The Hostage Heart

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  And really, she was glad not to be sure. It gave a spice to her days which was otherwise lacking. If she was sure he did not care for her at all, life would have been dull; but if she was sure he was interested in her, it would have meant she’d have to make up her mind about how she felt about him, and after Chris, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  But her preoccupation with the subject lasted only a few days; for after that Zara came home, and it was necessary to be careful to reveal nothing to the sharp eyes of disdain and jealousy: Zara would have been only too glad to make her life a misery if she thought for a moment Emma had dared to fancy her brother. And beside, Zara’s return home shortly preceded her eighteenth birthday, for which there was to be a huge coming-of-age celebration. It was to be the grandest of grand affairs – both Mr Akroyd and Lady Susan, for different reasons, were determined on that. There was to be a ball to which most of the county would be invited, a vast buffet laid on by caterers, stewards and waitresses specially hired, champagne by the lakeful, and a cake of architectural proportions and elaboration.

  Mrs Henderson told her more about it one afternoon, coming up to the schoolroom just after the end of lesson hours.

  “It all sounds wonderful,” Emma said. “Zara’s a lucky girl. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Mrs Henderson looked relieved. “Oh my dear, I’m so glad you asked. Of course, I couldn’t have imposed on you, but the whole thing falls on my shoulders, and there’s an absolute mass of work involved.”

  “Well, I’d be delighted to do anything I can,” Emma said. “You needn’t have been afraid to ask – I’d like to think I was a full member of the household.”

  No sooner had Mrs Henderson educated Emma fully in the plans for the birthday party, than she had to tell her that, after all, Mr Akroyd would not be present.

  “It’s the greatest nuisance, but he has to go away on business.”

  “Oh, really?” Emma was surprised.

  “He’s going to China of all places! Apparently the Chinese government is about to award a contract for a huge bridge somewhere up-country, and it’s so important Mr Akroyd feels he must go himself. It could be worth a great deal of money, you see. And for the same reason, he can’t put the trip off. If someone’s ready to commission work on that scale, you can’t keep them waiting on your convenience – especially not the Chinese, I understand. They’re very touchy. If he offends the wrong person, the contract could be lost, not only to Akroyd Engineering, but to Britain.”

  “But couldn’t Zara’s party be postponed?”

  “It could,” said Mrs Henderson with an equivocal face, “but Zara won’t hear of it. She says it doesn’t matter if her father is there or not. Between you and me,” she lowered her voice, “I think she thinks there will be a more relaxed atmosphere without him. I wouldn’t be surprised if she weren’t thinking of inviting some people she knows he wouldn’t like.”

  Since Mrs Henderson was in a confiding mood, Emma dared to go a little further. “I’m surprised that Mr Akroyd is willing to let the party go on without him. Won’t it seem rather odd, it being her coming-of-age?”

  Mrs Henderson shrugged. “Frankly, my dear, I think he’s in such a tizzy about this China business that he hasn’t time to worry about a birthday party – even an eighteenth. And of course, she will be ‘brought out’ in London later in the year, so I suppose he thinks that will be the important date. But it does put more responsibility on the rest of us – especially Gavin. If anything goes wrong, it’ll be him that takes the blame.”

  Emma could not think what might go wrong that Gavin would be blamed for. What did they have servants for? Surely if anyone spilled wine on the carpet or made a glass-ring on an antique commode, Mr Akroyd wouldn’t bend Gavin over a chair and give him six of the best for it?

  Poppy was excited about the party, and chatted animatedly about the arrangements whenever Emma let her. “I’m not being let to go to the ball,” she said, “but I don’t care. Zara’s friends are really boring, and dancing’s stupid. But I’m having a new dress anyway, and Mrs Grainger’s making the cake and she said she’d let me help her decorate it.”

  “Well, that should be interesting.”

  “Yes. But when I’m eighteen, I’m not going to have a dancing sort of party. I’m going to make everyone come on horseback and have a ’normous gymkhana in the park, and a picnic, and a barbecue with hamburgers and everything, and races and games. And my birthday cake will be all chocolate!”

  “Isn’t it wonderful to hear her talk about food so enthusiastically?” Mrs Henderson said, when Poppy repeated all this in her presence. “You’ve done her so much good,” she added to Emma, fondly.

  Preparations for the party took Emma away from the schoolroom a good deal in the following weeks – Lady Susan not only gave her blessing to the use of Miss Ruskin as a spare secretary, but did not hesitate to use her herself. Emma was frequently sent on errands for her ladyship, driving into Bury or Cambridge in the Mini to collect things, while her ladyship looked after Poppy. Generally when Emma returned she would find that Lady Susan had wandered off on business of her own, and Poppy would be discovered in the kitchen, kneeling on a stool and messing about with pastry or measuring ingredients for Mrs Grainger. Emma wondered if the child’s mother knew where she inevitably ended up, but thought her ladyship would probably sooner even have her child tainted by servants than be inconvenienced herself.

  Mr Akroyd departed for Beijing, whence he would travel into the interior in a group made up not only of technicians from his company, but representatives of the Board of Trade, the Foreign Office and a leading High Street Bank. Emma couldn’t help wondering whether there would be any danger involved – China was not yet a completely civilised place. Lady Susan wondered anxiously whether he would have time to shop for her in Hong Kong on his way back. Zara wondered urgently whether he would give her her birthday present before he left – which in fact he did. It was a car of her own, a Peugeot 206 with all the gadgets, which Zara received with shrill delight: she actually flung her arms round her father’s neck and kissed him, so excited was she. Emma noticed, however, that Gavin did not look pleased, and wondered why. She would not have expected him to be so petty as to begrudge his sister a car.

  On the day of the party there were no lessons for Poppy. Emma was up early and put herself at Mrs Henderson’s disposal, and it was while they were checking lists together that Mrs Henderson revealed that Emma was expected to attend the party.

  “Oh, I couldn’t. I didn’t expect … really, I’d much rather not,” Emma stammered in confusion.

  Mrs Henderson raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “But my dear, you said you wanted to be a full member of the household. I should have thought you’d want to be there.”

  “Oh—” Emma was embarrassed. “It really isn’t my sort of thing. I mean, I’m not one of the family, just a member of staff. I really don’t think—”

  “Well, I shall be there. And you’ve worked as hard as I have to make it a success. I really think you will have to put in an appearance. It will be expected.”

  “But I haven’t anything to wear!”

  Mrs Henderson laughed. “That’s more like it! I thought you really didn’t want to go, and I should hate to think we’d knocked all the fun out of you already! Of course, it will be long evening dresses for the ball, but I expect a cocktail frock would do.”

  “I haven’t got either,” Emma said.

  “Oh dear!” Mrs Henderson seemed really put out. “I wish I’d thought to mention it to you before. I just naturally assumed …”

  “Look, it really doesn’t matter,” Emma said firmly. “I would feel very awkward about joining in with the dancing and so on anyway. I’ll just pop down at some point and wish Zara a happy birthday, and then disappear. No one will notice.”

  Mrs Henderson still looked unhappy. “I hate to think of you missing all the fun, especially when you’ve done so much of the work.”

  �
��I really don’t mind. Honestly, please don’t worry,” Emma said as persuasively as she could. The thought of Zara sneering at her, and of Zara’s glamorous, predatory girlfriends clustering round Gavin, was not tempting. And an evening spent watching Gavin dance with a succession of gorgeous county females and – worse – enjoying it was not high on her list of fun things to do. She might mean nothing to him, but she didn’t have to have her nose rubbed in it.

  Zara, looking extremely elegant and, unexpectedly, just a little nervous, stood in the hall welcoming her guests. She was wearing a long dress of yellow silk, and the double strand of pearls which had been her mother’s gift to her, and her hair was done up in an elaborate swirl which had taken the hairdresser a couple of hours that afternoon to achieve.

  Lights blazed everywhere, and huge flower arrangements lent colour to usually dark corners; stewards and maids buzzed round discreetly, carrying trays of champagne and directing ladies to the cloakroom; the orchestra was playing quietly to itself in the room that would later be full of young people dancing.

  Gavin was very much in evidence, filling in the gaps in Zara’s attention span, helping his mother to greet the older guests, making the County feel welcome. The County was arriving in huge Rollers and Bentleys, and was swathed in furs and glittering with diamonds; the younger set zoomed up in BMWs and Range Rovers. Gavin chatted charmingly with them all, young and old, but Emma noticed that he frequently looked about him with a faintly lost air, as though he were expecting someone in particular who hadn’t arrived. One of Zara’s smart set, Emma supposed, as she watched with Poppy from their hiding place on the first floor landing. Gavin, she thought, looked exceptionally handsome in dinner jacket and black tie: he seemed moulded into it, whereas some of the young men arriving looked as though it was wearing them rather than vice versa. She watched him bow over the hand of a plump pink female in a regrettably short skirt, and his smile did terrible things to her pulse. But his very elegance and beauty eased her in an odd way, because it convinced her, if she needed convincing, that he was way, way out of her league, and that there was nothing for her but to admire him from a distance.

  Poppy wriggled with excitement, and whispered to Emma the names and principal habits of those guests she knew, sometimes leaning out so far for a better look that Emma kept a hand on her belt in case she had to grab her. Emma responded with a “Really?” and “Does she?” which was all Poppy seemed to need – fortunately, since Emma’s attention was all taken up with watching Gavin and waiting for the guest he seemed to be expecting. At last her vigilance was rewarded. A female arrived whom he greeted with every sign of particularity. It was not one of the Nats and Vics of Zara’s set, but an older woman, a tall, dark-haired beauty in a sheath-like dress of turquoise silk.

  Emma sighed with sheer admiration, which was almost without a pang. She was glad that it was someone so superior, someone with whom she could not have hoped to compete. She wouldn’t have liked Gavin to throw himself away. The dark girl was slim as a withy, very beautiful, elegant, sparkling at throat and wrist with diamonds, and with a lovely smile, to which Gavin responded with tender warmth. He took both her hands with an ease and an eagerness that proved he had known her long, and loved her well, and led her straight away into the the room where the band was playing.

  “Who was that girl?” Emma asked, turning to Poppy.

  “Which one?” Poppy asked.

  “The dark-haired lady that your brother just led away.”

  “Oh, did he? I wasn’t looking.” She craned through the banisters. “No. I can’t see him. I s’pose it was one of Zara’s friends.”

  “She looked a bit older than Zara.”

  “Oh well, I don’t know then.” Poppy was evidently not much interested. She had more important things on her mind. “Emma, can we go down and get something to eat now? I’m abs’lutely dying of hunger, and everyone must be here by now. We could sneak down without anybody seeing us.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Emma said. “Not now. It’s time you were in bed, and I have to go down and say happy birthday to Zara.”

  “Oh blow!” Poppy said crossly. “Do you have to? Honestly, she won’t care if you do or not.”

  “I’m sure she won’t, but it’s the polite thing and I have to do it. But if you’re still awake when I come back up, I’ll bring you up something from the buffet.”

  “Oh, brill! What will you bring?”

  “I don’t know – whatever I can carry most easily, I suppose.”

  “Sausage rolls,” Poppy pleaded. “And cake – chocolate cake.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Emma promised.

  Fifteen minutes later Emma came down the stairs again, feeling like a fish out of water, and hoping not to attract attention. The ‘receiving’ stage was over, Zara was no longer in the hall, and Lady Susan had retired into the drawing-room with the friends of her generation. But there were still plenty of people standing about the hall, talking, sipping champagne, smoking, laughing at each other’s jokes. Emma slipped between them, and was glad to note that they paid her no attention, any more than they noticed the waitresses who drifted about supplying them with full glasses. In her short dress, Emma supposed, she must look like a member of staff – which of course she was – and therefore not to be spoken to.

  In search of Zara she went into the dancing-room, and was rewarded – or punished – by the sight of Gavin dancing with the dark-haired girl. He was holding her closely, and they revolved in perfect harmony, not even speaking, his cheek resting against the dark, sleek hair. Despite herself, Emma felt a lump in her throat; and as his head began to turn towards her, she backed hastily out, and went across the hall to another room where there was the sound of bright laughter and talk. There she found Zara in the middle of a group of young men and girls, all shrieking at once and having a whale of a time.

  Emma would not have disturbed her, but as she happened to catch Zara’s eye and the latter raised an enquiring eyebrow, she decided she’d better get it over with and walked across.

  “I just came to wish you a happy birthday,” Emma said, “and to hope that you have a wonderful evening. Everything seems to be going OK, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh yes, thanks,” Zara said, looking her up and down. The friends all turned away to give them privacy, apart from the bosom pals Natalie and Victoria, who simply stared as though they couldn’t believe their eyes.

  “Good,” Emma said, trying to shove some warmth into her smile. “Well, I only popped down just to say happy birthday, so I won’t keep you any more.”

  “Oh, but surely you’re going to stay and have a dance?” Natalie said with heavy irony.

  “Oh yes,” Victoria added, “I’m sure Zara can find you someone to dance with.” And she whispered something to Natalie – the name of some poor nerd they despised, Emma supposed – and they both sniggered and clutched each other, thrilled by their own humour.

  The only thing was to respond with dignity, Emma thought. “No, I can’t stay – I’m not dressed for a formal party,” she said. “I’m going back upstairs now.”

  Zara threw her friends a look, and then grabbed Emma’s wrist, turning her away so that Nat and Vic shouldn’t hear her words. “Yes,” she said in a low voice, “and see you do go upstairs. No hanging around Gavin looking like a sick spaniel, because he’s just about polite enough to feel he has to ask you to dance. I don’t want him bothered by you, d’you understand?”

  Only too well, Emma thought. You’ve got him marked down for one of your giggling friends. Well, I think I can spoil your evening for you. “You needn’t worry, Gavin wouldn’t ask me to dance. He’s very well occupied, dancing with a very lovely girl, and I’m sure he doesn’t know anyone else exists.”

  Zara frowned, and Emma had her moment of triumph. “What girl?” Zara asked crossly.

  “Tall, dark and slim, in turquoise silk. They make a lovely couple.”

  “Oh but that’s—” Zara stopped abruptly, and then a cann
y look stole across her face. “No, you’re right, he’s sure to be very wrapped up in that partner,” she said, and turned abruptly away, leaving Emma to pick her way back to the door, glad to have got an unpleasant duty over with. Behind her she heard a burst of shrill laughter, which she had no doubt was Zara and her bosom buddies indulging their fabulous wit again at her expense. As if she cared!

  Busy showing she didn’t care, Emma did not look where she was going, and bursting out through the door into the hall she ran full tilt into a dress-shirt and had to be held up against the force of the collision. Warm, strong hands gripped her upper arms.

  “Steady! Where are you rushing off to?”

  Emma’s gaze travelled up from the neat, pleated shirtfront to the face that was rarely out of her thoughts these days, and found him smiling, his eyes very bright – left-overs, no doubt, from turquoise-and-diamonds, she thought viciously.

  “I wasn’t rushing, I was just going back upstairs,” she said, trying to sound neutral. She wasn’t sure she had succeeded. Gavin set her carefully back on balance, but he did not remove his hands from her arms. She was torn between not wanting him to, and worrying about what the effect on her might be if he didn’t.