It's not all that long ago I wrote about being carried away on a new story. In the middle of that one inspiration struck with something completely different. This story is about Anne who takes a teaching job at a boarding school. Naturally, nothing is exactly what it seems, because if it was there wouldn't be a story.
This is a portion of the first - rough - draft where Anne has just arrived to her new home with the headmaster, Brinkley. Poor girl, she has no idea what she's in for. ;-)
Brinkley was animated, so excited Anne thought his mustache might walk off on its own. “Your luggage should be in your new rooms already. I’ll take you there in a minute. You might want to mark where we’re going on your map. Did I give you a map?”
He patted all his pockets and stuck his fingers into them until he finally found a piece of folded parchment.
“Here you go.”
She was still unfolding it when he took off towards the large door again, and she jogged to catch up.
“Headmaster... Mister Brinkley… Sir…”
He showed no signs of hearing her or slowing down. Trying to unfold the map while running made her drop her purse, spilling its contents over the ground.
Dammit. This isn’t starting well.
Her lipstick rolled over the ground to the left and she chased it for a few steps. Behind her someone said, “Sir, you’re losing your girl.”
The slow male voice reminded her of black velvet, but with a sarcastic edge.
Brinkley’s said, “What? Oh. Good heavens.”
Anne ignored them and chased after her jar of moisturizer. It, at least, had the good sense to roll towards the castle. It came to rest under the toes of a black boot.
“Stop that. As amusing as it is to see a woman on her knees before me I doubt this is a good use of your time.”
She looked up a very long leg dressed in black pants, a black shirt, and into a handsome but unemotional face framed with shoulder length dark hair. From her angle the owner of the voice seemed very tall, and he didn’t look amused at all.
If anything, he looked bored.
Why does a man have that hair? Not fair. I want it.
He held a bunch of her pens in one hand, along with her iPad mini dangling between two fingers, but offered his free hand to pull her up.
He was tall even when she stood in high-heeled boots. Must be well over six feet to tower over her like that.
He dropped her things in her purse and Brinkley said, “Thank you David. Anne, this is Professor Lindeman. David, this is miss Anne Doyle, our new expert in ancient languages.”
She smiled. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure.” He sounded like she’s told him to eat two pounds of lemons.
Brinkley clapped his hands together.
“Excellent. Do you have everything? Let’s go.”