“It might be difficult to iron,” she argued, screwing her face up a little in doubt as the outfit wasn’t entirely to her liking.
“Why, are you looking forward to me helping you crease it?” he said with a wolfish smirk on his face. She beamed and blushed at the comment. He then insisted that he buy the dress for her. The outfit was more The Only Way Is Essex than Downton Abbey, but she relented. She wanted him to be happy.
The attractive, flirtatious shop assistant simpered and laughed as Jason engaged her in conversation whilst paying for the dresses. It was unlike Emma – and she knew not if it was a good or bad thing – but she felt twinges of jealousy and possessiveness at the sight of them together. She watched the woman, subtly eye her man up appreciatively. Emma immediately went over and clung to Jason’s arm. She then thanked her “darling” and kissed him, sweetly and then more passionately, upon the lips – smiling at the sales assistant less than appreciatively after she did so. Emma wished to make a statement, to herself and to the world, that Jason Rothschild was her boyfriend.
Her glorious day was topped off by her new iphone (the one Scarlett had just changed over to as well) being delivered. She also she received a voicemail that her car had finally been fixed.
8.
Somewhat annoyingly, for Emma, the mechanics were polite and professional towards her when she picked up her Audi. They had even cleaned and waxed the car as part of the service. She had half hoped that something would still be wrong with it, just so that she could sue them – him. William Flynn was thankfully absent, though she was half hoping that he would be there – just so that the barbed comments she had prepared for him would not go to waste. Yet Emma’s disappointment was offset by the fact that she would never have to deal with the disobliging mechanic and his establishment south of the river again.
As much as Emma had enjoyed the sound of her Audi once again zipping along Chelsea Embankment she was even more enamoured with the sound of Jason’s Porsche, as they drove to dinner that evening. The tyres crunched upon the gravel driveway as they pulled up to the large house in St John’s Wood.
Emma had attended numerous similar dinners before in ten million pound plus houses – and in grander company than who she was visiting – but this somehow felt different. She felt nervous, like an actress on opening night. Or like she was on an audition. She duly read the newspapers that afternoon, as if cramming for an exam, in case the conversation at dinner turned to current affairs. She didn’t want to let Jason or herself down.
Their hosts were Sir Richard Shilling and his wife Penelope. As well as being his trust fund manager Richard was also Jason’s godfather. It would be just the four of them for dinner. Emma did not (could not) take to her host – but the actress in her deftly clicked in to gear and she smiled and nodded her head accordingly. Sir Richard was overweight and overbearing, bluffly believing in his own self-importance. Emma lost count the amount of times he talked down to his staff, or wife. Whether through excessive caffeine or nicotine his teeth were as yellow as old, stained piano keys. Half his conversation consisted of hums and grunts. Surprisingly Emma found out that Richard was a Labour peer, having purchased the position through his donations to the party during their time in power.
As for his long-suffering, long-faced wife Emma felt occasional bouts of sympathy for her – but then she would open her mouth and drivel or disdain would pour out of it. Penelope Shilling had a bird-like figure, a beak of a nose and a hawkish glare. Whether it was down to surgery or not her skin was stretched across her face – to the point where a pained smile forever shaped her expression. Emma could not help but notice how the society wife name-dropped, as if it were a Victorian parlour game.
“Do you not know the Bransons or Campbells my dear?” the hostess remarked, pursing her lips in disappointment and then arching an eyebrow as she looked over at her husband and godson. When Penelope was not being underwhelmed by Emma’s social set and lineage she often nervously fingered the stem of her wine glass, or drunk from it.
For the most part however her husband dominated the table over dinner, his glass of wine barely visible in his chubby paw.
“...I miss the Labour years, partly because it costs so much more to lobby and purchase influence with this current lot. Give me a man who goes into politics to make a bit on the side – and have a bit on the side – any day... God, the money we made on gold that day in the markets when old Gordon Brown, or “Midas Touch” as we nicknamed him, sold off the reserves for a pittance... Let them open up our borders is what I say. The more cheap labour we have the better, just as long as they stay in the various ghettos that the local councils have created for them – and us...”
Unfortunately Emma was neither surprised nor shocked by most of the things that her host came out with. She was used to men who had more opinions than sense, regardless of their politics. Emma was however taken back by Jason’s behaviour. Rather than bridle and disagree with his godfather (on things she knew he was opposed to) he would hum and grunt in sympathy. She did not know whether to be worried – or impressed – by her new boyfriend’s acting skills.
Emma hoped that an evening breeze would help cool her down when she left the house, but the night air was muggy and a storm was upon the horizon. She breathed out in a sigh of relief as soon as she stepped out onto the drive and her host closed the front door. The food, she would have to concede, had been excellent but having to constantly bite her tongue had spoiled the meal somewhat. As Jason kindly opened the car door for Emma she smiled at him, to convey how much she had enjoyed the evening. He smiled in return, to convey how happy he was to see her happy.
He smiled too as Emma got into the car, either impressed by her poise and elegance in doing so – or because he caught a glimpse of her sun kissed thigh through the slit in her blue silk dress. Either way, Emma was pleased. He spoke, in a part patronising and part complimentary way, about how well she had handled herself at dinner. Emma was silent for the most part, but then remarked how differently Jason had behaved in the company of his godfather.
“I only remember one Latin quote from my days at school, but it’s an apt one and has served me well babe. Mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur. The world wants to be deceived, so let it,” Jason remarked, flashing a smile and gunning his car down an empty Kensington street, no doubt waking half the neighbourhood up.
He kindly opened the car door for her outside the apartment block. She caught the scent of his aftershave, was captivated by his bright blue eyes and chiselled features – and they kissed passionately. Emma sighed again, but this time in pleasure. She was tempted at one point to invite him up to her apartment, but it didn’t wholly feel right. She wanted that particular chapter in their relationship to be special. Emma also felt tired; the evening’s performance had drained her.
9.
Unfortunately Jason had to attend a gala party – for the launch of a new perfume – on Saturday evening so he could not join Emma for dinner at her father’s house. Fortunately however Celia was free to come, so Emma had her as a wingman and someone to talk to. Celia met her Emma beforehand. She often lacked the confidence of her model friend, but her heart-shaped face housed pretty green eyes, a cute snub-nose and a sweet smile. Emma briefed Celia on the evening – and who also would be attending.
Being one of only two women in a room full of red-blooded soldiers meant she would not be short of attention. But Emma warned that they would talk as much at her, rather than to her – and the topic of conversation would more often than not be about themselves too. They would subtly, or otherwise, guide the conversation towards their war stories from Afghanistan – dropping in the odd well crafted phrase to highlight their humility and humanity. Some would also drop hints about the extent of their family’s wealth or influence. They would drink heavily, with only half of them being able to hold their drink. The other half would be unable to hold a conversation too, should Celia talk about anything other than the regiment, cars, rugby and money.
<
br /> Emma had suffered many a similar encounter before. The glow from being the centre of attention at such gatherings had waned. Their compliments and humour could still sometimes bring a smile to her face, but she was also conscious and uncomfortable at the way they sometimes looked and spoke to her – as if she were a prize to be won. Emma would also catch them out of the corner of her eye, leering and sniggering in pairs or packs. She was more upset by them disrespecting her father however, than disrespecting her.
It was not just due to the fact that Celia had a boyfriend (as much as she had mentioned that the relationship was on shaky ground) that Emma believed her friend would be capable of fending off any ill judged advances at the party. That said, she had still asked her father to seat Celia next to him at the dinner table.
A half a dozen officers (and a few gentlemen) were already drinking and congregating in the drawing room when Emma and Celia arrived at the house. Robert Hastings had hired caterers for the evening and more than one of the guests were wide-eyed when taking in the trays of canapés – and the lissom figures carrying the trays.
Major James Harrow was equally wide-eyed as he took in the figure of Emma and approached her. “I used to kill rag-heads in Helmand, but now I make a killing on the trading floors,” was how the officer often introduced himself. He was immaculately dressed, still in great shape and was as square-jawed as he was handsome. Emma had fancied him, to the point of swooning, when she was a teenager. But the more she had got to know him over the years, the more she thought how little she wanted to get to know him now.
“Evening Emma. You look as gorgeous as ever,” the former officer remarked, smiling at Emma with a glint in his eye. Such looks used to melt her heart. Now they just left her cold.
“Thank you. And how’s Jane?” Emma replied, referring to Harrow’s perfectly nice – but perfectly dull – wife.
“Absent tonight.” Again he smiled, suggestively.
Thankfully Celia soon rescued her, after Emma gave her a signal to do so (coughing). The two women retreated to a corner and Emma filled her friend in on some of the guests who had arrived.
Thomas Finn. Cousin to Emma (a first cousin so at least he would not hit on her). He had recently left the army and spent most of his time nowadays fighting with his wife. He was good looking – and he knew it. Unfortunately he was unaware of how self-centred he could be.
George Connelly (“Gentleman George”). George towered over everyone else at the party. Emma liked George but conveyed how she felt sorry for him, due to his wife. Eleanor Connelly despised every woman who was more attractive and intelligent than her. Unfortunately that meant hating most women, Emma pointedly remarked – both in jest and in earnest.
Peter Scott (“Captain Scott”). Peter was successful through being self-made. He was decent, faithful to his wife and unassumingly content. For one or more of those reasons he was distrusted and disliked by a number of the other officers around the table.
Tarquin Carter. Tarquin was a distant cousin of Emma’s, who would hit on her when drunk if given the chance. He had a drink problem, but it was almost the least of his problems. Emma mentioned to Celia how the newly qualified lawyer would spend most of the evening running his hand through his long blonde hair and talking about which stocks to invest in and how to avoid paying tax. Emma warned Celia that his plumy accent was for real – and to try not to laugh when he talked to her.
Julian Guy. Emma mentioned how Julian was terribly sweet and terribly posh. He joined the army in order to please his father. When his “Papa” passed away however he resigned his commission. Emma told Celia how she suspected that Julian was gay (and not just because he had never made a play for her). After leaving the army he became a Tory politician.
They had all attended the best schools (aside from Peter Scott), though that did not necessarily mean that they all had received the best education, Emma posited.
The only guest who she could not comment upon to her friend was that of the man talking to her father. He had short black hair and wasn’t wearing the most expensive of suits, she judged. Unfortunately he had his back to Emma so she could not see his features. She smiled as her father laughed from something the stranger said (since her mother’s death, it was as rare as it was joyful to hear her father’s baritone laughter). Whilst Celia went to the bathroom Emma decided that she would get a better look at her father’s friend and introduce herself.
“Emma, darling, please let me introduce you to my good friend William, or “Shakespeare” as we nicknamed him many moons ago,” Robert Hastings said, whilst drinking with one hand and clasping his friend fraternally on the shoulder with the other.
As “Shakespeare” turned around however Emma’s heart sank – and the blood rushed up to her cheeks in either embarrassment or anger – as she realised that the stranger was not quite a stranger after all. The young woman’s heart started to beat faster, but not because she was about to swoon.
“We’ve already met,” William Flynn remarked, with a wry yet warm smile upon his grime-free face.
Despite all the barbs she had prepared the other day to put the mechanic in his place Emma was rendered temporarily speechless, seeing the “oik” dressed in a suit, clean shaven, smiling, in her family home. Perhaps she would swoon after all – from shock!
“Ah, that’s right. I encouraged Emma to take her car into the garage. Leaving aside his fears about coming this evening, Shakes is one of the bravest men I have ever met. He served under me in Afghanistan.”
“I’m not sure about bravest. Luckiest or stupidest might be more accurate,” the mechanic amiably replied, appearing a little uncomfortable at his former commanding officer’s comment.
“You’re too modest Will.”
“I’ve seen his garage. He has a lot to be modest about.” Finally Emma had regained her composure and sharp (or blunt) tongue. She briefly, sourly, smiled at the mechanic. Out of the corner of her eye however she witnessed her father’s reaction to her put-down. He wasn’t smiling, at all. He looked sternly at his rude daughter, furrowing his brow in both confusion and disappointment. Before he could say something however Robert Hastings was distracted by the caterer, who led him away towards the kitchen.
“You may have somehow earned my father’s respect, but from the way you treated me the other day you’ve far from earned mine. I’m still unsure as to why you’re here. Look around you, you don’t belong. You’re not like any of the other officers here.”
“You may not be able to forgive yourself, but you’ve just given me a compliment Miss Hastings.” Again William smiled, warmly and wryly. There was humour rather than malice in his voice. He was infuriatingly calm, polite, amused, Emma thought to herself. But the calmer he appeared, the more desperate she became to insult the mechanic. Put him in his place.
“Hopefully you won’t stay late. I understand that the animals in the zoo need to be locked back up in their cages by ten. Given your charms though it’s unlikely that you have a wife to go home to.”
Finally Emma got what she wished for and the smile fell from William’s face. For a moment his rugged countenance looked to be twisting itself into anger, but then his features dropped and he hung his head in sadness. Without another word said the mechanic merely turned and walked away. Emma initially felt a sense of triumph, but then she soon felt a little awkward and guilty – such had been the mechanic’s pained expression. The soldier even looked like he was about to cry.
Thankfully Emma wasn’t placed next to William at dinner, although she was still close enough to hear how much Celia and her father were enjoying his company. Indeed, in regards to her father, she had never seen him be so informal with someone from the regiment. He was a friend rather than former soldier. The Brigadier asked for his view and laughed at his comments. Similar to her father the mechanic easily worked his way through a bottle of wine before he had even finished his first course, yet he didn’t seem to be affected by it.
Robert Hastings tried to inc
lude his daughter in the discussion at his end of the table one or two times but she merely smiled in a forced way and turned her head when the mechanic addressed her, being cursorily polite at best. Emma also smiled and engaged with the guests near her in a half-hearted fashion. The cutlery sparkled more than their conversation. She often thought of Jason and wished herself at the launch party. He was everything William Flynn wasn’t, she told herself. Jason was successful, refined, popular, sartorial and attractive. Women wanted to be with him (which was another reason why she wanted to be on his arm at the party) and men wanted to be him, she told herself.
The wine and whiskies naturally increased the boisterousness of the guests – and when Robert Hastings left to go to the toilet upstairs the suggestive comments towards the waitresses increased too. James Harrow even proceeded to slap one of the serving girl’s behinds. The reaction of the girl was to falteringly smile, blush and walk out the room briskly. The reaction of most of the guests was to clap and cheer.
“I know the type, no means maybe,” the officer announced – and cackled.
As well as engaging his father in conversation Emma couldn’t help but notice how Celia was talking to the mechanic in an engaging and intimate fashion as well. She had been poised to at any point to hear her friend cough and then rescue her. After the first course – of salmon with capers – Emma ventured upstairs to go to the toilet and also check her phone. She was a little disappointed to see only a short, solitary text message from Jason. “Wish you were here babe xxxx.” She messaged him back, asking if he was free to talk, and waited five minutes for a reply. But to no avail. Before returning to the dining room Emma decided to catch some air. She heard voices in the conservatory and stopped.
Uptown Girl Page 3
