Secret Schemes and Daring Dreams (17 page)

Just seconds later, the kitchen door opened, and Harriet hobbled in, wincing slightly.

‘I thought I heard Theo's voice.' Harriet was so agitated that Emma could almost see her heart beating under her T-shirt.

‘Really?' Emma frowned. ‘How odd. The mind plays strange tricks, doesn't it? Has Mrs P made any of her cinnamon rolls?'

For the next few days, Emma did her best to cheer Harriet up. It wasn't easy. When she lent Harriet DVDs to watch while she was working, she would find her in tears because of a love scene, or because the hero liked the same brand of lager as Theo drank. Every magazine that Emma produced to keep Harriet occupied while resting her foot seemed to feature articles headlined
The Guy Who Broke My Heart
or
Will I Ever Find True Love?,
and the fact that Theo didn't turn up all weekend, far from helping the situation, made Harriet even more despondent.

‘Just to see him once more would be . . .'

‘Disastrous!' declared Emma on Sunday evening, as Harriet sat listlessly in the kitchen fiddling with her mobile phone. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Trying to pluck up the courage to delete Theo's texts,' Harriet admitted. ‘There's no point saving them now, is there?'

‘So go on, do it,' Emma urged.

‘I will. Later.' Harriet promised, and promptly burst into tears.

It was, thought Emma, going to be a very long week.

The band! Emma flipped the lid of her laptop shut and
punched the air. Emma, you're so dim, she admonished herself. The band! Why didn't I think of them before? Now, which one for Harriet?

She was still weighing up their individual attributes later that Monday morning when she found Harriet disconsolately cleaning table silver while poring over a pile of magazines, all of which were open at the horoscope page.

‘You are not into all that rubbish, surely?' Emma protested.

‘No, of course not,' Harriet said, guiltily shoving the magazines to one side. ‘I mean, it's ridiculous isn't it – not every Pisces is going to have a disastrous month, right?'

‘Exactly,' Emma said. ‘Now then, I was going to ask you about the band. What do you think of the guys?'

‘They're cute,' Harriet replied. ‘Especially Dylan. I love guys with squashed noses. And when I got the guys' autographs, he was telling me this really funny joke – he's got this wicked laugh and —'

‘So you like him the best?'

‘I guess. Why?'

‘No reason,' Emma assured her. ‘Must dash.'

‘Emma?'

‘Yes?'

‘It is all rubbish, this horoscope stuff, right?'

‘Of course, why?'

Harriet looked close to tears. ‘Because Theo's a Scorpio and it says that Scorpios are going to find true love next week.' She sighed. ‘With a Leo. And I'm Pisces. But if it's all rubbish, maybe . . .'

‘Harriet, Theo is a waste of space, OK? You wait – love for you is literally just around the corner. Trust me.'

It was Tarquin who managed to divert Harriet's attention, at least for a few hours, from the subject of unrequited love. Ever since Miranda had done what she called a ‘taster piece' about the band for the next edition of
Cheerio!
and promised to give them full coverage in return for access to the Churchill party, Emma's father had been on a high.

‘Max and Sara are delighted,' he told Emma. ‘Photographs of their place are just what they need; the more publicity they can get the better.'

His delight was further increased when the producer of
Going Green
decided that he wanted to ask local people about their efforts to protect the environment, and he was particularly keen to interview young people.

‘Your daughter, for instance?' he had suggested to Tarquin.

‘Not a good idea,' he had said. ‘She is living proof that it's nature not nurture that forms one's character. But Harriet Smith – now that's another story altogether.'

Which was how Harriet found herself, after two hours being dressed, undressed, combed and made up by Emma, and then redressed by the wardrobe people in an organic, Fair Trade cotton kaftan, sitting on the Sussex oak (local, fully sustainable) garden bench in view of the willow hurdle fencing, being questioned about recycling.

‘Do you think,' she asked Emma, when the crew had finally got the takes they wanted, ‘that Theo will see me
on TV? Where do you think he is? He hasn't been around ever since . . .'

‘Actually,' Emma said, ‘he sent a text to George. He's not coming back to work on the website. He's met up with a friend who's got a yacht moored at the Marina.'

‘A girl? Or a guy?'

‘Haven't a clue,' Emma replied briskly. ‘And does it matter? What is Theo Elton to you?'

Emma had to wait rather longer than she had hoped before Harriet replied, so softly that she could hardly hear her, ‘Nothing.'

Things hotted up a lot in the run-up to Freddie's party weekend.

On the Tuesday morning, Harriet's father, who had been conspicuous by his absence, suddenly called her mobile as she and Emma were strolling back from the spa with crinkled skin, having spent an hour in the jacuzzi reading gossip magazines.

‘He's found a flat,' Harriet told Emma, after talking to him in hushed tones for over ten minutes. ‘He wants me to go and help him settle in.'

‘And you told him where to go?'

‘Emma, I can't. I mean, whatever he's done, he
is
my father.' Harriet sighed. ‘And he doesn't cope well. Besides, he wants to go and visit Mum – there's a first time for everything, and he won't go alone. The thing is, I'm going to have to go over there for a few days. I'll ask George, of course – but could you cover for me? Please?'

Since there were no bookings and nothing to do
except prepare for the party, Emma felt able to be accommodating.

‘Of course,' she said, squeezing Harriet's hand. ‘But you will be back by Thursday, won't you? Freddie's mates are arriving during the evening.'

‘Promise,' Harriet said. ‘Is Theo coming then?'

‘HARRIET!'

‘Sorry.'

‘Emma? Is that you?'

Emma turned up the volume on her mobile and stuck a finger in her left ear to blot out the sound of her father's rendition of ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds'.

‘Hi, Freddie! How's it going?'

‘That,' he replied, ‘depends on you.'

Emma's heart gave a little lurch. This was the closest he'd ever got to a chat-up line.

‘Really?'

‘I need rescuing.' He laughed. ‘I've been invited to the Bateses for lunch.'

‘How on earth did you let that happen?'

‘Jake's aunt said that Lily was a fan of my adverts,' he went on, and Emma could detect the note of amused pride in his voice. ‘She asked Jake to invite me because she said it would make Lily's day. Apparently she's making fish pie and baked something or other. What could I say?'

‘Not a lot, I guess, but what's it got to do with me?'

‘Well, I told Mrs Bates that I couldn't go because I was having lunch with you and she said . . .'

‘Invite darling Emma too,' Emma concluded.

‘The very words!' Freddie laughed again. ‘Will you?'

Despite the thought of two hours of Lily's non-stop babbling and a plateful of fish pie which, at the best of times, was not Emma's favourite meal, she only hesitated long enough to sow a tiny seed of anxiety in Freddie's mind.

‘Sure I'll come,' she said. ‘But you owe me one.'

‘Anything!' he replied.

Oh great, thought Emma.

‘Oh my God, Emma! I am so excited – you'll never guess what Jake's just done!'

Lily Bates burst into the kitchen at Donwell, where Emma was having a coffee with George's mum and Mrs P. It was Luigi's day off, which meant Mrs P had a smile on her face and there was a plate of freshly baked scones on the table.

‘Oh, sorry, Mrs Knightley, I didn't know you were in here. I'll go . . . that is, I can't because I need to check on the recipes for the roulades I'm making for the party, but I guess I could do that later.'

‘It's fine, Lily.' George's mum smiled. ‘I was just leaving anyway. I have to take Max for a check-up.'

‘He's a very funny colour if you ask me,' Mrs P observed. ‘Not that I'm surprised. All that pasta stuff Luigi feeds you with. Now what he needs is one of my chicken and leek pies and a nice baked apple to follow.'

‘That would be lovely.' Mrs Knightley nodded, smiling as she caught Emma's eye. Mrs P didn't believe in any rubbish about summer being a time for salads and grilled salmon. ‘I'll leave it with you, Mrs P. Chicken pie sounds just the job.'

Mrs P beamed happily, hitched up her vast bosom and marched off to retrieve a chicken from the deep freeze.

‘What was it you wanted exactly?' Emma asked.

‘Oh yes – it's so amazing! Jake's invited . . .'

‘Freddie to lunch.' Emma sighed, glancing at her watch. ‘And me too – I'd better go and get ready.'

‘No, not that,' Lily burst out. ‘I mean, yes that too, and it's lovely you're coming. Mum's going to open the bottle of wine your dad gave her – well, she's not going to open it, obviously, with her hands, I'll do that bit, but you know what I mean.'

‘So what were you going to say about Jake?'

‘Oh, yes – he's invited me to Freddie's party! I mean, the party proper, not just working in the kitchen. Although, of course, I'll be in the kitchen to start with, well for the canapés and starters, but then . . .'

‘But it's up to Freddie who he invites, not Jake!' Emma snapped. That guy was getting ideas above his station in life.

‘Oh. You think . . .? Well, I just thought Freddie must have said . . . Oh.'

‘Jake's going to be there because he's part of the band,' Emma said as patiently as she could. ‘Not because he's suddenly in charge of the guest list.'

Seeing how embarrassed Lily looked, she smiled. ‘But I guess you'll get to hang around anyway, won't you? It'll take ages to serve the food and clear up and —'

‘Yeah. Of course. Anyway, see you at lunch.'

For reasons she couldn't begin to work out, Emma felt uncomfortable for the rest of the morning.

* * *

Before she had reached Keeper's Cottage, Emma's ears were assailed by the reverberations of an electric guitar pumping out through the open windows.

‘Come in, door's open!' Mrs Bates shouted as Emma tapped on the owl-shaped door knocker.

‘Was it from your dad? Was it?' Lily cried, as Jake paused in his playing and looked anxiously at Emma.

‘Was what from my dad?'

‘The guitar – it came today!' Lily told her. ‘For Jake. Only we don't know who sent it.'

Emma bristled. ‘Well, I'm certain it wasn't my father,' she said. Like he'd really lash out money on an upstart guitarist with an inflated ego.

‘Me too,' Freddie nodded. ‘We've been trying to work it out. Apparently, it's a very good one. Got a five-position magnetic pick-up selector, whatever that is, and a rosewood something or other.'

‘Fingerboard,' Jake said, laughing. ‘I mean, it's seriously top of the range.'

‘Well,' Freddie teased, turning to Emma. ‘I reckon Jake's got some secret admirer that he's not letting on about, some besotted fan . . .'

‘Get real,' Lily said. ‘How would a fan know to send the present here?'

Freddie shrugged. ‘The mystery deepens,' he said. ‘Maybe it's a rich girlfriend he's got hidden away, someone he's secretly meeting in the depths of the night.'

‘Have you, Jake? Oh go on, admit it, you have, haven't you? That's so lovely, so romantic. You know, after Caroline and all . . .' Lily gabbled.

‘Lily, shut it.' Jake put the guitar to one side. ‘I guess
it's from my folks – Mum can't recall her own name sometimes, let alone remember to put a letter in with it.'

‘There you are, problem solved.' Freddie grinned. ‘Now – when do we eat?'

‘You don't really buy that business about the guitar being from his family, do you?' Freddie murmured to Emma after lunch, while Jake and Lily were in the garden with Mrs Bates.

‘Haven't thought about it,' Emma admitted, edging closer to him. If she was going to carry out her plan of seduction, now seemed as good a time as any.

‘Well, you know he split with his girlfriend,' Freddie went on. ‘I reckon it's from her. She's seriously wealthy, and I guess she's trying to woo him back – she knows music's his thing.'