by Anne Digby
Rebecca turned the envelope over in her hands, glanced at Tish, then opened it. The note inside said:
Dearest Rebecca
Please forgive. I have decided to go on the Wessex tour at the very last. There are many empty seats on the coach and it is such a waste. Never again will I have the chance to see so many interesting places! Please wish Ginge and Sue very great good luck in the Finals today. The coach will get back at 21 hours tomorrow night and you will tell me all about it.
Always your loving friend
Emmanuelle
P.S. Please tell Cliff also I am sorry not to come to the disco tomorrow. If he cannot sell the ticket please give him the money, Rebecca, and I will pay it to you. E. XXX
Tish, seeing Rebecca turn pale, came and stood beside her and read the note over her shoulder.
'How totally foul of her!' she exclaimed. Then quickly, to make amends, she tried to soften it. 'I mean, what a funny way to behave. Maybe she finds it a strain having to talk English all the time? I know Sandrine does.'
'In which case, she could have mentioned it before,' said Rebecca coldly.
'Yes.'
Tish ran a hand through her newly-washed dark curly hair. She was totally baffled.
It should have been a sensational day at Exonford. It was a thrilling contest. In the end, Ginge and Sue dead-heated for second place, just a few points behind a brilliant fourteen-year-old clarinettist who was duly named Wessex Young Musician of the Year.
It should have been totally enjoyable from start to finish but, for Rebecca, Emmanuelle had spoiled everything.
As she outwardly smiled and clapped and cheered in the mounting excitement, the pain that the French girl had caused her gnawed away inwardly and refused to go away.
Cliff was cheerful to a fault all day, as though to make up for the night of the barbecue. It was as though he, too, were putting on an act. Rebecca felt this particularly at lunch time, in the French restaurant, when he kept raising his glass sardonically "to absent friends". It was obvious that he felt a fool to have booked the table.
The only good thing to come out of it was Jenny's quiet happiness.
She'd been standing by the car, giving Ginge the good luck card, when Rebecca had appeared that morning and told the boys that Emmanuelle wasn't coming.
'Why don't you come instead, Jenny?' Ginge had asked.
Jenny had flown upstairs to find Anne-Marie who, far from minding, had given her a hug. Then she'd grabbed her best jacket, changed into smart shoes and rushed down to join Rebecca in the back of the car.
Glancing at the driving mirror, Rebecca noticed that Ginge looked rather pleased. What a surprise!
Friday she enjoyed even less.
With Emmanuelle still away, she felt unsettled, not knowing quite what to do with herself. Sympathetic looks from her friends didn't help. It was obvious they'd all gone off her pen friend in a big way.
And she'd so wanted them to like Emmanuelle! She'd been convinced that they would, once they all got to know each other properly. That had been part of the grand design, the wonderful plans she'd been making all term for the French Exchange. The best laid schemes of mice and men... wrote Robert Burns. Too true! These had gone agley, all right.
She wasn't even sure whether she liked Emmanuelle herself now. And as for her friends getting to know her properly, what a joke. She no longer felt that she did.
And two long weeks together in London stretched ahead.
How would Emmanuelle behave in London? Did more little shocks and unpredictable happenings lie in wait, to wound and upset?
It was Rebecca's sixteenth birthday next Saturday. She'd organized a small party, mainly because Emmanuelle was going to be there. Tish and some of the others were coming but they didn't like Emmanuelle now. Perhaps the party wasn't such a good idea...
The tension inside her built up steadily all day.
Half-way through the disco at Caxton High that evening she reached cracking point.
She told Cliff that she wanted to leave early.
'Emmanuelle's coach will be getting back any minute now,' she told him. 'I've got to see her! I've got to have it out with her. The rest of her stay's going to be an absolute nightmare, if I don't. I can't stand it any longer, Cliff.'
He was extraordinarily understanding about it. They hadn't been having that much of a good time, anyway. Ginge had cried off the disco.
And now Cliff handed Rebecca a sealed blue envelope.
'Can you give her this? It's private. From Ginge.'
Rebecca put the blue envelope in her pocket and shook her head in despair. It could only be saying goodbye. Ever since last term, she'd respected Emmanuelle's secret; even though she thought it was silly of Emmanuelle to worry and worry about her lack of boy friends. But what did she expect, Rebecca wondered now, if this were the way she behaved? The way she'd treated Ginge, for a start! At first being so friendly and then acting rudely, suggesting he wasn't worth spending time on. He most certainly was. Jenny thought so, too! At the very least, he could have been a delightful friend and companion for Emmanuelle this week but she'd spurned him!
Rebecca no longer felt regretful that she hadn't been able to introduce Robbie's friend Ben Hartwell to her French pen friend. It could easily have turned out the same way. No, she felt relieved about that now.
All too suddenly she and Cliff were saying goodbye. It would be quite a long time before she saw him again. He couldn't come to her birthday party next Saturday because Caxton High didn't break up till the following Monday. But he'd be coming to stay in London later on in the summer holidays. He had a standing invitation from Arnie, who'd been his best friend at his old school, and Arnie lived just round the corner from Rebecca.
'And after that, we'll be getting our GCSE results,' said Cliff, as they stood outside, waiting for Rebecca's taxi to arrive. He had an arm round her shoulders. 'You'd better get that history grade, Becky. You'd better be coming back to Trebizon!'
He knew that she was in two minds about staying on in the Sixth Form if she hadn't qualified for the only A-level course that she really cared about.
'I know you'll get your grades all right, Cliff,' she replied, quickly changing the subject. The possibility of her not being successful didn't even bear thinking about.
As the taxi pulled away, he shouted out Love yer. She shouted the same thing back. And they blew each other a kiss. Then Rebecca leaned back and closed her eyes to enjoy the smooth ride, for a few moments feeling deliciously peaceful.
For some days now Mara had been talking about love and how painful it was. Ever since Curly's departure. They'd even quarrelled before he left but then made it up again. 'It is not a peaceful state to be in, Rebecca,' she'd said. 'I do not know why we allow ourselves to have such a terrible illness.' And Tish, joining in, had laughed and said: 'I don't allow myself!' And Rebecca had argued with Mara. 'It doesn't have to be like that, Mara. It can be quite peaceful.'
That's how it was with Cliff. And that was how she preferred it, she told herself. She'd feared he'd been showing signs of jealousy last weekend but that seemed to have passed.
As her taxi turned in through Trebizon's main gates, they met the empty coach coming away. So the French girls were back, then!
Settling up with the taxi-driver, outside Court House, the tension within her returned with full force. She noticed Anne-Marie up at the window, peeping out. Her resolve began to weaken. She could hardly say anything to Emmanuelle in front of Anne-Marie. And what exactly was she going to say to her, anyway?
How dare you...
Could she really say that? What was the point?
As she walked up the stairs, feeling confused and undecided, she suddenly felt the envelope in her pocket. At least she could give her Ginge's letter! And then perhaps they'd get talking, and Emmanuelle would apologize to her and maybe even try to explain...
She turned left at the first floor landing and walked along to her pen friend's room. Her knock was answered by
Anne-Marie and Rebecca could see at once that the room was empty.
'She's not back yet,' said Anne-Marie, her face sickly pale beneath her tan.
'But I've just seen the coach!' said Rebecca.
Anne-Marie pulled her into the room and closed the door. She looked anxious.
'She did not go on the coach!' she whispered. 'Oh, Rebecca, I am getting worried. She said she would be sure to come back while it was still light but soon it will be dark. She must not try to come back in the dark!'
Not go on the coach! Rebecca could hardly take this in. 'Get back from where, Anne-Marie?' she exclaimed.
Too worried to keep the secret any longer, Anne-Marie told her.
ELEVEN
THE PHANTOM OF THE ISLAND
Emmanuelle sat on the old iron bedstead upstairs in the ruined cottage, feeling close to despair. The gentle evening breeze blew straight in through the window with no glass in it. She could hear their voices quite clearly. If she peered round the edge of the paneless window she could see them below, sitting on the grass near the moored yacht.
A linen cloth was spread there between them and the man had laid out delicacies for them to eat and champagne to drink, all produced from a handsome picnic basket. She could hear the tinkling of glasses. They'd left the crew aboard the yacht and were obviously going to make a night of it.
From up here, you could see the bald patch on top of Michael Deeping's head. You never saw that in his films!
Oh, would the lovebirds never leave?
As each minute passed, Emmanuelle grew more frantic. Dusk was falling fast. A bat had just flitted past the window.
She was trapped. She daren't show her face. She'd get into terrible trouble (and the school into trouble too) and Mme Bouvier would almost certainly have her expelled from the lyceé. But it would soon be dark and Anne-Marie would start to panic and probably raise the alarm! She'd think something had happened to her...
Everything had worked so well for Emmanuelle up till now.
Anne-Marie had given Rebecca the note while Emmanuelle hid in the room at Court House until everyone had gone. (What a shock when Jenny had knocked on the door and she'd had to dive under the bed. It was so nice that Jenny had a boy friend now. Ginge was such a lovely person).
After that, she'd spent most of the day at Vennick Cove in shorts and tee-shirt, with her beloved sailboard. And the little waterproof rucksack, packed with food and a book to read and a thick jumper for bedtime, hidden behind a rock. Then, in the early evening, the tide at its lowest point, she'd put the rucksack on her back and skimmed across the narrow stretch of water on the sailboard. To Mulberry Island.
Oh, such a sense of freedom as she'd clambered ashore on the far side of the island, hidden her sailboard in the undergrowth... The relief to be a way from it all, to have escaped! Just to be perfectly alone.
It had all been totally spur of the moment.
She hadn't planned it. Not in her wildest dreams had she planned to do such a crazy thing. She'd steeled herself to fall in with Rebecca's programme for these two days. But at the very last moment she simply hadn't been able to face it. It would be intolerable. And she'd suddenly remembered the island.
What an adventure it had been, too, sleeping on the old bedstead last night, the air balmy and full of summer sounds. She had always wanted to come to the island, surely Rebecca would believe that? And today had been quite pleasurable. Sunbathing, reading, picnicking, a dip or two in the warm sea, on the far side of the island, out of sight of the mainland! Time had passed easily enough...
20 hours.
Emmanuelle had looked at her watch. The time had come to retrieve her sailboard, windsurf back to Vennick Cove and reclaim her deposit. Thence by foot return to Court House around the same time as the coach. Rebecca would have left for the disco. She might easily discover later that there'd been no Wessex tour but Emmanuelle was planning carefully a full explanation.
Then, disaster! Upstairs in the cottage, packing the small rucksack, she'd heard the throb of an engine and seen the yacht circling once round the island. Gazelle III. Michael Deeping had arrived!
The yacht had tied up at the tiny jetty and he'd stepped ashore with a nervous-looking young woman and a picnic basket. 'This is it, Cassie,' Emmanuelle had heard him say, in an elated voice.
She'd found herself trapped upstairs in the cottage ever since, her rucksack packed, unable to make her escape. Of course, if she hadn't been so worried about the dire situation she found herself in, Emmanuelle would have found this all totally fascinating. The famous star was only now showing his fiancée the island where he planned to build their home! He'd been waiting for the media attention to die down. Now they were alone there at last, he explained, and he wanted to make this an evening they'd always remember.
'Ain't we going to find it a bit lonesome here?' Cassie Duncan asked, looking less than impressed.
'I need the space, Cassie. I've got to have space. Just you and me and our little grey home in the west.' He pointed at the cottage. 'Pity to have to pull it down in a way.'
Emmanuelle thought she heard the young woman make a shuddering sound. Then came another shuddering sound and a little squeal. There was a spider running over her caviar!
'When you've found paradise you expect to share it with a few spiders, Cassie!' came the tetchy response.
As the sun disappeared over the rosy horizon and dusk descended, the fashion model became increasingly nervy and the couple seemed to be on the verge of quarrelling.
'I keep hearing weird creaks and noises, Mike. Like there's somebody else here. This place is spooky.'
'Don't be stupid, Cassie. There are no other boats here, are there? The agent's got strict instructions to let nobody come near here tonight. I want us to be alone.'
'Listen! I just heard a sort of cough!'
'A frog, I expect.'
'Gee! You mean there's frogs here, too - ?' More alarm!
'The sooner I fetch some blankets and we cosy down in our little grey home, the better,' he said, packing up the picnic basket and walking towards the boat with it. 'You wait there, Cassie.'
Cosy down...
Emmanuelle froze in alarm. She'd had some bad moments but this was by far the worst.
And then suddenly, the freewheeling bat decided to swoop low over Cassie's head.
'Mike!' She screamed loudly. 'Don't leave me here alone!'
The sudden piercing scream brought Emmanuelle's face fleetingly to the window - just as the young model was glancing fearfully over her shoulder. At the cottage. For a split-second Cassie saw through the dusk the pale phantasmagoric face at the window. And then it disappeared.
'Mike! !'
She started sobbing hysterically.
Crouched in the bedroom in horror, Emmanuelle heard the famous star come running - and then heard him slapping his fiancée, telling her to calm down. And she was shouting at him.
'Get me off this place! I think you're crazy, Mike Deeping!'
'Me crazy? You're crazy, not me!'
In no time at all, Emmanuelle heard the yacht's engine splutter to life. And soon they were gone.
The couple were still screaming at each other when Rebecca and Co saw them. She from the rowing boat in which a crew member was putting her ashore, in Trebizon bay. He from the deck of Gazelle III. Apparently she'd just given him his ring back.
Action Committee, together with Anne-Marie and Jenny, had raced down to the beach in the gathering gloom, hoping to sight Emmanuelle returning from the island before it became necessary to raise the alarm.
Then a taxi had passed them, trundling slowly over the firm flat sands, so they knew that something strange was going on. They'd followed it and almost immediately seen the luxury yacht, heading towards them from Mulberry Island.
'Michael Deeping's been there!' whispered Elf. 'That's why Emmanuelle's not back. I expect she had to hide from him, that's all!'
'Oh, thank goodness!' thought Rebecca.
Now,
crouched in the shadow of the headland, they witnessed the extraordinary scene...
The taxi waiting on the sands, its engine running; the yacht at anchor and a member of the crew rowing Cassie Duncan ashore with her baggage. Michael Deeping on deck, leaning over the rail, shouting good riddance to her!
'Looks as though she's leaving him!' said Tish.
'Understatement of the year, Tish,' pointed out Sue.
'He was much too old for her, anyway!' sniffed Margot.
Now Michael Deeping was bellowing across the water that he wouldn't want to marry her, anyway. Not a neurotic baby who believed in ghosts!
Ghosts? Rebecca and Co exchanged wide-eyed looks. Tish was clapping hand to mouth, choking back laughter.
Cassie Duncan had seen Emmanuelle on Mulberry Island and imagined her to be a phantom!
The taxi headed inland, bearing Cassie away with her luggage. The yacht headed out to sea, bearing Michael Deeping away from Trebizon forever.
It had all been quite dreamlike.
And then a figure came gliding towards them on top of the water, her dark green sail indiscernible against the dark green sea. They shouted and waved to guide her safely to the spot where they stood waiting.
'Emmanuelle!' shrieked Anne-Marie, tearfully, running to the water's edge to hug her best friend.
Tish was hopping from one foot to the other, in delight.
'I always knew your pen friend would be marvellous fun, Rebecca!' she exclaimed. 'Didn't know she was a nut-case as well!'
'She is mad!' agreed Mara. But her eyes were shining. 'Now the school will buy the land after all and my father will help. And then -' She clapped her hands, as a sudden thought occurred to her: 'Miss Welbeck will have to let me into the Sixth Form!'
'Don't be silly, Mara,' said Margot. 'She's going to let you in, anyway.'
And Emmanuelle, wet with spray, rucksack on back, was walking towards Rebecca with her arms outstretched. 'Please do not be cross with me, Rebecca,' she was saying, over and over again.
'I should think the windsurf man's going to be cross with you,' commented Rebecca, coolly, as Jenny and Anne-Marie carried Emmanuelle's sailboard up the beach for her, in the near-darkness. 'I expect you'll lose your deposit after this!'
