No Greater Love

Stephanie Cole is a girl who loves the spotlight. She will do anything to get it, anything at all. But when suspicions arise about her life and her being the cause for a former teachers suicide she is all too quick to run from her love of the light. But when she is reported missing it falls to Detective Inspector Henry Quinton and his DC Wilson Drake to find her before something terrible happens. Soon St. Grandorf's school for girls is back to normal and Stephanie is home again yet when she is found murdered there are a number of suspects for Quinton to look at before he can find the true perpetrator of this terrible crime....

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2. In the beginning

Chapter Two

 

In the beginning…

 

Monday 25TH October.

 

It was my first day at St. Grandorf’s School for girls. Three two hour lessons with one one hour break between lesson two and three.

27B- Latin

Lesson One- 9Am-11Am                Class: G9 Class No. 12

Lesson Two- 11am- 1pm                Class: G12 Class No. 12

Break- 1pm- 2pm                           Class: N/A Class No. N/A

Lesson Three- 2pm-4pm                Class: P3 Class No. 6

 

That was to be my routine for everyday for the next term at least.

 

So, at Nine O’clock sharp I started my first lesson. As the routine file shows it was G9 with a total pupil number of twelve girls in the fourth year. It was rather surprising to me at just how well they knew the great ancient language of Latin. To be truthful, I had planned a lesson which would allow both me and the pupils to establish a concrete base of what to expect from one another.

And to be even more truthful it was surprising at how they took to me. All of them seemed relatively nice and well mannered. 

“Placere egrediar libris vestris.” Immediately twelve exercise books slammed down onto the wooden desktops.

“Iam ergo incipiamus.” They listened to every word I said. None of them looked in the slightest worried or confused, they all understood everything. Finally I felt at home.

 

It was now ten thirty-five. The lesson was in full flow now and (if the truth be told) so was my confidence. I stood at the front of the great room as if I was some sort of politician or someone whom may have something rather important or even slightly relevant to say. For in my personal opinion I am just a man who can speak in another tongue and nothing more. To others I doubt that they would think that, and I don’t disagree with them for thinking that. However what I don’t agree with is the people who think that I’m just another posh boy!

 

I started life in London, Kensington in a small two bed roomed house with my mother and father. My father was the owner of a workshop which helped to create wedding dresses and the like. He had six workers and paid the wages which would amount to 6/4p. A reasonable salary in anyone’s book. My mother was a typical housewife whom for fifteen years had worked in a local factory producing cotton. As you can work out, they were never the Lord or lady of the manor. As for me, I did relatively well at school, grades never dropping below a “B”. In secondary nothing passed below an “A” and so I began my journey to Oxford. It was an opportunity that I could never pass up. After my time was done I began to take the journey to become a tutor. Since Latin had been a particular favourite of mine I decided to take a shot at that. I did it, and I’m so glad that I did it.

 

So no. I’m not just another posh boy! I’m just lucky, incredibly, incredibly lucky.

 

 Lesson two began as much as the first one had begun.

The class came in and (rather suspiciously) silently sat down at the corresponding desks. I can remember it feeling like I was some sort of convict and they were the judge and jury looking up and down at me in utter disgust.

 

“Is there a problem?” It just slipped out. That’s the sort of person that I am, things just slip out without me even realising until it was too late. At this point one rather bold blonde girl stood from behind her desk and cleared her throat.

“Are you in for Mrs. Peters?” She spoke loudly and clearly, clearly she had been taught to do so from an early age.

“I am here because you need a tutor.” At this point I would have thought, or expected the girl to quietly return to her desk. But she didn’t, she just stood there staring at me.

“Is there something else bothering you Mrs….”

“Cole. Stephanie Cole.”

“What is it then Miss. Cole?”

“Do you know why Mrs. Peters left?”

“No.”

“Well she didn’t leave at all really. She was sacked.”

“Oh.” I just wanted to get my lesson started.

“She kept having a bit with one of the pupil’s.”

“That’s quite enough Mrs. Peters!” I suddenly snapped.

“…Now sit down!”

She continued to stare at me. Again I shouted.

“Sit down Miss. Cole!”

Finally she sat down again. I straightened my jacket and cleared my throat. It was the first time I’d ever had to raise my voice to a pupil. But I felt it needed in this situation. And it was this that I told Mr. Barrows when I found myself in his office during the lunch hour break.

It wasn’t the start that I had wanted.

I quickly gulped down the whisky. I placed the empty tumbler onto the desk top. Mr. Barrows waddled over to me.

“Now then Mr. Harrolds.” He murmured as he sat in his big brown leather chair.

“Peter. Please, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine then, Peter.”

“What is it?”

“Lesson two today.”

“Of course. Miss. Cole.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me about a Mrs. Peters.”

“Eva Peters. She was a fantastic Latin tutor, do you know she used to read books that were completely in Latin.”

“Really? Well I wouldn’t say that I would be quite as gifted. But Miss. Cole also told me something else.”

“Eva’s standards began to slip.”

“You mean that she began to have a relationship with a pupil?”

“Yes. I had no choice.”

“But isn’t this an all girls school?”

“Yes.” Barrows looked at me with cold grey eyes.

To say I was stunned would be an understatement.

“Then she was having a relationship with a woman?”

“A girl.” His voice rose slightly.

“So you sacked her?”

“Yes.”

“And what happened after that?”

He took a quick glance at the grandfather clock.

“I think you’d better go.” He stared me straight in the eye.

“What happened?” I got up from my seat. I wanted to know the answer; in fact it felt like I needed to know it.

He sighed slightly as he got up from his chair. I waited, ears pricked up. I was waiting for any sound.

“She killed herself.” He slowly opened the door.

The news shook me to the core. I slowly closed the door.

It was eleven O’clock and I simply couldn’t sleep. I had been tossing and turning in my bed for hours now. It was strange but I was sure that I had heard of this “Eva Peters” before. It had been about two months previous to me leaving Oxford. I could remember the whole campus talking about it. About some teacher killing themselves, and I can remember thinking that it was rather strange that a rather well loved and high placed woman such as Mrs. Peters would risk it all just for some casual fling with a pupil of an all girls school. She threw away a job, a high paying job for that point as well. It wasn’t the fact that she was a homosexual that had bothered me; it was just that the woman had had no sense at all as to at least try to keep the fling under the “carpet” at all.

 

Suddenly something came into my tired and weary mind.

Eva Peters. A long curly haired brunette well developed with long never ending legs and luscious ruby red lips. Eyes as blue as the oceans and a smile as rare as a shooting star. And how did I know this? How could I tell you all of this, in such precise detail about this woman?

It was because of one very simple fact. I had first met Eva at Oxford College; she was bright and magnificently beautiful. We got on well, and after a few weeks we began to get on rather well indeed. The final and painful truth of the matter was this…

Eva Peters had been my first and (so far in my rather lonely and solitary life) love. I had loved her, cherished her and kept her forever. But now she was dead. My first love was dead; it hit me like a tonne of bricks. How could this be? She had been so beautiful and so clever, how could this happen?

And this was my involvement in “The Grand Affair of Aldwick River”. But it wasn’t going to be my full involvement. However, of course I wasn’t to know that. Was I?...

 

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