Secret Schemes and Daring Dreams (20 page)

She had a long wait. Of course, she understood why. With so many people milling around, and Thalia popping in and out, and George's parents getting into a tizz and asking her to check and double-check decorations and table plans and party favours, there was hardly a moment to draw breath, let alone have a full-on snog. But twice she caught Freddie gazing at her with a yearning expression on his face and that was enough. For now. Once the party was under way, she could think of at least three quiet corners they could disappear into. Not too quiet, of course – she needed her triumph to be witnessed by as many of her own mates as possible.

At seven o'clock on Saturday evening, Emma and Lucy were in Emma's bedroom preparing for the party. Emma was standing in front of her mirror, eyeing her fancy dress costume with a degree of smug satisfaction. The theme that Freddie had finally chosen, after a lot of input from Emma, was Beaux and Belles.

‘That way, people can be as randy or as demure as they like,' Emma had told him. ‘Something for everyone.'

‘And which will you be? Randy or demure?' Freddie had asked, touching her arm and leaning towards her with a mischievous expression on his face,.

‘You'll have to wait and see, won't you?' she had replied enigmatically.

Now, surveying her reflection in the mirror, she felt she had hit exactly the right note for what was clearly going to be an evening of intimacy. She'd gone for the Regency heroine look. The Maximum Uplift bra that she was wearing under her electric-blue ball gown enhanced her cleavage enough to be enticing yet subtle, and, as she fingered the ringlets that had taken Stephanie at Cut Above three hours and a lot of subdued swearing to achieve, she felt ready for anything that Freddie had to offer. It had, after all, taken him long enough to pluck up the courage, and it would be so unfair to disappoint him.

‘Do you think I look subtly seductive?' Emma asked Lucy.

‘Subtle? You?' Lucy laughed, pulling off her jeans and T-shirt. ‘You'll have guys salivating before we've finished the buffet.'

‘Oh good,' Emma replied. ‘Only Freddie —'

‘Listen, I'm not being funny, but don't go overboard. I reckon Freddie's a bit of a playboy; you know, pick a girl up, dump her, move on? Just a feeling.'

‘Come off it, I'm not asking for marriage,' Emma retorted. ‘Besides, he likes me. I know he does. I can sense these things.'

‘Right,' Lucy said, gazing into the mirror. ‘Do you think I was a bit silly going as a bathing belle? Does my bum look big in bloomers?'

By eleven o'clock, Emma knew that all her planning had been worthwhile. The party was a triumph; the marquee had been transformed into Regency Brighton,
complete with a bathing machine in one corner (dispensing somewhat unRegency popcorn) and a Punch and Judy booth in another. Fishing nets and stuffed seagulls hung from the ceiling and Emma's father had managed to hire a barrel organ played by an overweight guy in a striped blazer and straw boater. Freddie, who looked divine as Beau Brummell, had danced with her three times. He'd even kissed her – only sadly it was on the top of her head, which didn't really count, but he kept muttering about getting her on her own and that did. The champagne had been flowing like water. Even George, sporting a footman's outfit, seemed happy and gave her a hug, saying that, even though she was stubborn, bossy and infuriating, she'd done a great job.

All the old school gang were having a ball – Serena and Angus had come back from Rock for the event (Emma took great satisfaction in noting that Serena's nose was peeling – had she never heard of total block?) and Tabitha, Chelsea and the rest were all competing to get the photographer from
Cheerio!
to include them in his shots. Adam was dropping the words ‘my brother' into every other sentence, conveniently leaving out the ‘half', and Lucy had confided in Emma that Freddie thought she was ‘amazing'.

If there was anything to dampen her sense of elation, it was the sight of Harriet, who, having finished her waitressing duties, had changed into a particularly unflattering dress that she'd hired from some sleazy fancy dress shop, and was sitting in a corner tapping her feet in time to the music and trying
to look as if she didn't care about being the only person who hadn't danced once. Harriet's eyes seemed to follow Theo and Miranda round the room, which was unfortunate since they were spending a great deal of time exploring the depths of one another's throat right in front of her, which Emma considered to be in very bad taste anyway. Every time Emma caught Harriet's eye, she smiled; but the smile didn't last and, as the evening wore on, Harriet seemed to be the only person who looked as if she wished she was anywhere but at Freddie's party.

‘Why the long face?' George asked Emma. ‘It's going well.'

‘It's Harriet.' Emma sighed. ‘I've got to find a guy to dance with her. Do you think Simon Wittering would do?'

‘You said he was a loser,' George reminded her.

‘Well, he is, but . . .' She paused remembering Theo's comments about double standards. ‘Well, Tom then, or Calum – or —'

‘You are unbelievable,' George said laughing. ‘Rather than abandon Harriet to your totally off-the-wall matchmaking, I'm going to dance with her myself!'

Emma smiled as he walked over to Harriet, whispered in her ear and led her into the middle of the packed dance floor. He was such a sweet guy. And actually, she mused, his dancing was getting better. Much less demented chicken and more —

‘Emma, come and dance?'

Freddie was at her side, his hand already under her elbow. He didn't have to ask twice.

‘Look, can we find somewhere quiet?' Freddie
whispered in Emma's ear five minutes later. ‘There's something I have to say to you and I can't do it here. Please?'

‘Sure,' she said, trying to still the fluttering in her chest. ‘Why don't we go outside?'

She was just leading him to the doorway when someone seized her arm. ‘I want you to do something and do it now!' Thalia, who when Emma had last seen her, had been sitting out on the terrace with Tarquin, George's parents and a few other wrinklies, was now looking extremely excited and very flushed. ‘Go and get the band to stop playing and do a drum roll.'

‘I can't, we were just —'

‘Granny, what's all this?' Freddie sounded irritated in the extreme. ‘Back off, OK?'

‘Emma, just do it!'

There was something in Thalia's tone that brooked no argument. Emma pushed her way over to the band and whispered the instructions in Ravi's ear. Being the professional he was, he took not a blind bit of notice, so she did the only thing she could. She whipped the drumsticks out of his hands. ‘Drum roll – surprise – do it now!' she ordered.

‘What's going on?' Jake turned, open-mouthed, to Ravi, who shrugged and glared at Emma. But by then Thalia was beside them, a very reluctant Freddie in tow.

‘Right everyone,' she shouted. ‘I know it's another half-hour before Freddie is actually twenty-one but what the heck?
Happy birthday to you, happy
. . .'

Whether it was because Thalia's singing was so off-key
that it needed drowning out, or simply because after copious quantities of champagne everyone's inhibitions had vanished, Emma wasn't sure, but within seconds the whole place was reverberating to singing, clapping, cheering and the odd bawdy heckle from the likes of Simon Wittering. She darted back to Freddie's side and slipped her hand in his.

‘And now,' Thalia shouted, holding up a hand to still the hubbub, ‘a birthday surprise!'

Ravi, having got the hang of things, beat out another drum roll.

‘Oh my God!' Freddie's groan could be clearly heard by those standing near him. ‘This is all I need.'

Emma saw Miranda, who was standing close by, kick Liam the photographer with her stiletto and gesture to the doorway of the marquee.

‘Start shooting and don't stop!' she murmured. ‘This could be big.'

Emma turned and followed Miranda's gaze. Standing in the doorway was Sir Douglas Churchill, Freddie's father.

‘Happy twenty-first, Frederick,' he boomed, striding across the floor and slapping Freddie on the back as Liam flashed shot after shot. ‘Good to see you.'

Despite the astonishment at seeing him there, it wasn't Sir Douglas who took Emma's attention. It was the way that Freddie's hand gripped hers so tightly that she thought her knuckles would crack, and the look of sheer panic on his face.

‘Dad, what are you doing here? I mean, it's great but . . .' he stammered.

‘It wasn't my idea, I confess,' he replied gruffly. ‘But
your grandmother – well, we have things to clear up.'

He turned to Emma. ‘And who is this delightful young lady?'

‘Sorry – let me introduce you. This is Emma. Emma, darling, meet my father.'

Just for a moment, Emma was speechless, thinking, Emma, darling – he called me darling. In front of his father.

‘I'm delighted to meet you, Sir Douglas,' she said, her natural good manners coming into play as the camera flashed again and again. ‘How lovely that you could come.'

‘Sweetheart, will you excuse us just for a minute?' Freddie asked, turning to Emma. ‘I need to have a bit of time with my father.' And with that, he tipped her chin, leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips. ‘Back in a minute,' he whispered and led his father away.

Emma was reeling. He had to be madly in love with her to behave like that in front of his father. The odd thing was that, now he'd actually come on strong, her heart had stopped fluttering, her legs hadn't turned to jelly and, although she was disappointed that he wasn't around to dance now the disco had started and the DJ was playing ‘Catch My Heart', she soon had guys clamouring to get her on to the dance floor. She did wonder where Freddie and his father had got too, but she was more concerned to work out just how many of her mates had seen the kiss.

She was satisfied to see Tabitha and Serena nudging one another and looking enviously in her direction.

‘Have you had too much to drink?' George suddenly appeared, having handed Harriet over to the tender mercies of Simon Wittering. ‘What was going on with you and Freddie?'

‘He kissed me,' she said calmly. ‘Do you have a problem with that?'

‘Me? Why should I? You're the one with the problem. I've told you, that guy is not right for you.'

‘Oh really? And why's that? Because he's fit? Because he knows how to have a laugh? Because . . . Oh my God! What has Lily got on?'

Lily, her kitchen duties obviously over for the evening, was standing on tiptoe in the doorway of the marquee, waving at Emma. She was wearing an emerald green shift dress with silver bells and bows sewn all over it.

‘She looks like a downmarket Christmas tree,' Emma muttered to George, as Lily pushed through the throng of dancers to reach them. ‘Lily, what are you wearing?'

‘What? Bows and bells,' she said. ‘I thought . . . oh dear. Oh.'

Her eyes scanned the costumes in the room, the long dresses, bathing belles, dandies and, in the case of Tabitha, Belle from
Beauty and the Beast.

‘Oh no, I didn't get it – see, Jake didn't send an invitation or anything, he just said bows and bells, and I've never been to a posh do like this and I just thought . . .'

‘No, you didn't think,' Emma snapped, still smarting from George's comments. ‘You never do. If you'd engaged your brain for one minute – well, that
presupposes there is a brain to engage . . . you'd have realised that people like Freddie's set don't do tacky. And tonight you are the queen of tack.'

Lily stared at her open-mouthed.

‘Oh. You mean . . . you think . . . well, I'd better go and change. I don't know what into though, I haven't got anything glamorous . . . but if you think he'll be upset . . .'

‘I think it's a great costume,' George broke in, glaring at Emma through narrowed eyes. ‘Far more imaginative than all this lot. And that colour suits you perfectly.' He reached out a hand to her. ‘Come on, let me get you some champagne – and there are some pretty cool king prawn kebabs lurking somewhere.'

‘I'll have some more champers too,' Emma called after him, although she knew that she'd had more than enough already.

‘Get your own,' he replied and kept moving.

For the next half-hour, George didn't speak to, or even look at, Emma. Lily, it seemed, was the centre of attention. Lily danced with Ravi while the band was having its break, and then with a succession of guys, none of whom seemed remotely put out by her bizarre outfit.

When Freddie eventually reappeared, Emma was at his side in an instant.

‘Is everything OK? What made your dad come? Have you two made it up?'

‘I'm going to kill Granny.' He sighed. ‘Apparently, this is all down to her. When Pa flew in from the States, she met him at the airport, collared him and got him to agree to come down here.'

So that's where she was, Emma thought. So much for the wrinkled lover. ‘But that's good, isn't it?'

‘No, it's not,' Freddie retorted, shaking his head. ‘He's in transit – tomorrow morning he flies to Rome and then on to Sydney, to negotiate the buyout of some confectionery outfit and he wants me to go with him.'

‘Oh no!' Emma was dismayed more for herself than for him.

‘He says it's only right for the heir to the Churchill Chocolates' name to be seen learning the ropes.' Freddie recited his father's words with a sneer in his voice. ‘As if I give a damn for coffee creams and bloody champagne truffles!'

‘So you won't go?'

Freddie ran his hand through his hair and avoided her gaze. ‘I've compromised,' he muttered. ‘I've said I'll go to Rome but no further.'