Secret Letters at Trebizon

by Anne Digby

  'You've made the right decision about the nosey -parker, Rebecca,' she said, gently. 'It is best if you never know! They have stopped doing it now. It is such a horrid thing to have to think about and now you can forget it.'

  'Yes,' said Rebecca.

  But how could she?

  Dearest Emmanuelle

  You will have to be my agony aunt again. I need to unburden myself. There's a secret I've been carrying around for days and I don't want to tell my school friends about it. I've got nobody to talk to and it's making me miserable.

  I've been saving up this letter for today. I have a long free study period. I am now in the school library, with very large dictionary! It's nearly April, at last, and the sun is shining outside. I will tell you everything .......

  Well, not quite everything, thought Rebecca, biting the end of her biro. She must be careful not to give any clues to the person's identity. Not when Jenny was coming to Paris to stay with Emmanuelle's best friend and the two French girls were looking forward to the four of them having such fun together. But she'd tell her as much as possible.

  First of all, thank you for writing back so quickly. That was amazing. And my Time Chart has been found. It was under my locker all the time, which was very embarrassing. I'll explain what it is when we meet; it takes too long in a letter.

  Well, the sad story is this. Since half term somebody's been going through my locker and reading all my private things. That includes your letters, by the way; I regret to tell you. Then we discovered it was somebody in Court House. And then, last Saturday, I caught her in the act. It was a massive shock. I've been miserable about it ever since.

  It's not one of my close friends but is somebody I really love! She's very kind and calm and reliable, At least, I thought so. I find the whole thing very, very strange. If I tell my friends about it, they'll make her life a misery; which is what she deserves. But each day I keep hoping she'll come and speak to me and apologise and try to explain why she finds my private things so fascinating!

  But she never does. She never comes near me now; never speaks to me. She is keeping out of my way. Of course, she's embarrassed. In case you think she is some kind of misfit, she isn't. She's completely well-adjusted. Well, I thought so . . .

  Rebecca chewed her biro again, and reflected once more on Jenny's effortless progress through Trebizon. A relaxed person, very laid back. No problems with school work. Boys? Well, a little shy maybe. Mara's cranky idea about Elizabeth had been ridiculous. Elizabeth, the ultimate party girl, with plenty of boys to choose from. But could Jenny be nursing romantic feelings about Robbie. Want to read his letters? Rebecca had considered the possibility and rejected it.

  Emmanuelle's letters then? Worried that Rebecca had got on much better terms with her than she had with Anne-Marie? No, that was ridiculous. Jenny was a very good writer and those two were on marvellous terms. They'd even chatted on the phone sometimes, in the school holidays. They were thick as thieves.

  Sport? Well, total success. Only this week she'd been told she was going to get her First Team colours. Kim was going to London, the day of the Caxton High match. Interview for a sports scholarship! Jenny was getting her big chance at last and she was walking around in a happy daze about it.

  None of these details could she confide to Emmanuelle, however much she wanted to. Instead, she concluded:

  What do you make of all this? I wish I could forgive her and forget it but I can't. I just can't.

  Nor could she explain how it churned her up to see Jenny going around in a happy daze when she, Rebecca, felt so miserable, the French trip blighted.

  And still no letter from Cliff, or any kind of contact from Robbie, either. She'd tell her pen friend more of them some other time.

  I feel better now I've written this letter, Emmanuelle. It's a relief to be able to tell someone at last. Love, Rebecca. Then, as a hasty afterthought, flinching as she wrote it: P.S. The news about Jacques and the new car is really great.

  She sealed the letter up and looked at the clock.

  She still had a few minutes. There'd been plenty of time to tell her pen friend the truth about the London house, hadn't there? She tried not to feel too guilty about it. She'd been too upset thinking about Jenny, that's what it was.

  But as she posted the letter on the way to biology, Rebecca began to have certain suspicions about herself. She could always think of a good excuse for not telling Emmanuelle the truth. Was it that she longed so much for a home like Aunt Papademas' house in central London that she always preferred to keep up the pretence a little longer?

  TWELVE

  THE LOWEST POINT

  Jenny's happy daze quite soon began to fade, as end of term drew near. There were two things bothering her.

  The first was that she'd been given her place in the team, but for the biggest match of the whole season. Today was Monday, so it was only five days away.

  'I'm sorry to spring it on you like this,' Alison had told her. 'I'm throwing you in at the deep end and you'll just have to sink or swim. Kim just can't miss her interview in London. It's very important.'

  Jenny had strong nerves and it wouldn't normally have bothered her that Kim was such a hard act to follow. But this was Trebizon's first chance of the League Cup for four years. And because of Caxton High's good goal average this season, they must not only beat them but by a margin of four goals or more.

  Basically, she couldn't afford to let any goals through at all. It was a big responsibility and as the match loomed up, closer and closer, she began to feel the weight of it.

  The other thing bothering her was Rebecca. They'd be breaking up soon and then she wouldn't see Rebecca again until they went to France. They were going to have to be on good terms by then or else! She was hoping it might all have blown over by now hut Rebecca was still extremely upset, she could tell. She'd kept out of the way for ages, to let her cool down. But she obviously wasn't going to.

  Late on Monday evening, noticing Rebecca sitting in the library, she took her courage in both hands.

  Rebecca, deeply immersed in a letter, quickly covered it with her arms as Jenny approached her. That wasn't exactly a thrilling start, thought Jenny.

  'Coming to watch the match on Saturday?' she asked, awkwardly. 'You haven't even congratulated me yet, Rebecca!'

  'Congratulations,' said Rebecca, without looking up.

  Jenny stood there, wondering what else she could say.

  'Got a letter?' she asked, foolishly.

  'Yes, want to read it?' retorted Rebecca.

  Jenny flinched, then turned on her heel and walked away.

  Rebecca watched her leave the library and knew that she'd been mean but couldn't stop herself. It was maddening the way Jenny clearly had no intention of explaining anything; or apologising.

  It wouldn't have been easy to chat to her, even on the best of days.

  And this certainly wasn't one of those.

  Rebecca read the letter just once more. Cliff had written, at long last. The letter had come by Monday morning's post. He must have written it over the weekend.

  At first, the contents of the letter had been a sheer delight to Rebecca.

  Did she, Cliff asked, not realise what an honour this was? He never wrote letters, it was against his religion. All his aunts and uncles had cut him out of their wills because he never wrote thank you letters when he was little. He didn't write letters even to the most fabbo gorgeous girls in the world, of whom Rebecca was one, but preferred to meet them in person.

  Did she not also realise that, by insisting he told her what grades he'd got for his mocks, she'd put him through weeks of miserable torture? Because, if he told her what he got for his history she was certain to kill him. And he was so young! He didn't want to die yet.

  Thanks to her genius chart, he'd got a B when she'd only got a D. And to be honest it was disgustingly unfair and exposed the whole exam system as a wicked farce.

  All this had filled Rebecca with nothing but laughte
r. She knew that her Time Chart could only have played a small part. Cliff had had such a struggle, having to change GCSE course in midstream, after his dad was made redundant in London. Apart from breaking his leg, as well! But by the look of his good grades, right across the board, he must be seriously clever.

  It was the very last bit of the letter that had cast Rebecca down.

  After the pleasurable news that he'd see her on Saturday, as he was coming to cheer Caxton High against Trebizon and looking forward to it (even though they'd be cheering for opposite sides) he added:

  I'd rather be watching soccer but Jelly has commanded and for obvious reasons I must obey. Hope to see you then. Love yer, Cliff XXXXX

  It was horribly deflating.

  So he wasn't using it as an excuse to come over and see her, then. He wasn't giving up watching soccer for her sake. The mysterious Jelly had 'commanded' and for 'obvious reasons' he must obey. Looked a bit old for Cliff, didn't she? thought Rebecca, savagely. But then she chided herself.

  'What makes me think I've got some special claim on Cliff? That'd be a nerve!'

  She hadn't. But it didn't make her feel any better about it.

  Even while Rebecca was sitting there, Miss Welbeck was taking a strange phone call.

  The principal was entertaining distinguished guests at her private house in the grounds, when the phone rang. The school office was long closed but she'd had a line put through to the house in order to take an important call this evening. It was expected from a university in the USA, where it was still the middle of the day.

  'Excuse me, Lady Barratt,' she said, when she heard the phone ring. 'Hold the fort, will you, George?'

  She went through to her study. The international operator was putting someone on the line.

  'Madeleine Welbeck here,' she said crisply, a list of questions carefully prepared in her head. 'Professor Jarrold?'

  'Is that the matron of Rebecca?' gurgled Emmanuelle, her voice over-excited and breathless. This was accompanied by much whispering and prompting from Anne-Marie in the background, who'd managed to get the school number from International Enquiries.

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'This is Emmanuelle, to get Rebecca please,' pleaded the French girl. Her English was going completely berserk in the stress of the moment. 'I have a message. To get! To get!'

  'I'm afraid we have more than one Rebecca in the school,' Miss WeIbeck replied calmly - and in fluent French. 'Even if we hadn't, you've come through to the wrong number. You are speaking to Madelene Welbeck, the school principal. Which Rebecca did you want?'

  'Rebecca Mason. Please to give her a message,' gabbled Emmanuelle, in dismay, not even noticing that Miss WeIbeck could speak French. 'It is urgent to tell her that I am able to read her letter. And I have many interesting things to tell her - '

  'In that case my dear I suggest you sit down and put pen to paper,' said Miss Welbeck and rang off.

  Next day, called into the principal's office, Rebecca cringed with embarrassment when told of Emmanuelle's frivolous phone call. She was asked to keep her French pen friend in order and to make sure she had the boarding house phone number in future.

  It was perhaps the lowest point of her fortunes.

  Tish just grinned and found it amusing.

  'Your French pen friend sounds fantastic good fun compared with mine,' she said. 'Oh. Rebeck. Aren't you just looking forward to going to France?'

  THIRTEEN

  THE END OF THE ROMANCE

  The first upturn in Rebecca's fortunes came on the Wednesday afternoon. It was a half-day and Sara Willis, head of Trebizon's games staff, had driven some of the First Eleven to watch Caxton High in action at Clifford Park. They were playing a friendly there against a ladies' hockey club. Clifford was Joss Vining's local club and she'd got wind of it.

  When they came back, Tish came bouncing into tea and announced: 'My job on Saturday's to stop a girl called Jelly Wilson. She's bad news!'

  'Jelly?' asked Sue, shooting a glance in Rebecca's direction. 'Is that really her name, then?'

  Rebecca just caught in her breath.

  'I think her real name's Angelica or something. She's pretty; got this mane of blonde hair, great hunks of it, out the back of her baseball cap. She's their captain and -- '

  'Oh, we've seen her then, Tish,' Sue tried to butt in. 'Haven't we, Rebecca?'

  ' – and the intelligence is that she's getting the whole school to turn up here on Saturday! Just to try and drown us out! And you'll never guess who she's going out with – Virginia Slade's brother! He came and picked her up. What d'you mean we've seen her, Sue?'

  Rebecca exhaled her breath, her spirits lifting.

  'Sue means that she drove Cliff over that night!' she said, smiling. 'Don't you remember, Tish? Wasn't it nice of her?'

  'Was that her?' exclaimed Tish.

  'Yes. She's even persuaded Cliff to come along,' nodded Rebecca, thinking what a pretty name Angelica was. 'She was such a good sport that night, I think he feels he owes her a favour!'

  Of course. Those were 'the obvious reasons' he was talking about. That was all he'd meant and not what Rebecca had imagined at all.

  The most sensational upturn in Rebecca's fortunes came on the Friday morning, when the post brought a very long letter from Emmanuelle.

  She picked it up from the mail board before breakfast and started to read it in the hall. The first few sentences consisted of a really sweet apology for getting Miss Welbeck on the phone by mistake. She was hoping that she hadn't got Rebecca into trouble.

  Then, as Rebecca came to the main body of the letter, her legs went slightly weak.

  What was Jenny's name doing in the letter? She couldn't quite take it all in.

  The common room was empty, so she slipped inside and sank down in an armchair.

  The letter ran to six pages altogether. Rebecca found it truly astonishing.

  . . . You see, Rebecca, tonight when I arrived at my house and found your letter, I was mortified to know of your unhappiness. I want to speak to you at once on the phone but not possible.

  I know who you are talking about in your letter. You are wrong. She never reads your private things. Please, please do not be angry with Jenny. I asked Anne-Marie to telephone her at half term and make her do it. And to do it in such a way that you would never, ever know the truth. I think that if you know what a horrible, stupid person I am then our friendship is spoiled at once and even before we have met one another.

  Jenny has tried many times and looked many places to find the photograph I send you, to find it and destroy it. What photograph? wondered Rebecca. That lovely photograph of Emmanuelle by the river? But that's on my notice board. What is she talking about? But now I must tell you the real truth. There is no such person as Jean-Pierre. The picture I send you is of my cousin Roland, who is very spoiled.

  Rebecca, I have never, never had a boy friend and I so would like to have one. And you have TWO. I thought you would despise me, do you understand what I am confessing? I thought it would do no harm and you would never find out. For always my cousin Roland lives far away in Bordeaux. But now . . .

  Rebecca turned to the third page, completely mesmerised.

  Apparently a few weeks ago, horror of horrors, cousin Roland and the entire family had moved to Paris, to live in the same street as Emmanuelle's family! He was even in the same class at the lycee. Rebecca would meet him face to face, in Paris, for sure. There was no hope that she wouldn't. And even though he'd dyed his hair blond, since coming to the city, Rebecca would most certainly recognise him if his photo was in her recent memory. Or even - recurring nightmare for Emmanuelle - somewhere in her baggage when she came to Paris! Rebecca would see through Emmanuelle's pathetic lies. She was desperate to avoid such shame and humiliation!

  And you who have always trusted me with your secrets, Rebecca, would never trust me again. You would never like me again.

  And now Jenny, the great, good Jenny, who was the chic type and had pr
omised to keep Emmanuelle's secret and put everything right, had also been made unhappy.

  I am writing to her a letter tomorrow. She is not a person to look at any of your private things, Rebecca. She looked only for the photo! I have made you both unhappy and I am very sorry. It is now two o'clock in the morning and I am very tired but I feel better in my heart. I hope you can try to forgive. I hope we can still be friends. Emmanuelle.

  Rebecca sat there in the armchair feeling anything but unhappy. She started to shake a little, with laughter, from sheer relief.

  Thank goodness Emmanuelle wasn't completely perfect, after all.

  And thank goodness Jenny was still Jenny, the same dear old Jenny!

  But where was she? She must find her! She raced into the hall in time to see Jenny coming slowly down the stairs, looking weary. She'd heard a rumour that Rebecca had received a letter from Emmanuelle this morning, Tish & Co were looking for her. Had Emmanuelle, by any chance - ?

  'Jen!' cried Rebecca, waving the letter.

  She ran up the stairs to meet her and flung her arms round her, feeling very emotional: 'I'm sorry, Jenny. I'm really, really sorry.'

  Jenny saw the pages of scrawl in Rebecca's hand and sagged, with relief.

  'Thank goodness she's told you,' she said. 'I couldn't, could I?'

  They sat on the stairs together talking. She explained she'd been going through the locker that day Rebecca turned up at Court House with Mara suddenly. She'd heard their voices on the stairs! That was why she'd had to stuff all the letters back quickly, in the wrong envelopes and after that she didn't dare to go back. And the morning when they were all out on the balcony, she'd seen the letter to Emmanuelle under the paperweight and felt it, that was all.

  'I hoped by some miracle you'd taken it into your head to send the photo back, anyway. I was dying to be let off the hook.'

  'She's really upset, Jen. She's writing to you.'

  'I never looked at a thing. Rebecca,' said Jenny.

  'I know,' Rebecca said. 'You don't have to say it. Don't make me feel worse.'