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down and chat with them as they reclined on the sofas she’d provided and drank the endless free coffee.
    But she hadn’t needed to make a profit like they did. She hadn’t had a huge mortgage on the place. She’d seen the tutorial college, certainly in the latter part of her life, more as an agreeable social enterprise than a business. For Liz and Jonathan it was different. They needed to rationalize; to start making profits and paying back their debt. And that had to start with the staff. OK, they were all very sad about Miss Hapland’s death. Of course they were. But that didn’t mean, as Jonathan seemed to think it did, that they should all creep around for the first term, pretending nothing had changed. It was better if they started as they meant to go on.
    And although there were disgruntled faces, raised eyebrows and exchanged glances around the room, as Liz waited for her statement to sink in, she thought she could detect something else in the air: an alive, positive feeling. She risked a glance at one of the younger tutors, a sweet young girl who taught German. Her face was bright; her eyes fixed on Liz, waiting for her to continue.
    ‘It should be a very exciting project,’ said Liz, looking straight at her. ‘I’m sure you’ll all have your own thoughts and suggestions on what we should do, and I’m very much looking forward to discussing it.’ The girl blushed, and Liz smiled at her. There. She had at least one ally. And these others would come round when they realized there was more teaching in it for them.
    She risked a little look at Jonathan. He was smiling miserably. Clearly the disgruntled faces had fazed him. For heaven’s sake, couldn’t he get a grip? Why couldn’t he just ignore them, like she did? He was the boss, after all. ‘We also have plans for the Common Entrance coaching department,’ she said, in an encouraging voice. ‘Don’t we. Jonathan? Lots of exciting plans?’
     
    Later on, when they’d all gone, she made him a cup of instant coffee and took it to him in his classroom.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
    ‘What for?’ He was leafing through a book of Latin prose, selecting the first piece to give the five Latin A level retake candidates starting that term. Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres , thought Liz, as she always did when confronted with a page of Latin. That was the first line of her O level Latin set text, which she’d learnt off by heart for the exam, and was almost the only Latin she could remember. It was really amazing, she thought vaguely, peering over Jonathan’s shoulder at the dimly familiar words, that so many young people still chose to learn a dead language when there were so many living, vibrant languages in the world. Then, no, of course it wasn’t at all amazing, she corrected herself hastily. That was the kind of thoughtless, ignorant comment that drove Jonathan mad.
    ‘What a wonderful language,’ she said guiltily; feeling an obscure need to prove herself. ‘I can always see the Italian in it.’ Idiotic remark. What was she trying to say? Oh yes. ‘Jonathan, I’m sorry for taking over at the staff meeting,’ she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘I didn’t mean to monopolize it.’ He looked up at her; his eyes benign and surprised.
    ‘Oh, my lovely, don’t apologize. I thought you were wonderful. Tremendous stuff. You did it much better than I could have done.’ He gave her the wide, lopsided, entirely natural grin which had always charmed schoolboys and parents alike, and Liz’s insides contracted in a strange mixture of affection and relief. Of course, she was surprised to find herself thinking. That’s why I love him. I knew there was something . . .
     
    Daniel Witherstone knew his mother would be waiting eagerly for him as he came out of school on the first day of term. He lingered in the cloakroom for a while with Oliver Fuller, who walked home and could leave when he liked, and would have liked to stay longer in