“We decided to start off the fund-raising with a bang. We’ve done the usual things, like writing to all the old girls asking for contributions, but we know we’ll need a bit of extra push. After all, most of our old girls are the wives and mothers brigade who don’t exactly have wads of spare cash at their disposal. And we’ve got less than six months to raise the money.”

“But surely you must have known the lease was coming up for renewal?”

“Oh, we did, and we budgeted for it. But then James Cartwright, a local builder and developer, put in a bid for the lease that was £50,000 more than we were going to have to pay. He wants to build time-share holiday flats with a leisure complex. It’s an ideal site for him, right in the smartest part of Buxton. And one of the few decent sites where he’d still be able to get planning permission. The agents obviously had to look favorably on an offer as good as that. So our headmistress, Pamela Overton, got the governors mobilized and we came up with a deal. If we can raise the cash to match that £50,000 in six months, we get the lease, even if Cartwright ups his offer.”

Lindsay smiled wryly. “Amazing what influence can do.”

Although Paddy was watching the road, Lindsay’s tone of voice was not lost on her. “It’s been bloody hard to get this far,” she complained mildly. “The situation’s complicated by the fact that Cartwright’s daughter is one of our sixth-formers. And in my house, too. Anyway, we’re all going flat out to get the money, and that’s what the weekend’s all about.”

“Which is where I come in, yes?”

“You’re our bid to get into the right section of the public consciousness. You’re going to tell them all about our wonderful enterprise, how we’re getting in gear, and some benevolent millionaire is going to come along and write us a check. Okay?”

Lindsay grinned broadly. “Okay, yah!” she teased. “So what exactly is going to happen? So far you seem to have avoided supplying me with any actual information.”

“Tomorrow morning we’re having a craft fair, which will carry over into the afternoon. All the girls have contributed their own work as well as begging and scrounging from friends and relations. Then, in the afternoon, the sixth form are presenting a new one-act play written especially for them by Cordelia Brown. She’s an old girl of my vintage. Finally, there will be an auction of modern autographed first editions, which Cordelia and I and one or two other people have put together. We’ve got almost a hundred books.”

“Cordelia Brown? The chat-show queen?”

“Don’t be snide, Lindsay. You know damn well she’s a good writer. I’d have thought she’d have been right up your street.”