Secret Schemes and Daring Dreams

by Rosie Rushton

  ‘And take Harriet – she’s dead photogenic,’ Emma added.

  ‘OK, that’s a cool idea,’ Theo agreed. ‘Like you said – make her feel one of the crowd.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ Emma smiled smugly to herself. ‘Why don’t you ask her now? She’s in the conservatory doing something interesting with a couple of fir cones.’

  ‘Oh Emma, there you are. Oh, sorry – you’re just leaving, right?’

  Emma nodded, smiled wearily at Lily Bates and glanced rather pointedly at her watch.

  ‘I won’t keep you a minute – I mean, I should have asked you earlier, only what with the teas, and then Luigi letting me make the hollandaise sauce all on my own, and dashing back to the cottage to get Mum some supper – she’s feeling really rough today so I did her smoked salmon and scrambled egg, she loves that, a bit of a luxury but once in while . . .’

  ‘So, what was it you wanted?’ Emma broke in, forcing a smile.

  The instant the words were out, she regretted it. Looking at Lily, with her bony frame, pale face and grey eyes with permanent shadows circling them, one might have thought she suffered from some rather awful disease. In fact, she was bursting with health and energy, and the only condition from which she suffered was a bad case of verbal diarrhoea.

  ‘Well, you see, the thing is, it’s about Jake. You remember Jake? Jake Fairfax? My cousin? The one . . .’

  ‘. . . who is very musical, the one in the band,’ Emma finished, suppressing a sigh as she recalled the interminable reports every few months about how amazing Split Bamboo was. ‘Yes, I remember. What about him?’

  ‘You’ll never guess, not in a million years . . .’

  ‘So perhaps if you told me . . .’

  ‘What? Oh yes – sorry! Well, he’s coming to Brighton. For four weeks! And guess why?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue.’ Emma sighed.

  ‘The band are playing at The Jacaranda Tree. And somewhere else I forget the name of. They’ve been booked for a whole month, two nights a week in each place. Isn’t that amazing?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Emma admitted. She had always dismissed the band’s reported success as being a figment of Lily’s overactive imagination, but The Jacaranda Tree had built its reputation on showcasing upcoming chart-toppers and certainly weren’t likely to book no-hopers.

  ‘We wanted him to stay with us – Mum loves to have visitors – but he said no, that wouldn’t do because the rest of the band are looking for lodgings too, so I said there’s Mrs Butler’s B & B in the village and he said he’d think about it, but to be honest he’s in such a state at the moment . . .’

  ‘Right, well . . .’

  ‘You see, he broke up with Caroline. Oh, you don’t know Caroline – she is – was – his girlfriend. Ever so nice, she and I got on really well. She’s at Cambridge University, dead clever. She’s doing politics and something or other. Anyway, she dumped him all of a sudden, just like that. I can’t think why, because Jake’s lovely and if we weren’t cousins I could fancy him myself! What was I going to say?’ She frowned and chewed her lip. ‘Oh yes, of course, silly me! The thing is, can you give this to your dad? I mean, I would but I thought if you did, then it might not look like I was – well, you know, being pushy.’ She thrust a padded envelope at Emma, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘Look, I must fly – I promised Mum I’d wash her hair for her. We’ve found this rather nice hair colour, sort of peachy blond it says on the packet and . . .’

  ‘Lovely,’ Emma said firmly. ‘Look, I must go.’

  ‘Sure, fine, yes. See you tomorrow. I’m having such fun here – your dad is such a nice man, thinking of me, and he did say to keep him in touch with things and I said, yes, I would and . . .’

  And with that Emma grabbed her bag and flew out of the back door, leaving Lily still talking.

  The moment Emma got back to her own bedroom, having chucked the envelope on her father’s desk, installed Harriet in the guest room (and assured her that yes, the bathrobe was for her to wear and no, she hadn’t broken the taps – they switched off on their own because her father was so waste-conscious), she flopped down on the bed, grabbed her laptop and ran her eye down the incoming messages until she found the one she had known for sure would be there.

  To: EmmaWH@talktalk.net

  From: Lucyinthesky@hotmail.com

  Hi! So how’s it going? Got your text about Harriet’s boyfriend. I died laughing about the penguins: unreal! Everything’s cool here; the chalet’s OK, or at least it will be when I’ve finished with it. Apparently two guys had it last and you should have seen the bathroom – gross! Anyway, I’ve already been to the market and got throws and plants and loads of floor cushions to cover up the grotty carpet and it’s looking really cool. Adam’s chalet is next door but one – he’s sharing with an Aussie guy but hopefully he’ll spend most of the time with me! And guess what? Angus – he’s the camp leader – has said I can help organise the weekly swimming gala and maybe teach diving – isn’t that great?

  Emma sighed and shook her head in disbelief. Some people’s idea of cool was way off centre.

  So what did George say about the party? It had better be a massive ‘Yes’ because Adam is so psyched up. I reckon he thinks this is his chance to prove to big brother that he’s in a cool crowd too! But there’s so much to sort – bands, food, decorations . . . Freddie talks big but, when it comes to detail, he’s useless. We’re relying on you, OK?

  Don’t forget it’s my birthday Wednesday – and it’s my day off! So how about you meet me for lunch? Mum’s sent me a pretty decent cheque so I feel a big spend coming on.

  Got to go – Adam’s playing in the staff against the kids football match and I’m in charge of cheerleaders! There’s a really fit guy here called Luke – not that I’m interested of course, but I’ll try and fix it for you to meet him when you come over. Even you couldn’t resist him!

  Get back to me and dish the dirt on the county set! Hugs, Lucy

  Why, Emma thought, clicking on the Reply button, did everyone think she needed a guy in order to be fulfilled? She had a life plan and the slot for a serious relationship wasn’t scheduled for another five years, after she had got her degree and established herself in her own business. Then, and only then, would she think about getting serious with someone from the City with a view to marriage (on her terms, of course and with a pre-nup) at around twenty-eight. Till then, guys were fine for the occasional snog – Freddie for one – but beyond that, forget it.

  To: Lucyinthesky@hotmail.com

  From: EmmaWH@talktalk.net

  Hi! Glad you’ve got your laptop – I ran out of space when I tried to text and there’s so much to tell you! First of all, THE PARTY’S ON! The Knightleys are fine about it, so you can tell Freddie it’s a goer. Wednesday’s fine – I’ll pick you up at 11 – and please get it into your head that I am NOT INTERESTED in guys, OK? Unless, of course, they are for someone else – I just have to tell you about my latest stroke of genius. Theo Elton – remember him? Well, he’s staying with George for a bit and I just know he’s perfect for Harriet. I mean, think about it: he’s dead sensitive and she needs someone like that, what with her mother . . .

  She paused, and then deleted the last four words. She reckoned Harriet didn’t need the whole world to know about her mother.

  and she needs a guy with money because she’s totally skint. He’s moderately fit and he’s got style, unlike that loser, Rob. The whole thing’s perfect. And before you say that I’m going off on one – get this. Tonight, Harriet was laying the breakfast tables for tomorrow and she asked George if it was OK for her to go to church in the morning. I know, I was pretty gobsmacked – like you’d go out of choice? I never had her down as a holy type. Anyway, George said no, sorry, but he couldn’t spare her unless I took on her chores. Like that was going to happen. I had to think fast, I can tell you, but I said something about having to help Dad sort out stuff for the film crew and he swallowed that one. Anyway, just at tha
t moment, Theo came in (he’d been to Brighton for the evening). Harriet was looking all mis and he asked what was wrong; she told him about the church thing and guess what? He goes striding off after George and, two minutes later, George is saying that it’s fine, she can go because Theo’s offered to cover her breakfast shift! Get that! He must fancy her – I mean, have you heard of a guy actually choosing to get up early on a Sunday? Of course, his dad’s a vicar so maybe it’s in his genes, but anyway . . .

  A knock on her door interrupted her flow.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘No, it’s me – Harriet.’

  ‘Hang on!’

  Emma scanned the final paragraph of her email.

  Got to go – more tomorrow. See you Wednesday. Hugs, Emma.

  She clicked on Send, and shut off her laptop.

  ‘OK, come in!’ she called, glancing at her watch as Harriet came into the room. ‘I thought you’d be asleep by now – you looked done in.’

  ‘I am, only . . .’ Harriet hesitated, chewing her bottom lip and sighing.

  ‘What? Do you need something? More pillows?’

  ‘No, everything’s lovely,’ Harriet assured her, perching on the end of Emma’s bed. ‘It’s – well, it’s Rob.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘See, I rang him a bit earlier and he sounded really cheesed off . . .’

  ‘Probably jealous that you’ve got a job that doesn’t involve crustaceans and screaming kids,’ Emma commented, suddenly feeling too tired to be compassionate.

  ‘No, it’s because he says he’s going to miss me,’ Harriet went on, apparently oblivious to Emma’s sarcasm. ‘Anyway, he’s just rung back and said sorry for being off – and guess what? He thinks he could get me a job at Sea Life because this girl Rachel in the coffee shop has handed in her notice.’

  ‘No way!’ Emma exploded. ‘You don’t mean to tell me that after all my efforts getting you a decent job with really cool people —’

  ‘Well, no, I did say I couldn’t let you all down at the moment but . . .’

  ‘Good!’

  ‘And that’s when he asked me what was more important: this job or us getting the chance to spend more time together.’

  She sighed and looked imploringly at Emma.

  ‘It’s really hard – I mean, he’s so cute and him saying that – well, it must mean he fancies me, right?’

  ‘It means,’ said Emma forcefully, ‘that he’s into emotional blackmail big time. Still, it’s up to you, of course. If you want to throw away the opportunity of a lifetime, there’s not much I can do about it.’

  She eyed Harriet solemnly.

  ‘Freddie’s party is going to be the social event of the summer,’ she insisted. ‘And there’s the village festival, Dad’s TV show, Charity Race Day – I could organise it for us to get into the Members’ enclosure if we agreed to sell raffle tickets.’

  She was pleased to note that Harriet’s mouth was dropping open by the second, so she went in for the final whammy.

  ‘It’s not like you get loads of opportunities to mix with high-flying types like the Churchill crowd. Did you tell Rob about that?’

  ‘Yes, and he said that’s all just about image and snobs and social climbers,’ Harriet replied ingenuously.

  ‘Am I a snob? Am I a social climber?’ Emma demanded.

  ‘No, of course not . . .’

  ‘Right – and neither are my friends,’ Emma stressed. ‘It just goes to show that Rob hasn’t got a clue about what really counts. Still, if you’d rather be with him than here with me . . .’

  ‘Of course I wouldn’t! I’ve had more fun this evening than I’ve had in the last five years!’

  This, thought Emma, as she smiled kindly at her friend, was just another indication of what a sad little life Harriet Smith had led until now.

  ‘And the hotel is just stunning,’ Harriet babbled, going off at a tangent. ‘Did you know that the rooms are all named after the families that have lived there since sixteen something? And those crests on the wall in the dining room – they were put there by Sir Casper Knightley who . . .’

  ‘Harriet, I’ve been going to that house since I was in pre-prep,’ Emma cut in wearily. ‘There’s nothing you can tell me that I don’t know already. And if you think tonight was fun – well, I promise it’ll get even better.’ She paused and eyed Harriet sternly. ‘Of course, if you did take the job at Sea Life – which I can’t stop you doing, and I wouldn’t even try if that’s what you really want . . .’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘But if you did decide to throw away all this, you wouldn’t be able to bum off to church at a moment’s notice. There won’t be a Theo around to fight your corner.’

  ‘Theo’s lovely, isn’t he?’ Harriet smiled. ‘And you’re right – he was so sweet, offering to do my shift.’

  ‘Precisely,’ Emma said nodding, relieved to have finally got her point across. ‘When was the last time this Rob person put himself out for you? He didn’t even turn up at the club. Come to think of it, he didn’t even let you know he wasn’t coming. And he put work before a party. Whereas Theo . . .’ She let the words hang in the air just long enough for Harriet to colour up ever so slightly. ‘Theo seems to be really interested in you,’ she finished.

  ‘Don’t be silly! Theo . . . interested in . . . I mean, he only met me today.’

  ‘Sexual chemistry,’ Emma told her wisely, remembering Lucy’s phrase. ‘Trust me – he’s keen.’

  Harriet’s eyes widened. ‘You think so? Really? A guy like that?’

  ‘I know so,’ Emma assured her. ‘Ask any of my friends – when it comes to reading guys, I am never wrong. Remember how he came right up close to you on the croquet lawn? And he said to me . . . well, never mind what he said to me.’

  ‘He talked about me?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Emma nodded. ‘All he needs is just a little bit of encouragement . . . but, anyway, it’s none of my business. If it’s Rob you want, then it’s Rob you must go after.’ She frowned thoughtfully. ‘Of course, I’m probably not being fair,’ she said. ‘Just because I’m not boy mad . . . maybe you and Rob are really soul mates. I mean, is he into music like you are?’

  ‘No way.’ Harriet giggled. ‘Do you know, he didn’t know the difference between Berlioz and Bizet! I wanted him to come with me to that amazing open air concert at Preston Abbey – it was free, so I could actually go —’

  ‘Lovely,’ murmured Emma, who actually preferred R & B to classical music. ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He couldn’t make it,’ Harriet said. ‘He has tank cleaning training that evening.’

  ‘I rest my case,’ Emma said calmly. ‘Whereas Theo, who probably has a thousand better things to do tomorrow than serving breakfasts . . . still, as I said, it’s up to you.’ She yawned. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I’m crashing out. I’ll leave you to decide what to do. Life is all about making the right choices.’

  ‘So I’ll tell Rob no, right?’

  ‘Your choice. Night, Harriet. Sleep well.’

  CHAPTER 5

  Secret scheme:

  Spend of the plastic, worry later

  ‘DAD! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING?’

  Emma, blasted awake at half past seven on Sunday morning by what sounded like dustbin lids being scraped along a brick wall, burst into her father’s den, hair tousled and feeling seriously sleep deprived.

  ‘Dad!’ She punched the Off button on his vintage Bang and Olufsen. ‘You woke me up!’ she shouted accusingly.

  Her father glanced at his solar-powered watch. ‘It’s not early,’ he commented. ‘I thought you’d be over the way helping out by now. Besides, I’m so buzzed by this band.’ He gestured towards the deck. ‘That package from Lily – it had this demo CD in it. Great band – they’re called Split Bamboo and the lead guitarist is . . .’

  ‘Jake Fairfax,’ concluded Emma with a groan. ‘Lily’s oh-so-amazing cousin.’ She eyed her father closely. ‘You’re not telling me this band of his is a
ctually any good?’

  ‘They’re more than good, they’re going places,’ her father declared. ‘I’ve read a bit about them in the music papers. One of their songs – ‘Panic Stations Planet’ – is very of the moment . . .’

  ‘So that’s why you’re keen – because they’re waving the green flag,’ teased Emma. ‘Never mind the music, just listen to the message, is that it?’

  ‘Wouldn’t do you any harm to take note,’ her father muttered, pulling open a drawer and waving a bunch of Emma’s most recent shopping receipts in her face. ‘Look at this lot – High Wire, Stella Stein, Rock On Robin! How can you pay one hundred and five pounds for a handbag? It’s obscene.’

  ‘It’s not just a bag, Dad, it’s a Valentine Rockport bag . . .’

  ‘A bag’s a bag,’ he said emphatically. ‘And I’ll bet none of these clothes are Fair Trade. Do you realise they were probably made in some sweatshop in Bangladesh with —’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, OK, I’m sorry,’ Emma assured him. ‘Anyway, Dad, listen – I’ve just sorted the Knightleys’ problems. Surely that deserves being let off the hook?’

  She told her father about the party, how she was the mover and shaker and how she reckoned to double the Donwell profits overnight.

  ‘Excellent!’ Her father gave her a hug. ‘What an opportunity for them! Well done you!’

  Emma glowed under his obvious approbation.

  ‘We can LOAF it,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to this new chef and have a word with Mrs P and —’

  ‘We can what?’ Emma demanded suspiciously.

  ‘Don’t you ever listen to anything I say?’ her father asked. ‘LOAF – Locally grown, Organic, Animal friendly and Fair Trade. Oh, I can see it now – we’ll get the press round – the Churchill name will ensure that – and we’ll have organic wines, locally produced food and flowers – no air miles there, you see – and I could —’

  ‘Dad, stop it!’ Emma shouted. ‘What’s with all this “we”?’

  ‘George’s mother phoned me – she’s worried about everything here. Says that old Coles, the estate manager, is losing his grip and she’s not sure George has enough experience to deal with everything. So I assured her that I’d keep a firm hand on the tiller till they get back. Now where do you think we could source —’