Society Girls Read online

“So what are you doing here then? Why aren't you back at home trying to seduce her?”

  Barney's thirtieth piece of bread pauses en route to his mouth. He looks at me cagily. “Because she's gone away too.”

  “Has she?” My mind tries to elicit some valuable clue from this little piece of information. “Where's she gone?” I ask suspiciously.

  “On holiday.”

  He looks at me warily and I suddenly remember that little pertinent detail my mind has been searching for. Didn't my mother say that Catherine Fothersby was going away for a few days? The light of recognition dawns on my face. “Oh Barney!”

  He knows he's been sussed. “Now, don't be like that, Clemmie!”

  “How could you?”

  “I know you don't like her much, but I think she's wonderful!”

  “Our mother is going to kill you.”

  “Mum won't be so bad once she knows the full facts of the situation.”

  “That won't change who this girl is!” I hiss back at him.

  “I know,” he peers over my shoulder. “Look, Holly is coming. Please don't say anything until I've sorted it all out?”

  I look at his gorgeous, pleading face and my heart melts. “Okay. But I warn you, no one is going to be very happy about it,” I whisper.

  “Hello, Barney! It's lovely to see you!” Holly leans over and gives him a big kiss. “I met Sam on the stairs and he said you turned up last night. So they let you back into the country after the electrocution incident then? I thought you might have a police record. Who's looking after Norman?”

  “I dropped him off with Sally yesterday, along with his beanbag and about a hundred tins of sardines.”

  “Sally will look after him. More is the pity.”

  My stomach lurches at the mention of Sam and I wonder if he will be coming down to breakfast. I'm not sure if I can face him and Charlotte just yet.

  “What time are we going to see the Winstanleys?” I ask Holly, ready to make a quick exit.

  “Oh, I don't know. James is sorting that out. What are you doing this morning?”

  “I thought I might go into Nice and have a look around.”

  “I think we might need to get you some more clothes. I tell you what, I'll buy you some!” She beams at me. “I missed two of your birthdays while you were away!”

  “That's really sweet of you, Holly, but—”

  “No buts! You can be my new project!”

  I look at her in alarm. These projects don't normally end happily. “Maybe we should wait to see if Mum and Dad want to come?”

  “Mum's useless in the mornings so they might not be down for hours! Let's sneak off before anyone else notices.” This actually sounds quite good—Holly and I can argue about the clothes in the car.

  I am just about to leap to my feet when Charlotte comes into view. Damn it.

  “Morning everyone!” she greets us cheerfully. “Isn't it a super morning? I am so pleased we came! Aren't you, Barney?” I don't even want to begin to think why she is in such a good mood. “Holly, how are you? It is so nice to see you. Now, tell me all about this ‘High Society' thing that Sam says you have to write.”

  I lean back in my chair feeling fidgety while Holly tells Charlotte the latest gossip from the paper. Charlotte is looking very pretty this morning. Has her hair always had such a glossy sheen? Is her complexion always so clear and peachy? I can't see why Sam could even vaguely bother with me with this creature in tow.

  Holly has finished telling Charlotte the latest news and brings me out of my reverie by asking eagerly, “Where's Sam this morning?” I groan to myself. Please don't tell me we're going to have to wait to say hello to Sam.

  “He's having a lie in.” I'm just breathing a small sigh of relief when suddenly a voice pipes up behind us, “Charlotte, darling! Barney! How lovely to see you both!” God, this is all I need.

  Charlotte leaps up in delight and they all kiss and hug. You would think my mother hadn't clapped eyes on Barney for years. My mother puts Morgan on the ground during all these greetings and Charlotte watches him anxiously and lifts her handbag off the floor. This makes me feel marginally better.

  Charlotte starts to tell my mother about their trip out. “. . . when Sam called me and told me you all wouldn't be back for a few more days, I was so cross at the thought of you out here that Barney and I just decided to fly out! So we packed a bag, got into the car, drove to Bristol airport and caught the next flight out! It was such fun!”

  “What did you do with my darling seagull? I hope you didn't leave those friends of yours in charge. He doesn't like them very much,” my mother says to Barney.

  “We took him down to Sally's.”

  She beams at him. “Is he eating okay?”

  “They ran out of sardines at the shop so we had to try him on tuna.”

  “How did he like it?”

  Barney wrinkles his nose. “I don't think he was that keen.”

  “Well, was it in olive oil or brine? Because he only likes tuna in olive oil from Fortnums . . .” She glances over to my father, who is looking at her sternly, and very wisely changes the subject. “How are the rehearsals going? Did Sally say?”

  “I've been at almost every rehearsal,” says Barney. With that harlot Catherine Fothersby. “It's been going really well, I think.”

  I watch as the family continue to gossip together. My father and mother seem quite genuinely fond of Charlotte.

  “Clemmie and I are off to Nice for a couple of hours before we go to visit Emma so we'll see you all later,” Holly announces after a few minutes. She stands up decisively.

  I follow suit. “Okay. What about James though? Should we wait for him?”

  “God, no! He'll be on the bloody phone all morning!” Holly seems utterly unrepentant that he'll be on the phone all morning sorting out the mess she caused but I have no time to pick bones with her. She grabs a couple of slices of bread and I do the same. “Besides, he hates shopping and generally becomes highly irritable. We can take the car. Let's go! Bye all!”

  She and James must be getting on better because her usual hyper energy has been restored. She drags me out of the breakfast room, shouting to our father as she goes that she'll have her mobile on.

  “Now, what do I have to remember?” she says as she gets into their little Fiat Punto.

  “Er, to drive on the left?”

  “Or is it the right?”

  Now she has me confused. “Well, it's the opposite to what we do in England.”

  “Which side do we drive on in England?”

  “You don't know? I've been driving with you all this time and you don't know which side of the road we should be on?”

  “Now, Clemmie, don't be like that. I normally just follow everyone else.”

  Marvelous.

  We finally have an opportunity to chat when we are safely on the road to Nice and following a French Renault that presumably knows which side of the road to drive on.

  “So what are you looking so miserable about?” asks Holly.

  I make a face and look out of the window. Telling Holly about Sam is one thing, but to have the evidence shoved in front of my eyes for the next twenty years or so with her knowing how I feel about him is quite another. And yet I can't not tell her. I think I'll wait for things to calm down a bit and maybe I'll see things more clearly.

  Holly glances over to me. “Come on. I can see something is upsetting you.”

  The temptation to fall sobbing on her shoulder is almost too much for me.

  “Tell me what it is,” she repeats.

  “The girl Barney fancies is Catherine Fothersby!” I burst out. Well, Holly would have kept going until I told her what was wrong and faced with the choice of sacrificing Barney or myself I'm afraid Barney gets it every time.

  Holly nearly runs over a couple of pedestrians as she turns to look at me. “Noooooo!”

  “Yes! He made me promise not to tell you. So you can't mention it to him.”

  “Ho
w did you find that out?”

  “He told me!”

  “He told you? Why didn't he tell me?”

  “Well, I sort of guessed so he confessed.”

  “How on earth did you guess?”

  “We started to think it must be someone really awful because he hadn't told Sam, and then I came up with Catherine Fothersby and he told me I was right.”

  “Who's ‘we'?”

  “Me and Sam.” I blush at the mention of him.

  “Sam knows too now?”

  Damn. I'd forgotten that I hadn't seen Holly since I'd cocked that up too. “Actually, they all do. They plied me with too much drink and made me tell them.”

  “My God! It can't be true! Barney and Catherine Fothersby! Well, he's absolutely wasted on that sourpuss and I shall tell him so. I am not being related to that family. Catherine would be our sister-in-law.”

  “Please don't say anything to him. He'll know I told you.”

  “Well, I shall do everything I can to dissuade him.”

  “Me too,” I say, wanting to get off the subject. “When are you and James going home?”

  “Oh, tonight. I'd like to stay longer but James could only take two days' holiday and I honestly think Joe will fire me if I'm away any longer than that. What about you?”

  “I think I'll try and get on a train tonight. Mum and Dad are coming home tomorrow but I need to get back to work myself.” I try to sound jolly but my stomach turns over at the thought of going back to the café. My self-confidence seems to have taken such a knocking that all notions of working in a gallery fly out of the window. “Anyway, how is work for you? Has Joe forgiven you yet?”

  “He seems to have. Luckily Sir Christopher has sweetened up since you dropped Emma off with the Winstanleys so I think Joe has almost forgotten about it. He let me have a couple of days off to come out here because I said I needed to finalize some things with Emma for ‘High Society.' I didn't dare tell him about all the trouble out here.”

  “But you haven't got anything for ‘High Society' and Emma is hardly likely to tell you now. Isn't Joe going to expect marvels from you for the first installment?”

  “Ahh, but I do have marvels! Mum told me she's spotted several politicians over here!”

  “She hasn't spotted any politicians over here.”

  “Well, as I see it, I have a reliable eyewitness who claims to have seen them and I believe her. It will be a fabulous first installment for the all-new social pages! I intend to breathe new life into them and then Joe will wonder how he ever did without me!”

  “I take it that James has forgiven you and is responsible for this restored gung-ho attitude to life?”

  “Don't be such a cynic, Clemmie. But yes, he has forgiven me.” She beams at me and I take it that they managed to patch things up last night.

  Once we have found a parking spot, which is no mean feat in the center of Nice, we start to stroll toward the shops. I walk behind Holly, dragging my extremely heavy heart along in her wake. As soon as the pavement becomes wide enough, she drops back to join me.

  “Are you still upset about Barney?” she asks sympathetically.

  “A bit.” Well, that's true. Just not as upset as I am about Sam.

  “Come on! Let's blow the budget!”

  “I honestly don't need much, Holly.”

  “You must be joking. Besides, you can always pay me back. Let's try in here.” She points the way to an exclusive little boutique. “I'll go in first because they'll probably think you're a gypsy and turn you away,” she says merrily.

  I thought she was supposed to be cheering me up.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  If I could have worn all my new things at the same time then I would have done. But as it is I settle for my new silk wraparound skirt, which is embroidered with little pink flowers, and a tight-fitting T-shirt, along with my new strappy sandals. I damn near break my neck in them on the stairs but no matter, at least I will die looking fabulous.

  I meet Holly, James and my parents in the reception.

  “Darling, you look simply marvelous!” my mother gushes. “Thank God Holly took you shopping! I do hope you have thrown that tatty old skirt you insist on wearing in the bin.”

  “I certainly won't be wearing it as much.”

  “Shall we go?” says James. He is not really asking us.

  Only the five of us are going. Barney was leading a campaign for him, Sam and Charlotte to follow us in another car, but was easily distracted by the promise of a swim and some ice cream. Besides which, some of us have to remain behind so Martin Connelly won't think anything is amiss if he is still watching us.

  James leads the way to his rental car, and we all clamber in. Yet again I draw the short straw and have to sit in the back between Holly and my mother, but I smile cheerfully because I am so grateful to Holly. Not only has she bought me great armfuls of clothes, refusing to even let me look at the price tags, but she has also given my self-esteem a large boost when it needed it. At least I'll be well dressed every time I come across Sam for, oooh, the next twenty years or so.

  I haven't seen Sam properly since our little incident last night. The family has always been around and, of course, so has Charlotte. Everyone was right about that, by the way. She really is very pretty. When we arrived back at lunchtime she was wearing a very sweet pale blue sundress with a matching pale blue polka dot bikini underneath. She had her hair loose and looked as though she had walked straight off a magazine shoot. So you can see why I am so grateful to Holly for making me so much better equipped for the encounter. Sam gave me a couple of sympathetic little smiles but luckily I was able to hide behind my sunglasses. What on earth am I going to do back in Cornwall when we have no sun? Not to mention what I am going to do back in Cornwall if this little crush on Sam continues. It hasn't shown any signs of abating yet; in fact, I think it might have got worse. I feel as though I've been kicked in the stomach every time I so much as glimpse him. I glance over at Holly. I might have to talk to her before I explode, but just as I am thinking this my mother says something that brings me out of my reverie.

  “. . . I have to say that I am looking forward to meeting him. When did you say he was flying over, James?”

  “I spoke to him this morning, just before he caught his flight. He said that if Martin Connelly was over here in France with us then he might as well fly over to check that Emma is okay.” James keeps looking in his mirror to ensure Martin Connelly isn't following us.

  “Em, who's he?” I ask tentatively. I sincerely hope “he” isn't who I think he is.

  “Sir Christopher McKellan,” says my father from the front seat. “Have you been listening to any of the conversation, Clemmie?” Of course, it had to be.

  “Sir Christopher McKellan? We're going to see Sir Christopher McKellan? Nobody mentioned this. STOP THE CAR!”

  James looks at me in his mirror, frowns and ignores my instruction. “Don't be silly, Clemmie. I'm on a motorway.”

  “I don't mind, I'll walk back or catch a bus or something.”

  “Why don't you want to see Christopher McKellan?”

  “Because he thinks I'm some sort of reprobate sent by Martin Connelly to find his daughter. He'll probably try to imprison me on the spot.”

  “Clemmie, he's a barrister. Not a high court judge.”

  “He's bloody scary and I don't want to see him.”

  “Oh come on, Clemmie. I'm sure he's not that bad.”

  “Don't come-on-Clemmie me. And you weren't there. He was that bad. And he must think I'm the spawn of the devil.”

  “Well, he doesn't think I'm all that great,” says Holly.

  God, this is turning out to be a really bad day.

  After about an hour's drive and several enforced games of I-spy-according-to-my-mother, Sir Christopher McKellan doesn't seem so bad after all.

  We started to climb up into the hills of Provence about half an hour ago and the scenery is beautiful. When we pull up at the house, I th
ink it can't be a bad place to be exiled in. It is a large square villa with beautiful green shutters and a red tiled roof. We park the car next to a gargantuan blacked-out Range Rover and we all get out and walk toward a colossal front door. We wait in silence while my father pulls the bell.

  I think the family must be expecting us because a somber member of staff immediately opens the door. We follow in single file until another door is thrown open and we are announced, in a heavily accented voice, to the family. I am at the back, as usual, so it's not until everyone has shaken everyone else's hand and stepped to one side that I have a view. Naturally, Sir Christopher is the first person to step into my field of vision and much as I try, I can't seem to see anyone else.

  He proffers his hand and looks seriously at me. “Ah, it's the reprobate.”

  Everyone laughs heartily as I nervously shake hands with him. Sure. Laugh it up. He's put people away for less. I then step to one side to reveal Holly, who is positively cowering behind me.

  “Miss Colshannon. We have met a few times before but as always your reputation precedes you.” Holly laughs nervously and shakes his hand.

  After the rest of the introductions are made, Mr. Winstanley, who is a quietly distinguished man, gestures us forward toward a group of sofas in front of a large fireplace. He must see me looking at it because he says, “It can get quite chilly here in winter, especially as the house is designed for hot weather.”

  Emma is sitting in the corner of one of the sofas and my parents bustle forward to greet her. She must have some of her own clothes by now because she is in a beautiful strappy dress. James formally shakes her hand and Holly and I stay at the back and wave awkwardly at her.

  We all sit down and the butler character who answered the door places a large tray of glasses and a huge jug of what looks like lemonade on the low coffee table in front of us.

  Sir Christopher kicks off. “Thank you for taking the time to come all the way out here, Detective Sergeant Sabine.” Is that James? I am quietly impressed and have to stop myself making a face at Holly.

  It must be him because he replies, “I came out here because Martin Connelly is starting to harass the Colshannon family and for their sake I would like to sort this mess out. I think they have done more than their fair share in helping Emma.”