Ella didn't quite know when being a Not Quite English teacher had begun. Maybe, being a Scot, teaching Scots pupils, many of whom didn't want to be posh, was the beginning. Or could it have been her arrival at a secondary school for the cream of Kenya's girls, who desperately wanted to be posh? Perhaps it had been the day when Rick and she had bumped into a character walking along Piccadilly wearing a sandwich board advertising English lessons for foreigners. Or was this the moment? There she was, hidden at the back of the classroom, an exquisite little doll of a girl with delicate, high cheek-boned features, enormous brown eyes and shiny, nut brown skin. She was wearing a conspicuously new uniform for Year 8, the second year of secondary school, and a big smile. 'Hello,' Ella said after the class had settled into a task. 'You must be new.' 'Yes.' 'What's your name?' 'Yes' 'Ah. There's an elephant under your chair, isn't there?' 'Yes,' and the smile was even wider.

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