Secret Schemes and Daring Dreams (21 page)

‘But that's tomorrow,' Emma gasped. ‘The weekend's not over till Monday morning.'

Freddie looked downcast. ‘I know. I'm going to have to leave really early, too. But what could I do? I have to keep him sweet till, well, for the time being, anyway.' He took her hand. ‘Will you sort everyone out – make sure they have a good time? Please?'

‘Of course I will,' she assured him. ‘For you.'

He swallowed. ‘Look, I'm really sorry. I feel dreadful about everything.'

‘Let's see if I can't make you feel better,' she murmured, slipping a hand into his and trying to make her eyes go all smoky and alluring. ‘That quiet place we were going to is still there, you know.'

Far from looking ecstatic at the prospect, Freddie's face clouded with misery. ‘Emma, I can't, not now,' he replied. ‘But you're right, I really need to talk to you, to tell you how it is. Look, give me ten minutes and then —'

His mobile phone began ringing in the pocket of his tight breeches and it took him a few seconds of wriggling and manoeuvring to get it out.

‘Text,' he said, flipping open the cover. His face paled. ‘I don't believe this,' he moaned. ‘Some birthday this is turning out to be.'

‘What's wrong? What's happened?'

‘Nothing that need worry you,' he said, with a faint smile. ‘I'll deal with it. Later. Come on, let's —'

‘Fireworks, five minutes!' George brushed past them, addressing the words to Freddie and ignoring Emma completely. ‘Can you start getting people outside?'

‘Will do.' Freddie broke away and headed across the marquee to the bar, where Jake and the other guys were downing beers.

‘Thanks for looking after Harriet,' Emma said, following George in an attempt to make her peace. ‘It was really kind of you. And Lily too . . .'

‘How could you have been so horrid to her, Emma?' George demanded. ‘Do you enjoy putting people down?'

‘I didn't mean anything by it – she knows it was a joke.'

‘Oh does she? So how come she was fighting back tears? How come she actually asked me whether she'd been an idiot ever to think you were her friend?'

‘I've never treated her like a best mate . . .'

‘You don't need to tell me that,' George snapped. ‘I
suppose because she's not a trust-fund babe, and she spends her free time doing something worthwhile instead of bumming around with empty-headed, precocious . . .' He glared across the room at Freddie who was marshalling his friends out on to the terrace. ‘You know something?' he concluded. ‘Harriet would never have behaved like that. Maybe you should learn from her – instead of wasting your time trying to fix her up with one of your shallow friends.' And with that, he stormed off without a backward glance.

And Emma found herself sobbing silently as the first rocket flared into the night sky.

‘Hey, what's with the tears?'

Miranda nudged Emma's arm as a cascade of silver stars burst from a firework over their heads. Her expression was mocking rather than sympathetic.

‘Hay fever,' Emma snapped.

‘Right, I believe you, thousands wouldn't.' Miranda laughed. ‘Wouldn't have anything to do with Freddie, would it?'

‘Freddie?' Emma was genuinely surprised. ‘What makes you think that?'

‘Theo told me what a flirt you are,' Miranda said. ‘That you can't resist anything in trousers and then you dump them without a backward glance.'

‘He said that? The —'

‘Hey, I'm not judging you,' Miranda replied. ‘Have a good time while you've got the chance, I say. But, as far as Freddie's concerned, you don't have even a glimmer of a chance.'

‘Well that shows how little you know,' Emma retorted
cuttingly. ‘He and I are an item. Besides, it's none of your business.'

Miranda smirked. ‘Oh I think you'll find it's very much my business,' she replied. ‘Still, if you don't want my help . . .'

‘I don't need anyone's help with my life, thank you,' Emma replied. ‘However, if you're hooking up with Theo Elton,
you're
going to need all the help you can get.'

CHAPTER 11

It was two in the morning. All the evening guests had gone home, and those staying at the hotel were either in their rooms, sprawled on sofas in one of the lounges or, in the case of Ben Rigby, throwing up into the rhododendrons. Sir Douglas had departed for the Grand Hotel in Brighton, but not before posing for numerous photographs with his son and heir, two of which (at Freddie's insistence) included Emma.

The band had dismantled their gear and gone back to the lodges. Harriet, George and Lily were clearing up the worst of the mess in the marquee and Emma, anxious to steer clear of them for the time being, was looking for Freddie. She was heading for the conservatory and beginning to despair of ever finding him when she heard the murmur of voices coming from the billiard room.

The door was slightly ajar. Kicking off her shoes, she crept closer.

‘Just how much longer are you going to let that guy
hijack your life?' That was Jake's voice, tight with anger.

‘I'm not – it's just this once.' Freddie's voice had a note of pleading.

‘You always say that,' Jake snapped. ‘You've got to make a clean break.'

Emma was so incensed that she could hardly think straight. Who did Jake Fairfax think he was? Telling Freddie how to behave with his own father – it was despicable! If it hadn't been for Freddie – and her dad of course – the band would still be on the sidelines, wannabes in the music world.

‘Look, I'll sort it, OK?' Freddie said. ‘I'll go tomorrow, deal with him once and for all.'

‘Well, if you don't do it this time . . .' Jake dropped his voice and Emma could no longer catch his words. She was edging a step closer to the gap in the door, when she heard the clatter of high heels behind her.

‘Oh, there you are!' Harriet came bustling over, a broad smile on her face. ‘Wasn't that just the best party you have ever been to? I've had so much fun, I can't tell you.'

‘Shh,' Emma hissed but it was too late. She stepped back quickly as the door was pulled closed from the inside and the conversation became nothing more than a muffled hum.

Everyone slept late on Sunday morning. Everyone except Emma. She had slept in snatches; when she did nod off, she dreamed of George shouting at her and of Lily ripping her dress off and throwing herself into the fishpond. She dreamed she was pushing Jake in after her.
But she didn't dream of Freddie. She lay in bed and thought about him. She tried to feel like someone in love. Clearly he was in love with her, and if it hadn't been for all the interruptions he would have told her just how he felt.

But now that she'd got him eating out of her hand, did she want him? Did she really fancy a guy who would let some jumped-up guitarist tell him how to conduct his life? Was it possible that she'd allowed herself to waste time trying to pull a wimp?

The thought was so disturbing that by eight o'clock she was up and dressed and walking over to Donwell in the hope of catching Freddie before he left for the airport.

For some reason – later she thought it must have been divine intervention – she wandered into the marquee where Ray and Dave, the two gardeners from Hartfield, were already dismantling tables and taking up the matting.

‘Morning, Miss Emma,' Ray called. ‘Got some stuff here you might want to sort through.'

She wandered over and eyed the small pile of things on one of the tables. An eyeliner pencil, perfume atomiser, an aquamarine earring and a mobile phone.

The phone she recognised at once. It was Freddie's.

‘Thanks, Ray,' she said hurriedly. ‘I'll get these back to their rightful owners.'

She nipped out of the marquee and hurried down to the gazebo by the rose garden. She knew she shouldn't. She wouldn't. She mustn't.

She flipped open the cover of the phone and opened the
Messages
menu.

How can u do this 2 me? U said u wld luv me 4ever. If u don't come I'll tell everyone the truth. J.

Emma read the message for the third time. It was obviously from Judy, the girl who'd given him such grief over the nightclub thing. Freddie must have told her in no uncertain terms that it was Emma he wanted and now she was throwing the teddy out of the pram. Not that Freddie couldn't deal with hysterical adolescents.

She went into the Outbox menu, eager to find his reply.

OK, I'm coming. Meet me at usual place 9am. F

She couldn't believe her eyes. Surely he wasn't going to succumb to emotional blackmail? Besides, what was Judy expecting to tell people? That Freddie Churchill was in love with Emma Woodhouse? Who would care? Come to think of it, did she care?

She pushed that last thought from her mind and peered at the screen once more. There was only one logical explanation as to why Freddie would reply like that. He was scared that she'd do drugs again.

At least that explained his reaction; he wasn't a wimp, he was just burdened with unnecessary guilt. She needed to find him and fast and tell him that he didn't need to feel responsible for anyone, least of all an ex-girlfriend. She glanced at her watch and set off across the lawn towards the house. If she didn't hurry, he'd be on his way to the airport.

She stopped dead in her tracks. It was OK. He couldn't go after Judy – he'd promised his father. He must have sent the reply before Sir Douglas made his suggestion. Only he hadn't. The timing on the text
proved that. He must have told her he would come, knowing that he couldn't. But he had promised. And you don't promise something you know you can't deliver. Or if you do, you're not a very nice person. George always said there was something about him. But then George wasn't always right. Was he?

‘Has anyone seen Freddie?' Emma stuck her head round the dining room door. Lily, who was replenishing the fruit bowl, caught her eye, averted her gaze and scuttled out of the other door.

Emma would have run after her and tried to make her peace, but the matter in hand was far too important to wait.

‘He left a while ago,' Miranda said. ‘And I'd better get off too, if this feature's going to get into the next edition.'

‘Aren't you staying for the barbecue?' Theo asked.

‘No need, I've got what I came for,' she said, smiling at him. ‘In spades. I just need a final word with Jake.'

‘No chance he'll be up yet,' Emma replied shortly, still smarting over the conversation at the fireworks. ‘They never surface till nine on a good day, let alone after a late night.'

‘Oh, he'll surface for me all right,' Miranda said confidently.

‘So when will it be in the magazine?' someone asked eagerly.

‘Friday,' Miranda said. ‘Be prepared for a real scoop. She paused, frowning. ‘Theo, is that your phone ringing?'

‘It's mine!' Emma lied, fingering Freddie's mobile,
which was in the pocket of her shorts. She scooted out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Pa mobile

Emma stared at the screen, not knowing what to do. If Sir Douglas was phoning, it meant Freddie wasn't with him. Which could only mean one thing: he'd gone grovelling to this Judy cow. On the other hand, maybe he was stuck in traffic; if she didn't answer and Sir Douglas didn't ring again, she'd know that he'd arrived where he should be.

‘Hey, Emma, isn't that Freddie's phone?' Adam broke in on her musings as the phone stopped ringing and he and Lucy came clattering down the stairs, overnight bags in hand.

‘Where are you two going?' Emma asked, avoiding the question while she collected her thoughts.

‘Two of the centre leaders are down with a stomach bug,' Lucy explained. ‘They've asked us to go back and cover their duties. And since Freddie's gone already and we get double time . . .'