Uptown Girl

by Kinsella, Holly

  “How much will it take for you to serve yourself up on a plate for me?”

  Emma rolled her eyes upon hearing James Harrow. Her concern grew however upon witnessing how uncomfortable the serving girl looked.

  “Please, I have to get back to work.” The girl could have been no older than nineteen.

  “You’re already working now. Looking after me.”

  There was a forcefulness, rather than playfulness, to his tone. His eyes were glazed over from drinking. He grabbed the girl’s shoulder and leaned into her. The girl turned her face away. Emma was just about to rush and get her father when she heard another voice.

  “I thought you would have gotten used to “maybe” meaning “no” by now.”

  “Fuck off Flynn. Go back to dinner. Have another drink. We’re fine here.”

  “I’m always happy to have another drink. Would you like to pour it though?” the mechanic asked the girl. Emma saw her nod.

  “She’s happy looking after me.” Harrow clasped her forearm, holding her back.

  “You’ve got two choices. You can either let the girl leave, or I can break one of your fingers. That way, you’ll have the perfect excuse to be able to leave yourself. I think it’d be best if we all just went back to the dining room though.”

  “Fuck off. Now that’s an order.”

  “Neither of us takes orders from you.”

  Harrow grunted and sneered and walked towards the mechanic. The well built officer swung a punch but Flynn grabbed the fist in mid air, and pulled Harrow’s arm behind his back. Emma then winced as she heard the sound of the finger break. The mechanic put his hand across Harrow’s mouth, in order to muffle the scream.

  “You fucking bastard. You fuck!” the drunken stock broker exclaimed, or rather sobbed, once William had let him go.

  “Now you’ve got two choices. You can either mind your language and manners in front of the lady, or I can break another one of your fingers.”

  Harrow left shortly afterwards, explaining to his host that he had accidentally trapped his finger in the toilet door. William encouraged the girl to take some air. He was gentle with her, yet also made her laugh as he led her outside. William then arranged for Celia to keep her company. Emma covertly took things in, partly in disbelief.

  By the end of the dessert course most of the guests were more than a little worse for wear. Some were sleeping things off in the drawing room, some had left to go home. Their host, Emma, Celia, William, Julian Guy and George Connelly were still going strong around the dinner table however. Robert decanted some port.

  “Now this is a party Shakespeare, so I can’t very well let you leave without you performing your party trick,” the host exclaimed.

  It was the mechanic’s turn to now roll his eyes, but he smiled obligingly too, knowing that his friend would not take no for an answer.

  “Why do you call him Shakespeare? Because his name is William?” Celia asked, glowing from the wine.

  “No, it’s because of what you’re about to see, or rather hear,” Robert said, with a twinkle in his eye that didn’t just come from the wine.

  Robert got up and went over to one of the bookcases which lined the walls. He groaned slightly as he grabbed a copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare and placed it in front of Celia.

  “Now Celia, I want you to pick out the first line from a famous speech – and Shakes here will do the rest so to speak.”

  Celia thought for a minute and proceeded to find one of her favourite passages from The Merchant of Venice, which she had studied at college.

  “Are you ready?” Celia worriedly asked. William nodded and smiled reassuringly.

  “I’m ready. Whether I’ll be able to or not is a different matter.”

  “The quality of mercy is not strain’d.”

  A short pause ensued, before William stood up and spoke.

  “It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

  Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:

  It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

  'T is mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes

  The throned monarch better than his crown;

  His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,

  The attribute to awe and majesty,

  Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;

  But mercy is above this sceptred sway,

  It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,

  It is an attribute to God himself;

  And earthly power doth then show likest God's,

  When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,

  Though justice be thy plea, consider this,

  That in the course of justice none of us

  Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;

  And that same prayer doth teach us all to render

  The deeds of mercy.”

  The table went silent, awe-struck. Celia unblinkingly gazed at William, enamoured – as did Julian Guy. The table was not just duly impressed by William’s powers of recall (after several glasses, or bottles, of wine to boot). More so they had been moved by the manner in which he had delivered the speech, full of feeling and conviction. William didn’t rush the passage. He became a different person, but yet someone that was equally real. Whilst delivering the speech Flynn had turned to each person around the table, making them feel as if he was talking to them alone. When it came to Emma, William had looked her in the eye and said, “Though justice be thy plea, consider this, that in the course of justice none of us should see salvation.” Emma had wanted to look away, but couldn’t.

  Soon afterwards the party ended. Robert insisted that his daughter and Celia stay the night. He also offered a spare room to William, but the mechanic mentioned that he had work in the morning. Emma watched as Celia warmly said goodbye to her new friend. They embraced and she kissed him on the cheek, twice. William also handed her some money and asked Celia to pass it on to the serving girl, so that she could get a taxi home.

  “You know that, more than your money, she asked me if I could get your number for her. She’s smitten.”

  “She must have been on the port too. If you tell her I’m seeing someone.”

  “And are you seeing someone?”

  “No. But I wouldn’t want her to feel bad. It’s been great meeting you tonight Celia. You were right to admire your mum. She’d be right in admiring her daughter in return though.”

  Celia hugged William again. Emma rolled her eyes.

  10.

  Moonbeams shone through the window. The scent in her old bedroom reminded Emma of her mother. She breathed it in, with a mixture of fondness and grief. She sent another text to Jason, but he didn’t reply. She had already sent a half a dozen previous texts and left a couple of voice messages. Her anxiety over why he wasn’t replying added to her restlessness. She tried to read a book – she downloaded The Merchant of Venice and took in another chapter of Dickens – but she couldn’t concentrate. Emma kept thinking about him, as well as occasionally Jason. She could not get his image out of her mind’s eye – how sorrowful he had seemed when he had walked away from her in the drawing room. And then how amiable and engaging he was over dinner, making his father and Celia laugh. And then how noble he had been, in standing up to James Harrow. And then how considerately he had behaved towards the waitress. And finally how he had sweetly gazed at her whilst reciting the lines from Shakespeare. He was a puzzle which she wanted to start putting together.

  Before finally calling it a night Emma had had a coffee with Celia in the kitchen. She asked about the mechanic and her worse fears came true.

  “He was lovely, adorable. I’m not sure how we got onto it but I found myself talking about Mum with him. He was really kind, sympathetic. And funny. He said that Mum was in a better place – an even better place than Chiswick. You were right about most of the soldiers tonight Em, but William was different. Your father sees it too.” Celia smiled to herself, as if still bathing in the glow of the mechanic’s company, a
s she spoke.

  For most of the evening Emma told herself that the William Flynn of tonight was just an act. She had experienced the real William Flynn at the garage – an arrogant, sarcastic grease monkey. She tried to convince her friend of this, as well as herself, as she recounted their first meeting to Celia. She painted the mechanic in an unpleasant light and also gave the impression that she was blameless during their exchanges. She also found herself dropping in some of Jason’s jokes and prejudices in relation to the working class soldier. Emma sat slightly open-mouthed however as her best friend took his side!

  “Perhaps you just caught him when he was in a bad mood, on a bad day.”

  It was here that Emma realised that she was the one who had been having the bad day – and had been in a bad mood – when she met the mechanic. Celia had also said that rather than being working class, he was in a class of his own. He was highly educated, but had not forgotten his roots.

  Emma opened the window and let the cool night air blow over her flushed skin. She googled “William Flynn” and found an article mentioning his name in a citation for bravery. The piece mentioned how the infantryman, from Bermondsey, had shown courage under fire to save the life of his commanding officer, Brigadier Robert Hastings.

  11.

  Celia left quite early in the morning, explaining that she had some marking to catch up on. Emma hugged her friend for that little bit longer. Perhaps she wished to provide further consolation for her mum having passed away. Perhaps Emma just felt more lonely than usual, after her sleepless night. As Celia left in the taxi Emma received a text from Jason to apologise for not replying to her messages, but his battery had died on his phone.

  Although her father had arranged for a cleaner to come in and put things back in order after the party Emma insisted upon helping her. She wanted to keep busy, take her mind off things.

  It was a bright summer’s day and Emma sat down with an iced tea and her kindle in the garden. Robert Hastings woke just after midday. His daughter offered to get up and make him breakfast but her father gruffly replied that he could make it himself – and somewhat sternly remarked that he wanted her to wait in the garden, as he wished to have a word with her.

  Robert squinted from the glare of the afternoon sun as he came out into the garden. His eyes were puffy and the retired officer smiled not as he sat down and took in his daughter.

  “Would you like to explain your behaviour last night?”

  “What do you mean?” There was a show of innocence in her voice, but ultimately Emma wasn’t ignorant as to what – or who – her father was referring to.

  “Your behaviour towards my former driver, Will. You seemed to be actively rude towards him throughout the party. I’d like to know why.”

  Emma proceeded to describe her first encounter with the mechanic at the garage. Unlike her account during the night before, to Celia, she tempered some of her prejudices and embellishments. Emma even concluded by saying that it was perhaps as much her fault as his that they had got off on the wrong foot.

  Robert Hastings paused before replying.

  “I’ve known William Flynn for many a year now. There may be sad bones in his body, but there are not mean or malicious ones. Your friends and set probably demand that you behave in a snobbish and superior manner to the likes of people who are not as well off as you, but I don’t want you acting that way under this roof. You behaved appallingly last night. You’re so much better than this Emma, if only you would give yourself a chance. I hope you that you were not rude towards the staff at the garage as well.”

  Emma’s downcast, guilty expression answered for her. She could not look her father in the eye – and consequently see the anger and disappointment in his face.

  “I know a number of Will’s staff personally. He runs a programme providing apprenticeships and jobs to amputees. The men working at that garage are worth a hundred of those over-privileged peacocks that attend your cocktail parties and fashion shows. You should be ashamed of yourself. I’m ashamed of you. Your mother would be ashamed too. Badly done Emma, badly done indeed.” The sparrows upon the garden lawn flew off into the air at the harshness of Robert Hastings’ tone.

  “I’m sorry.” There were tears in her eyes and her voice began to break from genuine remorse.

  “I’m not the one who you need to be apologising to. Should you be free tomorrow or during the rest of the week I want you drive back down to the garage and say sorry to anyone who you need to say sorry to.”

  Emma didn’t argue, partly because – for reasons she could not quite understand – she wanted to see the mechanic again.

  Emma met Jason for dinner in the evening. He asked her to wear one of the dresses he bought her and he took her to The Ivy. She had of course been there before, but never on a date. The couple shone as brightly as the decor and turned heads. Emma was dressed in a summery white polka dot dress from Karen Millen and envy-inducing Christian Louboutin black leather ankle boots. Jason wore a metallic silver-grey Armani suit with a purple silk shirt from a Japanese designer that Emma could neither pronounce nor afford. The club was populated by all manner of minor celebrities, all complaining about press intrusion yet hoping the paparazzi would be outside when they left. Such was the number of has-beens or no-hopers in one corner that Emma fancied it might be a wrap party for the latest series of Big Brother.

  During dinner Emma grew bored as she could not help but notice how Jason talked incessantly – about himself. She immediately thought how unfair she might be being though, realising how quiet and distant she had been during the evening. Her father’s words were still casting a long shadow over her – and she also kept thinking about him. She knew she needed to apologise to the mechanic, but what would she say? And how would he react? Conscious of how distracted she might be appearing, Emma came out of her shell and engaged with her date more. She duly feigned interest at his name dropping in regards to the perfume launch the previous evening – and nodded and smiled when he spoke about how much money he had made from selling his last apartment. He compared himself to the Candy brothers. Emma rolled her eyes.

  Jason genuinely grabbed his date’s attention when he asked her if she would like to go away for a few days though.

  “Where were you thinking?”

  “Lady’s prerogative, babe. You choose. Paris, Rome, Venice. Just so long as the locale has a five star hotel. I want it to be special.”

  He smiled, charmingly and affectionately and Emma was reminded just how sweet, handsome and special Jason Rothschild could be. A catch.

  “When were you thinking?”

  “As soon as possible. I’d take you yesterday if I could. You’re more delicious than this sorbet Em.”

  Emma was keen to go away (perhaps to Copenhagen, as she had yet to ever visit there) but explained how she had to remain in London for the next week or so, to help her friend Celia with the funeral arrangements for her mother. Jason argued that her friend would want her to enjoy herself. He said, with gorgeous puppy dog eyes, that he needed her too and could use a break. Still Emma said that they would have to wait a fortnight. Jason grew sullen, a spoiled child unused to not getting his own way.

  After dinner Jason dropped his date off in the cab and tried to get his own way again. He suggested they have one last coffee. But Emma explained how she had to get up early in the morning.

  “What do you have to get up early for?” Jason asked, kissing her neck, his arm coiled around her lithe waist.

  “I’m meeting a friend,” Emma answered, hoping that by the end of her encounter with the mechanic they could call each other such.

  12.

  The sun shone even brighter and the clouds melted to reveal a pristine blue sky as Emma crossed over the bridge and headed towards the garage in Bermondsey. She wore a navy-blue layered mesh lace pencil skirt from Burberry and a white ruffled sleeveless blouse from Brooks Brothers. Emma was conscious of not wanting to tower over the mechanic when talking to him so she choose to
wear a pair of low-heeled shoes she had picked up from an independent store when last in New York. It was not just the lemony sunshine which gifted a glow to her complexion and put her in a summery mood.

  Emma greeted the staff at the garage politely – and her smile and the cut of her pencil skirt made Sam’s day. She asked if she could see William, but was told that he was on a break. Sam mentioned that he was probably only around the corner however, in the park. He insisted that it would be fine to disturb his boss, thinking how much he would have enjoyed being disturbed by the fashion model. “Her legs go up to heaven and I’d love to see what she’s got under the bonnet,” he commented, after whistling to himself, once the click of Emma’s heels had faded away.

  From the weather-beaten, lopsided gravestones lining the edge of the green it appeared that the park was once a churchyard. Children laughing and the chimes of an ice cream van sounded in the background. The smell of freshly cut grass also filled the air. William Flynn was sitting upon a bench, seemingly caught up in his own world. He looked pensive – his face was slightly creased due to squinting in the citrus sunlight. He wore a nondescript pair of jeans and a grey polo shirt. His face and arms were tanned (the old fashioned way, from the sun). Looking at him through new eyes she realised that he was not unhandsome. There was a strength and intelligence in his features. Emma took a breath, brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes and walked towards the mechanic. Although she was nervous – butterflies were fluttering in either her stomach or heart – there was no question of her not going through with the scene (which she had spent the evening and morning playing out in her head).

  “Hello,” Emma brightly remarked, as she stopped by the bench, her shadow looming large in front of him.