Eleanor Scott sat in the pleasantly comfortable sitting room on the second floor of the principal’s house, a glass of Scotch and water in her hand, looking quizzically at her friend Rosalind. It was late Friday afternoon, the nadir of Rosalind’s life. Her usually bright-eyed, somewhat malicious expression was beginning to look dangerous. Heaven help anyone, thought Eleanor, parent or student, who impinged on her existence right now. Even her exquisitely tailored silk blouse and pale linen suit were looking the worse for wear. It was odd that Roz had gone to the trouble to coax her over here on such a bad day.

“You’re looking a bit frazzled, Roz,” she commented cautiously. “You should come over to my place and get away from all this. It’s nice and quiet—Heather’s off with her daddy. And then when the roof caves in over the gym or the cops raid the residence, nobody would be able to find you.”

“Thanks for the thought, El,” she said wearily, “but I couldn’t move an inch to save my soul. And besides, it’s not that bad. I had a new phone installed up here with a bell that shuts off.” She put her elegant, well-tanned legs up on a small needlepoint-covered stool and dropped her head back on the chair in an attitude of total collapse. “But you’re basically right. If anything more happens, I think I’ll quit, or have a nervous breakdown. That would brighten up their lives, wouldn’t it?”

Eleanor tried to laugh at the strained effort at wit. “I don’t see what could possibly be that bad right now, though. I would have thought that everyone would be calm and happy after two weeks of sun and sand.” Roz raised her head and then an eyebrow in her friend’s direction. “And you should be looking more rested than you do, considering. I thought you were spending the break in Tortola. With Maurice.”

“I did,” she said, with a yawn. “Or at least eight days of it. But he had to get back early, and so I stupidly came back with him.” Maurice was the one aspect of Rosalind Johnson’s life that she managed to keep away from the constant surveillance conducted by six hundred intensely curious students. “Anyway, the break didn’t help. Things are worse now than they were when I left. I’m not sure that I can stand it anymore.” She finished her drink and wandered over to the sideboard to get another, leaving her shoes halfway across the intervening area. “First of all, one of the girls is going to get murdered. I know it, and I can’t convince them that it’s a serious threat. They just give me that ‘Oh God, here she goes again’ look and switch off. And if one more teacher leaves in mid-year to have a baby I think I’ll scream.”

“Who is it this time?”

“Physics. You’d think there’d be a million of them out there looking for jobs, wouldn’t you? Well, there aren’t. There may not be many teaching jobs open, but there sure as hell aren’t any physicists hanging around looking for half a year’s work. The one I finally managed to get is an absolute disaster. She’s a sadist, and she’s always late. You don’t know anyone who can teach physics, do you? And is in need of a job? I’d do it myself—it can’t be that hard—but no one is stupid enough to take on this job from now until the end of June.” Roz laughed ruefully over her glass, “And if something doesn’t happen pretty soon to smooth everything over, I’ll have to find another science head. Cassandra is going crazy.” She sighed. “Oh, well. I could be worse off, I suppose. At least I don’t have a rash of resignations to cope with—yet.” At that she spilled some Scotch on her pale pink silk blouse. “Damn,” she said, dabbing ineffectually at it. “Look at me. Anyway, you’re wondering why I called you over. I think it was partly because I felt like talking to someone who has nothing to do with educating the young, and partly to discuss business. Do you remember old Cufflinks?”

“Good Lord! Miss Links. You’re not going to tell me that she’s still alive! She must have been ninety when she was teaching me geometry.”

“Not quite. But she was over seventy when she retired fifteen years ago. Well, she died last year and left us her house.”

“My God! Why?” Eleanor tried to imagine a circumstance in which she would consider leaving anything valuable to her present employers, Webb and McLeod, Real Estate, pleasant though they were. She couldn’t.

“She didn’t have much family, apparently, or at least, family that counted. I think there was an unpleasant nephew, or something like that, and she preferred to see us get the property. After all, she taught here for forty years. Anyway, the board has decided that we don’t really have much use for a house in North Toronto, and that, rather than rent it out any longer, we should put it on the market. Would you like to handle it for us? I told them you’d be able to look after it all without having to have your hand held constantly. That’s what’s killing us about the rental agents. They drive the business manager crazy with phone calls.”

“Aren’t you a sweetheart! I could use some extra business right now. How about pouring me another drink, too, and telling me something about this house. Like the inflated price the board thinks it’s going to get for it.”

Roz shook her head as she headed for the Scotch. “You can worry about the house later. Divert me with some interesting gossip now that I’ve spilled all the secrets and scandals of my existence to you. What’s new in your life?” She handed Eleanor a replenished glass.

“In that sense, nothing.” Eleanor shrugged with an exaggerated grimace. “Absolutely nothing new or interesting at all. In fact, I’ve been forced to take up health and fitness in my spare time these days.”

“My God, whatever for? That’s something I preach at the girls, but I certainly wouldn’t want my friends to go in for it. What are you doing? Let me warn you, if it’s all that jazz dancing and stuff, I have a staff member who tried it and she’s limping around in a brace.”

“Uh-uh.” Eleanor shook her head in vigorous denial. “I’m running two slow miles every day, and I’ve joined a health club. I’m working out on weight machines.” She flexed a bicep in Roz’s direction.

“Good Lord, Eleanor. What an idiot! I’d never have believed it of you,” she said, lifting one neatly shaped eyebrow.

“Come on, Roz. I had to do something. I couldn’t climb up to my apartment without panting. I was going to have to stop selling anything but bungalows in case I couldn’t make it up the stairs.”

“But weight-lifting! It sounds absolutely ghastly.”

“It’s really not as awful as it sounds. Lots of cute young male creatures there—you know, the very nice but serious types. The other women are pretty snarky, though. I said something quite innocuous to someone in the locker room the first day I was there and she bit my head off.”

“Probably thought you were making a pass at her.”

“Good God! I suppose you’re right. Well, I’ll just have to be very circumspect while changing, I guess. You should try it, though. Then when some kid gets lippy, you can pick her up and throw her out the window. I’m sure Maurice would love you with sleek, rippling muscles.”

“What a disgusting thought,” said Roz, stretching out one perfectly formed leg in front of her, and eying it critically. “And just where are you doing all this running? Not out there on the streets, I hope. At least, not all by yourself. I’d hate to have to find another real estate agent because your mangled corpse was found in a park somewhere. Seriously, you know, it isn’t safe.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Eleanor, with an involuntary shudder. “First of all, I don’t run down in the ravine and places like that. I stick to the sidewalks out here. And I’m much too tall to tempt him—everybody knows he likes his women short.”

“Well, maybe so,” said Roz, shaking her head dubiously, “but that kid up at AGS was a pretty athletic type, agile, strong, and fast on her feet—a demon field-hockey player and it didn’t do her any good. Of course, at that age, they really think they’re immortal and they’re not very cautious. But I do wish you’d be careful—otherwise I’m going to have to come out and keep you company, God forbid.”