Joey took a deep breath. “Miss Seymour,” she said with dignity, “We seem to have got off on the wrong foot. I will pass over your comments about my books and my ability to train my dog, and we will get on with the next part of the interview.”
“That would be a good idea,” replied Miss Seymour coldly.
“Now, the Chalet School was started by my sister Madge, now Lady Russell, so I was its first pupil. The girls call me one of the ‘foundation stones’ as I was here in the ‘dark ages’”.
Miss Seymour shifted slightly in her seat. Where was this going?
“We started out in the Tirol, in Austria, have you ever been there? It’s a wonderful place, we have a holiday home there you know,” continued Joey without pause.
Miss Seymour shifted again. This was all in the prospectus, why was this silly woman reciting it all to her? When would they get to the questions? Joey continued to talk. “Then the Nazis took over and we were forced to flee Austria for our lives, although I was able to write ‘Nancy meets a Nazi’ as a result, have you read it?”
Miss Seymour shook her head wearily. Would this woman ever stop talking?
“Then we reached Guernsey, and I was able to marry my doctor, and then I gave birth to my triplet daughters. Sorry, is your chair uncomfortable?” asked Joey, realising she could not ignore the shifting and sighing of Miss Seymour anymore.
Miss Seymour stood up. “Miss Bettany, or what ever your name is, when are you actually going to interview me for the post of either teacher or doctor’s wife? Because as far as I can see this conversation is completely pointless.”
Joey opened her mouth in disbelief, and for once no words came out, just incoherent spluttering.
“Well?” asked Miss Seymour. “It has been a very long day and I really would like to get to the point of this interview.”
Joey continued to splutter in shock. Miss Seymour headed towards the door, “I think this interview is over, don’t you? Oh, and by the way, have you never considered a different haircut? You can’t imagine how silly you look with those two Danish pastries clamped to your head.” And on that note Miss Seymour flung open the door, and walked straight into Rosalie who had not had time to move away from the door. Miss Seymour raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Do I really want a doctor this much?” she muttered as she stalked back to the room where Miss Nelson was waiting
At the sanatorium another interview was about to take place. Gazing at his reflection in the mirror Dr Buon, flicked his hair into place, he used a wet comb to make sure it stayed there. He looked at his reflection once more. “How will they resist me?” he said to his reflection, “I’m tall, dark haired, with lovely dark eyes. I’m fit, healthy, I earn a good wage. Those teachers should be paying me to just be seen with them. Thank god for that nose job” Dr Buon smirked at his reflection and then left the room to go to his interview with the two headmistresses of the Chalet School. As he entered the room where the interviews were to take place he did not notice Dr Graves settling down outside the door, with a note book at the ready.
“Ladies,” said Dr Buon, in his most suave manner, “what a pleasure to meet you.” And leaning over he kissed their hands, in what he considered to be a very charming fashion. He sat down in the comfortable arm chair, and glanced pointedly at the tea tray.
“Would you like a cup of tea,” simpered Miss Wilson.
“Milk, no sugar,” replied Dr Buon.
“How would you like a cake to go with it?” asked Miss Annersley sweetly.
Miss Wilson glanced at Miss Annersley. Miss Annersley rolled her eyes at Miss Wilson. Miss Wilson leant forwards with the cup of tea, it rocked unsteadily in the saucer, the cup began to slip, it looked like it was going to land in Dr Buon’s lap.
Miss Adams opened her eyes. Realisation hit her, she was still in the cave of the yeti, she had not escaped. Miss Adams moved, but her arm appeared to be strapped across her chest. She frowned, trying to remember. Oh yes, the escape attempt, the fall, her arm breaking. But who had bandaged it up? Surely it wasn’t the yeti? Struggling, Miss Adams sat up, and found herself gazing into the face of the yeti. It opened its mouth and revealed its teeth, was it going to eat her? After a moment Miss Adams realised that the Yeti was smiling at her. “Err...hello?” she ventured.
“Hello,” replied the Yeti.
“Did you fix my arm?” she said in surprise.
“Yes,” said the Yeti.
“Um… are you actually a yeti?” she asked.
“No,” replied the Yeti sheepishly, “I’m actually a doctor.”
“Then why are you living in a cave in the mountains dressed as a yeti?”
“It’s a long story,” replied the Doctor Yeti.
All eyes were on the cup of tea as it slid slowly towards the Doctors lap. Then, when it seemed that Dr Buon was about to get a hot tea bath, he shot out his hand and grabbed the cup.
“Sorry,” smirked Miss Wilson.
“Good reactions,” said Miss Annersley glancing at Miss Wilson. Dr Buon glared at them both. Without his ‘charming’ smile his features were actually quite weak looking, and the quick movement to save the tea had disordered his hair.
“Try to be more careful in future,” he said irritably, “I hope you train the wives better than that.”
“Our Mistresses are competent in everything they do,” replied Miss Annersley lightly, although a careful observer would have noticed that her eyes had flashed a steely grey.
“Now I think we should move onto the interview don’t you?” suggested Miss Wilson.
Miss Seymour strode down the hallowed corridors of the Chalet School, her fury building up the further she walked. What a ridiculous place this was. Why couldn’t they have normal interviews instead of these asinine tests? Well, she had had it. She booted open the door of the room she had been staying in, packed her things hurriedly, but neatly, and gathering up her case stormed down to the office. She delivered a lecture to Rosalie, which she never bettered and then demanded her ticket home. Rosalie complied, smiling cunningly. Once Miss Seymour had vanished Rosalie picked up her phone and made a call.
“Dr Buon, you are faced with a storm, a mistress with a broken ankle, and 40 girls in a hut. What do you do?” demanded Miss Wilson suddenly.
“Dr Buon, you are treating a case of smallpox when you realise that three chalet school girls are talking to one of the children of the infected people. What do you do?” asked Miss Annersley sharply.
“Umm… Well… err…What were they doing out without a teacher?” offered Dr Buon optimistically.
“Wrong answer,” snapped Nell.
“What type of car do you drive?”
“A small sports car,” replied Dr Buon in some confusion.
“How many girls with their cases could you fit into it?” responded Miss Annersley promptly.
“Wrong answer,” said Hilda.
“How many brothers or sisters do you have?”
“Answer the question.”
“None. I am an only child.”
“So is there any history of multiple births in your family?”
“Oh dear. What about family feuds? Has your family had any of those, resulting in one branch of the family leaving the country and losing all contact?”
“No! We are a very close family. Look here, can I ask what the point of these questions is?”
“No,” said Miss Wilson.
“How much did your nose job cost you?” asked Miss Annersley.
“£200…Hang on! I haven’t had a nose job!”
“Really? The please explain this photo of your younger self and this medical bill,” smiled Miss Wilson proffering them to him. Dr. Buon seized them and threw them into the fire. He grinned at Hilda and Nell.
“We have copies,” said Hilda. Dr. Buon went white.
“Interview over,” said Nell. She and Hilda got up and walked out of the room, winking at Dr Graves as they walked by. Dr Graves walked into the room, opening the cupboard he revealed Jack Maynard. Together they faced Dr. Buon.
“Sorry old chap, but you failed the interview. Here is your ticket home,” said Jack.
“What do you mean? I paid a lot of money for this!”
“Your nose?” asked Dr Graves, “Well I think you were ripped off.”
“Not my nose! The trip out here.”
“Too bad,” replied Jack handing over the ticket.
“You are going to regret this!” yelled Dr Buon as he stormed out of the room. Suddenly his head appeared round the door, “And by the way Dr Maynard, your wife needs a haircut, she looks like she has two Danish pastries clamped to her head.”
Jack turned to Phil, “I think you need to make a phone call.”
Phil ginned, “I agree,” and off he went to phone the same number that Rosalie had phoned about Miss Seymour.