Secret Schemes and Daring Dreams (9 page)

A knock on her door interrupted her flow.

‘Dad?'

‘No, it's me – Harriet.'

‘Hang on!'

Emma scanned the final paragraph of her email.

Got to go – more tomorrow. See you Wednesday. Hugs, Emma.

She clicked on
Send,
and shut off her laptop.

‘OK, come in!' she called, glancing at her watch as Harriet came into the room. ‘I thought you'd be asleep by now – you looked done in.'

‘I am, only . . .' Harriet hesitated, chewing her bottom lip and sighing.

‘What? Do you need something? More pillows?'

‘No, everything's lovely,' Harriet assured her, perching on the end of Emma's bed. ‘It's – well, it's Rob.'

‘Oh.'

‘See, I rang him a bit earlier and he sounded really cheesed off . . .'

‘Probably jealous that you've got a job that doesn't involve crustaceans and screaming kids,' Emma commented, suddenly feeling too tired to be compassionate.

‘No, it's because he says he's going to miss me,' Harriet went on, apparently oblivious to Emma's sarcasm. ‘Anyway, he's just rung back and said sorry for being off – and guess what? He thinks he could get me a job at Sea Life because this girl Rachel in the coffee shop has handed in her notice.'

‘No way!' Emma exploded. ‘You don't mean to tell me that after all my efforts getting you a decent job with really cool people —'

‘Well, no, I did say I couldn't let you all down at the moment but . . .'

‘Good!'

‘And that's when he asked me what was more
important: this job or us getting the chance to spend more time together.'

She sighed and looked imploringly at Emma.

‘It's really hard – I mean, he's so cute and him saying that – well, it must mean he fancies me, right?'

‘It means,' said Emma forcefully, ‘that he's into emotional blackmail big time. Still, it's up to you, of course. If you want to throw away the opportunity of a lifetime, there's not much I can do about it.'

She eyed Harriet solemnly.

‘Freddie's party is going to be
the
social event of the summer,' she insisted. ‘And there's the village festival, Dad's TV show, Charity Race Day – I could organise it for us to get into the Members' enclosure if we agreed to sell raffle tickets.'

She was pleased to note that Harriet's mouth was dropping open by the second, so she went in for the final whammy.

‘It's not like you get loads of opportunities to mix with high-flying types like the Churchill crowd. Did you tell Rob about that?'

‘Yes, and he said that's all just about image and snobs and social climbers,' Harriet replied ingenuously.

‘Am I a snob? Am I a social climber?' Emma demanded.

‘No, of course not . . .'

‘Right – and neither are my friends,' Emma stressed. ‘It just goes to show that Rob hasn't got a clue about what really counts. Still, if you'd rather be with him than here with me . . .'

‘Of course I wouldn't! I've had more fun this evening than I've had in the last five years!'

This, thought Emma, as she smiled kindly at her friend, was just another indication of what a sad little life Harriet Smith had led until now.

‘And the hotel is just stunning,' Harriet babbled, going off at a tangent. ‘Did you know that the rooms are all named after the families that have lived there since sixteen something? And those crests on the wall in the dining room – they were put there by Sir Casper Knightley who . . .'

‘Harriet, I've been going to that house since I was in pre-prep,' Emma cut in wearily. ‘There's nothing you can tell me that I don't know already. And if you think tonight was fun – well, I promise it'll get even better.' She paused and eyed Harriet sternly. ‘Of course, if you did take the job at Sea Life – which I can't stop you doing, and I wouldn't even try if that's what you really want . . .'

‘Thanks.'

‘But if you did decide to throw away all this, you wouldn't be able to bum off to church at a moment's notice. There won't be a Theo around to fight your corner.'

‘Theo's lovely, isn't he?' Harriet smiled. ‘And you're right – he was so sweet, offering to do my shift.'

‘Precisely,' Emma said nodding, relieved to have finally got her point across. ‘When was the last time this Rob person put himself out for you? He didn't even turn up at the club. Come to think of it, he didn't even let you know he wasn't coming. And he put work before a party. Whereas Theo . . .' She let the words hang in the air just long enough for Harriet to colour up ever so slightly.
‘Theo seems to be really interested in you,' she finished.

‘Don't be silly! Theo . . . interested in . . . I mean, he only met me today.'

‘Sexual chemistry,' Emma told her wisely, remembering Lucy's phrase. ‘Trust me – he's keen.'

Harriet's eyes widened. ‘You think so? Really? A guy like that?'

‘I know so,' Emma assured her. ‘Ask any of my friends – when it comes to reading guys, I am never wrong. Remember how he came right up close to you on the croquet lawn? And he said to me . . . well, never mind what he said to me.'

‘He talked about me?'

‘Oh yes,' Emma nodded. ‘All he needs is just a little bit of encouragement . . . but, anyway, it's none of my business. If it's Rob you want, then it's Rob you must go after.' She frowned thoughtfully. ‘Of course, I'm probably not being fair,' she said. ‘Just because I'm not boy mad . . . maybe you and Rob are really soul mates. I mean, is he into music like you are?'

‘No way.' Harriet giggled. ‘Do you know, he didn't know the difference between Berlioz and Bizet! I wanted him to come with me to that amazing open air concert at Preston Abbey – it was free, so I could actually go —'

‘Lovely,' murmured Emma, who actually preferred R & B to classical music. ‘And what did he say?'

‘He couldn't make it,' Harriet said. ‘He has tank cleaning training that evening.'

‘I rest my case,' Emma said calmly. ‘Whereas Theo, who probably has a thousand better things to do tomorrow than serving breakfasts . . . still, as I said, it's
up to you.' She yawned. ‘Now if you don't mind, I'm crashing out. I'll leave you to decide what to do. Life is all about making the right choices.'

‘So I'll tell Rob no, right?'

‘Your choice. Night, Harriet. Sleep well.'

CHAPTER 5

‘DAD! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING?'

Emma, blasted awake at half past seven on Sunday morning by what sounded like dustbin lids being scraped along a brick wall, burst into her father's den, hair tousled and feeling seriously sleep deprived.

‘Dad!' She punched the Off button on his vintage Bang and Olufsen. ‘You woke me up!' she shouted accusingly.

Her father glanced at his solar-powered watch. ‘It's not early,' he commented. ‘I thought you'd be over the way helping out by now. Besides, I'm so buzzed by this band.' He gestured towards the deck. ‘That package from Lily – it had this demo CD in it. Great band – they're called Split Bamboo and the lead guitarist is . . .'

‘Jake Fairfax,' concluded Emma with a groan. ‘Lily's oh-so-amazing cousin.' She eyed her father closely. ‘You're not telling me this band of his is actually any good?'

‘They're more than good, they're going places,' her
father declared. ‘I've read a bit about them in the music papers. One of their songs – ‘Panic Stations Planet' – is very of the moment . . .'

‘So that's why you're keen – because they're waving the green flag,' teased Emma. ‘Never mind the music, just listen to the message, is that it?'

‘Wouldn't do you any harm to take note,' her father muttered, pulling open a drawer and waving a bunch of Emma's most recent shopping receipts in her face. ‘Look at this lot – High Wire, Stella Stein, Rock On Robin! How can you pay one hundred and five pounds for a handbag? It's obscene.'

‘It's not just a bag, Dad, it's a Valentine Rockport bag . . .'

‘A bag's a bag,' he said emphatically. ‘And I'll bet none of these clothes are Fair Trade. Do you realise they were probably made in some sweatshop in Bangladesh with —'

‘Yeah, yeah, OK, I'm sorry,' Emma assured him. ‘Anyway, Dad, listen – I've just sorted the Knightleys' problems. Surely that deserves being let off the hook?'

She told her father about the party, how she was the mover and shaker and how she reckoned to double the Donwell profits overnight.

‘Excellent!' Her father gave her a hug. ‘What an opportunity for them! Well done you!'

Emma glowed under his obvious approbation.

‘We can LOAF it,' he said. ‘I'll talk to this new chef and have a word with Mrs P and —'

‘We can what?' Emma demanded suspiciously.

‘Don't you ever listen to anything I say?' her father
asked. ‘LOAF – Locally grown, Organic, Animal friendly and Fair Trade. Oh, I can see it now – we'll get the press round – the Churchill name will ensure that – and we'll have organic wines, locally produced food and flowers – no air miles there, you see – and I could —'

‘Dad, stop it!' Emma shouted. ‘What's with all this “we”?'

‘George's mother phoned me – she's worried about everything here. Says that old Coles, the estate manager, is losing his grip and she's not sure George has enough experience to deal with everything. So I assured her that I'd keep a firm hand on the tiller till they get back. Now where do you think we could source —'

‘Dad, let's get one thing clear, right? No way are you going to embarrass me by getting on your soapbox and going all moral. Besides, it's not as if one party is going to make a difference.'

‘Emma, it's that attitude that is slowly crucifying our planet,' her father insisted. ‘I shall speak to George.'

‘Don't you dare!' Emma snapped. ‘You wanted me to have a job, right? Well, I've got one.' She kissed the top of his head, always the first step towards wrapping him around her little finger.

‘Yes, and I'm pleased,' he began.

‘So just let me get on with it, OK?' she pleaded. ‘You just concentrate on the TV show.'

‘Good grief!' her father exclaimed, jumping up. ‘I'm supposed to be having a video conferencing call with the production director at half past eight. Thank goodness you reminded me.' He flicked off a few switches and headed for the door. ‘Oh, and tell George that I've told our garden boys to go over and help out
next door whenever he needs them,' he added.

‘OK, and Dad?'

‘Yes?'

‘Can I have my August allowance?'

‘Emma, it's the third of July,' her father pointed out. ‘And the answer is no.'

Oh well, thought Emma, thank heavens for Visa.

‘Hi Emma! How are you doing? I'm just making pancakes – those little American kids were asking for them.'

Lily didn't pause in her batter-beating as Emma peered round the door of the hotel kitchen, but just kept on talking.

‘I know they're not on the menu, but like I said to Luigi, it's no trouble for me, cos I love to cook and this is such fun and, anyway, we ought to cater for everyone's needs and Americans do like their pancakes, and they're checking out today so it's the last chance, only there isn't any maple syrup so I said let's try them with honey —'

‘Where's Theo?' Emma butted in. She knew from years of experience that the only way to deal with Lily's babble was to ignore it.

‘Theo? Oh, he's just driving Harriet to church.'

‘Driving
her?' Emma gasped. ‘It's only ten minutes' walk!'

‘Oh no, she's not going to St Margaret's – some of the guests had an early breakfast to get to the service there – but no, Harriet said St Benedict's, and of course that's quite a way.'