Honey chose to take the look as a no. ‘Well, ciao ciao!’ she called as she swept out of the room on a cloud of eau de parbitch.
We all turned our attention back to Portia. ‘Darling, what happened?’ Georgina asked gently, sitting down on the bed and rubbing poor Portia’s back. Star was sitting beside her and so I sat beside Star.
Portia’s loss distressed me. The tears were banking up behind my eyes as I tried to think what I might want someone to say to me if anything happened to Sarah.
Portia put down her magazine and replied calmly. ‘It was the first day of the holidays. We were shopping, she was walking across Sloane Street, only not at the pedestrian crossing, and this Range Rover ran over her. It was all so fast. I was right there….’ Her voice faded, and Georgina took her in her arms and kissed the crown of her glossy raven head.
If it had been me, I would have cried. As it was I was wiping back a tear at the horrible sadness of it all. But I was paralysed by awkwardness and found I couldn’t join Star and Georgina in hugging her. I knew I was being inept and I wanted to say something more … I don’t know … ept, I guess, so I got off the bed and sat on my haunches in front of Portia and passed her my lip-gloss.
‘Do you want some lip-gloss?’ I asked, attempting a smile.
Portia took the lip-gloss, smiled bravely at me and applied liberally as I added, ‘I’m really sorry I didn’t ask about your break before, Portia. Actually, I mean I’m sorry about your mother and everything else too, obviously, it’s so sad …’
Portia gave me another brave smile as she passed me back my lip-gloss. I told her to keep it as I had loads, which was true. ‘Honestly, it’s so sweet of you, but I’ve dealt with it now,’ she said. ‘Honey’s right; devastating, but these things happen. It’s Daddy I’m worried about, rattling about all alone in that big house.’
By all alone, of course she meant there would still be gameskeepers, butlers, valets and staff galore, but her sadness and concern were real and my heart went out to her. Suddenly my txt alert sounded, and without thinking I dug my phone out of my pocket and read,
Can’t get you out of my head.
Freds x
I smiled, mostly because I had invented the nickname Freds. How cool was that; I had invented a nickname for the heir to the throne who couldn’t get me out of his head? No one seemed to notice me reading the txt but the inappropriateness of my joy wasn’t lost on me, and I shoved the phone straight back into my pocket.
‘I met your mother loads of times,’ I told Portia. ‘She was always lovely to me. She was so tall and beautiful and I loved the way she would always kick her shoes off and fall asleep at the back of the chapel on your father’s shoulder during Mass.’
A half-smile broke across Portia’s face. ‘And snored,’ she added. ‘She always snored.’
‘Well, Father Conran can go on,’ Star said, which made Portia laugh, even though I noticed a solitary tear running down her cheek, and then we all laughed the way you do when crying is the only other option and you know tears won’t help.
‘Thanks,’ Portia said, wiping her tear away. ‘Since the funeral I’ve been so miserable and pathetically wrapped up in my own self-pity. I’ve just stayed in my room and tried not to think about Mummy, but I can’t help it. Daddy’s lost loads of weight.’
‘What about Tarkie?’ Georgina asked, referring to Portia’s older brother, Tarquin, the Marquess of Eaglemere, who attends Eades in the year above Freddie.
‘Tarkie’s dealt with it by throwing himself into partying,’ she replied. I sensed she was being economical with her feelings about Tarquin’s partying in that upper-class English way, which had taken me so long to adapt to. Actually let me amend that; I am still getting used to it. ‘He went to Rock with friends straight after the funeral.’
‘What? Surfing?’ I blurted, shocked at what I saw as Tarquin’s callous abandonment of his sister and father.
‘Yes, well, it was pretty gloomy in Eaglemere, and we’ve always spent that fortnight in our house in Rock …’ She trailed off as if remembering past summers with her family when it was complete.
‘But what about you? What about your father?’ I asked, frustrated by my own inability to say anything useful and annoyed that I was saying anything at all. It was pretty obvious by the way Portia’s head was bowed and her demeanour in general that she didn’t want to answer questions or discuss her mother’s death more than she had to.
‘Daddy locked himself away,’ she answered politely, as if I’d asked about the weather, but she was looking at her hands, which were folded neatly in her lap. ‘He told me to go with Tarkie. My ghastly grandmother came to stay.’
‘Oh,’ I replied as if I genuinely thought the arrival of a ghastly relative made everything okay.
Then Portia looked up at me. ‘And she told me I should have gone with Tarkie to Rock too, and so I locked myself away from her.’
I could see she was about to tear up again, and I felt bad. ‘Boys are different,’ Star said, then pinched me in the ribs, which made me squeal, and Georgina pinched me too.
Portia smiled as I beat off Georgina and Star. She was clearly relieved that my probing was over.
‘Honestly, Tarquin’s been brilliant. He sent Daddy and me a postcard every day. Daddy said he wasn’t even sure Tarquin could write before that.’ Then a real smile broke across her beautiful features as if she was remembering something happy. ‘Actually, do you mind if I don’t talk about it?’ she asked, looking at me almost pleadingly. ‘I mean, I can’t stop missing Mummy, but it did feel good to laugh again just then.’
‘In that case,’ Star urged, pulling Portia to her feet, ‘you have got to come to the pet shed and see Hilda. She’s learnt this really cool new trick.’
‘You’ve taught her to talk?’ Portia asked teasingly.
Star’s always trying to teach her rat, Hilda, and her snake, Brian, to do clever tricks, but all Brian does is slither about and all Hilda does is run herself stupid on her little rat wheel. If you ask me, those two are a lost cause as far as tricks go.
‘Almost. She can beg for her little rat pellets now.’
‘Ooooh, bless,’ Portia said. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Just one sec,’ Star said as she rushed off to her dorm room, returning with a can of Febreze concealed inside her blazer so she’d be able to have a fag at the pet shed and spray the smell away.
We all traipsed downstairs and outside across the school grounds. As we passed our old dorm, Cleathorpes, I remembered our last term there, when Star and I had first become friends with Georgina. Soon I was straggling behind, musing about what sharing with Portia and Honey was going to be like this term. My parents told me they had big hopes for me this year as they waved me off at LAX.
This year we’d be sitting our GCSEs, a national exam, which meant the work would be piled on us; but far more important to me were the National Fencing Trials in December. As one of the top sabreurs in the Under Sixteens, Portia was probably focusing on the trials as well, which could bond us on one hand and make us competitors on another. I had to rate in the trials if my big dream to fence in the Nationals was going to come to anything. Freddie’s message couldn’t have been further from my mind when my txt alert sounded again.
So going to slay you on the piste next week!
Billy xxx
Three kisses from Billy, one from Freddie …
EIGHT:
House Spinster Alert
It was a very quiet dorm that first night. Hardly a word was spoken as we each took our turn in the pristine luxury of the marble en suite bathroom: showering, brushing our teeth and changing into our winter pyjamas.
Portia appeared gorgeously cool in a pair of black tight jersey shorts with a pink lace frill and a matching long-sleeved, tight-fitting top that showed her athletic figure to greatest advantage.
Honey sashayed out later as if trotting down a catwalk in a flesh-coloured, slinky, lace La Perla nightie that was very grown-up, sexy and se
e-through. I came out of the bathroom last so that they could witness together my madly un-posh, un-sexy Hello Kitty flannelette pyjamas.
‘Oh, bless,’ said Honey sarcastically.
I had thought them adorable when I bought them with Star and Georgina at the Beverly Center over the summer, but now realised how tragically babyish they were. My parents might be proud as punch that I was almost a full year younger than everyone else in my year, but they weren’t the ones who had to endure the feelings of immaturity that went with it.
I dived into bed and pulled my lovely new goose down double duvet up against my chin, trying to ignore the look Honey was giving me. A nasty look, pregnant with derision and loathing. I thought she was about to say something else, but she merely pulled her mauve silk eye mask over her eyes. I suppose she decided I wasn’t worth it.
Portia was reading another magazine, The Fencer, this time. I was exhausted from the flight, and I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier as I read Edith Sitwell’s English Eccentrics. Eventually I turned my light out and began to float off, thinking how different the atmosphere of this dorm room was compared to last term, when most nights held the excitement of a pyjama party. Eventually Portia said ‘Goodnight,’ to which I responded, ‘Sweet dreams.’ Honey just ignored us even though I suspect she was still awake.
Lying in the quiet, I almost welcomed the tap, tap, tap sound of Miss Bibsmore’s stick as she made her way down the corridor in an odd series of little steps and shuffles. I could hear her giving warnings about chatting after lights out to other rooms. And I listened to her dragging bins across bedroom floors to wedge the doors open so that she would hear any late-night chatting that wicked girls might try to engage in.
At ten-thirty, her odd little shape was silhouetted in our doorway. We already had our lights out, which must have been a first at Saint Augustine’s because everyone always waits for the lights-out rule to be enforced by the House Spinster. And let’s be honest, what room of girls would voluntarily turn their own lights out at fifteen years of age? Apart from when it was exam time, maybe.
‘Lights out now, girls,’ announced Miss Bibsmore in her shrieky voice as she perversely turned our evil fluorescent strip lights back on.
I peeked out from under my duvet and watched as she cast a suspicious eye over our room.
‘Wot’s that then on the floor by your bed, Miss Kelly?’ she demanded.
I leant over and scanned the floor, but there was nothing on it. For once, my area was spotless. ‘I don’t know,’ I told her honestly.
‘Don’t know!’ she screeched, using her stick to lift one of my Hello Kitty slippers into the air with a circus performer’s agility, then dangling the offending slipper in my face. It was definitely time to get over my Hello Kitty stage. In three months I would be fifteen, and looking at my little pink slipper as Miss Bibsmore wobbled it on her stick made me feel like it was high time I grew up and got some cool nightwear like Portia.
‘It’s by your bed, madam, so I suggest you acquaint yourself with the item and identify it quick smart!’
‘It’s a, well, it’s a, a slipper. Isn’t it, Miss Bibsmore?’ I asked uncertainly. I could hear Portia struggling under her duvet to suppress laughter.
‘No, it’s not a “slipper,” Miss Kelly, and well you know it.’
At which point Portia pretended to have a coughing fit to disguise her giggles. Honey was silent, no doubt waiting for a chance to stick the knife in.
I was genuinely stumped. Maybe there was another term for slipper that I was yet to learn. As an American, I was always discovering new words for everyday objects. It had taken me all the first term of year seven to work out what vests were, and jumpers had stumped me for a further year. So I asked cautiously, ‘Sorry, Miss Bibsmore, we call it a slipper in America.’
‘Well I call it your classic death trap. I can smell the stench of a dead girl just looking at it. Wot if there was a fire innit? Wot if you had to evacuate at a moment’s notice? You’d dive out of bed, blind as a bat, and trip over this so-called “slipper,” and knock your ‘ead on a bed or the floor. You’d be out cold while the flames licked about your body. A slipper indeed! I’ve never heard such nonsense.’
This time I heard Honey suppress a laugh – only I think she was laughing at the tantalising thought of me burning to death rather than the absurdity of Miss Bibsmore’s rant.
‘Sorry, Miss Bibsmore,’ I replied.
‘Now in the future, I want all so-called “slippers” under the bed. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Crystal, Miss Bibsmore,’ I agreed obediently.
Miss Bibsmore patted me on the head. ‘Right you are, then, sweetie. Off to the land of Nod with you now, little love. Say your prayers.’ I stuck my head deeper into my duvet, secretly delighted by her comforting words. ‘And sweet dreams to you too, Briggsie,’ she added gently.
Using an affectionate abbreviation of Portia’s surname and calling me ‘sweetie’ was a privilege I suspected Honey wasn’t going to enjoy.
‘Thank you, Miss Bibsmore,’ Portia replied.
She patted Portia’s head again. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your mum too. Sister Constance told me what happened an’ all. It can’t have been easy for you. I understand she was a proper angel with an ‘eart of gold and it’s a curse on those like me wot didn’t get to meet her.’
‘Thank you, Miss Bibsmore,’ Portia answered quietly.
‘I won’t mention her again, mind, but I felt I should say something. It’s only proper. I might be stern but I’m not made of stone, Briggsie. As for you, Miss O’Hare,’ she added, her voice changing tone as she shuffled back toward the door, ‘don’t think I’m not on to you, pretending to be asleep indeed. As if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. I’ve ‘ad a good look at your record, madam, not to mention your sister Poppy ‘oo I had up ‘ere two years past, so may the Good Lord Jesus Christ and the saints in ‘eaven protect you if I ever catch you up to anything.’
‘Whatever,’ Honey muttered.
‘Hail Mary, full of grace …,’ Miss Bibsmore began, and Portia, Honey and I joined her in a decade of the rosary.
By the time our lights actually did get turned out, it was eleven o’clock and the jet lag was seriously kicking in.
NINE:
Secret Disappointments & Less-Than-Secret Hatred!
After Miss Bibsmore left, Portia expressed what I’d been thinking. ‘She’s really gunning for you, Honey.’
Honey turned on her torch and tore off her eye mask. ‘Oh, don’t worry, darling. I’ve already called Daddy on one of my other mobiles and his solicitor is writing a letter as we speak. Her days are numbered, and Daddy said he’ll make sure she’ll never get a reference.’
Suddenly the fluorescent strip lights flickered on again and framed in the doorway was the ghostly figure of Miss Bibsmore. ‘I warned you, Miss O’Hare. I might not be bright but I’m blessed with a nose for trouble, I am, and I’ll not have your kind having one over on me. Do you understand?’
With that the fluorescent lights flickered off again.
‘Would you kindly allow us to sleep, you mad old witch! It’s against the Geneva Convention to wander in and wake us up, you know …,’ Honey spat, but the tap, tap, tap of Miss Bibsmore’s stick was already fading away down the corridor.
‘Did you get much fencing practise in during the break?’ Portia whispered to me once we heard Miss Bibsmore descending the stone staircase. I could see that the stone staircase was going to be a great advantage if our dorm did ever become fun. We’d hear Miss Bibsmore coming easily.
‘Yaah, a fair bit but it’s hard finding decent opponents over there. The standard just isn’t as high. Fewer people do sabre in LA so the competition isn’t great. I worked on my lunges and footwork though. What about you?’
‘Daddy hired me my own fencing master. We’ve got a piste in the gym at home so I was planning to be practising all the time, but then, after Mummy …’
‘We�
�ll be back on the piste tomorrow,’ I reassured her, not wanting to torture her further over the loss of her mother. She’d made it quite clear she didn’t want to talk about it, and I was going to respect her wishes.
‘We’ll both need to push ourselves with the BNFTs coming up in December. It’s such a ghastly time for Professor Sullivan to take a sabbatical,’ she sighed.
‘Has he left?’
‘For a term at least.’
This was an enormous blow to me. Professor Sullivan had been my fencing master since I first came to Saint Augustine’s. I hadn’t counted on this turn of events at all. ‘You mean we have a new fencing master?’
‘Mr Wellend. I doubt he’s a Mr Sullivan, but he sounds the business. Olympic silver, quite old but madly accomplished, apparently,’ she explained.
‘Oh, I’m just surprised Professor Sullivan didn’t mention anything.’
‘He probably thought we’d make a fuss of him. Besides, he’s not gone forever. This Wellend chap used to coach the Eades team ages ago, apparently. I’ll go down tomorrow in the break to speak to him and see if he’s willing to give us extra lunchtime tuition.’
‘Do you think he’s unlikely to?’
‘If you don’t mind, some of us are trying to get to sleep,’ Honey hissed.
Portia ignored her. ‘Hardly. He’s not obliged, but now’s the time to ask. Plus it is in his interest for us to distinguish ourselves.’
‘Our success being his success, you mean.’
Honey groaned and moved about noisily in her bed.
I ignored her. ‘Well, if you don’t mind going alone, I’d really like to check on how Dorothy’s doing back at the pet shed during break. I really missed her over the summer,’ I explained.
A Royal Match Page 19
