Secret Schemes and Daring Dreams (12 page)

‘You bloody idiot!' she screamed, leaping back on to the grass as the car shot past and then screeched to a halt, its tyres spinning on the gravel. ‘What the hell do you think you're doing?' Emma's heart was racing as she
bent down to try to wrest the heel of her slingback from the soft turf and promptly toppled over. ‘You could have killed me!'

‘I am so sorry!' A shadow fell across her face as the guy jumped out of the car and came towards her. ‘Let me help.'

‘Bit late for that!' she muttered ‘What kind of loser —?'

She looked up and her mouth fell open. The thick, blond hair and grey-green eyes of the guy smiling wryly down at her were instantly recognisable. It was Freddie Churchill.

‘What are you doing here? You're not meant to be coming till tomorrow.'

Freddie laughed and reached out a hand to pull her to her feet. He was wearing steel grey Fendi cut-offs and a baggy T-shirt; his arms and legs had the natural tan of someone who, when he wasn't sailing or rowing on the Cam, was lounging about at some friend's villa; and his whole air was one of confident self-assurance that comes from knowing that, even if you fluff all your exams, someone somewhere will bail you out.

‘I've always thought plans were made to be altered,' he said, flashing her a smile. ‘Besides it's your fault.'

Emma brushed grass clippings off her dress and tried to look sophisticated.

‘How do you make that out?' she said, wishing she hadn't sucked off all her lip gloss and had done something with her so-in-need-of-highlights hair.

‘Adam says that you think this Donwell Abbey place is an OK venue for my bash,' he said shrugging. ‘So I thought I'd come and suss it out.' He grinned at her.
‘Come on, why don't you show me round? I mean, unless you're going somewhere?'

‘Nowhere that won't keep, I guess,' Emma said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. So – what do you want to see first?'

‘And we could have champagne on the terrace to start, then move to the dining room and conservatory for food and then the band and disco can be in the marquee,' Emma concluded twenty minutes later. ‘Assuming, of course, that Jake says yes.'

‘Jake? You've spoken to Jake? You mean – the guitarist with Split Bamboo?'

‘Sure I have,' Emma said sweetly. ‘He's the cousin of a dear friend of mine.'

‘And you sorted it?'

‘Well, not every last detail,' she admitted. ‘He's insisting on speaking to you on Wednesday. But it should be fine. Now, is there anything else you want to know?'

‘Yes, just one thing,' Freddie said, moving closer to her. ‘Will you do it?'

‘Do what?' Emma's heart missed a beat.

‘Be my party planner,' he pleaded. ‘I love parties, I just hate all the aggro that goes into organising them.'

For a moment, Emma couldn't speak. She was too busy running a preview of press cuttings in her imagination:

Churchill party a stunner thanks to Emma Woodhouse.

Celebs clamour to retain services of Brighton's hippest party planner.

‘Sorry, I shouldn't have asked,' Freddie said apologetically. ‘I'll get someone else . . .'

‘No, no, I'd love to do it!' Emma enthused. ‘Now, about the fireworks . . .'

‘I did it, I did it, I did it!'

Emma burst into the sitting room where George was picking ticks out of Brodie's matted coat.

‘Did what?'

‘Only secured you the most high-profile booking Donwell has ever had,' she raved. ‘Freddie was here – he's ever so nice and he's booked every room from Thursday night through to Monday morning. He thinks my idea of a fancy dress theme for the party is ace, and he wants fireworks and the marquee on the lawn for the dancing and everything!'

George jumped to his feet, ignoring Brodie's yelp as he trod on his paw. ‘You mean, it's actually going ahead?' he gasped.

‘Uh-huh,' Emma replied. ‘It's so cool – he's having a couple of dozen really close mates to stay and the rest will just come for the party. Loads of people from the fashion business, so you never know where that might lead.'

‘So where is the guy?'

‘He's gone,' Emma told him.

‘And he left a deposit?'

‘What?'

‘Emma you didn't let him go without – for heaven's sake!' George exploded.

‘I couldn't ask him for money,' Emma reasoned. ‘He's Adam's half-brother. And he's really nice.'

‘Oh, and what are you going to say when he doesn't pay the party bill?
Oh George, it's OK, he's really nice.
Get real, Emma!'

Emma glared at him. ‘You know what, George Knightley? You're becoming a real bore. He gave me his card, I gave him my phone number. And if you're so worried, ask him for the money yourself!' she snapped.

‘You said he'd gone.'

‘He has, but you'll see him tomorrow at The Jacaranda. Lucy's party? She said she'd left a message on your answerphone.'

‘Yes but —'

‘And don't start all that “I'm needed here” bit,' Emma ranted. ‘There aren't any guests right now. Dad's around. And besides, call it work. Checking out the Churchill credit rating.'

To her relief, George's face creased into a smile. ‘OK, OK. I'm sorry – it's just that all this is such a responsibility.'

‘So let your hair down for once,' Emma encouraged him. ‘Come and listen to the band and . . . oh sugar!'

‘Now what?'

‘I forgot to tell Freddie that Split Bamboo were staying over at our place.' She sighed. ‘They're moving in tonight. Still, maybe it's best – Jake is still being all precious about playing at the party. Hopefully Freddie will persuade him. He's ever so nice.'

‘If you say that one more time,' muttered George, ‘I might just decide to hate the guy on sight.'

‘I can't believe Freddie's down here and hasn't been in
touch,' said Lucy for the fifth time on Wednesday as she and Emma, exhausted from three hours' hard shopping, sat in Fitzherbert's eating
salade niçoise
and sipping cranberry juice spritzers. ‘Adam'll be gutted. Did he say he'd come over later?'

Emma shook her head. ‘He got a phone call from someone called Judy while we were talking and he dashed off,' she reported. ‘He seemed in a bit of a state, to be honest.'

‘Judy?' Lucy frowned, fingering the moonstone bracelet that was Emma's birthday gift to her. ‘Girlfriend, maybe?'

‘Has he got one?' Emma replied, a little too quickly.

‘I guess he must have,' Lucy mused. ‘Guys like that with loads of money and a body to die for – he's hardly going to be sitting at home watching Corrie every night, is he?' She eyed Emma. ‘Not that you'd care, anyway,' she teased. ‘You're not into guys.'

True, thought Emma, sipping her drink. But just think what a coup it would be to pull Freddie Churchill in front of everyone, especially if he's supposedly at the beck and call of this Judy girl. In that instant, she doubled her resolve that, when Freddie hosted his birthday bash, it would be her and no one else that would be at his side.

The Jacaranda Tree was the latest addition to the Brighton club scene. Three floors, all lavender and pink perspex with chrome pillars and huge screens picking out the bands and dancers, were already filling up when Emma, George, Lily, Harriet and Theo arrived on
Wednesday evening. One mention of the Churchill name and they were waved past the bouncers and down the stairs. Emma caught sight of Adam and Lucy, perched on stools by the bar that encircled the giant purple plastic and vinyl tree which stretched from the basement to the roof of the building and gave the club its name.

‘Now this is the business,' Theo declared, whipping out his digital camera and fiddling with the setting. ‘Better than a picture of some old bloke!'

‘Where's this Freddie guy, then?' George demanded as Theo began clicking away.

‘So Emma, what can I get you to drink?' Emma retorted, pushing her way closer to the bar. ‘Thank you, George. Since you're driving, I'll have a Sassy Surfer please.'

‘OK, OK.' George sighed, pulling out his wallet. ‘Lily, what about you?'

‘Oh, wow,' Lily exclaimed. ‘Um, well, maybe an orange juice – no, no, this is a special night, isn't it, so perhaps a Bacardi and Coke? I haven't had one of those since Christmas. But, then again, it made me go all silly . . .'

‘Sillier than usual?' Emma muttered to Theo under her breath.

‘. . . so perhaps a vodka tonic? I mean, with your dad looking after Mum, I could I guess have a drink and . . . well, I've never had vodka but Melanie – she's on my catering course – she drinks it all the time and she's really sophisticated, so —'

‘LILY!' Emma snapped. ‘Bacardi or vodka? Which?'

‘Um – vodka. Please. Thanks.'

‘And Harriet?' George eyed his wallet cautiously.

‘I'll get the rest!' Theo butted in, turning to Harriet. ‘Just make sure you choose some flash-looking cocktail then I can capture you on film for the website!'

As they reached the bar, Emma saw that Adam was on his mobile and he didn't look happy.

‘It's Freddie,' Lucy hissed at her. ‘He's still not here and the band are due to start in ten minutes. And his phone's switched off.'

‘You don't think he's with this Judy girl?' Emma asked, anxiously.

‘So what if he is? He can bring a whole bloody harem as long as he gets here. Adam's been psyching himself all day.'

He's not the only one, thought Emma.

‘He's not coming.' Adam's face was scarlet as he shoved his mobile phone into Lucy's hand. ‘Go on read it – see if you can make sense of it.'

Lucy peered at the screen.

Major crisis. Can't make it 2nite. Be sure u get band sorted 4 me. C u l8r. F

‘What does he mean, “crisis”?' Adam demanded. ‘It was his idea to come here. So much for all his “don't worry about the cost, I'll pay”.'

‘So this is your “ever so nice guy”, is it?' George muttered in Emma's ear, as cheers broke out around the club at the appearance on stage of Split Bamboo. ‘I bet the next thing will be that he bottles out of the party booking.'

‘He won't,' Emma snapped, cross that all her plans had to go on hold. ‘The poor guy's in the middle of a crisis and all you can do is slag him off!'

‘I didn't . . .'

Emma didn't stay to listen to George's feeble attempts at self-justification, but followed Adam and Lucy who were pushing their way through the throng to the edge of the stage where the band was already into the opening bars of their signature hit, ‘Lift off Love'.

‘Is Adam really gutted?' she whispered to Lucy. ‘Because if it's the money, I'll pay for the next lot of drinks and —'

‘That's so sweet of you,' Lucy said, giving her a hug. ‘But it's fine; we'll hear the band and then go on to Mango's or some place where the drinks aren't the price of an all-over body massage!'

‘Come on, babes, come and dance,' Adam said, slipping an arm round Lucy's shoulder and kissing her. ‘To hell with Freddie – let's party!'

‘What
is
Theo doing with that wretched camera?'

George had finally got over his bad mood and was moving – Emma didn't think his gyrations warranted being called dancing – to the final Split Bamboo hit when they were almost blinded by the camera flash.

‘Taking pictures of Harriet,' Emma said, gesturing behind her to where Harriet was leaning on the bar talking to Lily. ‘He's clearly falling in love with her.'

‘Falling in – Emma, what are you on?' George asked as the band struck their final chord and announced a break. ‘Theo and Harriet? Get real!'

‘And what's so odd about that?' Emma demanded. ‘They're made for one another. He's on the rebound.'

‘Oh right, and that's a real basis for a new
relationship,' George replied, taking Emma's arm and heading for the bar. ‘Besides, when he does get it together with someone else, it won't be a Harriet, that's for sure.'

‘What's wrong with her?'

‘Nothing – she's a nice girl, in a ditsy kind of way,' George said, shrugging. ‘But no way is Harriet going to tick any of Theo's boxes.'

‘Oh and Verity the Tart did?'

‘Absolutely. He only went for Verity because her father's a senior consultant at the Royal Free. Theo's a friend, but I know him and he's a snob and he's very ambitious.'

‘And you are such a bad judge of character,' Emma declared.

‘Emma, if Theo's keen on anyone, it's you, not Harriet,' George muttered.

‘Me? Oh please – he hangs round Harriet all time. Just you wait – I give it another few days and those two will be lip-to-lip twenty-four seven. I know the chemistry.'

‘Really?' George laughed. ‘So how come you haven't used all these amazing skills to find yourself a guy? Or have you?'

‘My skills have been employed in fighting them off,' Emma retorted. ‘When I do meet a guy who's got what it takes, I'll give it all I've got.'

‘And you haven't come across him yet?'

‘Not even on the distant horizon. Now, are you going to get me another drink, or do I have to die of dehydration?'

* * *

‘Aren't they amazing?' Lily gripped Emma's arm as the band drifted off to a quiet corner. ‘I love them all. Of course, Jake's the best – isn't his voice great? The drummer with dark hair, that's Ravi; and Nick's on bass and the guy with the saxophone, he's . . .'

‘Dylan,' Emma finished for her.

‘You know them?'

‘Lily, their names are on their T-shirts,' Emma pointed out.

‘Oh yes. Silly me. Wow, that drink's gone straight to my knees. Anyway, this girl came up to me and she said she thought the band would be real chart-toppers and I said I was Jake's cousin and she asked me for my autograph!'