called to her. “Can you stop Pete from making a fool of himself? The Year 13s are watching him through the window again.”
Anka strode towards the balcony doors, turning to give Hana a wink. “Call me on my mobile phone if you need the defibrillator for your guest. It’s in my office.” She stepped out onto the balcony and Hana heard her loud rebuke, “Pete you dirty pig, stop that! No! Don’t eat it!”
Miss Dawlish stood in the same spot when Hana returned, but her breathing sounded regular. Hana sighed with relief. “Through here,” she said, indicating the doors to the common room. “Start setting your data projector up and I’ll grab an extension cord from the office.”
Hana scrabbled around in the corner cupboard, bending to reveal a curvaceous pair of legs as she searched for the cord. “Come on, I know you’re here somewhere,” she muttered to herself.
“Nice legs,” Pete commented as he ambled into the room behind her. “Shame about the face.”
“Shame about your face!” Hana retorted, yanking hard on the tangled spaghetti of cables and plugs. She stood up and rounded on Pete, brushing her curls away from her face while clinging to the extension cable. Gulping, she faced a victorious Pete and the grey-eyed English teacher.
“What about my face?” Pete demanded. “It’s lovely.” He stroked his own cheek and Hana grimaced as he found a spot and began to pick at it.
“Nothing.” She inhaled. “Nothing at all.” Her gaze flicked towards Logan and she watched his eyes narrow as they caressed the cut to her lip. Anger flashed across his face, leaving a trail of heightened colour. Hana pulled the neck scarf closer to hide the horrid marks on her throat, self-consciousness blossoming. Logan’s lips parted as though desperate to question her, but Hana evaded his piercing grey eyes with painful deliberateness. Between them the men blocked the door to the common room and Hana felt panic flutter in her breast at Logan’s magnetic proximity. His familiar Māori authority snaked across the room towards her, enveloping her in his mana, the ethereal sense of power which came with tribal leadership. Instinct told her that within his culture, he held great importance to someone.
“Who’s the hottie out there, aye?” Pete asked, jerking his chin upwards. Hana looked at him in confusion and Logan Du Rose peered at his friend, his lips parting in surprise.
“What? Who?” Hana said.
“Woman out there bending over.” To Hana’s horror, Pete held cupped hands up to his chest and wiggled his fingers in a graphical display. “Gorgeous!”
Hana’s mouth gaped open and the English teacher turned away and rubbed his hand over his face, his shoulders shaking. His white shirt rustled against strong biceps, the material sumptuous and expensive. Hana narrowed her eyes as she heard him stifle a snort.
She looked at Pete, misunderstanding. “Sorry, who’s gorgeous?” Miss Dawlish’s shambling mound didn’t seem to qualify as a ‘hottie’ and Hana assumed she’d missed someone else’s arrival.
“Oh, there you are. Do you have that cable?” Miss Dawlish popped her broad face around the door and the look of pure lust on Peter North’s weathered face, left Hana feeling nauseous.
As Miss Dawlish simpered into the cramped room through the front door, the English teacher headed for the back. His tall, muscular shape slid past Hana with incredible grace. “See ya,” he said, his fingers brushing her wrist. His full lips suited the look of amusement, banishing his customary severity. “Who knew?” he whispered, raising an eyebrow in Pete’s direction. “True love in the strangest of places.”
Hana gulped and swallowed, sensing great weight in the statement. She’d sampled true love. Sampled and lost it. She pressed herself against the cupboard, feeling the sharp edges of the shelves against the backs of her legs. A shutter crashed down over her emotions, not liking her attraction to Logan Du Rose or the suspicion that she might be at the centre of an awful joke. He sensed her sudden reticence and a frown crossed his expression. His reassuring smile melted Hana’s insides, an awkward, lop-sided motion which showed lovely teeth and defined cheekbones. Hana felt the aching pang in her stomach, a craving to be held and loved. She bit her lip in confusion, but by the time she looked up he’d gone.
Behind her, Henrietta Dawlish warmed to the appraising smile of Peter North and they stood in front of each other like blind date contestants.
“Excuse me. Please excuse me.” Hana squeezed between them to retrieve her evaluation sheets from the desk. “I’ll hand these out so the boys can rate your talk afterwards.”
Pete snatched for one and missed as Hana pulled them away. “But I want to rate her now.”
“Not that kind of rating,” Hana hissed.
“I’m Henrietta.” The woman smiled with encouragement at the sports teacher and he rose to the occasion.
North’s chat up lines were basic and often invited a slap at staff parties, but Hana gave him ten out of ten for persistence. “Do you come here often?”
Hana kept her eyes facing the carpet to hide her snigger as he worked up to asking Henrietta to look at his etchings. Or worse. The one which achieved the most slaps was...
“They tell me I’m hung like a...”
“Pete!” Hana screamed. Miss Dawlish jumped. “Get the boys ready for Miss Dawlish, please?”
Henrietta assumed a ballerina pose and acted like a horse in season, sticking her proverbial tail in the air as invitation. Hana brandished the power cable like a bucket of water over amorous dogs, thrusting it between them without looking. Both reached out for it, missed and let it clatter to the floor. Hana used the diversion to say one more, “Excuse me.” She escaped to the common room to greet the few boys who used their lunch hour to learn abou
t the school for hotel management.
Twenty boys graced the common room to hear Miss Dawlish. She proved scintillating and entertaining. Sheila appeared towards the end and waggled her eyebrows at the laughing boys hanging off Henrietta’s every word. “Is this the same woman as last year?” she whispered and Hana nodded.
“I know! You wouldn’t think so.”
“I wish I’d supervised her talk now. It’s that crusty chap from the student loan office tomorrow,” Sheila sulked. “I should make you sit and listen to him as punishment.”
Hana grinned in victory and watched Henrietta answer questions about fees and food science. Three Year 12s signed up for more information and a Year 13 seemed keen to join at the end of the year. “That went well.” Hana sounded impressed as she congratulated Henrietta. She dodged sideways and slapped Peter North’s hand as he reached for an enrolment pack. “No. You can’t go, you’re too old. Sort out Miss Dawlish’s belongings for her please. And don’t steal anything!”