Secret Schemes and Daring Dreams

by Rosie Rushton

  ‘George, I’m not like that!’ A sob caught in Emma’s throat.

  ‘Lily has hero-worshipped you since she was eight,’ George snapped. ‘Remember how she used to hang around for hours until you deigned to let her climb into the tree house? How she helped you clean your pony’s tack so that you’d reward her with ten minutes on the leading rein in the orchard?’

  ‘I know, so that proves I’m nice.’

  ‘Hmm. You can be nice,’ George said, tossing the phone into the safe and turning the lock. ‘You can be lovely and funny and kind – when it suits you. When it doesn’t, you can be downright cruel.’

  ‘I’ll go and make it up with her,’ Emma blurted out. ‘Honestly, I’ll tell her I didn’t mean it, I’ll say I’d drunk too much . . .’

  ‘Well, that bit’s true,’ George agreed.

  ‘Just say we’re friends,’ Emma pleaded. ‘We are, aren’t we?’

  George looked at her unblinkingly for several seconds. Then he sighed and the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. ‘Friends? Yes, I guess we are.’ He nodded. ‘I guess we always will be.’

  Relief flooded through Emma. ‘I’ll find Lily right now,’ she said. ‘I’ll make it right, I promise.’

  As it turned out, making friends with Lily wasn’t nearly as easy as she had assumed. She ran all the way to Keeper’s Cottage and banged on the door. It was answered by Jake.

  ‘Hi, can I speak to Lily, please?’ she asked, one foot already over the threshold.

  ‘I think you’ve said enough to Lily!’ Jake was unsmiling.

  ‘It was a misunderstanding,’ Emma began. ‘If you’ll just let me come in I can explain.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, barring her way.

  ‘Hang on, this isn’t your house,’ Emma replied, struggling to keep her cool. ‘You may think you can tell Freddie how to deal with his own father, but you can’t tell me what to do.’

  ‘Freddie’s father? What are you on about?’ Jake asked.

  ‘I heard you, so don’t pretend to me,’ Emma said. ‘Telling him to make a clean break, as if it was any of your business.’

  She heard a cough from behind the closed kitchen door and recalled her reason for being there. ‘Mrs Bates, it’s me, Emma.’

  There was no reply.

  ‘She knows it’s you,’ Jake said calmly. ‘And she told me to get rid of you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Emma swallowed hard, determined not to cry in front of him. ‘I’ll – I’ll write a note.’ She turned to go.

  ‘Emma?’ Jake called softly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just so as you know,’ he said, ‘I’ve never discussed Freddie’s father with him. Anything you may have heard was about someone else.’ He hesitated, his hand on the door knob. ‘I really thought Freddie had explained it all to you. I’m sorry.’

  Before she had the chance to ask him what he meant, the door closed in her face.

  As she walked disconsolately towards Hartfield, Emma noticed the band’s van parked near the lodges, its back doors swinging open. Dylan and Ravi were loading equipment and kitbags into the back.

  ‘Hey, what’s going on?’ she called. ‘You’ve got another week yet.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Dylan shouted back. ‘We’re heading for the big time – and it ain’t here!’

  As Emma walked over to the guys, desperate to find out what he was talking about, Miranda emerged from one of the lodges.

  ‘Great news, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You’ve heard, of course?’

  Reluctantly, Emma had to admit that she hadn’t.

  ‘We’ve only just told Tarquin,’ Ravi burst out. ‘See, we’ve got a recording contract with Mango Pippins!’

  ‘You’re joking? That’s so cool!’ Emma gasped, genuinely stunned by their apparent meteoric rise. ‘Did my dad organise it?’

  ‘No, it’s all down to Miranda,’ Dylan told her. ‘See, this top guy from the label is the brother of the owner of the Mango night club chain. He read Miranda’s taster piece and came to the club last week and said we were – what was it, Ravi?’

  ‘Boundary breaking.’ Ravi grinned. ‘We’re going to his studios to sign up.’

  ‘Thanks to Miranda’s journalistic genius,’ Ravi added, throwing her a somewhat cloying smile.

  ‘Actually, it was my father who gave you the break,’ Emma said sharply.

  ‘And me who brought them to the notice of people who matter,’ Miranda added.

  ‘I’ve just seen Jake,’ Emma mused, ignoring Miranda’s self-satisfied smirk. ‘He never said a word about it.’ Not, she thought miserably, that he was likely to tell her anything.

  ‘Oh well, you know Jake. He’s still pining.’ Dylan laughed.

  ‘What?’ he added, glaring at Ravi who was nudging him in the ribs.

  ‘For Caroline?’ Emma said. ‘I thought they split ages ago.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Dylan muttered. ‘He takes things hard. Anyway, we gotta get on; this van won’t pack itself.’

  ‘Emma, wait!’ Miranda caught up with her just as she reached her front door. ‘Look, I can’t believe this, but something tells me you’re not fully in the picture,’ she began.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Freddie.’

  ‘Oh, don’t start that again!’ snapped Emma, who just wanted to get to her room and have a good cry.

  ‘Emma, I’m trying to be nice to you,’ Miranda persisted, ‘though heaven knows why, after the way you treated poor Theo.’

  ‘Poor Theo, as you put it, is a rampant social climber with the emotional intelligence of a disadvantaged flea,’ Emma snarled. ‘Actually, you seem pretty well suited.’

  ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t try,’ Miranda retorted. ‘By the end of the week, you might be wishing you weren’t quite such an egotistical little madam!’

  Emma bit her lip and stalked into the house, only to bump into Harriet careering through the front door.

  ‘I could scream! Where did Theo find that girl?’ Emma exploded, gesturing to Miranda’s retreating back. ‘Doing charitable work in a mental institution?’

  Harriet’s face clouded instantly and she turned away.

  ‘Oh God, sorry, Harriet – I didn’t mean – it just came out – I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Forget it.’ Harriet kept walking and didn’t look back.

  And Emma burst into tears.

  For the next few days, Emma felt miserable and out of sorts. Lucy and Adam, relaxed now that they knew Freddie was being the dutiful son in Rome and not lying squashed on the motorway, were busy all week taking kids from the Centre on outings to Bodiam Castle and day trips to Calais; Lily, despite the fact that Emma had sent her a really funny card and apologised more than she really thought was necessary, was still avoiding her whenever she could; and most of her other friends were jet-setting off to the Maldives or Cape Cod, and sending exotic postcards and texts that were almost too explicit in their detail about their love lives.

  George’s news on the Friday following the party didn’t help her mood one bit. Emma found him hurling golf clubs into the back of his car when she turned up to help his mother check out the table plan for the Midsummer Night’s Dream wedding the following day.

  ‘Skiving off for the day?’ she joked.

  ‘No, two weeks,’ he replied. ‘I was just going to come and find you. I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, her heart sinking. ‘You can’t leave us in the lurch. What about the wedding?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum’s got everything in hand – there’s a whole bunch of temps coming for the day and she’s interviewing new staff as we speak,’ he said. ‘The thing is – well, I got my MBA . . .’

  ‘Brilliant, well done!’ She gave him a hug. ‘That is so cool.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He didn’t sound terribly elated. ‘Thing is, something’s happened – something big – and I need to get away and get my head around it before I – well, before I take the plunge.�
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  ‘What is it? Can I help?’

  ‘I wish,’ he said with a sigh. ‘No – this is all down to me to deal with.’ He slammed the boot lid closed. ‘I’m going up to Ballater. A friend of mine has a house up there and I’ll do some fishing and play some golf,’ he explained. ‘Nothing like an eight-hour hike up Lochnagar to focus the mind.’ He opened the car door, turned and gave her a quick hug. ‘Be good while I’m away. If that’s possible. Take care.’

  And with that, he got in the car, fired the engine and drove away.

  Such was the parlous state of Emma’s social life that she was inordinately relieved that Harriet seemed incapable of bearing grudges. Within twenty-four hours of Emma’s tactless remark, Harriet had been back to her normal self, enthusing about Annabelle Paxton-Whyte’s wedding, exclaiming with delight when George’s mother suggested that she could lead a party of visiting children round the Woodland Walk and Nature Trail and bursting with enthusiasm over Max’s idea of a murder mystery weekend in the middle of August. So when Emma, feeling even more disconsolate after George’s unexpected departure, decided that the only cure for boredom was a mega shopping trip, she invited Harriet to go with her.

  ‘Great, super,’ Harriet agreed. ‘Actually, that’s cool because, guess what? The doctors think Mum might be ready for a home visit next week and I need to get some stuff to brighten the place up.’

  Emma was about to question whether seeing her husband’s new flat might not be enough to send her mother back into the depths of despair but, remembering her past faux-pas, she merely smiled and said she was thrilled, and perhaps this was going to be a chance to put the past behind them.

  ‘That’s exactly what I intend to do,’ Harriet exclaimed. ‘I’ve made a start. Theo Elton is dead meat and to prove it, look!’ She shoved her mobile phone under Emma’s nose. ‘Every text deleted,’ she said. ‘Well, there were only two . . . but I’ve got rid of the napkin from Mango Monkey’s, and the twig he used to point out the stars . . .’

  ‘Well done,’ Emma commented, struggling not to laugh. ‘And Harriet, you will find someone very soon, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘I already have.’

  ‘You mean – Dylan? Did I really get it right this time?’

  ‘Dylan? Oh please. Hardly.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘Someone who rescued me when I was really at my lowest ebb . . . someone so cool, so fit, so sexy . . .’

  Emma had never heard Harriet waxing so lyrical.

  ‘I was feeling so low and scared and vulnerable and then he turned up right in front of me like that, and just reached out his hand and smiled and . . .’

  Freddie. She was in love with Freddie. That was a total non-starter – Freddie Churchill, millionaire in the making, and Harriet Smith, daughter of a bankrupt? No way.

  ‘You’re sure – I mean, you’re not just feeling like that because he got you out of a difficult situation,’ Emma urged, desperately trying to find a gentle way to let her down. ‘See, Freddie’s family are really top drawer and . . .’

  ‘Freddie? You didn’t honestly think I was talking about Freddie Churchill? Oh please – credit me with a little sense! I’m not that blind.’

  ‘But you said it was the guy who rescued you,’ Emma pointed out.

  ‘Sure. Can’t you guess? George, of course.’

  Emma felt as though time had stopped still, as though everything in the universe was holding its breath.

  ‘G-George?’ she stammered. ‘You’re in love with . . .’

  She couldn’t say it. This was terrible, awful, unthinkable. Harriet and George! No, no, no.

  ‘At the party, he was just so cool, so sweet.’ Harriet sighed. ‘He held me so close when we danced, and he said any guy who didn’t want to spend time with me must be mad and that Theo didn’t deserve me.’

  Emma wanted to clamp her hands over her ears to blot out the words. Her chest was tight, her mouth had gone dry and she had a sudden urge to put her hands round Harriet’s throat.

  ‘He can’t, you can’t . . .’ Emma burst out.

  Harriet’s smile faded. ‘What? You don’t think I’m good enough for him?’

  Emma didn’t reply. She was grappling with the overriding emotion that blanked out all rational thought.

  Harriet wasn’t good enough for George. No one was good enough for George. No one, she suddenly realised with a complete shock, except her – Emma Woodhouse.

  ‘Emma?’ Harriet was peering at her anxiously. ‘You don’t think I’m good enough for him, do you?’ she repeated, not nervously as would have been usual for Harriet, but almost defiantly.

  ‘I didn’t say that – I mean, does he . . .?’ It was no good, she had to ask the question. ‘Do you think he feels the same?’

  No, no, of course he doesn’t. She’s delusional, she’s crazy, Emma thought desperately.

  ‘Actually, yes I do.’ Harriet’s cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled. ‘Something he said to me this morning before he went away made it quite clear.’

  Emma suddenly understood why people spoke about blood running cold. The image of George standing by his car swam before her eyes: ‘Thing is, something’s happened – something big – and I need to get away and get my head around it before I take the plunge.’

  ‘What did he say?’ The words came out as a strangled sob.

  ‘That’s private,’ Harriet simpered, and then suddenly became serious. ‘You don’t think – I mean, he’s not the kind of guy to flirt and not mean it, is he?’

  Emma bit her lip so hard that she could taste the blood. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘If George says something, he means it. You can be sure of that.’

  ‘Oh great!’ Harriet giggled. ‘So come on, let’s go shopping – I’ve got loads to get for Mum and with the bonus that the Knightleys gave me I can afford a bit of a splurge.’

  ‘Actually, you go on your own,’ Emma whispered. ‘I think I’d better go and lie down. I’m not feeling too good.’

  ‘I don’t want Emma to hear about this, not till I’ve had a word.’

  Emma was passing the door of her father’s den on the way to her bedroom for a good howl when she heard the words that brought her to an abrupt halt.

  ‘This is going to devastate her,’ Tarquin went on as Emma held her breath, her heart thumping. ‘You know how she feels about the guy.’

  So it was true. Everyone knew about Harriet and George. And how come her dad realised how she felt even before she did?

  She couldn’t face him, not yet. But she had to talk to someone. And as usual, when she was in total meltdown, there was only one person to call.

  ‘I got here as fast as I could,’ Lucy panted, flopping down beside Emma on her bed and putting an arm round her. ‘Your dad’s worried about how you’re taking all this.’

  ‘So it was you on the phone?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘He’d just hung up when you called me. I’d been praying that he’d seen the article before you got hold of it,’ she confessed. ‘But, by the look on your face, you’ve read it already.’ She squeezed Emma’s hand. ‘I’m so sorry, you must feel . . .’

  ‘What article?’

  Lucy pulled the latest copy of Cheerio! magazine from her bag.

  Make your mind up, Freddie C! The headline on the centre page jumped out. Below it were two photographs. One of Freddie kissing Emma on the lips. Below it was the caption Girl of my dreams??

  Even in her angst over George, she couldn’t help taking satisfaction from the fact that she looked very sophisticated and at least twenty-one.

  And then her eye caught the picture on the opposite page. It was a picture of Freddie and Jake, obviously taken somewhere in the gardens of Donwell because the fairy lights in the trees were clearly visible. It wasn’t, however, the fairy lights that caught her attention. It was the fact that Freddie had Jake’s face cupped in his hands and was, quite clearly, about to kiss him.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Emma said for the third time in as many min
utes. ‘He can’t be gay. What about Judy?’

  ‘Not Judy, Jude,’ Lucy told her. ‘Like Jude Law? You must have misheard it on the phone. Jude was in the same year as Freddie and Caroline Campbell . . .’

  ‘Caroline? Jake’s ex-girlfriend? The one Lily kept going on about?’

  ‘That’s her,’ Lucy confirmed. ‘It’s all very complicated. Apparently, Jude and Freddie were an item and Caroline was going out with Jake.’

  ‘But if Jake’s gay too . . .’

  ‘According to Miranda, he was all confused about his sexuality and it wasn’t till he met Freddie that he kind of knew for sure. Freddie broke it off with Jude and Jude got drunk and blurted it all out to Caroline, who chucked Jake.’ She paused.

  ‘So Jude was threatening to tell everyone – that’s what the text message meant?’

  ‘He’d already dropped big hints to Freddie’s father,’ Lucy explained. ‘That’s what the huge row was about – the reason Freddie came down to Sussex in the first place.’

  ‘So if his dad already knew he was gay, what was Jude on about?’

  Lucy sighed. ‘Freddie had denied it,’ she admitted. ‘Apparently he was worried sick about not getting the shareholding due to him on his twenty-first birthday. That’s why he . . .’

  ‘. . . came on strong to me?’ Emma blurted out. ‘That’s why he kissed me in front of Sir Douglas? And now my photograph is all over the magazine and – this is awful!’

  Lucy watched her anxiously. ‘It’s a very good photo,’ she observed weakly. ‘It’s the reason Miranda did it that’s so horrid.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Emma asked.

  ‘She told Theo that she wanted to do a piece on Jake and the band, but, when they got close, she said the real reason was to make Freddie Churchill pay for what he’d done to her great mate, Jude,’ Lucy went on. ‘Theo contrived the invitation to the party because he knew you were mad about Freddie and . . .’

  ‘He wanted to get his own back,’ Emma concluded. ‘And now I’m going to be a laughing stock with people like Serena and Chelsea. I only wanted to pull him to make them jealous. Freddie and Jake – who’d have thought it? Freddie must have sent that guitar to him – and there he was pretending not to know . . .’