Secret Schemes and Daring Dreams (5 page)

Instantly, Emma's brain went on to red alert.

‘Freddie?' she repeated, trying not to look too interested. ‘What about him?'

Freddie Churchill was Adam's half-brother but, unlike Adam, he was seriously A-list. His picture appeared in everything from
Cheerio!
to
Country Life,
and he was currently the face of Carstairs Countrywear. When Emma had first discovered the connection between him and Adam, she couldn't get her head around it; how come Freddie lived the high life twenty-four seven, while Adam was working all summer to keep his student loan at bay? It didn't make sense.

Lucy had quickly put her straight. Apparently, Adam's mum, Julia, had divorced Freddie's dad, the Churchill Chocolates' millionaire, way back when Freddie was two years old, and had married Sam Weston, a Cumbrian sheep farmer. (Why she would want to exchange three homes on two continents for a rambling farmhouse halfway up a windswept fell, Emma couldn't imagine. Lucy had muttered something about sexual chemistry and Emma not having a clue about the power of real love, but Emma had dismissed that as being sentimental rubbish that failed all the rules of logic.) Adam had been born alarmingly quickly after the marriage and, for reasons that Lucy hadn't found out, Freddie had gone to live with his father and been educated at one of the country's top public schools. Adam, meanwhile, had stayed with his mother and endured the mixed blessing of Kenworth Community College.

It had been the sudden death of the by then bankrupt sheep farmer, five years earlier, that had brought Adam and his mother to Sussex, where they lived for a while with Adam's grandmother, Thalia, who ran the Wealden Art Gallery in Emma's village and was the leading light of numerous good causes. Within a year of their arrival, Mrs Weston had found solace in the arms of an overweight American widower with a sad taste in ties and was now living in a condo in Winter Park, Florida, where she spent her time working out in pink Lycra and telling everyone to have a nice day. Adam, who, although he would never admit it, was something of a home-loving guy, had opted to remain in Sussex with his grandmother.

On the couple of occasions that Freddie had come to
Sussex to commiserate with Adam over their mother's bad taste in men, he had made a big impression on the girls in Emma's set: his languid good looks, easy manner and free use of cash made him the ideal catch. He flirted, he backchatted – but none of them managed to get a date out of him. Even Emma. And for someone who was used to being the centre of attention, the experience only served to make Freddie Churchill even more alluring than he might otherwise have been.

‘So what's all this about Freddie?' Emma demanded the moment Adam appeared with drinks. ‘Lucy said you needed my help.'

‘OK, so how much do you know?' Adam asked. ‘I mean, I guess Lucy told you about this massive twenty-first birthday party Freddie's dad had planned for him, right?'

‘No,' Emma said, throwing Lucy a ‘thanks so much for keeping me informed' look.

‘Well, apparently Freddie's father had it all worked out,' Adam went on, just the faintest touch of envy in his voice. ‘Black tie do at his villa in the South of France and then partying on his new yacht. You know what Freddie's father's like: fork out zillions and get everyone to grovel for an invitation. That was his big idea.'

‘Was?' Emma queried.

Adam took a swig of his Budweiser.

‘I don't know all the details,' he admitted. ‘Freddie was so boiling mad when he phoned that he could hardly speak. I just gathered, between expletives, that they had a massive row – I don't know what about exactly – but it ended with Freddie telling his dad
where to stuff his party and storming out. And guess what?'

‘Go on,' Emma urged.

‘Freddie says that he's sick to death of his father trying to control his life and that, since Granny and I are the only sane members of the family, he's coming to Brighton to hang out for the summer!'

Emma and Lucy exchanged glances. The note of pride in Adam's voice was unmistakable. Emma understood immediately; she had just finished reading
So Love Me – A Study of Separated Siblings
as part of her pre-uni reading list and realised that Adam was craving acceptance and recognition from his big brother. His next remark confirmed her suspicions.

‘He's really rebelling,' Adam went on admiringly. ‘He's even decided to celebrate his birthday down here – whatever his father thinks.'

‘Backlash against parental control,' Emma murmured knowledgeably.

‘Whatever.' Adam continued. ‘He wants just his best mates – nothing huge and showy, and definitely no interfering parents. Not even Mum. And he says, if I help him sort it, I can invite some of my mates, too.'

He flung an arm around Lucy's sunburnt shoulders and hugged her to him.

‘Brilliant! That is so cool!' Emma said, her mind racing ahead.

‘But if his dad's not footing the bill . . .?' Lucy began.

‘No problem,' Adam said, shrugging. ‘Freddie's got a pile of money from when his dad's mother died as well as from all the advertising he does. He's going to stay with
Granny for a bit – he can have my room while I'm at the Frontier Adventure Centre – but then he's even talking about taking a flat in town and you don't get those for peanuts.'

‘So when's he coming?' Emma asked eagerly, mentally booking in highlights, a facial and some serious clothes shopping into her schedule.

‘Oh, you know Freddie,' Adam said. ‘He says . . .'

‘Hey, did I hear you talk about Freddie? Freddie Churchill?' Tabitha sashayed up to them. ‘Is he here?' Her eyes scanned the club like a sparrowhawk looking for a choice mouse.

‘No, he's not.' Emma shook her head. ‘And, as a matter of interest, do you make a habit of bursting in on private conversations?'

‘He's coming down some time next week,' Adam told her innocently, clearly mesmerised by Tabitha's cleavage. ‘He's doing a series of fashion shoots for
Country Matters
magazine – Ashdown Forest, Cuckmere Haven, all over the place.'

‘Cool,' Tabitha remarked. ‘Just let me know when he's around, Adam, right? He is seriously hot.'

‘That girl,' muttered Emma, as Tabitha turned away and grabbed the arm of Simon Wittering, ‘is a menace. So this party – what's the low-down?'

‘Freddie wants me and Lucy to suss out some party venues so he can check them out when he gets here. Like, who does he think I am? Superman? It'll be impossible – everything will be booked solid.'

He downed the final dregs of his drink.

‘He's got this idea of finding a place where his mates
can stay and make a weekend of it. Freddie never did anything by halves. He wants golf and tennis and . . .'

‘I thought you said he didn't want anything showy,' Lucy interrupted.

‘By Freddie's standards, it's not,' Adam said. ‘It's the country life thing he wants, you know with his advertising image and everything.'

‘That's it! Oh my God, Adam, that's it! Donwell. It's perfect.'

‘Donwell?' Adam repeated, in that blank way that guys have when faced with a new idea that they haven't had three hours to process. ‘How do you mean, Donwell?'

Ten minutes later, having extolled the virtues of croquet on the lawn, easy access to the club scene in Brighton, clay pigeon shooting up the road and a huge party on The Day, Emma had them both convinced.

‘But a place like that'll be booked solid,' Adam groaned. ‘His birthday's only three weeks away.'

‘I have contacts,' Emma assured him, not wanting to let on that the place was half empty and she wasn't actually pulling strings. ‘Just leave it with me. I'll get back to you after the weekend. You email Freddie and let him know I'm on the case.'

CHAPTER 3

‘I WAS WONDERING,' HARRIET SAID THE FOLLOWING DAY
, ‘could we just pop into the Sea Life Centre? You could meet Rob.'

Emma was about to say that, after three hours of shopping in Brighton in an attempt to give Harriet a new image on a minimal budget, she was more inclined to slump down in Café Caprice with a large latte and a chocolate brownie than endure the subterranean world of electric eels and basking sharks; but she was well aware that, despite all her instructions, Harriet wouldn't relax until she'd seen Rob; and, having spent ages on the telephone that morning convincing George that Harriet was an absolute find, far more hardworking than Lucy and he was lucky to get her, she felt she had to do all she could to ensure that her friend arrived at Donwell in a calm and serene frame of mind. There was a first time for everything.

Besides, she felt she owed it to Harriet – she was still smarting from the conversation that had taken place in
the middle of High Wire, the funky new designer boutique in Regent Arcade. Harriet had proved to be surprisingly quick to learn how to choose outfits, matching and contrasting colours and finding accessories. Which made it all the more surprising that her clothes were so, well, ordinary.

‘So go on, try them on!' Emma had urged.

‘Get real,' Harriet had said calmly. ‘No way could I afford this lot. What I do is find what I like and then hunt through the market and the charity shops for lookalikes.'

Emma had managed to hide her inclination to shudder. The thought of wearing clothes that other people had perspired in was beyond her wildest comprehension.

‘OK, so just get one outfit,' Emma had encouraged her, grabbing a selection of clothes. ‘See, this lot would be under a hundred pounds.'

Harriet had stared at her. ‘You don't get it, do you?' she had said, shaking her head. ‘I don't have anywhere near that kind of money. Not any more.'

It was that last phrase that did it for Emma. That anyone should be made to go without the latest fashion, just because her father was a total waster, was just not on.

‘OK,' she had said, linking her arm through Harriet's. ‘Tell you what – I'll buy these for you. Call it an early birthday pressie.'

‘No! My birthday's not till November and besides, I couldn't – I mean, no way – you hardly know me . . . that amount of money . . .'

‘And what's more,' Emma had gone on, ‘when we get to my place, we'll go through my wardrobe. I've loads of stuff I don't wear and even though you are a bit bigger than me . . .'

‘Like two sizes!'

‘. . . I'm sure we can find some stuff,' Emma had concluded, even though she wasn't sure at all. It just made her feel good to try.

‘But I can't pay you back . . . I don't know what to say . . .'

‘So don't say a thing!' Emma had declared, tossing her charge card at the assistant. ‘Just enjoy!'

Now, trekking down East Street and along the Seafront, thronging with holidaymakers, she was enjoying the warm glow that being charitable always induced in her. She even bought a copy of the
Big Issue
from a guy in a bookshop doorway, just to ensure that the feeling lasted a little longer.

As they reached the entrance of the Sea Life Centre, she gasped. ‘Eight pounds fifty!' she muttered, gesturing to the board at the doorway. ‘I'm not paying that just for you to chat up this guy.'

Clothes spending was one thing. Paying the price of a lip liner to gaze at jellyfish? No way. She turned to go.

‘We won't have to pay,' Harriet said proudly, fumbling in her bag and pulling out a plastic pass. ‘They gave me a free pass – consolation for not getting the job. It's valid till tomorrow and it admits two people. So come on!'

Emma followed her into the vaulted Victorian aquarium.

‘There he is! That's him – over there. Isn't he gorgeous?'

Emma blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, and glanced across the concourse to where a crowd of children were peering into a huge Touch Pool. A stockily built guy wearing a fluorescent yellow jacket was holding a rather angry-looking lobster in one hand and a very prickly starfish in the other. Since there was no one else over the age of ten in sight, Emma assumed that he must be Harriet's idea of fit.