‘How sick, exactly?’ Vassily asked smoothly.
‘I’m not fool enough to think you all like me,’ said Cassie, keeping her voice level, ‘but you’re contacts. You’re kind of a network, aren’t you? Isn’t that what the Few are all about?’
The remaining Few looked at one another. Some of them smiled.
Mustn’t blow it, thought Cassie. Not now.
‘So I might lose a friend. So what? I can make more. Sure, I like Isabella. But she’s not …’ Hardening her heart, she took a breath. ‘She’s not indispensable.’
The silence was even heavier. Richard looked expressionless, Sara amused, Ayeesha a little disappointed. Katerina had a surprisingly satisfied air.
Vassily leaned back in his chair and stretched. ‘Well, I think Cassie has dealt with our main concern admirably. Thank you Cassie. Everyone, it’s getting on. Do we all agree that we have enough to let the proposal go forward?’ The sixth former scanned the room quizzically.
‘Absolutely,’ said Ayeesha, checking her watch. ‘I agree, and I see no need to drag this out. I told Freya I’d meet her in the library in a quarter of an hour, and I don’t want to let her down.’
‘Quite,’ muttered Vassily, rather bitchily. ‘After all, she never lets you down.’
Cormac shot him a dirty look. ‘Come on, Ayeesha.’ He stood up. ‘Let’s not waste more time. Cassie, that was a very interesting interview. Very interesting. I had you down as somebody else.’
‘Me too.’ Ayeesha was smiling again, but a bit more warily. Then she took Cormac’s hand and they left.
Much to Cassie’s discomfort, a few others did, too, India among them. There wasn’t a sympathetic face left. Except for Richard, of course.
‘Well,’ she said brightly. ‘I suppose I should go too. Thanks for inviting me. It’s been—’
‘Stay a bit longer,’ murmured Richard, pressing her back into her seat. ‘I thought you wanted to see the common room?’
‘I did, but …’ She glanced a little desperately at the door, just closing behind a Year Ten girl she vaguely knew and liked.
‘Go on, I’ll show you the Matisse. It’s incredible.’
‘Maybe another time.’
Too late. The door clicked shut, and intense silence fell on the room. Cassie tried to catch Richard’s eye, but he wasn’t paying attention. She fidgeted, wondered if she should just get up and leave.
But then Mikhail stood abruptly, knocking over his water bottle, and took a step towards her. Cassie no longer felt fidgety; now she was frightened.
‘I don’t feel well.’
Hamid half-rose. ‘Katerina, stop him!’
Katerina snapped, ‘Mikhail!’
He stopped, wobbling.
‘Go back to your room. You’re not fit to be here. Your roommate must be back from his parents’ by now. He can … look after you.’
‘Oh, Katerina, let him have a drink.’ Keiko batted her lashes. ‘A proper drink. And why don’t we offer Cassie one, while we’re at it?’
‘Well,’ said Yusuf, watching Mikhail, whose chest was rising and falling hard. ‘Where’s the harm in it?’
Shocked, Hamid turned. ‘Yusuf! You know what he said.’
‘Ooh, Hamid!’ scoffed Keiko. ‘You might be afraid of Ranjit, but Katerina isn’t.’
‘Indeed I’m not,’ snapped Katerina. ‘But there are certain wishes we must respect.’
‘I thought that’s what we were trying to do. More’s the pity.’
‘Opinions vary, Keiko. Opinions vary.’
‘Someone … offer our guest … a drink. Please.’
‘Mikhail, you’re becoming delirious. What a greenhorn you are. Next time we expect you to plan ahead a little better! Hamid, take him to his room.’
‘But, Katerina …’ whinged Mikhail.
‘To be honest,’ shrugged Vassily, ‘I’m with Keiko and Yusuf. It’s not as if we can’t still consider her afterwards. It’s only one drink.’
Sara chuckled. ‘Hamid, Katerina, lighten up! Now, Cassie, we’ve been inhospitable. Will you drink with us?’ Rising, she turned to a tray on the gloomy sideboard.
Cassie watched the statuesque beauty, feeling terribly uneasy. It didn’t seem right or even possible to jump up and leave. That would be running away. But she so did not want a drink …
‘After all,’ drawled Keiko, ‘Ranjit isn’t here. He can’t care so terribly much.’
‘I thought you’d had a final warning, Keiko?’ Vassily seemed entertained by her rebelliousness.
Keiko preened. ‘Yes, but Sir Alric’s not here either, is he?’
‘Oh, have it your way,’ snapped Katerina. ‘Make it quick, Mikhail!’
Blissfully Mikhail sighed, all the tension draining from his body. He stalked towards Cassie, stretching out a shivering eager hand.
‘What is this?’
Everyone froze. The door had swung open and Ranjit stood there, rigid.
His cold eyes travelled from face to face, lingering on Richard and then on Katerina. Several of the Few got to their feet, and even the sixth formers looked a little sheepish. At last, shocked, angry, and for an instant dumbstruck, he looked at Cassie. ‘What is she doing here?’
Man, he knew how to rile her – even if it was what she’d just been asking herself. Springing up, Cassie swung round, ready to fire off a few choice curses, but seeing his face, she found herself speechless.
A pulse was beating hard in his throat. Something else fleetingly crossed his expression, something Cassie couldn’t quite define. Fear? Was he frightened? Of her?
Surely not.
For her?
Richard interrupted the silence. ‘She’s a candidate, Ranjit.’
‘Oh, is she? I thought I’d made my views clear?’
Katerina slipped her arm through his, turning him firmly away from Cassie as she stroked his lapel. ‘Come along, Ranjit, darling. I like your new suit. Is it Armani?’
Ranjit’s lip curled. ‘Mikhail, you look terrible. Go to your room.’
‘Just what I’ve been telling him,’ murmured Katerina, swiftly dropping the flattery.
The blond boy slunk from the common room, knuckles white around yet another water bottle. Ranjit didn’t watch him go.
‘Cassandra, please excuse us. Your proposer …’ he gave Richard a savage glance, ‘will take you back to your room.’
‘Thanks,’ she said sharply. ‘I don’t need an escort.’
‘Richard.’ Ranjit’s tone had a distinct edge.
‘Come on, Cassie.’ Richard slung an arm round her shoulders, earning another filthy look from Ranjit. ‘Let’s go and find your – friend. Isabella, I mean.’
‘Our decision will be made within a month,’ smirked Katerina. ‘Other candidates have to be interviewed, and final approval has to be sought from the Elders. We’ll let you know.’ She flapped her fingers in a dismissive gesture.
‘You did well,’ said Richard, as the door swung silently shut behind them and he led her along the bustlined corridor.
‘Good,’ said Cassie dully. That’s not how I feel.
‘I think you’ve got a great attitude. And you know what? I don’t think Isabella will mind that much, anyway. It’s theoretical, isn’t it? Just a case of showing your determination. Your ambition.’
‘Ruthlessness,’ muttered Cassie.
‘If you like. But it won’t come to that.’
I hope not, thought Cassie miserably. When she imagined how Isabella might react, she half-hoped the Few would reject her. But she also hoped violently that she’d be accepted.
Anyway, she told herself for the umpteenth time, she needed to know what they were up to. Finding things out, finding people out, taking care of herself: that was what had helped her survive Cranlake Crescent. That was what had got her out of there, and brought her here to Paris.
If she played her cards right, it would help her survive the Academy, too.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
There had to be someo
ne she could talk to. Cassie missed Patrick Malone and his cheerful good sense more than she had for weeks. He’d have known what to do. He’d have known what was right. But he wasn’t here. She was on her own.
Unhappily, Cassie stole a sidelong peek at Isabella. She raised her head from her book and winked. Madame Lefèvre was enthusing about Proust, and there was a miasma of boredom in the overheated classroom. Outside the windows, an early-morning frost edged the bare trees.
Herr Stolz? No, she didn’t know him well enough. Madame Lefèvre? Hardly. The other teachers? Some of them were downright intimidating; the science master Chelnikov was terrifying. The one person she’d have run to with any other problem was Isabella. And confiding in her, of course, was out of the question.
Sir Alric Darke? No way.
How about someone who was old enough to have seen and done it all, who knew all there was to know about the Academy? How about Madame Azzedine? The old woman seemed to like her. Somehow Cassie liked her too, and trusted her. She could talk to Madame Azzedine.
After all, there was a lot she wanted to ask. Alice’s desk was still empty. Cassie hardly knew the girl, but in the last couple of weeks she’d found herself longing to see Alice return to classes. The longer she was absent, the more uneasy Cassie felt. At least Richard had stopped pretending it was a hangover.
‘Poor old thing.’ Yesterday in the café he’d only shrugged, and ordered Cassie another croissant. ‘She’s reacted very badly to that virus.’
‘But has anyone called a doctor?’
‘Of course. But she was as mystified as everyone else. A post-viral syndrome, she thought. Alice will get over it. She needs rest, that’s all.’ He’d jiggled his eyebrows. ‘Come on, old girl, don’t let it spoil your appetite.’
At least, thought Cassie, Mikhail Shevchenko was looking better. A lot better, actually. By the morning after Cassie’s interview Mikhail had been in bouncing health again, cheeks glowing with colour, eyes bright and mischievous. There wasn’t even a remnant of his weird raging thirst.
His poor old roommate Sasha was the one who’d looked drained. Up all night looking after Mikhail, probably.
That was one mystery she could have discussed with Isabella, except that Isabella could talk about nothing but her own interview. The embossed card had appeared under their door the day after Cassie’s return from the common room. Same message, same time, different date.
‘See? Isn’t this wonderful?’ Her roommate’s face had fallen just a little. ‘Only one vacancy, I know.’ Her mercurial mood changed again, and Isabella had laughed with delight. ‘But next time there is a vacancy, we shall both be members of the Few!’
Hell’s teeth, thought Cassie, I hope not.
‘Time, ladies and gentlemen!’ Madame Lefèvre’s severe voice interrupted her reverie. ‘You have all seemed very distracted today. Please try to arrive tomorrow in a more enquiring frame of mind.’
Oh God, thought Cassie, if only you knew …
As they filtered out of the classroom, Cassie had to put a hand on Isabella’s arm to slow her down. ‘Hey, wait for me!’
‘Oh, Cassie, I’m sorry. I’m excited, that’s all!’ The girl was like an uncorked bottle of champagne, about to fizz over.
‘It’s tonight.’ A feeling of horror lodged in Cassie’s stomach. Of course the interview was tonight. She’d known that. It had crept up on her, that was all, and she’d been trying not to think about it.
‘Isabella.’ She drew her friend to a halt. ‘Do you really think you’d get on with that lot?’
Puzzlement flitted across Isabella’s beautiful features. ‘Cassie, do you mind that I am having an interview also?’
‘No. No, of course not. I’m happy for you. It’s just …’ Cassie realised there was nothing she could say. All she was going to do was botch her friendship with Isabella, if she carried on in this clumsy direction.
‘It’s just I can’t imagine either of us being Few.’ Recovering, she gave Isabella a wink. ‘They can be a bit …’
‘Up themselves,’ whispered Isabella, and they erupted into stifled giggles. ‘Don’t worry, Cassie. When we are both members – and we will be! – we shall change the culture! We shall be revolutionaries! We will make it fun to be Few!’
Dancing backwards a few steps, she laughed out loud and jogged for the stairs. Cassie followed, much heavier of heart.
Fun to be Few.
Right.
*
‘You look fabulous.’ Awed, Cassie stared at Isabella.
‘You like it?’ Isabella turned an elegant circle, letting the flaring silk of the Valentino dress swirl around her knees.
‘It’s beautiful. Honest.’ Laying down her pen, Cassie raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not even going to ask how much it cost. I’d only faint and hurt myself.’
‘True.’ Isabella laughed. ‘But I had to look good for my interview, didn’t I? I spoke to Papa today and he is very excited, and he says I must make a splendid impression. He insisted I go out this afternoon and—’
As usual, Isabella’s face darkened with remorse. She bit her lip hard. ‘Oh, Cassie, I am so sorry. Always with you I say such stupid things. I have – what do you say – the tact of a …’
‘Bulldozer? Brick?’ Cassie grinned. ‘Don’t worry, for goodness’ sake. I’m not a sensitive southern flower like you. Stop biting yourself, you’ll ruin the lippy.’
‘The …?’
‘The lipstick. Stop biting it.’
Isabella laughed, happy again. Honestly, thought Cassie, if you harnessed the girl’s mood changes you could power Greater Manchester.
‘I am sure I will not be chosen this time,’ Isabella assured her, though her wide smile belied that. ‘I am sure they will like you best. Just as I do! But soon, Cassie – soon, I swear, it will be two of us!’
‘Course it will.’ Cassie stood up and gave her the tightest hug she could manage without creasing the stunning dress. ‘Isabella?’
‘What?’ Isabella hesitated at the open door, itching to go.
‘I hope you get it,’ Cassie lied. ‘That’s all. Good luck.’
*
It wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. She’d been planning this ever since Isabella had received her invitation. She’d thought of everything, weighed up all the risks, and she’d known all along she couldn’t pass up such a golden opportunity.
Keiko would be occupied with the interview. The Japanese girl didn’t like Isabella; she’d want to be there – to scorn her, ask hard questions, make her look small. Cassie’s own interview had lasted ages, even after half the Few had left. Of course, it would have taken a whole lot longer if the jumped-up Ranjit hadn’t interrupted. He’d have no objections to a rich girl like Isabella, though, so tonight that wouldn’t be a problem. All the Few would be together, closeted with Isabella in their oppressive common room.
There was never going to be a better chance to snoop. There was still the question of the Few’s roommates, of course: roommates who might be awake, alert and in their rooms. All but one. One of the few had a chronically unwell roommate who might easily be quarantined in the sickroom …
She’d been over all this in her head a hundred times. It would be fine.
Stupid to have doubts now, then. Cassie shook her head and secured her unruly hair with a scrunchie, then bent to tie the laces of her trainers. Her heart was beating so hard she could barely breathe. What was she so afraid of? OK, what she was going to do was wrong. It was dishonest, and dishonourable too. It could get her expelled. But it was hardly going to get her killed.
Get a grip, Cassie!
Which reminded her …
Isabella spent as much on her hair accessories as she did on everything else, thought Cassie approvingly. The hair grips in her little walnut chest were expensive, strong but flexible, decorated with small gold lilies. As she slipped out of their room and through the quiet corridors, Cassie only hoped she wasn’t going to ruin the one she’d chosen – but she’d got t
hrough locks with flimsy wire grips, screwdrivers and credit cards, and never snapped any.
She kept her expression vague and a little thick, and no one she passed took the slightest notice of her. At least she knew for certain that the Few would be occupied with Isabella’s interview, and she could bluff her way past ordinary students and teachers any old day. The one person she was really afraid of running into was Marat the porter, but there was no sign of him.
Cassie wandered nonchalantly into the east corridor on the second floor. Alice and Keiko’s room was easy to find: she knew roughly where it was, and how cooperative of the school to put nameplates on the doors.
Glancing quickly up and down the corridor, she leaned close to the door. Not a sound. No scratch of a pen, no rustle of a magazine, no murmur of a radio; not so much as a snore. Either the room was empty, or Alice was fast asleep and dead to the world. If she was sleeping, Cassie would slip away; she was good at moving silently in and out of rooms while other people slept. At least then she’d know Alice was OK. At least that would be reassuring.
If Alice wasn’t there … Well, it would be a shame not to have a scout round.
Idly she tried the door handle. Locked, but she hadn’t expected anything else. Twisting open Isabella’s hair grip, she jiggled it into the lock. She could do this with her eyes shut. Literally. She could even do it while she leaned against the door, casually eyeing both ends of the corridor …
Inside the lock, the end of the grip caught something. One last wiggle, one last strong push and twist of her fingertips, and it gave with a muted clunk. Cassie held her breath for a long painful moment, but there was still no sound from the room beyond. She tried the handle again. Silently it gave, and the door swung open.
The light in the room was dim, cast by just one rose-pink shaded lamp, but Cassie could see Alice, lying on top of her bedcovers. She wore embroidered white cotton pyjamas, loose, beautifully clean and with an expensive sheen. She certainly hadn’t been wearing those the whole time she’d been off sick. The girl lay on her side, facing the door, wild hair loose around her neck and across her forehead. Her hand was splayed in front of her chest, one leg hooked forward, almost as if she was in the recovery position.
Secret Lives Page 11
