Alice-Miranda Takes the Lead by Jacqueline Harvey

the subject again.
    A few months ago Smedley had heard about a new agency that was recruiting and had been stupid enough to read the ad aloud to her. ‘Models required! All ages, sizes, shapes and talents welcome.’
    September had gone very white for a moment and then flown into a blistering red rage. ‘You might as well say I’m a fat old cow with a head like a robber’s dog! Is that what you mean, Smedley?’ she had screamed.
    â€˜No darling, of course not. It’s just that, well, you’re not quite the little thing you were before the children, now are you? And I hear there’s very good money in catalogue work for the more mature lady.’
    Smedley had dug himself a hole that took two whole months to get out of. No end of flowers and shoes, and shoes and handbags, and handbags and flowers had been able to thaw September’s icy mood until one day he walked into the kitchen and threw a set of car keys on the bench.
    â€˜For you, darling.’ He looked at the keys and glanced up at his wife.
    â€˜If you think getting my car washed is going to see you back in the good books, Smedley Sykes, then you’re even thicker than I thought.’
    â€˜Have a look at the keys, my lovely,’ Smedley cooed. ‘I think you might find that the “car wash” had rather a transforming effect.’
    Sloane picked up the keys. She examined them carefully and realised that the key ring certainly wasn’t that of her old sedan.
    â€˜Oh my gosh, Smedley, what have you done?’ September squealed. ‘Is it new?’
    â€˜Of course, darling, nothing less would do for you, my sweetheart.’ Smedley laid on the charm sothick you could have eaten it on toast for breakfast. He held out his arms, waiting for September to rush to his embrace. His wife, however, had other priorities and ran straight past her husband to the garage to hug her new baby sports car.
    Smedley had hoped that would do the trick and might even encourage September to give the modelling another thought. Goodness knows, the jobs were hardly taxing and usually paid more money than he saw in a month. But she would have none of it and he hadn’t been brave enough to mention it again, although he was thinking about it – a lot.
    Smedley sat back down beside his wife and pushed his sunglasses onto the top of his head.
    â€˜Smedley, is this deal really going to come off?’ September glared. ‘I’m so sick of being poor. I just don’t deserve this life,’ she wailed.
    â€˜Don’t you worry your pretty head, my lovely. Soon enough the Sykeses will have more money than God.’
    September smiled broadly. ‘But how do you know how much money God has?’ she asked, tilting her head and looking thoughtful.
    â€˜Oh, trust me, darling – I’m sure he has loads,’ said Smedley.

The Fayle school campus spread out over a thousand glistening acres, with magnificent Victorian buildings surrounded by sports fields, a swimming pool, sailing lake and stables. From the road it was almost completely hidden from view, no doubt the result of clever planning by generations of gardeners. McGlintock Manor, named after its founder’s beloved wife, Helena Louise McGlintock, was renowned as the most beautiful of any school building in the country and had been extended overthe years to house most of the classrooms, administration areas and the headmaster’s residence.
    Septimus could hardly believe his luck when he heard that his step-grandmother Henrietta had arranged for him and his sister Sloane to go to boarding school. It had been his dream – and one that he’d shared with his beloved grandfather Percy on the rare occasions that he’d been allowed to visit and the even rarer ones he was able to stay the night. Three years ago, Septimus had pinned a list of schools he would have liked to attend to his bedroom wall, with Fayle being his first preference.