Secret Schemes and Daring Dreams (8 page)

‘Don't you mean glitterati?' Emma interjected.

‘Whatever,' George snapped. ‘Still, Freddie might not want to come, of course.'

‘It sounds great,' Theo said. ‘Not that I'll get invited. I don't even know the guy, although I know someone who does . . .'

‘'Course you'll come,' Emma cut in swiftly, before he had the chance to get all maudlin about Verity. ‘I'll make sure of that.'

‘Cool.' Theo grinned. ‘Now if you don't mind, I'll find these lost menus.'

‘And after you've sorted all that, I don't suppose you fancy a bit of flower arranging?' George teased as Theo headed for the office.

‘Too right I don't,' Theo replied, holding up his hands and backing off. ‘I'm out of here before you get any more dumb ideas!'

‘Did you say flower arranging?' Harriet, flushed and smiling from ear to ear, came running into the hall. ‘I'll do it – I love that kind of stuff.'

‘You do? Sorry – you must be Harriet – I'm George.'

Harriet smiled nervously at George, and twiddled a strand of her curly chestnut hair round her finger.

‘Thank you so much for giving me this job,' she enthused. ‘I'm so excited I could burst. So where do I go?'

‘I'll show you round the place and then take you to the flower room,' George said. ‘Em, you know where to get the clean bedding, yeah? In the linen cupboard on the landing, right?'

This, thought Emma as she stomped upstairs, is so not the way it should be. Harriet ought to be stripping beds and I should be doing the upfront stuff, interacting with guests, gliding round the sitting room with a silver tray of canapés . . .

‘Ah, at last! I've been ringing Reception for ten minutes – it simply isn't good enough!' A broad-shouldered, bald-headed man was standing on the landing, hands on hips. ‘I ordered afternoon tea half an hour ago – where the hell is it?'

Like I should know, Emma thought. ‘I am so sorry,' she replied, flashing him what she hoped was an understanding, slightly sexy, yet totally deferential, smile. ‘We have had a few staff problems, which is why I've been called in to sort things out. Now, if you could just tell me your exact order, I'll see to it that it is dealt with immediately.'

‘Hmm, well, that sounds more promising,' he grunted,
kicking open the door to his room and gesturing to Emma to come in. ‘Check with my wife what it was she ordered – damned woman changes her mind like the wind.'

Five minutes later, having complimented Mrs Dalrymple on her delightful cashmere cardigan and agreed that there was nothing to beat a cup of Earl Grey and a lightly buttered scone in the afternoon, and yes, she was a cut above your usual young person, Emma knew she had found her niche in the hospitality business.

‘Delightful girl,' murmured Colonel Dalrymple as she was leaving the room. ‘What is your name, dear?'

‘Emma Woodhouse, Guest Relations Manager,' she said. ‘Anything you need during your stay, just come to me.'

By nine-thirty that evening, Emma had begun to realise that, rather than working her socks off for an advertising agency in London, her true vocation was to be a party planner to the stars. Or maybe a life coach to the upper classes. Or both. Solving other people's problems was so hugely satisfying.

In the space of three hours, she had introduced the Mulligans, who were desperate to learn croquet, to the Frobishers who spent the entire evening meal expounding the finer points of the game in ringing tones to anyone who would listen; told George that he must start serving high teas to the under-eights in order to avoid a repetition of little Phoebe Pilkington crawling under tables and throwing up over Colonel Dalrymple's
Crockett and Jones brogues, and given the teenage Mapperley twins not only a list of the best clubs in Brighton but phoned the taxi company for them and spent five minutes assuring their over-anxious mother that Brighton was not a den of vice and iniquity and that Fiona and Hamish would be quite safe.

‘You're good at this ego-massaging bit, aren't you?' Theo commented, overhearing this last exchange as he emerged from the kitchen having scrounged some leftover pavlova. ‘And you know, that idea of stuff for teens – I ought to put info like that on the website. You wouldn't believe how dull it is at the moment – all tariffs, menus and a boring bit about the Knightley history. Hardly likely to attract anyone under the age of fifty.'

‘Go for it,' Emma encouraged, clearing coffee cups on to the trolley. ‘Drag the place into the twenty-first century.'

‘We have to do something,' he said with a laugh. ‘If Freddie's guests check out this place on the web, they'll decide they'd rather watch paint dry than party here!'

Emma frowned. ‘So what are you suggesting?'

‘I don't know,' he mused. ‘Something vibrant and upbeat. We can't put photos of real guests on the website – data protection and all that – but I was thinking we could use us lot instead. You'd be up for it, wouldn't you?'

‘Sure,' Emma said. ‘Provided I get to be the one who sips the champagne!'

‘We'll get George, of course, and Lily . . .' He began scribbling on a notepad. ‘And I thought you and me
could hit the clubs in town, take some pictures and show what's on offer.'

‘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.

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.

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 that 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 . . .