‘Dad, let’s get one thing clear, right? No way are you going to embarrass me by getting on your soapbox and going all moral. Besides, it’s not as if one party is going to make a difference.’
‘Emma, it’s that attitude that is slowly crucifying our planet,’ her father insisted. ‘I shall speak to George.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ Emma snapped. ‘You wanted me to have a job, right? Well, I’ve got one.’ She kissed the top of his head, always the first step towards wrapping him around her little finger.
‘Yes, and I’m pleased,’ he began.
‘So just let me get on with it, OK?’ she pleaded. ‘You just concentrate on the TV show.’
‘Good grief!’ her father exclaimed, jumping up. ‘I’m supposed to be having a video conferencing call with the production director at half past eight. Thank goodness you reminded me.’ He flicked off a few switches and headed for the door. ‘Oh, and tell George that I’ve told our garden boys to go over and help out next door whenever he needs them,’ he added.
‘OK, and Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can I have my August allowance?’
‘Emma, it’s the third of July,’ her father pointed out. ‘And the answer is no.’
Oh well, thought Emma, thank heavens for Visa.
‘Hi Emma! How are you doing? I’m just making pancakes – those little American kids were asking for them.’
Lily didn’t pause in her batter-beating as Emma peered round the door of the hotel kitchen, but just kept on talking.
‘I know they’re not on the menu, but like I said to Luigi, it’s no trouble for me, cos I love to cook and this is such fun and, anyway, we ought to cater for everyone’s needs and Americans do like their pancakes, and they’re checking out today so it’s the last chance, only there isn’t any maple syrup so I said let’s try them with honey —’
‘Where’s Theo?’ Emma butted in. She knew from years of experience that the only way to deal with Lily’s babble was to ignore it.
‘Theo? Oh, he’s just driving Harriet to church.’
‘Driving her?’ Emma gasped. ‘It’s only ten minutes’ walk!’
‘Oh no, she’s not going to St Margaret’s – some of the guests had an early breakfast to get to the service there – but no, Harriet said St Benedict’s, and of course that’s quite a way.’
‘And so Theo took her?’ Emma exploded. ‘That is so not on – he’s supposed to be waiting at tables.’
She checked herself, her mind racing. Miffed as she was at the thought that she might have to step in and work, it must mean that Theo actually wanted the chance to get to know Harriet a bit better. She’d known they were made for one another the moment she had seen them together on the lawn, but she was pretty chuffed at the speed of his response.
‘OK, pancakes done!’ Lily said triumphantly, sliding the last one on to a plate. ‘They’re for table five.’
‘And you expect me to . . .?’ Emma began, looked around the room. There was nothing for it; she was the only one there. She picked up the plate.
‘A gem, this Lily, she is a gem!’ Luigi appeared from the walk in pantry and beamed at Lily. ‘I tell her, when she is qualified, I give her a job.’ He sniffed and glanced around the kitchen. ‘Though not here – here I don’t stay for long. That Mrs P – she drive me crazy. I deserve greater things than this.’
‘Don’t tell the Colonel that,’ Emma cut in with a smile. ‘He was eulogising over your crème brûlée last night.’
‘He was? Is true I have a gift . . . perhaps tonight I give him my flambéed peaches with the raspberry coulis?’
‘That would be wonderful!’ Emma declared. As she pushed open the door to the dining room, she noted that Luigi’s face positively glowed with delight. Human Relations – that was what life was all about, she told herself, deftly stepping to one side to avoid tripping over Phoebe Pilkington’s Barbie caravan. There was nothing that couldn’t be achieved by simply reading people and boosting their egos.
After she had pacified the American kids for the absence of maple syrup by assuring them that Superman always ate his pancakes with honey, and besides, this was special honey as eaten on the film set of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, she returned to the kitchen to find the back door open and Theo spooning coffee into a cafetière.
‘Hi! One worshipper safely delivered,’ he announced. ‘I said I’d pick her up about one o’clock.’
‘That’s a pretty long church service,’ Emma exclaimed.
Theo laughed. ‘She’s going to have coffee with her mother afterwards,’ he told her. ‘At the hospital. St B’s is the hospital church. That’s why she wanted to go there.’
‘She told you?’ Emma was staggered. ‘About her mum?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said nodding. ‘She told me everything. Pretty tough life she’s had, poor girl. And you know I was thinking, if I asked her —’
‘Omelettes, table one,’ Luigi shouted, slamming two plates on to the serving trolley. ‘Bagels, table three.’
‘Please,’ said Emma sweetly, gesturing to Theo to take the plates.
‘Me?’ He looked at her aghast.
‘You were doing Harriet’s job, right?’ Emma reminded him. ‘Well, this is it.’
‘Oh. Yes. Right. Fine.’ He picked up the plates somewhat gingerly. ‘Don’t disappear, though,’ he said. ‘I need to tell you about this stunning idea Harriet had.’
Stunning and Harriet in the same sentence? It’s a start, thought Emma. And whatever the idea, all I have to do is agree with it.
* * *
‘You know the old photographs of Donwell in days gone by?’ Theo said half an hour later as he and Emma stood at the conservatory door, watching as George explained the finer points of archery to half a dozen enthusiastic wrinklies. ‘The ones on the staircase?’
‘Mmm,’ Emma murmured through a mouthful of leftover scrambled egg.
‘Well, Harriet reckoned we should put them on the website beside up-to-date photographs of the same places.’
‘Wow!’ Emma was momentarily taken aback. Harriet clearly had more about her than she’d thought. ‘You mean,’ she ventured eagerly, ‘like that sepia photo of the orangery in 1880 superimposed with guys working out at the health club that’s there now? And maybe, that one of the boating party on the lake before the First World War merged in with one of people fishing for trout there now?’
Theo’s eyes widened. ‘Gosh, I hadn’t thought of it like that, with people doing stuff,’ he enthused. ‘You’re amazing.’
‘It was Harriet’s idea,’ Emma pointed out.
‘Well, yes, but she never said it like that,’ he gabbled. ‘Hey, why don’t we try it out, right? We could make a start now with you playing tennis on the court by the orchard – the one where Vita Sackville-West had her picture taken.’
‘Theo, I hate to remind you, but tennis is a game for two and if you’re taking the photos . . .’
‘Oh that’s OK,’ Theo assured her. ‘You just hit a few balls over the net and I’ll click away. So – can you get changed?’
‘Why not wait till Harriet gets back?’ Emma suggested. ‘You could use her – after all, it was her idea.’
‘No way,’ Theo said hastily. ‘See, the thing is, she said she wasn’t terribly sporty and I’d hate to embarrass her. Like you said, she’s a bit self-conscious. I could tell that talking to her in the car.’
‘OK, I’ll give it my best shot,’ Emma agreed, chuffed at his obvious concern for Harriet’s feelings.
‘Oh very good!’ Theo laughed. ‘Best shot? Tennis? Nice one!’
It was a start, Emma thought as she held up each of her three tennis outfits in turn. She’d read that worrying about a girl’s feelings was a sure sign of a burgeoning love interest. Now it was up to her to do all in her power to make it burgeon very quickly.
‘Make it look like you’re serving an ace,’ Theo ordered, adjusting his telephoto lens. ‘And again! Nice one. And . . . h
ang on, where are you going?’
They had only been on the courts for five minutes when Emma threw her racquet on to the ground as the strains of ‘Funky Foot Rock’ rang out from her mobile phone deadening the birdsong from the nearby beech trees.
One new message!
She shaded her eyes from the sun and scanned the screen.
Ring me! Now! Lucy x.
Emma speed dialled Lucy’s number. ‘Lucy, it’s me. What’s up?’
‘Sorry about the text – running out of credit. Look, I’ll have to talk fast because I’ve got to teach water polo in ten minutes,’ Lucy gabbled. ‘But you know it’s my birthday on Wednesday, right? Well, I’m ringing to invite you to The Jacaranda Tree.’
‘You can’t,’ Emma replied. ‘I mean, nice idea – but you have to be a member.’
‘Or be invited by a member,’ Lucy retaliated smugly. ‘Freddie’s one. Or rather, he belongs to some swish club in London that has reciprocals.’
‘Freddie? He’s down here already?’ Emma gasped. This was serious: her roots were showing and she hadn’t had a French manicure in ten days.
‘Emma! Hurry up!’ Theo shouted from the other side of the court. ‘We’re wasting time.’
Like this is time wasted, she thought.
‘He’s not coming till Wednesday – he’s meeting us at The J Tree at eight,’ Lucy said. ‘Apparently, there’s this band headlining there – he heard them when they played at the May Ball at Cambridge. He says they are totally ace, and he might try to get them for the party.’
‘This band,’ Emma queried tentatively. ‘What’s it called?’
‘Oh, I can’t remember,’ Lucy said with a sigh. ‘Broken Stick – no, that’s not it.’
‘Split Bamboo,’ Emma suggested.
‘That’s it!’ exclaimed Lucy. ‘Have you heard of them?’
‘Oh yes, loads,’ Emma replied. She paused, her mind working overtime. If Freddie really wanted this band, and she could make it seem like she was the only person on earth who could make it happen . . . ‘But unfortunately, they’re in huge demand and I doubt he’d have an ice cube’s chance in hell of getting them,’ she said. ‘But then, on the other hand, if I could have a word with Dad and get him to pull a few strings . . .’
‘Would you? Could you?’ Lucy burst out. ‘See, Adam’s so desperate for everything to go right. He and Freddie – well, they drifted apart a bit, what with living different lives and stuff – and now it looks like they could be really good mates.’
‘Let me see what I can do,’ Emma said sweetly. ‘So come on, what’s the plan for Wednesday? Who’s invited? Oh my God, what am I going to wear?’
If she hadn’t been so clued up about other people’s emotions, Emma would have been tempted to think that Theo was given to sulking. The moment she had got off the line to Lucy she had gone in search of her father, Theo trailing after her, camera in hand, moaning about losing the light and putting his schedule totally out of sync.
‘I’ve got to go and get Harriet in a couple of hours,’ he muttered. ‘I wanted to take a whole lot of pictures before then.’
Bless, thought Emma. He’s not moody, he’s just desperate to impress her.
‘Shouldn’t you put the ones you’ve already got on to the website before you fetch Harriet?’ she suggested, suddenly inspired. ‘After all, she’s bound to want to see them, and we don’t know they’re going to work.’
‘Oh sure, they’ll work,’ Theo said airily. ‘It’s a doddle, that kind of stuff.’
‘Yes but – well, it is my picture and I’d feel better knowing it looked OK. I might need you to do some digital enhancement.’
Theo laughed. ‘Hardly,’ he said. ‘But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll do it now. Don’t worry, I’ll catch up with you later.’
You are such a negotiator, Emma told herself proudly, as Theo headed off towards the main house. She was just turning towards her father’s office when Lily Bates came running up the drive.
‘Emma! Emma, wait!’
There was no avoiding her, so Emma fixed a smile on her face and waited.
‘Isn’t it exciting? Oh my God, Jake is like so over the moon! Isn’t your dad a star?’
‘Lily, what are you on about?’
‘Your dad – TV Today – I mean, never in a million years did we think —’
‘LILY!’ Emma shouted. ‘Slow down. What about TV Today?’
‘They’re coming to film your dad’s programme.’
‘Well, I know that, silly.’
‘And your dad said how would it be if he could work it so that Jake’s band got a . . . oh, silly me, what did he call it? You know, one of these fly-on-the-wall things, when it seems like a coincidence that they’re around, only it’s not really because he’s set it up?’
‘He said that?’
‘Yes, really!’ Lily nodded. ‘See, your dad called in on Mum to get Jake’s phone number and, of course, Mum said no need, he’s here and then —’
‘Jake is at your place? Now?’
‘Sure, and your dad’s giving him loads of contacts for bookings and —’
‘What? Oh my God – come on, let’s go!’
‘Where?’
‘To your place. I simply have to meet Jake. Now.’
Jake Fairfax looked more like a nineteenth-century Romantic poet than an upcoming rock star. He was tall and skinny, with a pale face that tapered into a dimpled chin and eyes of such icy blue that they seemed almost transparent. His unruly mop of corn-coloured hair looked as if it had been attached to his head as an afterthought by a rather second-rate doll-maker and his fingers constantly fiddled with the blue and white scarf knotted round his neck despite the temperature being well into the twenties. What’s more, neither his bum nor his lips (the two areas of a guy that Emma always checked out first) were of the sort to appeal to her: his backside was too flat and his lips too full. He looked about sixteen. But there was something about him that fascinated her. For one thing, when he smiled, his eyes stayed sad-looking, which could of course be due to the grief of losing his girlfriend; and, for another, his voice was totally out of keeping with his body. It was deep and husky and of the sort that, had she heard it without seeing him, would most definitely have turned her on.
‘If you’re looking for your dad, he’s just left, dear,’ Mrs Bates said, manoeuvring her wheelchair into the corner of the room and gesturing to Emma to sit down. ‘Did Lily tell you about the wonderful news?’
‘Yes, I heard everything,’ Emma said quickly. ‘Jake, it’s so cool you being here because we need you up at Donwell to play at a party.’
‘We don’t do private parties,’ Jake said amiably. ‘We’re concentrating on penetrating the club scene.’
‘Have one of these,’ Lily butted in, thrusting a plate under Emma’s nose. ‘Mini brioche – I had to do them at college for my exam and I got excellent for them, but these are better still because I used —’
‘This isn’t just any party,’ Emma countered briskly, taking a pastry just to shut Lily up and wondering whether this Jake guy wasn’t just a little bit up his own backside. ‘It’s Freddie Churchill’s twenty-first! You know, the guy in the Carstairs adverts?’
Emma was rewarded to see Jake’s face flush and his eyes widen.
‘Freddie Churchill? He’s having a party down here?’
‘Uh-huh, and he heard you play at Cambridge and was totally blown away,’ Emma went on. ‘So much so that he’s taking a whole crowd of us to hear you at The Jacaranda Tree. On Wednesday.’
‘On Wednesday? Freddie Churchill is coming to the club?’ Jake’s eyes widened in disbelief.
‘You know him?’ Lily cut in. ‘You never said.’
‘I don’t know him, exactly,’ Jake replied hastily. ‘Tatler were taking his picture at the May Ball and I asked someone who he was and we had a quick chat. That’s all.’
‘Is he as gorgeous as he looks on the adverts?’ Lily asked. ‘I drool at the one where he takes
off his shirt and dives into the waterfall.’
‘I didn’t really take much notice,’ Jake said with a shrug. ‘Mind you, he seemed to be pretty popular with the girls.’
‘So anyway, will you do it?’ Emma urged, dusting crumbs off her shorts. ‘July twenty-third at Donwell Abbey. He’ll pay well.’
‘Like I said, we don’t do parties,’ Jake repeated. ‘But – well, maybe if he wants to talk about it on Wednesday when the rest of the guys are there, we’ll see.’
He stood up and flexed his shoulders. ‘Got to go, Auntie,’ he said, smiling at Mrs Bates and planting a kiss on the top of her head. ‘Sitting here won’t find us somewhere to stay.’ He paused, his hand on the doorknob. ‘Say, why don’t you come to The J Tree as well? You’ve never heard us play live.’
‘That’s sweet of you, dear,’ his aunt replied, ‘but to be honest, it’s not my sort of scene and I get so tired by the evening. But Lily would love to go, wouldn’t you, poppet? And you don’t work on Wednesday nights.’
‘Wow, yes that would be great!’
Mrs Bates turned to Emma. ‘You’d give her a lift, wouldn’t you?’
‘Well, I would, but it’s Lucy’s birthday and we’ll probably be going on to another club or —’ She stopped as she saw Jake eyeing her closely. ‘. . . But I’m sure that’ll be fine,’ she finished. Falling out with Jake at this point was not a good idea and, if enduring Lily for one evening meant getting Split Bamboo for the party, it was a small price to pay.
‘Bless you, dear,’ Mrs Bates went on. ‘Poor Lily – she doesn’t have much fun with me like this.’
‘Mum, just stop that,’ Lily ordered. ‘We have a great time. And I’m not going anywhere till I’ve found someone to come and sit with you. And I’ll leave a nice salad and a glass of wine, and we’ll get you ready for bed before I go and —’
It struck Emma that Lily’s life really wasn’t a bundle of laughs.
‘I’ll ask my dad to pop in and see you too,’ Emma said on impulse. She wasn’t sure her dad would be around, but at least making the offer made her feel better.
Secret Schemes and Daring Dreams Page 7