Society Girls Read online

  “That's right. Cornwall is up and coming, you know. So no thank you, I don't need or want your help.” I fit my key into the lock of the door and open it. I turn round to look at him once I'm inside. “And you finishing with me and me leaving my job was the best thing that's ever happened to me.” And I shut the door in his astonished face.

  That felt good.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Yee-haa.”

  “No. Louder, Clemmie.”

  “Yee-haa.”

  “No, YEEE-HAAA!”

  “Yee-haa.”

  “YEEE-HAAA! . . . Let me hear you!”

  “Yee-haa!”

  “Clemmie, are you trying? I don't feel as though you're really getting into the spirit of things,” says my mother.

  “Of course, I'm trying. Cowboying does not come naturally to me.”

  She tuts, dismisses me with a wave of her hand and moves on to the next extra. “Right, Trevor! Let's hear you!”

  I scurry away gratefully to the back of the hall where Barney is sitting with my old poncho on and a large cowboy hat covering his face while he has forty winks. It actually quite suits his golden looks. It's not a dress rehearsal but we all have been instructed by my mother to wear an item of clothing that makes us feel like a cowboy and my boots have come in handy. There are over twenty of us extras for the cowboy scenes and the hall is absolutely packed. Such is the force of my mother's personality that she has them all sitting as quiet as mice in orderly rows awaiting their instructions.

  “Barney, wake up!” I nudge my brother.

  “Hmm? Are we on yet?”

  “No, no. Just fancied a chat. So, did Sam and Charlotte mention when they were getting back at all?” I ask nonchalantly, smoothing down the side of my dress. It's one that Holly bought me in France. I don't really need to wear it to this rehearsal but it makes me feel vaguely better. It's soft pink, buttoned all the way down the front and stops just above the knee.

  “They didn't say.”

  “Sam will pop in and say hello when he gets back, won't he?”

  “Clemmie, I know what you are thinking and I do feel bad about it. Really I do, but I don't think there is anything I can do.”

  Oh God. I am utterly transparent. He knows how I feel about Sam. I stare miserably at my feet. And if Barney knows, it is only a matter of time before Holly knows, and then my mother.

  “You tell me what I am supposed to do,” he continues. “Do you want me to tell Sam?”

  I look at him in alarm. “Lord, no. Don't do that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Can't we just keep it quiet?”

  “And hope it goes away?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But it won't go away Clemmie. Can't you see that?”

  “Well, I was kind of hoping that it would,” I mumble. With absolutely no resolution made, we sit in silence and watch the performers.

  Barney nudges me. “Look! Mrs. Fothersby is on.”

  Mrs. Fothersby, absolutely panicked at the idea of her darling Catherine taking up with some lout from the Lakes, is determined to keep an eye on her and has therefore volunteered to take Sam's place in the extras line-up. I haven't actually told Barney about Catherine and her fabled lover and I'm not particularly relishing it. I decide to put it off no longer.

  “Word has it that Catherine met someone on holiday. A young man,” I say casually.

  “Did she?”

  “But it probably doesn't mean anything at all.”

  “Not if he's in his right mind.”

  I frown. Is this any way to speak about your one true amour? “How do you mean?”

  “Poor sod will run a mile if he ever meets the Fothersby family.”

  Oh I see. He's just jealous and trying to cover it up with a bit of snorting-at-the-in-laws stuff. “I don't think they're that bad,” I say to him comfortingly.

  Barney gives me a long, hard look. “Clemmie, what are you on about? They're bloody nightmares.”

  “Oh Barney, don't give up hope completely. I'm sure it's just a phase on Catherine's part.”

  “Clemmie, what on earth are you talking about?”

  “You and Catherine. I'm talking about you and Catherine.”

  “Me and Catherine? What about me and Catherine?”

  “Well, she's the girl. Your secret girl . . . isn't she?” I add on uncertainly.

  “SHE'S WHAT?” Barney rises to his feet and elicits a furious “shush” from the one and only Catherine Fothersby, who is watching her mother from the front row. “Are you completely nuts?” he hisses and sits back down.

  “Well, you said this girl had just gone on holiday and Catherine has just come back from the Lake District. And we all wondered why you wouldn't say who she was so we thought it must be someone awful. Like Catherine Fothersby,” I say quickly.

  “Who's ‘we'?”

  “Oh, er, me and Holly. And Mum.” I say the last sentence very swiftly in the vain hope that he won't really hear me.

  “AND MUM?” he half yells at me. This elicits another furious shush from the stage. “Who told her?”

  “Well, I might have done. But it was a complete accident.”

  “How could it be an accident?”

  “I talk in my sleep.”

  “And they all think it's Catherine Fothersby?”

  “Er, yes.”

  “Well it bloody well isn't.”

  “Who is it then?”

  “It's Charlotte.”

  “IT'S WHO?” This time it's my mother who calls from the stage. “Clemmie, dear, could you and Barney take that very silly game outside?”

  “It's Charlotte?” I whisper fiercely at him, ignoring my mother. “You mean you have a thing about Charlotte?”

  “I can't believe you think I fancy Catherine bloody Fothersby.”

  “But what about Sam? He and Charlotte are going out.”

  “Thank you, Clemmie, for pointing that out. I hadn't realized,” he says dryly.

  “But he's your best friend.”

  Barney looks absolutely dejected. “I know. I feel dreadful. The first time I met her she was going out with Sam and I thought she was absolutely gorgeous. Well out of my league, of course, with her being an actuary,” he says gloomily.

  “Don't be silly, Barney,” I say, still trying to recover from the shock. “Surfing is a very worthy vocation. Not to mention the worm-charming. But you said you were getting on well together while we were in France?”

  “We were getting on really well. She's never particularly looked at me in that way before, being Sam's best friend, but we really hit it off. Not that I would do anything, of course,” he adds hastily. “I wouldn't dream of doing that to Sam.”

  “So what was with the haircut and cricket stuff? Why bother with all that?”

  “I know she likes people who make their own way in the world so I wanted to be worthy of her. I wanted a new job. I took up cricket because I know she likes it.”

  “But you're rubbish at it.”

  “I know, but I was sort of waiting in the wings because I didn't think Sam was particularly serious about her.”

  “And now?”

  “I don't know. They were pretty thick down in Cap Ferrat, weren't they? Kept sloping off together.”

  My heart lurches at the thought of it. “Yes, they were,” I say miserably.

  “I only wish I had met her first.”

  “So do I, Barney. So do I,” I say fervently.

  “So everyone thinks I have a huge crush on Catherine Fothersby?”

  “Er, yes.”

  “Including Sam?”

  “I'm afraid so.”

  “But I thought you knew it was Charlotte.”

  I think back to the conversation we had in France. I felt sure he had said it was Catherine but he can't have done.

  “No, I didn't.”

  “Dad knew it was Charlotte. Didn't you run the whole Catherine idea past him?”

  “Em, no. I don't think we did.”<
br />
  “So what was that conversation about?”

  “What conversation?”

  “The one we just had. When I asked you if you wanted me to tell Sam and you said you wished the whole thing would just go away.”

  I look at Barney and bite on my lip. My brain just won't think quickly enough.

  “Em, I don't know.”

  “Clemmie. Tell me.”

  “Oh, okay. I might have a very small, itsy-bitsy crush on Sam. But it's nothing. Barely there, in fact.”

  “Sam? You and Sam? But he's going out with Charlotte!”

  I give Barney a look.

  “Sorry. I can't believe I just said that. Well, Clemmie, you're about two years too late.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Sam used to like you. You know that.”

  “Sam used to like me? No, of course I didn't know that!” My stomach turns to absolute liquid.

  “It was perfectly obvious to anyone with half an eye.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Well, what about that time when Luke finished with you and you ranted on about it for four hours? He sat and listened to you throughout!”

  “You'd tied his shoelaces to the chair! He didn't have any choice!”

  “Ah, but he didn't know that until he tried to get up, did he?”

  “But he's never said anything. Why hasn't he said anything? I never had a clue.”

  “I think he was going to and then you started going out with Seth.”

  “We've been finished for the last year and a half.”

  “And what was he supposed to do? Leap on a plane on the off-chance that you might deign to spend some time with him? Bearing in mind that the only reason you went away was because you were so brokenhearted about Seth! Slimeball. I wish I'd got back yesterday, I'd have punched him. Anyway, Sam did the only thing he could. He got over you.”

  “He got over me?”

  “Clemmie, we didn't know when or if you'd ever be back. You might have met a hunky Australian and stayed out there. You can't expect Sam to stick around forever, he hadn't taken a vow of chastity. He started going out with Charlotte. I really hoped it wasn't very serious at first but now I don't know.”

  My mind starts to reel as I try to fit this information into every conversation I've ever had with Sam. “Why did you think it wasn't serious between him and Charlotte?”

  “Oh, only because of you, but I'm sorry, Clem, he and Charlotte seem to get on really well.”

  “But she doesn't know him as well as I know him!” I protest. Surely if he liked me once then he could like me again? When you have a crush on somebody then you never stop liking them, right? Of course that's not true of Tom in year three but I didn't know about his Spiderman fetish then. Maybe Sam has discovered something about me he doesn't like?

  “I'm sorry, Clem,” Barney repeats and squeezes my hand. My mother calls us up on stage and we reluctantly obey her.

  It's the scene where Katie (played by Catherine) performs a sort of cabaret act in front of a packed saloon (us poor, overworked extras) so all I have to do is sit and watch and throw in the occasional yahoo.

  It takes about twenty minutes for us all to get arranged on stage and I remark to Trevor, our deaf organist, that I can't see the play finishing before midnight. Of course, Trevor doesn't get any of this and I have to repeat it by shouting very loudly into his ear, which doesn't please my mother much.

  We all kick off and I have to say that Catherine is simply marvelous. We all look at each other stunned because none of us know where this has come from. Catherine is dazzling; she is coquettish and brazen, then flirtatious and demure, and her mother doesn't quite know what to make of it but doesn't look altogether displeased at the spontaneous round of applause Catherine elicits at the end of her performance. This boy in the Lakes must have given Catherine a new lease on life.

  The whole scene is repeated and my mother gets what she wants out of us this time because we're not so surprised by Catherine's performance. I don't know at what point he slips in but when I look over at the empty hall before us I see that Sam is sitting in one of the seats. I look quickly back to where Catherine is still performing, my heart going ten to the dozen, and then risk another look. This time he sees me and gives me a very casual smile. My heart still hammering, I smile back in what I hope is a nondelusional way and try to concentrate on what I am supposed to be doing which is absolutely nothing at all.

  Thankfully my mother dismisses us for a short break and with feigned nonchalance I start to wander toward him, stopping to speak to a couple of people along the way. Everyone is still marveling at Catherine's performance, which is lucky because I'm not particularly listening to any of them.

  Sam, in the meantime, has walked down to the front and is speaking to Trevor. I make my way over. In true Sam style, he doesn't kiss me hello.

  “You're back!” I say, stating the obvious and completely uncertain as to how to behave with him. I want to tell him everything that has happened since I last saw him. I want to tell him about Mr. Trevesky and Seth. I even want to tell him about Gordon.

  “Yes, I'm back. How are you, Clem?”

  “Oh, fine. Fired but fine.”

  “Mr. Trevesky finally decided you and Wayne should part company, eh?”

  “Needless to say Wayne is thrilled. Did you have a nice time?” I ask uncertainly.

  “You're back!” says Barney, stepping into our little group. They do a manly handshake and half hug.

  “Just got in. Where's your dad?”

  “Back at home.”

  “I think I'll pop up and say hello. I'll see you all later.”

  He smiles and walks away.

  I feel absolutely deflated.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Go after him!” hisses Barney. “Go on!”

  “I don't know what to say.”

  “Just tell him that you like him.”

  “Oh I can't, Barney. What if he's gone off me?”

  “There's never been a better time to find out.”

  I stand looking at him uncertainly, and then make up my mind.

  I dodge through the rows of seats and run like mad for the door, just as Sam is opening it. “Sam!” I call. “Sam, wait!”

  The figure stops and turns around. “Clemmie? Did you forget something?”

  I slow down to a walk as I approach him and feel my resolve about to go. Oh God. I haven't got a clue what to say to him. I just don't know where to start. I can't even see his face properly to gauge any reaction.

  “Em, Sam. Can I talk to you?”

  “Of course you can, Clemmie. What's up?”

  This is awful. I simply don't know what to say. “I want to talk to you about what happened in France.”

  “In France? Now?”

  “Er, yes.”

  “Well, come and sit down then. We can't see a bloody thing out here.” He takes hold of my elbow and steers me back into the hall. It is the last place I want to have any sort of intimate conversation but I don't really have much choice. Perhaps he wants it here so I can't make any nasty, emotional scenes.

  We go and sit down in the back row. The rest of the cast are wandering back toward the stage and being shouted at by my mother.

  He sits to one side and faces me. “What's up? Are you worried about Martin Connelly? Because I really don't think—”

  “No,” I say hurriedly. “It's not Martin Connelly.”

  “What is it then?”

  I really wish I'd had time to think this through. I glance up and see Barney watching us.

  “Well, it's just that I thought we were, or . . . or might have been . . . but then I could be wrong . . .”

  “Spit it out, Clemmie.”

  “When we were in France together . . .”

  “Look, Clemmie. I know what you're trying to say and I'm sorry about that. I really am.”

  “Sorry about what?”

  “I did have a girlfriend and I'm not such a bastard that I c
ould simply just forget about her.”

  “I know,” I say miserably.

  “And I asked you to bear with me while I sorted it all out and I'm sorry that you didn't have the patience to wait a few—”

  “You asked me to bear with you? When did you ask me to do that?”

  “I slipped a note under your door. You did get it, didn't you?”

  “A note under my door? I didn't get a note under my door. When was this?”

  “The day after Charlotte arrived.”

  Something vaguely stirs in my memory. “You didn't write it on a receipt, did you?”

  “Well, yes. It was the only bit of paper I could find at the time.”

  I groan slightly and start to smile. “I saw a bit of paper on the floor when Holly and I got back from our shopping trip. I thought it was a receipt that had fallen out of one of the bags as I came in so I threw it away.”

  “So you haven't read it?”

  “No!”

  “I thought you were pissed off and simply ignoring me!”

  “God, no!”

  “You had those bloody sunglasses on all the time and wouldn't even look at me.”

  “I was embarrassed.”

  We look at each other properly this time. The first time in quite a few days. We start to smile.

  I glance over to Barney, who is still watching us, and he also smiles encouragingly. In fact, quite a few people seem to be taking more notice of us than of my mother's instructions. Sam also clocks this and says, “Shall we go somewhere a little less public?”

  “Backstage?”

  “Perfect.” He takes my hand and pulls me up. My heart bounds along quite foolishly at the simple fact that he is touching me. He doesn't let go of me as we walk down the hall and through the side door that leads backstage.

  He pulls me toward some old packing cases and we sit down. “So what has happened with Charlotte?” I ask, starting to feel vaguely excited. “I thought you were staying out in France for a holiday?”

  “I just couldn't get the flights back and I thought it would be a bit callous to finish with her and then send her back on a plane while I traveled home with you on the train. I mean, she knew perfectly well why I was finishing it. She's not stupid.”