Jessica twisted so that her husband was out of her line of sight, pulled a cushion under her arm, and contemplated the crossword. She rested the end of her pencil on her lips.

“ ‘Rich little king or teacher (5)’ ” she murmured, smiling. She filled it in.

Philip hit the desk so hard the keyboard somersaulted in the air.

“Tutors!” he shouted.

“No, darling, just ‘tutor’.”

“Damn and blast the woman! She’s an arrogant, overbearing – I mean, who does she think she is, telling me what to do in that snotty tone of voice?”

“She’s your tutor, darling.” His wife didn’t look up from her crossword.

“Yes yes, I know she’s my tutor, but that doesn’t give her the right to speak to me like a five year old! For God’s sake, she even patronises me about the comment statements! And then she can’t even spell! Why the hell am I letting myself be patronised and squashed by a double-barrelled snob who can’t even spell? Why?”

Jessica assumed that this was a rhetorical question. Most of Philip’s questions were.

“I mean, what sort of a prat calls herself Adela Laguerre-Evans!” Philip thumped the desk again, “Listen – just listen to what she says! ‘If you can not submit to the discipline of your course, how can you submit to the discipline of your self? And if you can not submit to the discipline of your self, how can you submit to the discipline of your project?’ I mean, how patronising can she get?”

Jessica was surprised; it was patronising, certainly, but a phrase struck her – ‘the discipline of your self’. Interesting. But of course, she wasn’t going to say so.

“She might just have had a bad day at the office, darling,” she replied reasonably. “It happens. It happened to you when you were working in an office. Anyway, the tone doesn’t matter – what matters is that you’ll learn.”

“Not while I’m stuck with this overbearing, patronising, arrogant – This is a total waste of my time and your money. I’m giving it up. Now.”

It was obvious what he wanted her to say, and she couldn’t be bothered to disappoint him. “Oh, Philip! Don’t burn your boats just because you’re angry with one assignment. You’ve always said you wanted to understand computers better, and the Internet is just your sort of thing. Give it one more – see if she gets any better.”

“One more, then – but just one. But if she’s no better I’m definitely giving up then.”

At that point, Jessica came to a decision. Despite her professional ethics, she was going to take steps. She told herself it was because it was disturbing her weekends; but the truth was she couldn’t get the phrase out of her mind – ‘submit to the discipline of your self’.

Not that it really mattered, of course.

Decision made, she turned back to her crossword.

But next day was a busy one for Jessica; she didn’t get out of the hurlyburly of the House of Commons and into the relative peace of her own office till well after two. While she ate her belated lunch of three thin slices of Serrano ham and eight grapes she turned to her screen, clicked open the Department diary and paged down.

Yes, there it was. The name she had noticed a month ago. She was right.

She flicked an intercom switch.

“Jackie!”

“Yes, Mrs Aintry?”

“Who’s handling the meeting on Tuesday the fifteenth about the new incinerator at Llandausais?”

“Er… Mr Childal.”

Oh good. Peter’s not the type to be upset by his boss muscling in. “Warn him I want to sit in on it, would you please? Only in the background.”

“Yes, Mrs Aintry. Do you need the briefing?”

“Yes, please.”

Jessica was early at the meeting. She had just one purpose – to see, judge and perhaps meet one particular person. Adela Laguerre-Evans turned out to be a rather dumpy lady – definitely not a mere woman – in a coat, long tweed skirt and a hat. What was more, she kept her hat and coat on throughout the meeting; a sign of real anger, Jessica thought.

The woman certainly was angry. At first her comments were intemperate at best, and she showed no real signs of intending to listen. But, as the meeting progressed, Jessica was surprised; Adela Laguerre-Evans did listen, did respond – usually negatively, but always reasonably – to the arguments on the other side. And she brought out some points on the proposals that no one else had thought of. Here was a strong woman, a listening woman, an intelligent woman, and above all a woman with an independent and courageous mind. The ideal tutor, in fact. Was this what was meant by a woman who submitted to ‘the discipline of her self’?

But Jessica did indeed stay in the background for most of the meeting. After all, she knew Peter could handle it perfectly well, and she wasn’t needed. She could just sit back and listen with her usual amusement – why do these people get so angry? Why on earth do they think any of this will matter in a hundred years’ time?

Eventually everyone adjourned to the next room for a cup of tea and a biscuit, and for the unminuted (and most useful) part of the meeting. Jessica timed things so that she ‘happened’ to move near to Adela Laguerre-Evans.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“I’m never quite sure what these meetings achieve,” Jessica began.

“No,” Adela agreed. “In honesty, I never expected much.”

“‘Blessed are they that expect nothing, for they shall not be disappointed!’”

Adela Laguerre-Evans nodded. “It needed to be gone through.”

“Oh, yes,” said Jessica. She paused. “I think it was worth your while. It’s a long way to come, though, all the way from Clwyd.”

“English Maelor, please. Flint, part of.” Adela smiled.

Once again Jessica found herself liking the woman. She could laugh at herself! Jessica smiled in response, and perfectly naturally changed the subject. “What do you do, yourself?” she asked – hoping she managed to sound completely casual.

“Retired. But I do some freelance tutoring. Computing, mostly.”

So it was her! And that explains why her response to Philip was so angry!

Courtesy forced them both to circulate, but Jessica kept her ears open. Which is how, three hours later, they happened ‘by chance’ to run into each other in the café under the National Portrait Gallery. Naturally they shared a table.

“It must be very difficult to teach objectively,” remarked Jessica, trying to remove the lid from a salad pack without spilling the lettuce in her lap, “when there is such an important issue on your mind.”

“Very,” answered Adela, emptying a vegetarian couscous onto her plate. She was still wearing her hat and coat. “Some of my students have had a rougher ride than usual. Have to be much kinder to them on their next assignments.”

Oh good, thought Jessica. Got what I wanted without needing to ask.

“That’s how it works, is it?” asked Jessica, innocently. “They send in assignments and you mark them?”

“Comment. Don’t give marks out of ten.”

“So a few of your comments have been a bit more abrasive recently?”

“More honest.” Adela sipped her tea. “No, that’s unfair; I’m always honest. More complete.”

There was a pause. Jessica broke it.

“You obviously enjoy tutoring.”

“Yes. I get results. Usually. Depends as much on the pupils.”

Jessica smiled. “You sound happier than you did at the start of the meeting, anyway.”

“Yes. Felt we got our points across, some response. But…”

Jessica suddenly felt Adela’s gaze on her.

“But you don’t really see why we care, do you?” Adela finished.

Jessica shrugged. “No, I don’t. Why? Once we’re dead, none of this will have happened. So why bother?” She saw Adela straighten. “You don’t agree? What do you think?”

“Me?” answered Adela Laguerre-Evans. “There is no God but God, and Mohammed is His prophet.”

It took all Jessica’s experience to keep her astonishment polite. “You’re a Muslim?”

“Yes.”

Be British! Jessica thought. Stiff upper lip! “I’m sorry to be surprised,” she said aloud. “I hadn’t thought of English Maelor as an Islamic Republic.”

Adela laughed. “It isn’t! I’m pretty well alone. Even my husband is good old‑fashioned C of E.”

“My husband’s into –” Jessica stopped herself, and rephrased. “I mean, my husband is deeply interested in spiritual matters.”

“That usually means he’s pottered about from religion to religion and never settled.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Jessica paused. She preferred not to put her husband down, even behind his back – she knew people held it against her – but she was already committed. “In my time he’s been into Buddhism, Catholicism, Scientology, Humanism, Rosicrucianism, Freemasonry, Pentecostalism, Aquarianism, Hare Krishna, Steinerism, Christian Science, Wicca, Taoism, Mormonism, Cabalism, Swedenborgianism, and probably another half dozen I’ve forgotten. Not Islam – yet.”

“And when it is it will be Sufism. I understand. But I’ve been a Muslim for forty years. Since I was at College.”

“A boy-friend?” hazarded Jessica.

“No no. I heard someone speaking on the wireless one day.”

“But – but doesn’t Islam mean submission? I mean, surely that sort of thing went out for women in the fifties.”

“But submission doesn’t mean powerlessness. It is when the bird submits to the air that it flies highest. Submission brings power, and power brings freedom. That is why in Islam, women are more fortunate than men; men can only submit to God, but women can submit to both God and their husbands. So women are the more powerful.”

And hence ‘submit to the discipline of your self’. Fascinating, thought Jessica. I doubt if it would stand up to analysis, but it’s a striking idea. What an interesting woman! “Tell me,” she said, “How does one get on these courses? And can pupils choose their tutors?”

They talked for a while, and then suddenly Adela’s eyes lit up. “Ah! There’s Jim – my husband!”

Jessica swivelled in her chair, half expecting to see someone in a kaffiyeh; but he looked like a normal English professional man.

Adela and Jim kissed, hugged and then held hands. Jessica suddenly felt envy – envy and sadness. Adela introduced him to Jessica.

“Jim’s not full time any more,” Adela explained. “He had a heart attack six months ago, so he retired. But he helps in his old practice, part time.”

“I can still fill an occasional tooth, but I have time to come to London with my wife,” Jim smiled. “The best of both worlds. It’s good to have met you!”

Jessica was left to finish her tea, and to organise her thoughts. Adela was a Moslem, her husband was a dentist, she submits to him, and that gives her power.

But in particular, it gives them both something Philip and I don’t have any more. Or did we ever?

She sat thinking for several minutes, and then, with a sigh, went back to her office.

A fortnight later, Philip got his next assignment back. He seemed surprisingly calm about it.

“Better, this time, dear?” asked Jessica. She didn’t look up from her crossword.

“Yes,” answered Philip absently, “Yes, much better, Far more helpful, and much nicer about it all. She’s even looked at my last assignment again, much more carefully.”

“Really? That’s nice. ‘Ring-giver is hard on us musicians (7)’ Mm. Not very good. Only down clues should use ‘on’ like that. You’ll carry on with the course, then?”

“Oh yes, yes, if she stays like this. Oh, I was never going to give up. You know me, I’d never do that.”

“No, of course, darling.” She looked up at him, and, quite deliberately, put down her crossword. “You know, darling, I think you’re right. I think computers are worth learning about.”

He spun round to face her. She saw his shields slam into place. “Oh yes?”

“So I thought about joining your course.”

She watched the thoughts in his face: you’re joining to prove you’re better than me – to put me down.

“We could do it together,” she went on. “You’re only three lessons in. I would soon catch up, if you let me.”

“If I let – Yes, I suppose you would. So you’ve signed up for it, have you? How many assignments have you done?”

It was an accusation, and she knew it. “No, I haven’t signed up. I wanted to know what you thought, first.”

“Fine,” he said. “No problem,” he said. “Go ahead,” he said.

He turned his back to her, to stare at his computer screen.

Jessica had often wondered why she had married Philip, but at least she had always known that one day she would be rid of him; one day he would never have existed. Now, for the first time, she wondered why he had married her, when he believed he was stuck with her for ever. For an eternity.

“No, I mean it!” She suddenly wasn’t sure how to convince him – she had so rarely bothered to. But then she remembered what Adela had said: ‘Submission brings power’. “Look,” she walked over to him and crouched by his chair, so that their heads were at the same level. “Instead of my signing up, why don’t I do the assignments and you mark them?”

He was so startled that his shields slipped. “Yes – yes, I suppose –” He pulled himself together. “No, that’s silly. Sign up for it properly.” He hesitated. “I can easily spin out the next assignment. Then perhaps we can do the rest together?”

Suddenly she saw the Philip she had married, and suddenly she knew why she had married him. She put a hand round his shoulders – for balance, of course – and stood up.

Yes, Adela was an ideal tutor. But she was right; it does depend as much on the pupil.