Uptown Girl (8 page)

Tears
soaked Emma’s pillow that evening, for she realised that she was living a life of quiet despair too.

14.

Emma was on auto-pilot the following morning for the shoot. She duly made love to the camera, but was divorced from things between takes.

She
had it in her diary that she was due to meet Scarlett after the shoot. She was tempted to cancel, as she was keen to talk to Celia about something, but as it was unlikely that Celia could speak until after school had finished Emma met up with her model friend in their usual coffee place, opposite South Kensington station.

The
two friends kissed each other on the cheeks and plopped their similar Mulberry handbags upon the table, along with their now identical iphones. Scarlett snapped her finger and a waiter came over, nearly tripping over his tongue as he did so. Scarlett had the ability, like an old fashioned movie star, to look both elegant and sexy. The waiter at first was lost for words (though this was in part due to English being his second language perhaps) – and then he babbled.

“It
was a shame you couldn’t make the perfume launch Em... Everyone who was everyone was there... This New York thing should be a blast. Easy money – the best kind of money. I’ll put in a word for you. It’s likely someone will drop out of the shoot and you’ll be able to take their place.” Scarlett was more hyper than normal. Perhaps she was on something.

Emma
nodded, but had no intention of joining the travelling circus of a group of models being flown over to New York to launch a new wonder bra, which would be as uncomfortable as it would be overpriced. She had gone on such trips before. There would be models snorting and throwing up in the bathrooms. Ad execs would be promising her the world, yet delivering nothing, in order to get into her knickers – and new wonder bra. She would be invited out to endless parties where she would be introduced to endless movie stars (who could now only get work on TV), feeling that somehow she was being pimped out to them. Emma grew exhausted just listening to Scarlett trying to sell the package to her.

A
respite came when Scarlett headed off to use the bathroom. Emma breathed a sigh of relief. She picked up the iphone on the table to check the time and a text message came through as she did do. The message was from Jason Rothschild and she opened it.

“
Hi
babe
.
Can’t
stop
thinking
about
Saturday
night
.
You
were
comfortably
the
highlight
of
my
evening
Scarlett
.
Was
nice
to
wake
up
to
you
Sunday
morning
too
.
As
a
thank
you
can
I
take
you
out
to
dinner
one
evening
this
week
?
Jason
xxx
”

Dismay
and then anger coloured her being. Emma, feeling repulsiveness and resentment towards both her so-called boyfriend and so-called girlfriend, tossed Scarlett’s iphone on the table and picked up her own. She grabbed her handbag too and walked, or half ran, out of the restaurant.

Indignation,
betrayal and misery coursed through Emma’s body as she made her way home. She wanted the world to swallow her up, or rather swallow up and grind into dust Jason Rothschild and Scarlett Silver. The bastard and the bitch! Her hands shook as she got to her apartment and she tried to make a cup of tea. Tears welled in her eyes, but she was too furious to cry. She was close to hyperventilating. Part of her wanted to scream down the phone at the pair of them. Part of her wanted to sleep with one of his friends, out of spite. Part of her wanted to alienate Scarlett within her social set – and spread rumours so as to lose her the job in New York. She wanted revenge, justice. If they had laughed about her behind her back on Saturday night, she would have the last laugh and win the game.

The
doorbell rang however to disturb her black and bleak thoughts. Emma collected herself together to answer it. It was the postman, with an Amazon package. Curious as to its contents, as she hadn’t ordered anything for the week, she opened the box immediately after shutting the door. The package contained a deluxe, hardback copy of
Our
Mutual
Friend
. She read the name William Flynn on the invoice.

A
smile broke through the clouds. There were tears in her eyes for an altogether different reason. Should William have delivered the package himself she would have been lost for words or she would have babbled. He was decent, genuine, wise and fun. He was everything Jason Rothschild wasn’t, Emma realised. Rather than anger or bitterness it dawned upon her that she should be feeling relief. Relief in that Jason had revealed his true colours before things had become serious. Relief in that she hoped that both of them would feel too ashamed to contact her – and she would be free of them. “In the course of justice none of us should see salvation.” More than justice or revenge, Emma craved (and had been granted) her freedom. The only way to win, in regards to the games Jason and Scarlett played, was to not take part. Jason Rothschild and Scarlett Silver, made in Chelsea, were contemptible and laughable.

Emma
took her new book to bed and eventually drifted off to sleep for an hour or so. When she woke she called Celia and asked about the viability of her training to be a teacher. What qualifications did she need and how should she best proceed? Finally her degree in English Literature might be of use.

“I’ll
look into it. It’ll be far from impossible Em for you to gain the necessary qualifications. Can I ask what has brought on this change of heart and change in career?”

“I
want to be so much worthier than just a doll in a doll’s house,” Emma replied, with contentment and purpose.

“Well
you can explain that and everything else to me when I next see you. Talking of dolls though, I don’t suppose you have a number for your father’s friend, William? I’m thinking of getting in touch, to see if he would like to go on a date.”

Emma’s
heart at first sank at the prospect of what Celia was saying, but then it leapt as she realised the reason why. If anyone was to go to ask William Flynn out - it would be her!

15.

Emma tried on a number of outfits. Her bed, wardrobe – and anywhere that could house a hanger – was a sea of colour and materials. First she put on a Madisyn summer paisley pencil skirt from Ted Baker with a black flared top by Jil Sandro. She was initially happy with her choice but then a pinched expression came over her face as Emma realised that it was just a “maybe”. She next modelled a short and simple red crepe dress from Alexander Mcqueen. Emma turned to look at herself in the mirror so much that she nearly grew dizzy. But ultimately she concluded that the dress showed far too much leg for an informal dinner at her family home. After mixing and matching a number of skirts and tops Emma succumbed to temptation by trying on what she called “The Heartbreaker”, a white mesh detail dress by Emilio Pucci which subtly accentuated her shoulders, figure, slender arms and sun kissed complexion. Her blonde hair shone lighter, golden, against the clean-lined white dress. “The Heartbreaker” was sexy, summery and straddled formal and informal occasions. Over the past year she had turned heads at Henley, Ascot and various launch events in the outfit. The dress had inspired speechlessness and wordy compliments from men and women alike. She thought about William and how good she looked – and glowed. The dress would give him something to live for, Emma jokingly mused. Yet she then laughed at herself. Her ritual of a one woman fashion parade in front of her wardrobe mirror seemed ridiculous. William was different – and she had no wish to break his heart. She wanted to look nice, for him and for her, but more so Emma just wanted him to like her for who she was, not how she looked. In the end she settled on wearing a pair of jeans, a white cotton blouse and a cropped navy blue jacket with a pair of brown leather boots (albeit her outfit was sourced from Guess, Ralph Lauren, L.K Bennett and Burberry respectively). She also wore her hair down.

Emma
drove over to her father’s via Waitrose and picked up the necessary ingredients to make her famous, or infamous, Hake and Chorizo fishcakes (which she made on a variation of a Matthew Fort recipe). Over a glass of wine she told her father about her plans to look into qualifying as a teacher. He was as shocked as he was pleased to hear the revelation and Emma pretended not to notice the tear when Robert Hastings remarked how happy Emma’s mother would have been to hear the news too.

Sentiment
soon went out the window however as Robert Hastings commenced to hover around the kitchen. After offering his daughter some friendly advice on cooking one too many times Emma dismissed the Brigadier from the room (her threat of serving him up a three bean salad for dinner hastened the old warrior’s retreat even more).

B
y keeping busy in the kitchen Emma was distracted from thinking too much about her dinner guest. But when the doorbell went she suddenly felt a mixture of nervousness and happiness. The butterflies were definitely fluttering in her heart rather than her stomach (and the butterflies were having kittens). But when he warmly smiled at her when she opened the door all was well.

William
was wearing a jacket, jeans and a shirt. Emma thought how her boots probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. But that didn’t matter. So much didn’t matter anymore. Yet so much other stuff did.

“Hello,
please come in.” Emma was even gladder to see him than she expected. He was more than handsome. She saw his soul. He was beautiful. “Thank you so much for sending me the book. It meant a lot. I may well have to give you one more, or rather perhaps one less, fishcake as a reward.

“I’m
hoping that you’re being modest in regards to your cooking skills.”

“Unfortunately
I’ve got a lot to be modest about.”

“I
can vouch for that,” Robert Hastings remarked as he came out of the drawing room and greeted his guest. “You’re a brave man Shakes for trying out my daughter’s culinary talents. She’s much better at putting an outfit together than a meal, although I dare say we had worse at Bastion,” Robert Hastings said with a chuckle and a wink.

“I’ve
still got plenty of time to take the chorizo out of your fishcake and insert some tofu Daddy,” Emma replied, with more than a little earnestness (though she flashed a covert smile and winked at William).

Robert
Hastings felt a shiver run down his spine and retreated back into the drawing room to fix them all a drink.

16.

Dinner was served. Hake and chorizo fishcakes with a leek and pea puree. Plates were cleaned in pleasure, rather than in politeness. Robert Hastings asked his guest how his business and former soldiers in the regiment were faring. Feeling that Emma wasn’t wholly involved in their conversation William asked her about her work and her coming week. She told him about her decision to train to become a teacher. Time appeared to freeze as he stopped and just gazed at her, either in an admiring or enamoured fashion. Every time he saw her, he liked her more.

It
was perhaps at this moment that Robert Hastings noticed the growing spark between his guests. They constantly made each other laugh and hung upon each other’s conversation. Feeling like a fifth wheel Robert excused himself, citing tiredness, and went to bed. In the hope of fuelling any spark between them however Robert unsubtly dimmed the lights and lit the candles upon the dinner table before heading up to bed.

Once
out of earshot Emma and William spoke fondly of their host. Emma told her friend of her intention to introduce her father to her agent. The conversation meandered like a sunlit river however and they also discussed books, their favourite films (
Schindler’s List
,
Notting Hill
,
Groundhog Day
,
Shakespeare In Love
,
Con Air
) and the news of the day (involving lying politicians, moronic footballers, avoidable wars, moronic politicians and lying footballers). They were able to laugh at most things, both in a satirical and also self-deprecating way. Yet the conversation occasionally grew serious. Afghanistan had scarred him in unseen ways. The topic of religion came up and Emma realised how William possessed a quiet sense of faith, as well as a quiet sense of despair. A couple of times she felt that he wanted to mention his wife, but didn’t.

They
chatted for hours, forgetting the time, enthralled and entertained by each other’s company. As a thank you for dinner William said that he would take Emma to see the latest production of
Much Ado About Nothing
at the Old Vic. They also promised to dust off their tennis rackets and arrange to have a game at some courts close to the garage. Emma asked if William would be fine getting home, having missed the last train. He explained that he would flag down a black cab outside Turnham Green tube station.