Debutantes Don’t Date (26 page)

‘Applebridge Hall?’ said Abbey. ‘Yes. That’s him.’

‘Amaaaaaazin’! I saw a clip of that programme! Castles and Tudor mansions and all
sorts competing against each other to win a million dollars to set their place up
as… what did they call it?
A going concern
… The dosh is up for grabs from some American billionaire obsessed with
Downton Abbey
. But how…? What…?’

‘All you need to know at this stage, dear,’ said Lady C, ‘is that Abigail is expected
to help out with some catering project – no doubt serving cream teas in some shop
they’ve probably constructed within a converted part of the estate. With its exciting
armoury and dungeons, the Earl believes the opposition, Marwick Castle, could win.
The Croxleys have owned Applebridge Hall since the sixteenth century, so must build
on its strength of history, tradition and… family values.’ She stood up straighter.
‘Abbey is unable to go. That’s where you come in.’

‘Me? On the telly?’ Wow. So it wasn’t a joke. I bit my thumbnail. ‘Much as I love
reality shows, the last thing I’d want is to be on screen. It’s bad enough in real
life, worrying about spots and bad hair days, let alone in front of the whole nation.’

‘But people won’t know it’s you,’ said Abbey. ‘Not even my uncle, who hasn’t seen
me since I was nine, when he and Daddy had words. My parents will be away on a cruise
and my friends don’t watch such programmes. Even if they do, more than once, people
have mistaken us for each other. It’s a foolproof plan.’

‘What about Rupert?’ I said.

‘I’ve discussed the matter with him,’ said Abbey. ‘You know my little brother – he’s
jolly loyal and won’t say a word. He understands my reasons— and, by the way, thinks
you’ll do a wonderful job.’

‘Didn’t your uncle ask for him to help as well?’

‘Yes, but Daddy said no way, what with his final year at university coming up. Rupe’s
already left for Cambridge early. You know him – never happier than when his head
is stuck in some book about the history of art.’

I stared at her. What had happened to my honest flatmate, who was straighter than
hair squeezed through ceramic stylers; as upright as a sentry box guard? Although
she had a point and, apart from lush Laurence, no one had seen me without make-up,
for years—even boyfriends, as I lazily went to bed with my slap on. ‘But why would
your dad want you to help, if he and his brother haven’t spoken for so long?’

‘You should have seen Daddy when he asked me – he blew his nose and pretended it was
hay fever…’ Abbey’s voice cracked. ‘I suspect he desperately wants to end the estrangement.’

‘So why can’t you take part?’

Subtly made-up eyes all droopy, Abbey sighed. ‘It’s a long story.’

I squeezed her arm. Bezzie mates we were, even without much in common, apart from
loving novels and Scrabble. A lump formed in my throat. Abbey had never been one to
veer from responsibilities, so the reason she couldn’t help her family out had to
be a mega-serious one.

‘You… aren’t ill, are you?’ I said, eyes watering, trying to imagine life without
my best bud. Who would listen to me wittering on about the latest lad I fancied? Who’d
give me the best hugs at moments of true crisis, like last week when I missed out
on getting those designer platform boots in the sales?

‘It’s Zak… He wants me to travel to Africa with him immediately. The orphanage he
helped build there last year in Rwanda is in turmoil. It’s overflowing after more
beastly violence. There are hundreds of children orphaned or who’ve lost their parents.
Time is of the essence.’

‘But why you?’

Abbey shrugged. ‘In pockets of the community they speak French, which I’m still almost
fluent in, thanks to my finishing school days. I also took a course in childcare.
Zak says I’d be a useful member of the team, seeing as I have catering skills as well.’

‘Sounds dangerous to me,’ I said.

‘The organization Zak works for is very well run.’

‘But… but doesn’t Zak understand that sometimes family has to come first?’

Abbey raised an eyebrow. ‘Under these circumstances?’

I sighed. ‘No. You’re right. Most dads would be chuffed that their daughter was keen
to do such charitable work.’

‘And anyway…’ oh, no – Abbey’s voice wavered again ‘…Zak already thinks I put him
second – like last month when he did that sponsored marathon. I couldn’t support him
because Daddy insisted I accompany him instead, on that trip to France to source new
cheeses…’

I nodded. As a catering magnate, Abbey’s dad was keen for her to join him in the business.
Out of his two children, she was the one interested in cooking. However, it was obvious
that the trip had been an excuse. He didn’t think minimum wage Zak was good enough
for his daughter.

Abbey threw her hands into the air. ‘If I go to Africa, Daddy will be forever estranged
from his brother – yet, if I don’t, Zak might decide his future doesn’t include me.’

‘Look, Gemma, dear…’ Lady C straightened her navy blazer. ‘Why don’t you and I go
for a walk and get to know each other? My niece says you were up for promotion at
work – that you were quick to learn and showed initiative. We might both be surprised
at how easily you could learn our aristocratic code of conduct. Why don’t you pay
your parents a visit, Abigail, and find out some more details about this competition?’

Abbey looked at me.

‘Guess it’s only a walk,’ I said and smiled, hoping to see her eyes regain their usual
twinkle.

‘Right,’ said Lady C and smoothed down her grey bob as Abbey left the bathroom. ‘You
should change before we go out. One’s make-up and outfit should look modest and effortless.’

Surely the aim of looking good was to show you’d gone to a lot of trouble?

With a shrug, I went into my bedroom and browsed through my wardrobe. Little did Lady
C know that sometimes I’d dress up in Abbey’s new outfits. My flatmate never minded
– said it was a good way of seeing what they looked like on her. KMid (translated:
Kate Middleton, now the Duchess of Cornwall) was her fashion hero and, I had to admit,
some of her jeans with blazers looked awesome. Also, we both liked our future queen’s
knee-high suede boots, high nude shoes and GORGE long layered hair. Plus Abbey had
recently bought some amazin’ blusher, supposedly favoured by Kate’s sister, Pippa.

Minutes later, I emerged in old jeans, a T-shirt and my only flat pair of sandals.

‘Well, that’s a slight improvement,’ said Lady C, who was waiting in the open-plan
lounge. ‘If you agree to this proposition, tomorrow we’ll go through Abigail’s clothes.
You’re roughly the same size and I brought my sewing kit with me.’

Ooh, that would be a plus - perhaps I’d get to wear some of those sparkly evening
dresses Abbey owned. One awesome long silver gown was a copy of something KMid had
recently worn to a charity ball, following the birth of cute Prince George.

I shook myself. Get a grip, Gemma, this was a ridiculous plan. How could a few glitzy
frocks make up for spending every nerve-racking second of two weeks waiting for someone
to see through my disguise?

‘Now…’ Lady C put on a bright smile ‘…how about removing the rest of that bronzer?’

I took a deep breath and went back into the bathroom. Five minutes later, just as
I was taking off the second eyelash, Lady C joined me.

‘Goodness me! The likeness between you and Abigail is quite extraordinary— before
me stands a glowing young woman with a flawless complexion and eyes as blue as periwinkles.’

I shrugged and tried to familiarize myself with the bare face staring back at me
from the mirror, which I usually only caught fleetingly in the morning. It was like
the younger tomboy me who’d watch footie and climb trees to keep up with her brothers.

‘Auntie Jan wouldn’t approve.’ I shook my head. ‘This goes against everything she
taught me. Without Mum, growing up, at least I had her to point me in the right direction.’

Lady C suddenly suffered a coughing fit. I clapped her on the back and eventually
she managed a half-smile. Despite her stern words, with her crinkly eyes and lavender
smell, Lady C seemed like the kind of aunt the younger me had longed for. Auntie Jan
was more like a fun friend who gave mega hugs but never wanted to let go, as if they
were more for her.

‘Right, let’s go for that stroll,’ she said and we headed back to the lounge.

‘But what if I bump into a mate, looking like this?’ I said. Not that there was much
chance of that – Abbey’s flat was in one of the posher parts of London. And I know
it was superficial, worrying about make-up, but the more natural look just wasn’t
my thing. Even pets looked better pimped up, in my opinion, like dogs with cute bows
and sparkly jackets.

‘True friends don’t care about appearances, Gemma,’ she said and picked up her Margaret
Thatcher handbag. ‘What counts is your integrity, honesty and kindness.’

Yeah, right. Tell that to the women’s magazines, who filled their pages with tips
on dieting and how to look younger.

We left the flat and entered the lift. Lady C didn’t seem so small now that I’d removed
my stilettos. As we exited the building, I squinted in the sunshine, feeling like
I was in a bad dream where you wander down the street and suddenly realize you’re
naked.

‘Shoulders back, dear,’ said Abbey’s aunt. ‘Chin not too high or low and stomach pulled
in. Don’t walk too fast or slow, nor appear aimless – a lady always knows where she
is going. These quick tips on deportment will have to do for this excursion. What
you’ll need is several hours balancing a book on your head.’

‘That only happens in the movies, right?’ I grinned.

She arched one eyebrow, then, as we passed a hairdressing salon, tested my ability
to hold what she called “a suitably civilized conversation”. We started with the weather.

‘Um…hasn’t the sunshine been lovely lately,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you mega hot in those
tights and that blazer? After all, we’re still in August.’

Lady C almost choked. ‘Don’t ever mention something so personal and, whilst I think
about it, also avoid religion and politics and gossip—’

‘But…’

‘No interrupting either. Remember people’s names, compliment them, don’t raise your
voice or ever show emotion.’

Whoa! At this rate, I’d need to take notes.

‘Keep yourself informed, Gemma. Read the papers,’ she said as I stopped to look through
the window of my favourite cake shop. ‘Let’s see what you know about this year’s news…’

Reluctantly, I left the yummy chocolate éclairs and we continued along the pavement.

‘Do you remember what happened with Jordan?’ said Lady C.

‘Mega disappointing, wasn’t it, when she didn’t get back with Peter André?’

Her brow wrinkled deeper than usual as we turned a corner. ‘No, Jordan’s in the Middle
East; it’s a place, not a person. Let’s try something closer to home… The Double Dip.’

‘That new ride at Alton Towers?’ I said as the cheeky street cleaner pushed his trolley
past and gave me polite look instead of his usual leer.

‘I was talking about the recession. Don’t you ever read the papers?’ Lady C let out
a sigh as I led her off the main road and through a small park. ‘Failing current affairs,
ask people questions about themselves, but nothing too probing.’

Easy. ‘So, did you really own a finishing school when you were mega younger?’

Lady C glanced sideways at me and her eyes narrowed. ‘Never allude to someone’s age.
But yes, it was my own business.’

‘Amazin’!’ I said, remembering her advice to compliment people.

‘Amazin
ggggggg
,’ she said and veered to avoid some nettles. ‘Or “wonderful” would be better. Don’t
say “mega”, try, “awfully” and, instead of “wow”, how about “goodness”?’

I opened my mouth. Then shut it. Goodbye spontaneity.

‘What a thoroughly delightful place,’ said Lady C as two children ran past with nets
and buckets. ‘A pied wagtail and nuthatch…Well, I never.’

Clearly, she was some kind of birdwatching buff. Perspiring now, I spotted an ice
cream van. Comfort food might help me forget my nude look.

‘How about a choc ice?’ I said.

‘Goodness, no. It’s highly impolite to eat on the go.’

Instead, we walked onto a bridge. I picked up a twig and threw it into the stream
below.

‘Now it’s my turn for some questions,’ said Lady C. ‘What do you do for a living?’

‘I am – was—a waitress at Pizza Parlour. We’ve all just been given the boot.’

Lady C raised an eyebrow.

‘Oops, sorry! I mean,
made redundant
.’ I coughed. ‘Such jolly bad luck but I’m sure, um, another job opportunity will
arise soon.’

Lady C’s mouth upturned. ‘Good, although there’s just one problem— remember you are
Abbey now. Don’t talk about your own life.’

‘Okay… I was a head chef at Pizza Parlour and, having gained experience out in the
real world, will now join Daddy’s company, Croxley Catering. This will offer me a
super career.’ Abbey used words like “super”. Plus “terribly”. And “silly sausage”.
Lady C beamed and I felt all fuzzy inside, like when Dad gave me the thumbs-up for
explaining the offside rule.

‘But what about you, Gemma?’ she said softly. ‘Tell me about your aspirations.’

I picked up another twig and lobbed it into the current. ‘Dunno— never thought about
it really. Would love to be able to cook like Abbey, but, well… As long as I earn
enough to pay the bills and have a good time, I’m doing okay.’

‘There must be more than that, dear. Self-esteem and self-ambition make a lady. Always
aim high; consider the long plan. That’s the trouble with young girls nowadays – there’s
too much living for the moment.’ She stared at me. ‘You’ve got a real chance to turn
your life around, here, Gemma.’

I couldn’t help snorting. ‘What, in a fortnight?’

‘Life has a habit of throwing opportunities our way.’ She smiled. ‘Who knows what
will happen?’

I shrugged and glanced at an oldish woman, further along the stream, who’d stopped
to lean on her walking stick. A young teenager approached her and— oh my god! —shoved
her to one side, grabbed her handbag and scarpered.