‘Well, you know, people thinking he’s loopy.’
‘God, that is so stupid.’
‘Yes, well, anyway – they’ve got this huge villa and Caroline and Charlie always take friends. I reckon Jane should really go for it tonight, come on so strong that Charlie won’t want to leave her behind. That way she gets a freebie holiday.’
‘Emily, what planet are you on? They only met three weeks ago.’
‘So? You said ages ago that she needed something to take her mind off that jerk that two-timed her. Well. I reckon Charlie’s it. Come on, we’ve got to sit down now. I’ve put myself next to Drew – hope you don’t mind.’
‘Mind? I’m over the moon,’ Lizzie laughed. ‘Rather you than me.’
‘Lizzie, come and dance.’
James held out his hand, his eyes locked on hers.
‘I . . .’ She was about to refuse, but then something like anger stirred inside her and she took his hand. Why should she avoid confronting the guy?
For a while they didn’t speak, the volume of the music and the crush on the dance floor in the marquee making conversation virtually impossible. Besides, Lizzie wasn’t sure how to raise the subject of George. Luckily, James gave her the perfect opportunity.
‘Did you enjoy the races?’ he asked as the band moved off for their break and the disco DJ took over. ‘Your sister said you’d never been before.’
‘It was fun,’ she acknowledged. ‘Meeting new people is always good.’
She held his eye and he was the first to look away.
‘George,’ he muttered.
‘Yes, George. Such a friendly guy.’
‘Oh, sure.’ James gave a short laugh. ‘He makes friends easily enough; pity he’s not so good at keeping them.’
‘That’s rich coming from you,’ she retorted, amazed at his audacity. ‘From what I gather, you’ve hardly been a friend to him. Ruined his life, more like.’
‘Listen, I don’t know what he’s told you, but . . . oh, what’s the point?’
He turned away abruptly, just as Lizzie’s mother came scuttling over to her.
‘There you are, I’ve been looking for you all over,’ she began, grabbing Lizzie’s arm. ‘Did you know the Bingleys have a house in Italy?’
‘Yes, Emily told me,’ Lizzie replied. ‘Mum, I’m busy and —’
‘And Jane thinks – well, she says she doesn’t, but you know Jane, always timid and hanging back – anyway, I think that if she plays her cards right, Charlie may well invite her to join the family there. What’s more . . .’ She leaned towards Lizzie. ‘They’ve an apartment in New York. I knew, I just knew, we were right to get in with them. I’ve always wanted to see the Big Orange —’
‘Apple!’ James had turned back to face them, his face like thunder.
‘Oh. It’s you.’ Alice regarded him with surprise. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said,’ James remarked with false politeness, ‘that it’s the Big Apple. New York. Not orange.’
‘Whatever,’ Alice replied shortly. ‘And after all I’ve done for the mast campaign – did you know I’d got eighty people to write letters? Eighty! So they do owe me and —’
‘The apartment,’ James interrupted curtly, ‘is not theirs. It belongs to the company that employs Mr Bingley. So I think your holiday plans will be going on hold.’
And with that he turned and walked away.
Lizzie was standing in the doorway of the marquee, working out just why she was so furious that James had seen her mother yet again at her very worst, when Caroline sidled up to her, her boobs practically bursting out of her low-cut neckline.
‘God, that band are so mediocre,’ she said. ‘Last week, we were all up in London at Geneva Carlton-Grey’s coming-out ball, and she had Sky High Groupies as well as i.c.y.’
Lizzie knew she was meant to be impressed so she deliberately said nothing.
‘Thank God Emily didn’t invite that awful George this evening,’ Caroline went on, eyeing Lizzie closely. ‘Shows she has some sense – I’d heard a rumour that she was going to ask him because you are keen on him. But of course, I can’t believe that even you —’
‘Who told you that?’
‘So you don’t deny it? Well, let me tell you something. That guy is seriously bad news. If you knew how he’d treated James – well, you’d never give him a second look.’
‘So, what did he do exactly?’
‘Oh, I don’t know all the details – it happened when I was away at school and James isn’t one to talk about things that upset him.’
‘I bet he’s not.’
‘But one thing I do know: George is not the kind of person you want to hang out with. He can’t be trusted – James told me that.’
‘And I’m supposed to trust his word? I don’t think so.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Caroline shrugged, her eyes narrowing. ‘But if you want to be friends with us, you’ll keep well away from George. Your choice.’
‘I have never heard such an arrogant, pompous . . .’ Lizzie began, but Caroline had already drifted away towards the chocolate fountain.
For the next ten minutes Lizzie stomped round the grounds, tossing her mobile phone from one hand to the other and wondering whether this would be a good time to text George. After all, it would surely be OK to show concern for his friend and to ask if he was all right. She had just begun keying in the first few words when she spotted Jane sitting on a seat by the ornamental pond. On her own.
‘Hey, where’s Charlie?’ she asked.
Jane smiled. ‘He and James have gone to check on the results of the cricket,’ she replied. ‘What is it with guys and sport?’
She got up and let out a sigh.
‘What’s up? You and Charlie haven’t had a row, have you?’
Jane shook her head emphatically. ‘No, it’s nothing like that – Charlie’s going away on Monday,’ she blurted out. ‘To Italy.’
‘I know, Emily said,’ Lizzie nodded. ‘I don’t suppose he’s asked you to go along too?’
‘That’s the whole point,’ Jane said. ‘Between you and me, I thought he might, I really did. He hinted at it when we were at the races and he sent me a text the following day, checking that I didn’t have any plans for the next couple of weeks.’ She paused. ‘But then – well, I haven’t seen him all week, and this evening . . .’
‘What?’
‘He’s been quite distant – not nasty, or anything – he’d never be like that, but not as full on as usual. I think I must have done something to upset him.’
‘Jane, why do you always assume it’s your fault?’ Lizzie demanded. ‘Have you asked him outright?’
‘I asked if he was looking forward to going away,’ she said. ‘He just said it couldn’t have come at a better time.’
‘Oh, Janey. I’m sure he meant that what with his dad being ill . . .’
‘Yes, that’s probably it,’ Jane said. ‘Mr Bingley’s out of hospital now and he’ll be with them. I’m sure that’s what Charlie meant.’
Lizzie wished she sounded a little more convinced.
Charlie didn’t say goodbye to Jane. The Bingleys left the party well before the end and Jane, assuming there had been a problem, had immediately sent texts to Caroline and Charlie asking what was wrong.
On Monday, she got a text back.
Landed at Pisa. Hot and sunny. Back late September. Caroline.
And that was all.
‘He’ll ring tomorrow,’ Lizzie assured her sister. ‘Probably waiting to be on his own so he can chat.’
‘Probably no signal at the villa,’ she said three days later, as she caught Jane staring disconsolately at her mobile. ‘Have you checked your emails?’
‘Maybe he didn’t take a laptop,’ she suggested at the end of the first week.
‘Maybe,’ Jane said, ‘he just doesn’t like me as much as I thought he did.’
‘Well, if that’s the case, he’s a fool,’ Lizzie retorted. ‘Treating you
like that.’
‘Be fair, Lizzie,’ Jane said. ‘He hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m the one who misread the signals. Let’s just forget all about it, OK?’
‘You know something?’ Lizzie remarked. ‘The more I see of guys, the less I understand what they’re for. Strikes me we can get on very well without them.’
PART TWO
CHAPTER 11
‘You must allow me to tell you how fervently I admire and love you.’
(Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice)
LIZZIE PEERED OUT OF THE WINDOW AS THE AIRCRAFT banked and began its descent into Rodez airport. Now that the moment of truth had arrived, she felt nervous. What if she didn’t fit in at the Lefevre Centre? What if the other student on placement was a far better musician than she was? What if her mother was right and all her ideas about the future were just pipe dreams?
In an attempt to ignore the turbulence as the plane hit a layer of rain clouds, she cast her mind back to the day her A-level results arrived. A for French, A for German, A for music, B for Spanish. The only one that really mattered to her was music. But while she had been over the moon to have achieved her goal, she knew that the real challenge was about to begin.
‘What do you mean, you’re not going to university?’ Her father had been sufficiently astonished to drop his new score of Love and Other Demons. ‘With results like that, of course you are. Any university worth its salt will snap you up . . .’
‘She’s premenstrual,’ her mother had assured him, mouthing the words. ‘She’ll see sense tomorrow. It’s all planned. Of course, she’s going to uni.’
‘Mum, stop it. It’s not like I’m going to be a dropout.’
‘Well, of course, that Vanessa Mae’s done very well, and if you were to play at the Albert Hall, and maybe make a CD or two that hit the top ten . . .’
‘For heaven’s sake, Mum! I’m going to try for the Guildhall School of Music and —’
‘Now wait right there!’ her father had said. ‘Darling, I know you sing beautifully, and we’re very proud of you, and you’ve had huge fun with the wind band as well . . . but it’s a cut-throat world, the music industry, and only a handful make it to the top and whatever your mum may think —’
‘Dad, will you listen?’ Lizzie had burst out. ‘I don’t want to be a professional singer. I want to get the degree so I can go on and do a Masters in Music Therapy and then work with brain-damaged children or —’
‘Lizzie!’ her mother cried. ‘There’s no money in that sort of career and —’
‘Why does it all come down to money?’ Lizzie shouted. ‘I don’t care about the money!’
‘That’s all very easy for you to say now that we’ve got plenty of it,’ her mother retaliated. ‘You weren’t brought up the way I was – hand to mouth, not being able to go anywhere, do anything.’
Of course, that had made Lizzie feel terrible. She knew that her grandmother had struggled to raise her mum and aunt on her own, and understood that being hard-up was the one thing Mrs Bennet would never want to experience again. But she stood firm. She knew that she might never make it, but she also knew that if she didn’t give it her very best shot, she would never be able to live with herself.
In the end, her parents had agreed not to discuss the matter again until Lizzie returned from France. She was sure they were hoping that a few weeks working at the LeFevre Centre would make her see things differently.
‘They might be right,’ Jane had ventured to suggest the day before, as she was packing to go back to university. ‘I mean – won’t it be awfully depressing, seeing all those kids with autism and learning disabilities and stuff?’
To be honest, Lizzie wasn’t sure how it would be. She just knew that when she sang, even the worst day got better; and that even at Meryton Academy, she’d seen some of the most disruptive Year 7s respond to rapping or venting their frustrations on a drum kit. She knew that a child who couldn’t or wouldn’t speak would suddenly start humming to a tune as they bashed a xylophone and that kids in a coma responded to their favourite chart hit.
‘Please remain in your seats with your seat belts fastened until the aircraft has come to a complete halt.’
This is it, thought Lizzie, pulling her mobile from her pocket as the plane’s wheels hit the tarmac.
Landed! she texted to Jane. Her fingers hovered over the keys. Hope you’re feeling better. No, that wouldn’t do, because if she was, it would just remind her of Charlie and that would be fatal.
Miss u already – email me every day or else!
She clicked Send and began keying another message.
Hi George! Just landed at Rodez. Miss u . . .
No. This was silly. She had seen George several times after he got back from London, but then he’d gone dashing off to London again and she hadn’t seen him for two weeks. He said he was job-hunting, but Emily, who had been to London to visit her grandmother, caught sight of him in the King’s Road. With a girl.
She could have just been a friend. Or a relative. Or not.
Hi! Just landed. Tried calling you loads before I left but no reply. Ring me when you get this. Was that too keen?
Oh, what the hell, she thought. I do miss him. And I want to know where he is.
And why he hasn’t phoned in ten days.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Where shall I begin? This place is amazing. A huge country house – the kind you see in costume dramas about Marie Antoinette! The whole of the ground floor is kitted out with music suites and therapy rooms and in the grounds are lots of bungalows for families to stay in while kids are getting therapy.
My room is in the stables (they’ve been converted!) – and luckily I don’t have to share. Only one downer, though; the other girl on placement isn’t coming – she’s got glandular fever. But I reckon there won’t be much time to feel lonely or homesick; I’ve been given my schedule and it’s pretty full on. Which is just as well – at least I’ll be able to tell Drew that I’m too busy to meet up if he tries to get in touch!
She glanced at the map pinned to her bedroom wall. The LeFevre Centre was a couple of kilometres from Figeac, and the hotel were Drew was working was just nine kilometres away. Rather too close for comfort.
How’s uni? Is it good being back in London? Bet you don’t miss working at the café!! Have you . . .
At that point, Lizzie paused, her fingers hovering over the keys of her laptop. Should she ask whether Jane had heard from Charlie or would that just reawaken old wounds? The Bingleys had been in Italy throughout August and most of September, but Lizzie guessed they must be home now – after all, Charlie would be in London starting work at his uncle’s estate management firm, and Caroline was due to start at some upmarket college in Kensington. Then again, if she asked the question and Jane hadn’t seen Charlie . . .
She deleted the last two words and sent the message. If Jane had any news, Lizzie knew she would be the first to hear it.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Hi! So glad you’re settling in – how’s the work? I really miss you. It’s been a horrid week and there’s no one I can talk to about it except you. My friends here have never met Charlie and – well, sorry in advance if this email is full of moans.
Where shall I start? The Bingleys are back. Vanessa and Edward (Charlie’s father) are at Netherfield and she and Mum went with some others to the council meeting about the phone mast.
Big hoo-ha about that – Mum thinks she’ll make the newspapers! – but I’ll fill you in on it later. Anyway, Vanessa told Mum that because of Mr Bingley’s need for rest and recuperation, they’ve decided to rent out the house for three months to friends from New Zealand and go back to Italy. So Charlie won’t be coming at weekends. Not that it matters. I wouldn’t be home much anyway. And even if I was, after what happened yesterday, there’d be no point.
I was walking down Gower Street and gue
ss what? I saw Caroline on the other side of the road with a couple of girls. I went over, of course, and honestly, Lizzie, if looks could kill, you’d be flying home to my funeral. She was so miffed to see me – really up herself, and not at all like she was in the summer holidays. (I know that right now you’re raising your eyebrows and muttering that you always said she was stuck up, but honestly, she was fine with me.) Anyway, I asked if Charlie was OK and she said he was having a ball – he and James have rented a flat together. (Caroline went to great lengths to tell me it was in one of the best roads in Chelsea!) James is doing his MA and Charlie’s out partying every night. With Jenna. James’s sister.
She emphasised that bit of the conversation three times. ‘Charlie and Jenna, Charlie and Jenna . . .’
And you know what? As I was walking away, I saw James coming out of a shop – Caroline said something to him, he looked my way and just turned his back and they all laughed. So that’s it. Charlie obviously doesn’t miss me and he doesn’t want me.
Lizzie paused in her reading of the email. It didn’t make sense. She’d seen Charlie and Jane together, and she knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Charlie really fancied her, loved her, even. Besides, George had told her that Jenna was a stuck-up, manipulative, dangerous girl and she knew that Charlie wouldn’t be attracted to someone like that.
She sighed, and continued reading.
Everyone else is fine. Meredith’s column in the paper was a hit – I’ve sent it as an attachment to this. And guess what? Lydia’s been invited to go to Cornwall for half term! Apparently Mrs Forster’s new man has a huge holiday home near Newquay – he’s hoping to turn it into a boutique hotel – and he’s told Amber she can take a crowd of mates. Katie’s in a real strop because Amber hasn’t invited her. Tim, Denny and his new girlfriend (did I tell you Lydia’s gone off him?) and George are all swanning off.
Lydia in Newquay with Amber? The mind boggled. And George? Well at least she knew where he was. She’d phone tonight.
George is working at the Leisure Club at the moment while he looks for a permanent job – but I guess you know all that now – he’ll have rung you and you’ll know more than me!
Love, Lies and Lizzie Page 12
