‘Problems?’ Emma had rested a hand lightly on Harriet’s arm to instil confidence and encourage her to spill the beans.
‘We lost all our money,’ Harriet had told her quite openly. ‘My dad gambles. Big time. And when he loses, he drinks.’ She sighed. ‘And then Mum – well, because of all the stress, she’s ended up in Lady Chichester Hospital.’
Emma had been very impressed by Harriet’s honesty; most people would have stuck with the wayward father and avoided mentioning a mother in a psychiatric hospital.
‘That must be hard for you,’ Emma sympathised.
‘Thank you.’ It was the simple sincerity with which Harriet spoke that had made Emma’s mind up. She might be poor, her jeans might be badly cut, but she had potential. All she needed was someone with style, savvy and street-cred to sort her out. Which was clearly why Fate had sent her to Emma’s school.
She had meant to start at once with a makeover – but revision and exams had spoilt her good intentions and, since Harriet was doing environmental sciences and music, and Emma was studying psychology, art and business studies, they hadn’t exchanged more than a few words for at least six weeks. Now was clearly the time to put that right.
‘You’re not going over, are you?’ Serena demanded as Emma picked up her drink. ‘She’ll only want to tag on with us all evening and she is so boring.’
‘You really think she’d choose to hang out with a snob like you?’ Emma remarked, turning her back and heading over to where Harriet was sitting.
‘Hi, Harriet, how are you?’ As she squeezed into the seat next to her new friend, she realised the question was a pretty unnecessary one. Harriet had clearly been crying; a couple of crumpled tissues lay discarded on the table, the whites of her eyes were distinctly pink and she was staring miserably first at her watch and then at her mobile phone.
‘What’s happened? Has someone stood you up?’
‘How did you know?’ Harriet asked incredulously.
‘Call it a wild guess,’ Emma said, smiling. ‘Come on – who is it?’
‘Rob,’ Harriet said, sniffing. ‘The guy I told you about over lunch that day?’
‘Did you?’ Emma had no recollection of either a shared lunch or a love element in Harriet’s life but didn’t think this was the time to say so. ‘I mean – yes, yes, Rob. And?’
‘He was supposed to meet me here – well, at least I think it was here – at eight o’clock, or it could have been nine, but anyway . . .’
‘You’re sure his name is Rob?’ Emma teased.
‘Of course I am,’ Harriet replied, missing the joke completely. ‘We’re – well, we’re not anything really, well we are sort of . . .’
‘OK,’ Emma said, her patience finally beginning to run out. ‘Give me your phone.’
She didn’t wait for a response but picked up the bright pink mobile, scanned the phone book and gestured to Harriet.
‘Is this him? Rob Martin?’
Harriet nodded. ‘Yes, but what are you doing? You can’t —’
‘Watch me!’ Emma replied sternly. She began keying in a message.
Am at Mango M’s. R U coming? If not am going on 2 a party. Harriet.
She read the message back to Harriet.
‘Emma, no, you can’t . . .’
‘Too late,’ Emma announced cheerfully. ‘Done it!’
‘But I’m not going to a party—’ Harriet began.
‘No, but he doesn’t know that,’ Emma explained. ‘You have to do this with guys – let them think that you’ve got better things to do than wait for them, right?’
Harriet chewed her lip and said nothing, eyeing her phone as if it was about to explode.
‘So come on, tell me about him,’ Emma said. ‘What’s he like? How long have you been an item? What’s the low-down?’
‘He’s Libby’s brother,’ she said. ‘Libby’s my best friend – my only friend – at Mole Hill. She’s doing media studies – you know, she’s the one with the strawberry streak in her hair and the butterfly tattoo on her ankle?’
Bad start, thought Emma, but kept smiling encouragingly.
‘I’ve been staying with her for a couple of weeks, ever since they repossessed our house . . .’
‘What? Someone took your house away? Why?’
‘It’s what happens when your father doesn’t pay the mortgage for months on end,’ Harriet replied, ruefully. ‘Libby’s mum said I could sleep on the sofa bed till things got sorted. ’Course, Dad’s doing his usual head-in-the-sand stuff and disappeared off to recoup his losses – which means he might win enough to rent somewhere for a month or so before he loses it all again at the races – and . . .’
‘Harriet, that’s awful.’
Emma was genuinely distressed. The thought of not having your own bedroom and bathroom and chilling-out space was just too horrific. So horrific she changed the subject.
‘So you and Rob are an item?’
‘Well, not an item, exactly,’ Harriet admitted. ‘I really like him and he told Libby he thought I was kinda cute and, the first night I was there, we went out in a foursome with Libby and her boyfriend.’ She sighed. ‘And then yesterday I went to the Sea Life Centre – that’s where he’s working for the summer – and he was there and he said “hi” and I said “hi” . . .’
Without doubt, thought Emma, their conversation would make the front page of the Sun seem intellectually challenging.
‘And then he said let’s meet for a drink on our own – he said “on our own”, Emma, and that must mean . . . well. Anyway, I said great, and he said – well, I think he said to come here tonight. But now I’m wondering whether it was somewhere else. See, I was so nervous . . .’
‘Nervous? Of him?’ Emma asked.
‘No silly, I was nervous because I was there for an interview for a job. Only I didn’t get it.’
It was as if a flash bulb had gone off in Emma’s brain.
‘A holiday job? For the summer? And you didn’t get it?’
Watch it, she told herself sharply. You’re starting to sound like her.
Harriet shook her head. ‘They said I lacked experience. Which is true, but I so need the money.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Last week, I couldn’t even afford to take Mum her favourite chocolate bar. And I’ve had to ditch my piano tuition. I’ll do anything. Only jobs are thin on the ground. I guess I’ve left it too late.’
Emma thought fast. This was her chance: OK, so Harriet wasn’t exactly overflowing with confidence and social graces but she’d be grateful and work hard; and, more importantly, Emma could help her get back with the sort of people she used to know before her useless father ruined her life.
‘And you’d do anything? Like making beds? Or waitressing?’ she asked eagerly.
‘Sure, but I’ve tried all the hotels and they’re full of Poles and Estonians who are there for the long haul,’ Harriet said. ‘The job I was after was perfect; it was in the gift shop at the Sea Life Centre. I wanted to be near Rob, you see.’
Her voice faded plaintively.
‘Harriet, forget Rob. Forget the Sea Life Centre. Your problems are over.’ She squeezed her friend’s arm. ‘How would you like . . .?’ she began and then paused as Harriet’s phone bleeped.
‘It’s him!’ Harriet snatched the phone, scanned the message and then dropped it into her lap. Emma seized it.
Sorry. V. busy. Enjoy party. Rob.
One look at Harriet’s distraught expression did away with the last vestige of doubts about her grand scheme. What Harriet needed was a fresh start with people who were clued up about priorities.
‘How would you like a job somewhere really swish – and starting immediately?’ she asked.
Harriet’s pale blue eyes widened.
‘It’s at Donwell Abbey.’ She paused, realising that someone like Harriet probably hadn’t a clue what that was. ‘It’s a country house-hotel-type place in my village.’ She paused as Harriet’s chubby face turned pinker by the second. ‘And forge
t sofa beds! You can stay at my house – it’s next door to Donwell. And don’t worry, you’d have your own room and bathroom.’
Harriet’s mouth dropped open and Emma couldn’t help thinking she resembled one of the fish in the Sea Life tanks.
‘It’s not mega bucks, but better than a lot of jobs and there are loads of perks,’ she pressed on, assuming that money was, quite naturally, a major issue for her friend. ‘And you’d get at least two days off a week so we could do loads of stuff together.’ Like remodelling you, waving two fingers to your father . . . Emma thought.
Harriet clamped her hands to her mouth and stared at Emma.
‘Harriet, there is just one condition to this job – you have to speak,’ Emma teased. ‘Yes or no?’
‘Oh my God!’ Harriet gasped. ‘Me? With you?’
‘Harriet!’
‘Yes, yes, yes!’ Harriet cried. ‘I can’t believe it! I mean, I’ve never been anywhere that posh in my entire life. Not even when we had money. No slot machines for Dad to bash, I guess,’ she added with a sigh.
‘Just keep that fact to yourself, OK?’ Emma begged her. ‘And do as I say, right?’
‘Of course.’ Harriet nodded eagerly. ‘Just wait till I text Rob . . .’
‘Harriet, no way!’ Emma gasped. ‘He has just stood you up – keep him guessing. Don’t get in touch till he comes grovelling.’
‘But what if he thinks I’m going to the party with a boy? What if—?’
‘All the better,’ Emma declared firmly. ‘You mustn’t be too available. Trust me, I know about these things.’
‘Oh Emma, thank you, thank you.’ Harriet’s eyes were actually glistening with unshed tears and Emma felt a huge wave of compassion for her friend. mixed with the satisfaction that, yet again, her perception and charity was about to make life better for another human being.
Catching sight of Lucy and Adam entwined around one another on the dance floor, she smiled to herself. She’d done it before and she could do it again. Harriet didn’t only deserve a decent summer job. She deserved to be rescued from the pit into which her father had cast her; she deserved more than a guy who put lobsters before love.
She made a vow there and then that, by the time the summer was over, Harriet’s life would be changed for ever.
‘So I’m off the hook? You won’t keep looking at me like I’ve caused World War Three?’ Lucy teased, after Harriet had left the club to go and tell Libby and her mum that she would be leaving and Emma had filled her in on the job situation.
‘You’re forgiven,’ Emma said, smiling, still basking in the warm glow of doing a good turn. ‘Harriet’s a more deserving cause than you ever were.’
‘Good,’ Lucy replied. ‘Because Adam and I need your help.’
‘You didn’t look as if you needed anyone’s help a moment ago,’ Emma said. ‘Talk about full-on snogging.’
‘Stop it!’ Lucy blushed and glanced across to the bar where Adam was getting drinks. ‘It’s about Freddie.’
Instantly, Emma’s brain went on to red alert.
‘Freddie?’ she repeated, trying not to look too interested. ‘What about him?’
Freddie Churchill was Adam’s half-brother but, unlike Adam, he was seriously A-list. His picture appeared in everything from Cheerio! to Country Life, and he was currently the face of Carstairs Countrywear. When Emma had first discovered the connection between him and Adam, she couldn’t get her head around it; how come Freddie lived the high life twenty-four seven, while Adam was working all summer to keep his student loan at bay? It didn’t make sense.
Lucy had quickly put her straight. Apparently, Adam’s mum, Julia, had divorced Freddie’s dad, the Churchill Chocolates’ millionaire, way back when Freddie was two years old, and had married Sam Weston, a Cumbrian sheep farmer. (Why she would want to exchange three homes on two continents for a rambling farmhouse halfway up a windswept fell, Emma couldn’t imagine. Lucy had muttered something about sexual chemistry and Emma not having a clue about the power of real love, but Emma had dismissed that as being sentimental rubbish that failed all the rules of logic.) Adam had been born alarmingly quickly after the marriage and, for reasons that Lucy hadn’t found out, Freddie had gone to live with his father and been educated at one of the country’s top public schools. Adam, meanwhile, had stayed with his mother and endured the mixed blessing of Kenworth Community College.
It had been the sudden death of the by then bankrupt sheep farmer, five years earlier, that had brought Adam and his mother to Sussex, where they lived for a while with Adam’s grandmother, Thalia, who ran the Wealden Art Gallery in Emma’s village and was the leading light of numerous good causes. Within a year of their arrival, Mrs Weston had found solace in the arms of an overweight American widower with a sad taste in ties and was now living in a condo in Winter Park, Florida, where she spent her time working out in pink Lycra and telling everyone to have a nice day. Adam, who, although he would never admit it, was something of a home-loving guy, had opted to remain in Sussex with his grandmother.
On the couple of occasions that Freddie had come to Sussex to commiserate with Adam over their mother’s bad taste in men, he had made a big impression on the girls in Emma’s set: his languid good looks, easy manner and free use of cash made him the ideal catch. He flirted, he backchatted – but none of them managed to get a date out of him. Even Emma. And for someone who was used to being the centre of attention, the experience only served to make Freddie Churchill even more alluring than he might otherwise have been.
‘So what’s all this about Freddie?’ Emma demanded the moment Adam appeared with drinks. ‘Lucy said you needed my help.’
‘OK, so how much do you know?’ Adam asked. ‘I mean, I guess Lucy told you about this massive twenty-first birthday party Freddie’s dad had planned for him, right?’
‘No,’ Emma said, throwing Lucy a ‘thanks so much for keeping me informed’ look.
‘Well, apparently Freddie’s father had it all worked out,’ Adam went on, just the faintest touch of envy in his voice. ‘Black tie do at his villa in the South of France and then partying on his new yacht. You know what Freddie’s father’s like: fork out zillions and get everyone to grovel for an invitation. That was his big idea.’
‘Was?’ Emma queried.
Adam took a swig of his Budweiser.
‘I don’t know all the details,’ he admitted. ‘Freddie was so boiling mad when he phoned that he could hardly speak. I just gathered, between expletives, that they had a massive row – I don’t know what about exactly – but it ended with Freddie telling his dad where to stuff his party and storming out. And guess what?’
‘Go on,’ Emma urged.
‘Freddie says that he’s sick to death of his father trying to control his life and that, since Granny and I are the only sane members of the family, he’s coming to Brighton to hang out for the summer!’
Emma and Lucy exchanged glances. The note of pride in Adam’s voice was unmistakable. Emma understood immediately; she had just finished reading So Love Me – A Study of Separated Siblings as part of her pre-uni reading list and realised that Adam was craving acceptance and recognition from his big brother. His next remark confirmed her suspicions.
‘He’s really rebelling,’ Adam went on admiringly. ‘He’s even decided to celebrate his birthday down here – whatever his father thinks.’
‘Backlash against parental control,’ Emma murmured knowledgeably.
‘Whatever.’ Adam continued. ‘He wants just his best mates – nothing huge and showy, and definitely no interfering parents. Not even Mum. And he says, if I help him sort it, I can invite some of my mates, too.’
He flung an arm around Lucy’s sunburnt shoulders and hugged her to him.
‘Brilliant! That is so cool!’ Emma said, her mind racing ahead.
‘But if his dad’s not footing the bill . . .?’ Lucy began.
‘No problem,’ Adam said, shrugging. ‘Freddie’s got a pile of money from when his
dad’s mother died as well as from all the advertising he does. He’s going to stay with Granny for a bit – he can have my room while I’m at the Frontier Adventure Centre – but then he’s even talking about taking a flat in town and you don’t get those for peanuts.’
‘So when’s he coming?’ Emma asked eagerly, mentally booking in highlights, a facial and some serious clothes shopping into her schedule.
‘Oh, you know Freddie,’ Adam said. ‘He says . . .’
‘Hey, did I hear you talk about Freddie? Freddie Churchill?’ Tabitha sashayed up to them. ‘Is he here?’ Her eyes scanned the club like a sparrowhawk looking for a choice mouse.
‘No, he’s not.’ Emma shook her head. ‘And, as a matter of interest, do you make a habit of bursting in on private conversations?’
‘He’s coming down some time next week,’ Adam told her innocently, clearly mesmerised by Tabitha’s cleavage. ‘He’s doing a series of fashion shoots for Country Matters magazine – Ashdown Forest, Cuckmere Haven, all over the place.’
‘Cool,’ Tabitha remarked. ‘Just let me know when he’s around, Adam, right? He is seriously hot.’
‘That girl,’ muttered Emma, as Tabitha turned away and grabbed the arm of Simon Wittering, ‘is a menace. So this party – what’s the low-down?’
‘Freddie wants me and Lucy to suss out some party venues so he can check them out when he gets here. Like, who does he think I am? Superman? It’ll be impossible – everything will be booked solid.’
He downed the final dregs of his drink.
‘He’s got this idea of finding a place where his mates can stay and make a weekend of it. Freddie never did anything by halves. He wants golf and tennis and . . .’
‘I thought you said he didn’t want anything showy,’ Lucy interrupted.
‘By Freddie’s standards, it’s not,’ Adam said. ‘It’s the country life thing he wants, you know with his advertising image and everything.’
‘That’s it! Oh my God, Adam, that’s it! Donwell. It’s perfect.’
‘Donwell?’ Adam repeated, in that blank way that guys have when faced with a new idea that they haven’t had three hours to process. ‘How do you mean, Donwell?’
Secret Schemes and Daring Dreams Page 3