The Finishing Touches (31 page)

I nodded uncertainly. As maternal opening gambits went, that wasn’t very promising.

“My secret love child?” Coralie added, throwing a stray layer of grayish drape over her shoulder.

My pulse stopped for a second. Only a second, though,
because Sophie gave her a ferocious nudge that sent her champagne spilling.

“My
secret love child, you mean, you cow!” Sophie insisted.

I looked between them. “I’m sorry?”

Coralie opened her eyes so wide I could see the inner rims. She had a touching eighties loyalty to electric-blue eyeliner. “I think you’ll find
I
was the bad girl of the year!”

“I
don’t
think so!” retorted Sophie. “
I
was the one who led you all astray with my naughty marching powder and cheap highlighting kits!”

“Months in rehab?” demanded Coralie and put her hands on her jutting hips.

“How many husbands?”

“Mine or someone else’s?”

Emma-Jane snorted, or possibly honked, but she didn’t say anything.

“Are you joking?” I asked in a wobbly voice. It was so hard to tell with seriously posh people. Their sense of humor was borderline verbal assault by any normal standards.

Coralie and Sophie looked at me as if it hadn’t occurred to them that I might be serious.

“Darling,” said Coralie, furrowing her brow as far as it would furrow, which was not far at all, “there’s no
way
Sophie’s your mother, because her own dear mamma had her on the Pill at the age of fourteen after a near-miss with their gardener.”

“Gardenerszzz, thanks,” Sophie corrected her. “And if Coralie here had managed to pop out a sprog in between Duran Duran videos, she’d probably have left it with the cloakroom attendant at Limelight, rather than Lady Frances.”

I looked between them, bickering and shoving happily as if I wasn’t there, and felt a sudden surge of relief that I didn’t share a genetic link with either of them.

“Not me either,” added Emma-Jane out of nowhere, then honked again. “I’m more of a cat person.”

“Would you excuse me?” I said, although they weren’t listening. “I’ve got some other people to talk to.”

I couldn’t find Nell, or Divinity with the list, before another key workshop started in the Lady Hamilton Room: Liv’s What to Wear When discussion.

Liv was busily transforming a nervous volunteer’s jeans-and-top combo into a fashion-forward evening look with an array of scarves and belts, while Divinity held forth in a voice that could probably be heard in the next street about the accessories she was using and in which shops “brilliant knockoffs” could be found for a fraction of the price of the designer originals.

I leaned against the door frame, finally confident that my dress wouldn’t get covered in cobwebs. A lot had changed in an incredibly short space of time. The house was cleaner, the rooms seemed more alive, the girls seemed almost happy to be here…

But was I the same? My nerves were still jangling from seeing those faces from Nell’s photograph, here, in real life. They were real women, and so was my mother, wherever she was. I wasn’t sure, now, whether I wanted her to be here or not.

I felt a light touch on my shoulder and knew without turning round whom it belonged to. The musky cologne gave it away. Mark smelled of good old-fashioned soap and secondhand tweed, not fancy scent.

Also, he didn’t do light touches. He was more likely to clap me on the back.

“Hello, Jamie,” I murmured. “Can I help?”

“Maybe. Cup of tea?” murmured Jamie in my ear. “Unless you’ve got one of your lovely charges teaching a cocktail class?”

I turned and let him escort me down the stairs toward the tea table, where Anastasia graciously furnished me with a cup of tea and “as many biscuits as you vould like vithin reason because they are high in
fet
,” and then we went out into the garden, where a few people were milling around in the crisp February sunshine.

I made a mental note to teach a Smoking without Fire etiquette class.

“Sorry I didn’t have some flowers for you earlier. I should have thought ahead. But here you go.” Jamie leaned forward to pick an early daffodil from the border. “Congratulations. That’s not what it means officially, by the way. Just in my language of flowers.”

“Thank you,” I said, coloring as I took it. “Daffodils actually mean ‘the sun always shines when I’m with you.’”

Jamie pulled an amazed face. “What do you know? I’m fluent in the language of flowers. I couldn’t have chosen better,” he said with a look that made my teacup rattle embarrassingly in its saucer.

“I suppose we have been lucky with the weather,” I said, fumbling for words.

“That’s true, but it’s not what I meant.”

I couldn’t think of anything smart to say, so I just smiled, and actually it was nicer.

“So, can we take it you’ll be staying on?” he asked. “Now you’ve sorted out the Academy for next term?”

“I suppose so,” I began. “I hadn’t really thought…”

I didn’t want to think about what to do next, not when he was standing quite close to me and I was getting an even better view of just how nice his shirt looked against his tan.

“Should I be sabotaging Liv’s freezer?” he asked. “Make it seem like she needs some more intensive help?”

“I hope you wouldn’t sink so low…” My heart thumped in my chest. Jamie really had moved
very
close, and the way he was leaning on the wall meant his arm was technically behind me. In a moment, if I moved to one side, it would be
around
me.

“How low would I have to sink before you absolutely couldn’t forgive me?” he inquired. His face was serious, but his eyes twinkled. “Just for future reference.”

“Jamie! So glad I could catch you!”

It was Adele, and she leaned over me to kiss Jamie’s cheek as if I wasn’t there.

I stared at her, hoping the shrieking inside my head wasn’t audible to anyone else.

“Didn’t want to chat while Pelham could hear—it’d totally spoil the surprise!” she gushed. “But just to touch base with you about this party—can we talk numbers?” Adele had dropped the sweet Sloane inflections and had gone back to her usual brisk rat-a-tat delivery. “I need to get the STDs out.”

“STDs?” My jaw dropped.

Adele smiled sympathetically. “Save the dates, darling. You have to, when you’re inviting the sort of people I’m after.”

“Are you having a party?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “God, Betsy, Party Guest 101—wait to be invited! Yes, I’m having a surprise birthday party for Pelham, I hear it’s a ‘big one’”—she made the hook signs in the air—“and I want it to be special. I think I can make it memorable for him.” She paused, then added, “I mean, with Jamie’s help!” Adele fluttered a hand to her chest. “God! Not any other way! What do you take me for!”

Jamie suddenly found his teacup very interesting, so I turned back to Adele.

“Is Jamie organizing a party for you?” I asked, rather hurt. Why hadn’t he told me she was hijacking Lord P’s birthday? I knew for a fact that he didn’t want a fuss made.

“Betsy, darling, this isn’t Clue! But yes, absolutely!” She bestowed a triumphant smile on me. “Who else would I get but Party Animals? Jamie,” she added, “remind me to remind you about dietary requirements—Pelham tells me he’s not very keen on shellfish, and I want to get his cholesterol under control. It’s about time someone looked after that poor man.”

I glared at Jamie. “You didn’t mention you were planning a party for Lord P,” I said rather pointedly. “Did it slip your mind?”

“I only really found out we were doing it today,” Jamie admitted. “Douglas was the one who took the booking—”

“I
had
to have Jamie,” Adele interrupted. “He’s the best, and he knows
everyone
. It’ll be amazing. And if any other little announcements have to be made…” She let the horrendous idea hover in the air between us. I was reminded of the awkwardness that ensued when Lord P’s Great Danes broke wind—no one liked to point it out for fear they would seem to be making excuses.

“Shall I send you an STD, Betsy?” Adele inquired. “It’ll have the dress code on, so you’ll know what to wear. You can pop it in your diary.”

“I think I know when his birthday is, Adele,” I said through gritted teeth. “I haven’t missed one yet.”

“Oh, my Ghhhod, you’re offended!” She gasped as if it hadn’t occurred to her that I might be, and turned to check that Jamie saw too. “Oh, no! Betsy, sweetie! It’s only because you’re so busy with this place—I thought I’d be helpful and step in with my experience. I organized so many bashes for Edgar, and everyone said they were just wild…”

I gazed at Adele and wondered if she actually remembered
telling me that her second husband had to have a title, but the third and fourth didn’t matter so much.

Jamie hurried to smooth things over. “Betsy’s probably got lots of great ideas about what would go down well, haven’t you?”

“Best to leave it to the experts, don’t you think, darling?” Adele pouted her pink lips and tipped her head.

I stared at the pair of them, as Adele started wittering about how big a cake one could transport in a Range Rover. I wondered, in horror, if she planned to jump out of it.

But Jamie was nodding politely, and my chest throbbed with disappointment. He’d gone out of his way to help me organize the day. He’d magicked up hundreds of glasses and pulled in favors and made everything sparkle, including me. But if he was doing the same for Adele—well, how special was it? It was something he was good at. Parties. People.

I looked at his handsome face, listening to Adele with all the appearance of someone listening to a rational conversation and not the drivelings of someone with peroxide poisoning.

“Pelham through the ages, you know, with sixties finger food, and waitresses in hot pants, or maybe waiters in hot pants! Something for everyone! Who knows! Ha ha ha…”

I silently handed him my daffodil back and walked into the house. Adele lifted her fingertips without looking round, but she didn’t even pause for breath before launching into her firework requirements.

“Betsy!”

Mark was waving his long arm at me over the heads of several groups of guests as I went back into the main hall. I could only assume he’d been made over by Anastasia—either that, or he was prepared for a “before” look. He’d been stripped of his
sober shirt and was suffering in a fashionable purple number and more gold jewelry than most women would pile on for New Year’s Eve. But he was bearing it with surprising grace, given that his previous wardrobe color palette was based on the shades you might paint a camouflaged battleship.

I smiled back and waved as he pointed toward Miss Thorne’s office and gave me the thumbs up. “See you in there!” he mouthed, and mimed fighting his way through the chattering crowds.

Lord P was sitting in the small chair next to Miss Thorne’s desk, oblivious to the gruesome party plans being laid for his benefit in the garden. He seemed in an excellent mood, given that Miss Thorne was clasping her hands at the desk itself, her face bright and tight with tension.

“Betsy!” He nearly leaped to his feet as I walked in. “Just the girl! I have some really wonderful news for you.”

I have to admit, my heart went into my mouth. “About…the Academy?

“But of course.” He beamed at Miss Thorne. “Would you like to tell her, Geraldine? Or should we wait for the man of the moment?”

On cue, Mark walked in, with a bottle of champagne and four flutes.

“Is that one of the better bottles?” I asked, raising my eyebrow. “Paulette says we’re running a two-tier system.”

“It’s better than our best,” he said. “I bought it myself this morning, in anticipation.” He paused, waiting for Lord P, who gave him a generous nod, then let a broad smile play across his face. “Congratulations. We’ve got all the deposits we need. We’ll be continuing next term, and hopefully for many terms to come!”

“Really?” My voice squeaked with delight.

“There are more than enough deposits, in fact,” said Lord P
happily. “I hear you’re oversubscribed for the first two months. Your—what was it?—your Social Life especially seems to be particularly popular.”

“I’m astounded,” said Miss Thorne, as if she’d just popped a mint and discovered it was actually a marble.

Mark was struggling with the champagne cork. He looked up at me and held the bottle out with a wry smile.

“Hold the cork, twist the bottle, that’s right, dear,” prompted Miss Thorne, as I was doing just that. “There,” she added as the cork came out with a small hiss.

I poured out four neat glasses, and Lord P raised his at once.

“Here’s to you, Betsy,” he said. “The new director of studies!”

“I’m sorry?” I couldn’t believe it. “Really?”

“If you want it, the position’s yours. Best chap for the job. Now, don’t rush into a decision,” he added. “I appreciate that you’ve got your clients and your career up in Edinburgh to think of, but if you’d like to stay here and direct the new courses…” His face, usually such a vision of control that it seemed to be carved from the same wood as cricket bats, was almost boyish.

Any annoyance I’d felt about Jamie and Adele floated away as the champagne bubbles bounced around my bloodstream and the reality of what Mark had said sank in. I’d done it! I’d come up with something that real people actually wanted—and I’d saved the Academy using Franny’s notebooks and my own real-life, didn’t-go-to-finishing-school experience.

“When can I start?” I said, forgetting for the moment that I had an imaginary office and several imaginary employees, not to mention my imaginary clients to consider. “I’d really love to!”

I turned to Mark, who gave me a conspiratorial wink. Purple
suited
him, I thought distractedly. Whoever had made him over had done more than just change his clothes—his hair
looked great, his face was animated, and he seemed much more handsome. Much more…ask-out-able.

Ooh, I thought as he tipped his champagne flute up to sip from it and I caught a glimpse of his soft inner lip. Maybe I should. Maybe this was what Liv had meant about inviting romance into my life.