“Mr. Clark, good to see you. Thanks for coming.” A tall man in a tan tweed coat directed Peter to a chair across from his desk. He sat.
Sun streamed in through the tall windows banked by maroon velvet curtains. Dixon"s upper-grade students filed by the window outside, each in their navy-blue uniforms. It was all prim and proper and perfect.
The visit part of Peter"s Dixon interview was over. The school had lived up to its brochure. Stately grounds, arcing old trees, attentive students marching on their way to class. Top-notch facilities, with separate labs for organic and inorganic chem. He had to share a room with the physics class back in Golden Grove. And the chess club.
“Your CV is impressive,” the man, Stephen Volders, was saying. Stephen, not Steve, Peter had found out. He was the
