The Finishing Touches

by Browne, Hester

  “You’ve all gone very quiet,” Mark observed. “Were you talking about us?”

  “No, you haven’t missed anything,” I said, pulling myself together. “I was just about to start. Come in and settle down.”

  “I’m on coat duty.” Paulette pushed forward with more enthusiasm than she’d shown when I’d allocated her the job the previous day. “Give us your coats. Oh, this is very nice quality,” she added, hanging Jamie’s cashmere overcoat up. “And this one—is this your school coat, Mark? Or are you a part-time Paddington Bear impersonator? Eh?”

  “There’s no need to critique the guests’ coats, Paulette,” I warned.

  “It’s warm for cycling,” said Mark. “I won’t have a word said against it.”

  “You’ll have to get Olivia to style you,” said Divinity, in all seriousness. “She’s going to be teaching a makeover session, showing people how to update their wardrobes. I’m helping, and we need volunteers. We could workshop you this afternoon…” She patted his arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll soon have you up to scratch.”

  “Sorry, can I get a word in?” I asked. “Before you use up all your advice on the staff?”

  “Pray silence for the Head of Common Sense,” bellowed Jamie, and everyone went very quiet.

  “I just wanted to say thank you,” I began. “I’ve asked a lot of you in the last few weeks, and you’ve been more supportive and helpful than I could ever have—”

  The door swung open again, and I ground to a halt, this time with a sinking heart.

  In a formation not unlike Charlie’s Angels, in strode Miss Thorne, Venetia, and Adele, each looking more smug than the last. They stopped just inside the foyer, Venetia in the middle. Adele had the most enormous armful of white roses under one arm and wore a giant pair of D&G shades that she left on until the last moment—the Height of Rudeness, as she ought to have known from her notebook.

  Then again, maybe Adele needed them to defend her eyes against the dazzling self-satisfaction radiating from Miss Thorne. I’d never seen her looking so pleased with herself. Not only was she replendent in a black dress with a white Peter Pan collar, but she was wearing four strands of pearls along with matching earrings, which probably signified Grand Etiquette High Wizard status.

  “Oh, I hope we’re not interrupting?” she cooed, knowing from my open mouth and everyone’s expression that she was.

  “Not at all,” I lied politely.

  “Girls,” said Miss Thorne, ignoring me and clapping her plump white hands together. “I have an announcement to make. Or rather, Venetia has an announcement to make!”

  Venetia didn’t say anything but slowly removed her soft suede gloves like a very upmarket stripper—at which point her left hand spoke for itself in the international language of gigantic engagement rocks.

  “Bloody hell,” gasped Paulette, speaking what everyone else was only thinking. “It’s enormous!”

  “Mmm,” murmured Venetia in modest agreement, and pushed a thick hank of hair away from her face, all the better to show off the diamond solitaire. It was roughly the size of one of Miss McGregor’s quail’s eggs.

  “Oh, my God!” shrieked Divinity generously. “Oh, my God, you’ve got engaged!”

  Anastasia went over to Venetia, clasping her in a warm Russian hug. “Congratulations,” she said. “It is beautiful diamond. Have you had it insured? I have a friend whose finger was sliced off at the traffic lights. And it was only an emerald.”

  “Who is it?” Clemmy demanded. “Anyone we know?”

  “I shouldn’t think so, Clemmy,” said Adele half-jokingly. “Venetia’s not into the Goth circuit.”

  “Luka, like I told you the other day. He’s a political donor and international businessman,” Venetia explained. Her eyes were glittering brighter than her solitaire. “And a close friend of Adele’s. We met at…we met at a charity dinner.”

  “And how did he propose?” Divinity looked ready to swoon. “Did he go down on one knee?”

  “I should think that’s Venetia’s job,” muttered Clemmy.

  “Did he ask your father first?” demanded Anastasia. “Was it like in Miss McGregor’s proposal lesson? Did he agree to a dowry? What did your mum and dad say?”

  Venetia looked discomfited for the first time; just for a fleeting second her hair fell over her face and I couldn’t see her eyes.

  “Yes, it was terribly romantic.” Adele leaped in. “Venetia, tell Divinity about the proposal!”

  “Luka asked me if I wanted him to put me on the insurance for his Ferrari. And I said yes.”

  “It was his vintage one,” Adele added. “Of course, no one’s allowed to drive it, but it’s the principle of trust! Quel romance!”

  “Oh, and then he put this ring in a chocolate mousse last night,” Venetia added. “I almost didn’t see it, because I don’t eat refined sugars, and the waiter nearly walked off with a hundred grand’s worth of pudding.”

  “That’s dead romantic!” gasped Divinity.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” said Clemmy. “I wouldn’t be. Hasn’t he swept you off in his private jet to celebrate?”

  “Businessmen can’t take time off just like that,” Adele reminded her. “And Venetia was very keen to come and help out with Betsy’s Open Day. She’s a perfect example of just what sort of doors can be opened to you with the right attitude.”

  Bedroom doors mostly, I thought, but didn’t say anything. I was too busy struggling with a toxic cocktail of emotions, and hoping they weren’t showing on my face.

  “It’s a wonderful moment for the Academy,” said Miss Thorne, patting Adele’s hand. “Just goes to show that the traditional values of femininity are still appreciated by the men out there! I think you’ll find this will have a very positive effect on intake for next term,” she added, with a meaningful glance at me.

  “We have to make some phone calls,” said Adele, “so will you excuse us from your…whatever you’re doing?” She pretended to pause. “Oh, and if Lord Phillimore arrives, don’t tell him, will you? I want it to be a surprise!”

  A surprise? Why on earth would he care?

  Then the three of them swept off to the principal’s office, leaving the rest of us staring at our tulips, which now seemed rather underwhelming.

  “Never mind,” said Paulette in an attempt at jollity. “Maybe she’ll ask you to be bridesmaids!”

  The three girls turned to her with looks that would have wilted the old plastic lilies in the urn.

  “All I’ll say,” said Clemmy, holding up one finger, “is can you imagine what she’d make us wear?”

  We stood imagining in silence, listening to the trio of stiletto heels clatter down the hall, then disappear in the thick pile of the study, whereupon tinkly laughter could be heard.

  Mark coughed discreetly. “So what were you going to say, Betsy? Before the interruptions?”

  I dragged my attention back, but the moment had totally gone.

  “Oh, um, I just wanted to say thank you,” I said. “And good luck with all your demonstrations.” I swallowed. “Don’t worry about anything other than being yourselves today, and you won’t go wrong.”

  “Marvelous!” said Miss McGregor, acting as if I’d just delivered the Queen’s Speech. “Very wise. I’m sure everyone’s going to give it their best shot, and what will be will be. Now, Paulette, you’re on coats, and Divinity, I understand you’re going to do the checklist for names, aren’t you? Stand up straight, Clementine, you’re sagging, dear.”

  We all stood up straight at that, and Jamie gave me a wink that set off a very different burst of fluttering in my stomach.

  Ten minutes before the doors were to open, I ran down the stairs to the hall, to prepare myself.

  I stopped by the large mirror and smoothed down my hair, checking my face for any tiny smudges and arranging my bee necklace so it sat right in the center of my neckline, like a sign. Would she recognize me without it? I had a name badge pinned to my cardigan, with Be
tsy Cooper Phillimore printed as large as was polite, and if I stayed by the door and saw everyone who was coming in, overseeing Divinity and her checklist, I couldn’t miss her.

  If she came.

  Nell Howard was definitely coming; she’d called me to confirm. I had my mother’s letter tucked in the back of my notebook, ready for her to look at, to see if the handwriting rang a bell.

  I stared into the mirror, hoping for an irrational second that I might see something in there, the ghosts of Phillimores past perhaps, offering a clue or some kind of sign. Please let her come, I wished. Please let—

  “What do we say about looking in mirrors, Elizabeth? Once is sane, and twice is vain!”

  Miss Thorne had popped up, apparently from behind the massive urn of flowers, and I nearly squeaked with shock. “Was there something you wanted?” she said, moving closer to the door as if taking up a tactical position.

  “I just thought I’d come down, in case there were any early arrivals,” I explained. “We want to look welcoming, don’t we?”

  Her thin smile tightened. “Isn’t that a job for the principal?”

  I thought that was a bit rich, since her contribution to the planning had been limited to sending me memos about how big the sandwiches should be.

  “We’ve had so many acceptances that I’m sure we’ll both be rushed off our feet!” I said cheerily, and turned to Divinity’s crystal-encrusted iPod, hidden among the daffodils. Music for the Royal Fireworks began to pour out of the speakers tucked behind vases, in alcoves, and up the stairs.

  “Just like the old days!” I said with a smile.

  “I fear those days are gone,” sighed Miss Thorne. “Well, whatever happens today, you’ve done what you could, dear. And there’s one bright spot, with Venetia’s engagement.” She brightened up at that.

  I bit my lip. Was marriage really all that mattered to Miss Thorne and Adele? Was it more important than whether the place stayed open or not?

  “Maybe there’ll be more good news before the end of term,” she added rather mysteriously.

  “Like the next term happening?” I inquired.

  There was a firm rap on the lion’s head knocker, and she bustled to the door.

  I bustled after her, and there was a brief struggle to open the door first, which I won by dint of my superior height. I did it in one graceful but firm move, blocking her from appearing to the visitors. Those years playing goal defense on a brutal school netball team hadn’t been entirely pointless.

  “Hello!” I said, extending a welcoming hand to the three women on the doorstep. “Welcome to the Phillimore Academy.”

  I scanned their faces nervously. Was this them? It was impossible to tell how old Phillimore Old Girls were. I stepped back, confused. Where was Divinity with her list?

  Ironically, it was Miss Thorne who came to my rescue, shoving me aside with a discreet elbow.

  “Yes, welcome, welcome!” she cooed, stretching out her hands. “Oh, it’s Bunny, and Minty, and Alexandra! How wonderful to see you again, dears!”

  Bunny, Minty, Alexandra. None of those names was familiar, and they didn’t seem to be inspecting me too closely either as they crowded round Miss Thorne and showered her with enthusiastic Phillimore compliments about her hair.

  I swallowed. I could hear the tip-tap of more high heels trotting down Halfmoon Street. This was just the beginning.

  Twenty-three

  Everyone should learn one karaoke song; practice it so you can belt it out on demand, then retire modestly.

  After that first trio, the ever-punctual Phillimore Old Girls positively streamed in, pitching up in clusters of two and three, their sweetie-colored suits and sheepskin vests making pastel splashes against the black-and-white tiles. They brought daughters and goddaughters and began assiduously introducing them to everyone with hearty handshakes. It made my and Divinity’s job much easier, as I kept my ears open for the magic names. I didn’t need to check with Nell’s list: I knew them by heart now.

  Sophie, Coralie, Caroline, Rosalind, Emma-Jane.

  The trouble was, virtually everyone who’d ever been at the Academy was called either Caroline or Sophie, so after ten minutes my ears were burning.

  After the initial burst of curious Old Girls came a stream of more regular people, attracted, I hoped, by the feature in the paper. There were some graduating teenagers in black tights and ballet flats and huge bags, some with harassed mothers, some definitely without; a few women in their thirties, with brave smiles and freshly cut divorce hairdos; and even one or two deeply reluctant lads dragged along by their sisters or mothers. Their tentative smiles at the boy/girl ratio soon turned to pure fear as Anastasia swooped on them to be guinea pigs for Liv’s makeover class.

  Nell Howard arrived only five minutes after the doors opened. I spotted her at once, thanks to her sheepskin hat and the dramatic full-length suede coat sweeping behind her.

  “Darling!” she cried when she saw me. “Good Lord, what a throng! Ooh, and champagne!” She swooped a glass of champagne from the tray Clemmy was circulating.

  “Hello, Nell!” I handed the list of names to Divinity and muttered, “Look after this, and make sure you tell me if any of the names with stars next to them arrive, OK? It’s really important.”

  “Why?” asked Divinity, her face lighting up. “Are they VIPs?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Sort of.”

  “What a fabulous collection of fascinating classes,” said Nell, peering at the day’s program and sipping from her glass. I noticed she did the Phillimore trick of discreetly licking her lips so her lipstick didn’t smear on the glass. “Gosh. Dressing to Meet Your Ex in the Lady Hamilton Room. EBay Your Way to Success with Clementine. Sticky Conversations with Divinity and Anastasia. What fun! And how instructive!”

  “Um, yes, I hope so. Nell, can I ask you something?” I asked in an undertone, keeping one eye on the door.

  She let me lead her into the front drawing room. Quickly, I got the letter out of my bag and showed it to her. “Do you recognize this writing?” I asked, my heart thumping. “It’s the letter my mother left in my box. I’ve only just come across it.”

  She removed a pair of silver glasses out of her bag and put them on very carefully, read the paper, looked intently at it, and chewed her lip.

  “Darling, I would love to say yes, but you know, everyone wrote like this. Those big a’s and loopy y’s.” She peered again. “It does look familiar, I will say that. I think…I might have to get a second opinion.”

  I could feel disappointment settle in my stomach like a lead scone.

  “But look, this is a page from a Phillimore notebook,” she went on. “Look, you can see the hallmark.” She held it up to the light and pointed between the rounded letters.

  I couldn’t see anything, but I made a polite mm noise, because I could tell she was trying.

  Nell didn’t seem disappointed, though. Her eyes sparkled with intrigue. She struck me as the sort of guest you’d love to have at house parties, if only for her boundless enthusiasm. “You never know! She might be here. She might have seen that lovely photograph of you in the newspaper this week. I did—you’ve obviously learned some good photo tricks from somewhere!”

  “Here, I hope,” I said. “We have a class on it now.”

  “Marvelous! Am I too old to sign up?” Nell pressed the letter back into my hands, folding it over with her own. She had warm, soft hands. “I’ll keep an eye out, shall I? I just know she’ll be here. I can feel it!”

  “Please,” I said gratefully. “I’ve rather got my hands full, keeping everything on track.”

  Nell winked heartily. “I’m on the lookout! Now, did I see some blinis go past?”

  I led her back into the hall and scanned the crowd with rising nerves.

  “Don’t panic, darling,” murmured Nell. “I’ve got a good feeling about today.”

  I barely noticed the morning racing by as I answered one question after another about a new-look
Academy that seemed increasingly real. The drop-in classes must have been going down well, because I directed more and more people toward Mark and his credit card machine in the library, keeping one eye all the time on the crowd of curious new arrivals.

  At eleven I caught my own reflection in the big hall mirror and didn’t recognize myself.

  I was smiling, and my blue dress was swishing round my knees, and my hair was swinging and shiny like a shampoo ad. I actually looked like the confident woman I pretended to be in my head. Liv popped down between her makeover sessions to tweak me, but even she had to admit there was nothing she’d change.

  “You look perfect,” she said, and coming from her that was really something.

  My bubbling mood might have had something to do with the room full of flowers and the buzz of everyone working together for a change—and perhaps the little gestures of encouragement I kept getting from Jamie and Mark—Mark, quite subtly with quick smiles, and Jamie, less so, with cheesy winks and thumbs-up. I couldn’t help winking back.

  He was in his element. I saw him making conversation with a Chelsea mother, a stern father, and their daughters outside Clemmy’s eBay demonstration: the girls were giggling, obviously, but as Jamie spoke, the tension melted from the man’s face and he laughed. Then Jamie said something and moved on with an amiable good-bye. I could tell by the way the ladies leaned in and whispered to each other that they were talking about him.

  Jamie’s really talented at this, I thought suddenly. He was happy to meet new people, entertaining to be with, and skilled at putting strangers at ease—all qualities that came up time and again in the notebooks as being rather admirable in a man.

  But he’s like that with everyone, I reminded myself as my heart rate quickened. And if he’s like that with everyone…

  A hand tapped me on the shoulder. I spun round, a warm smile ready on my lips.

  Lord Phillimore and Adele were standing behind me. Adele’s slender hand was tucked into his arm, giving the outward impression that she was letting him support her, while at the same time suggesting that actually she was supporting him. I had to hand it to her, her body language was Nobel Prize–winning stuff.