Miss Manners (24 page)

He nodded again.

‘Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?’

‘
I tried, Anna. Believe me, I really did. But I didn’t want you to treat me differently, like everyone else. The reason I came to England was to start afresh in a country where nobody knew who I was. So I changed my name.’

I looked at him for a moment, my mind whirling like a spin cycle.
‘But the accent last night. It was English. And the dances. You weren’t even at the academy when we learned those routines.’

‘
Well, Adam, who’s a family friend of mine, taught me how to speak in an English accent in exchange for me teaching him the American accent. I even learned a few British curses, too, like, “That’s bang out of order, mate.”’

‘
Obviously you still need to work on the accent,’ I observed.

‘
As for the dancing,’ he continued, ‘well, I asked him to teach me all the moves he learned at the academy so that whilst he was at the premiere of
Sebastian
I would be at the ball dancing with you. I’ve always had two left feet, so I spent early mornings through to late nights trying to perfect all the steps.’

There was a silence.

‘You lied to me!’ I finally screamed, throwing the mask at his face. ‘I mean, who are you? Brian? Henry? Jekyll or Hyde? And where did you come up with a name like Henry Biggins? I mean, I doubt you’re a panto fan. You know what? I can’t even trust you anymore. And friendship is based on trust. I mean, if you couldn’t even trust me enough to tell me the truth, then you’re not a friend. Oh, and remember how I said that Brian Fairfax was probably a playboy, just like the rest of them? Well, I was right.’

Henry
’s, or should I say Brian’s, face dropped. ‘What do you mean?’

‘
Today, I found out that you’re going out on a date with Sophie. Sophie! I mean, come on. I thought you hated the girl?’

‘
Sophie?’ he parroted, confused.

‘
She played back a recording of herself saying that you asked her out early this afternoon.’

Brian looked confused.
‘What?’

‘
It’s disgusting,’ I added with a sneer.

‘
But I wasn’t even in the office today. Last time I was in the office was yesterday. And no, I don’t like Sophie. Especially not in
that
way.’

‘
Oh, really? You actually expect me to believe that? So what other tricks do you have up your sleeve, huh? What other names have you been going by? Benny Bugle? Spotty Bumcheeks? Wormwood Scrubs?’

As I
reeled off my list of absurd names, Brian edged closer towards me; so close, in fact, that I found it extremely difficult to continue. I stopped, staring into his hypnotic sky-blue eyes. His shoulders relaxed, his body edging into mine.

As he moved closer and closer, I got a waft of his
scent – of shower gel and sunshine. My heart began to flutter. If I had been holding a drink, I would’ve spilled it. But I didn’t. So I just allowed myself to melt into his eyes.

‘
Wormwood Scrubs?’ he said, smiling cheekily. ‘I’ll have to remember that one.’

‘
So your name isn’t Henry Biggins?’

He shook his head.

‘And you’re not going out with Sophie?’

He shook his head again.

There was a moment of silence, during which we just stared at each other.

‘
So, who’s your dance partner for tonight?’ he asked, breaking the silence.

I looked at him for a moment,
then broke into a smile. ‘Brian Fairfax.’

Suddenly, it occurred to me what this meant. It meant that his real identity would be exposed to the entire nation.
‘Oh, wait, but if you dance with me, then everyone will know who the
real
Brian Fairfax is,’ I whispered worriedly.

‘
Well, they’re bound to find out sooner or later,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘And it’s better sooner than later, I guess.’

For a long time we remained
there, our eyes locked, breathing like runners after a sprint.

A loud jingle from my phone made me jump, breaking the tension.
It was Felicity.

‘
Hi, Anna. Just to let you know I’ll be home in around twenty minutes. Don’t worry, it’s only two-thirty. Miss Manners starts at eight, so you still have plenty of time to make the dress, sort out hair, make-up, nails and outfits. I’ll see you soon.’

Felicity sounded excited, so I presumed the shoot
had gone really well. But I was still pretty worried about Tara. I mean, I hadn’t seen her all day and her phone kept going to voicemail every time I tried to call her.

I turned to Brian.
‘I have to go.’ Although, to be honest, I could have chillaxed at Fairfax Manor for much longer.

Why do ringing phones always have to ruin the moment?

Brian raised an eyebrow, as if I had triggered a memory.

‘
See you later, Henry,’ I added for good effect.

‘
See you later, Phoenix,’ he joked.

When I arrived home at around 3
p.m., there was still no sign of Tara and no sign of Felicity either. I tried calling Tara again, but still no answer. Time to get started on making the dress. I gathered a few materials (silks, satin, organza, cotton, wool, lace, chiffon and velvet), then laid them out on the table next to the sewing machine. Next, I flicked through a catalogue of patterns, none of which really took my fancy. So I decided to come up with my own pattern (talk about jumping in at the deep end).

I spent the next
twenty minutes marking, pinning, cutting and stitching, without the faintest clue as to what I was doing. I tried to remember all the steps Porphyria had taught us in Friday’s dressmaking class, but it all seemed so hazy now. And the problem was, every time I tried to stitch on the sewing machine, the elastic kept pulling out. I was going nowhere, and fast. So when Felicity did eventually arrive, I stood up in excitement, desperate for her help.

‘
Sorry I’m late,’ Felicity exhaled, her cheeks slightly windburned. ‘How are you getting on?’

‘
Badly,’ I said, pouting. ‘I’ve come up with my own pattern. But whenever I try to stitch it, the elastic falls out.’

Felicity walked over to
the table and began to inspect the sewing machine. ‘That’s because you forgot to lock your stitches.’ She smiled, adjusting a knob on the sewing machine. ‘See?’

‘
I knew I forgot something,’ I conceded.

‘
Also, you need to make sure you go by the book in the beginning. So try not to risk coming up with your own pattern until you’ve practised enough. We don’t have very long, so I’d suggest you keep the pattern simple yet stylish. Oh, and remember to start with calico just in case you make any mistakes,’ she said, bringing out a piece of calico.

In the end, I opted for a wallflower, fifties-style dress – one with netting sewn on the inside to make it all big and poofy.

Felicity spent the next hour and a half on standby, making sure I didn’t make any disastrous mistakes – unstitching bad stitches, checking the measurements, and so on. But finally, we’d managed to finish it. I was proud of the fact that I’d actually made a dress (albeit not completely by myself). Though considering the fact that I’ve never really been a fan of the fifties look, it was unlikely I would ever wear it.

Felicity beamed triumphantly at me.
‘Welcome to Anna Borgström’s cache of couture.’

I stared at the dress, which
resembled something out of an am-dram costume cupboard, sighed, then looked at Felicity. ‘You’re not going to make me wear it, are you?’

‘
Well, you’re going to have to wear it sooner or later. Better sooner, I say. At least that way, you’ll be able to see if it fits before it’s too late.’

It was the most unflattering dress I had ever worn in my entire life. It made me feel like a frumpy character out of
The
Stepford Wives
. Or, rather, like an ice cream cone.

I turned to face Felicity, who wore a poker face.

‘Hmm.’ Felicity rubbed her chin ponderously. ‘I think it needs a little tweaking here and there. Apart from that, great job. In fact, give or take a few more attempts and I may even have to watch my back for a rival couturier.’ She raised her eyebrows, then smiled cheekily.

Yeah, for a school rendition of
Grease
,
I thought.

I know Felicity was only being polite and didn
’t want to hurt my feelings, but did she really expect me to believe this was actually good enough for the dressmaking round? I bet the other girls’ dresses were all knockouts – figure-hugging, bust-enhancing masterpieces that would completely dwarf my attempts at dressmaking. I wanted to scream, rip the dress off, stamp on it three and a half times, then run to my room and cry. Instead, I said, ‘Thanks.’

Whilst Felicity
made a few last-minute adjustments to the dress, I changed into the Anna Sui flapper dress, which was way more flattering.

I spent the next hour or so sporting a head
full of bendy rollers that made me look like a great pink reincarnation of Medusa, which I hoped would transform my Shirley Temple nightmare.

As Felicity worked her make-up magic on my tired-looking face, I attempted to glue on an entire packet of Boots false nails, which only half-resembled a French manicure. I
’d never worn false nails before, so you can imagine the gluey mess I made all over my fingers. Shame it wasn’t chocolate; I could have licked it off.

‘
Et voilà!’
Felicity finally announced, grabbing the full-length mirror and placing it in front of me.

I stood up and stared
, transfixed, at my reflection; my hair was brushed into a sleek up-do with a perfect bouffant, my make-up was glam and sultry, and I felt... I felt beautiful.

I looked over at Felicity, feeling a wistful expression wash across my face.
‘Only you can transform an object fart into an
objet d’art
,’ I said, smiling half-heartedly, wishing I could have worn the Cleopatra.

Felicity laughed.
‘I don’t think you realise, make-up or no make-up, just how beautiful you are. Now go and show them what you’re made of. Come on, let’s get a taxi.’

A few minutes later, the taxi
pulled up outside. Felicity and I both ran out and jumped inside. But I had a strange feeling I’d forgotten something. Something important.

‘
I feel like something is missing,’ I said worriedly.

W
e both looked at each other, then yelled simultaneously, ‘Outfits!’

While Felicity waited in the taxi, I rushed back inside to grab the bag stuffed with the outfits. But as I turned to leave, I found myself glued to the spot by Felicity
’s unfinished Cleopatra masterpiece. I turned to go, then looked at the dress again.

I could use it for the
dressmaking round
, I thought in a split second.

Before I had the chance to analyse the decision
fully, I swiped the dress, stuffed it in the bag along with the other outfits, then ran out of the flat without looking back.

‘
Everything okay?’ Felicity asked.

‘
Fine, thanks,’ I said, averting my gaze guiltily. For the briefest of moments, my conscience prickled into life. Shaking the thought quickly away, I stared out of the window.

26

Eyes on the Prize

As the cab approached the Royal Albert Hall, I felt like a tourist again. The beautiful, domed building transported me to the Regency era – a time of hand kissing, long gloves and romantic ideals.

The cab glided towards the building and into a swarm of waiting paparazzi who, having immediately spotted the vehicle, turned their heads towards us
, hawk-like.

‘
It’s Phoenix Valentine and Felicity Diamond,’ shouted one pap as we stepped out of the cab.

Dictaphone lady pressed
her Dictaphone to my face. ‘Who are you wearing tonight?’

‘
Anna Sui,’ I replied.

‘
Why aren’t you wearing Felicity Diamond?’ she asked curiously.

Felicity stepped in.
‘Because Felicity Diamond hasn’t finished making the dress yet.’

At this
the swarm of paparazzi, journalists and reporters engulfed Felicity, bombarding her with questions.

As I was about to make my getaway, Murphy appeared
, looking like one of those talking germs in a bleach advert.

‘
Wait a moment, aren’t you forgetting to pose for the cameras?’ He looked at me like a teacher who’s caught you cheating in a maths exam.

I laughed lightly
, as if I might have been wearing a bonnet and carrying a parasol. ‘Of course.’

Oh
, crap
, I thought in panic as the cameras flashed behind me.
What do I do?

‘
Stand a little side-on,’ Murphy murmured reassuringly, as if he’d read my thoughts. ‘Chin up and smile. Right now, you look stiffer than a Thunderbird puppet.’

I did as I was told, trying out as many poses as I could remember.

Fake it till you make it
, I reminded myself, aware that my ‘confident’ grin was probably turning a little manic around the edges.

Once
Pinkie had arrived and the paps seemed to be losing interest in me, I headed inside.

I was immediately overwhelmed by the lavish decor, which pretty much dwarfed Lancaster House. Everyone was dressed so formally: gowns, suits, gloves,
the whole shebang. I glided through the crowds, excusing and pardoning as I brushed past each person, but was stopped midway by Brian, the
real
Brian, who smiled at me. He looked gorgeous. It must have been the suit. He looked like James Bond.

‘
You look divine,’ he said, smiling.

I blushed.
‘Thank you,’ I said, trying to calm the waltzing butterflies in my stomach.

He stared into my eyes, as if attempting to crack a code.
‘You’re welcome.’

We exchanged shy smiles.

‘I have to get ready. I’ll see you later,’ I said, biting my lip nervously.

‘
Oh, yes, of course.’ He nodded, pushing his hands into his pockets self-consciously.

Suddenly, I remembered Tara. I tried to call her again, but still, there was no answer. It kept going to her answerphone. And what was all the more worrying was the fact that she wasn
’t answering her phone to anyone, not even Felicity. Seeing as I’d given a ticket to both Tara and Felicity, I hoped she would turn up later on. If not, then I really would have good reason to worry.

In the corner of the room
I noticed Sophie, who looked at me like a predatory feline.

What
is she doing here
? I wondered.
Maybe she’s hatching an evil plan or something
?

I walked over to an attendant, who guided me towards the dressing rooms at the end of the corridor.

As I entered the room, I felt as if I’d stepped into a jungle. Everyone was pushing into and stepping on each other. Girls were ripping clothes off, having clothes put on, having their hair dried, having their lips touched up. I looked around in breathless panic, struggling through the melee, wincing as stilettos punctured my feet and shrill voices pierced my eardrums.

Luckily, I was already ready
, thanks to Felicity.

A few minutes later,
Plastic Fantastic entered. Pinkie was wearing an outrageous blonde wig, a hideous pink dress trimmed with fluffy faux fur and sky-high stilettos. She turned towards me, her face like thunder.

‘
You look like a curtain,’ she muttered murderously under her breath.

‘
Opinions are like bum holes; everybody’s got one,’ I said, nettled.

Pinkie huffed,
then walked over to the mirror to touch up her lip gloss.

Once everyone was ready backstage, there was a knock on the door. It was Murphy. He was wearing
a headset and prodding his earpiece intermittently, even though he probably wasn’t listening to anything.

‘
Are you ready, girls?’ he asked, clapping excitedly. ‘I just wanted to let you know, it’s almost a full house, so I’ll be announcing a beginner’s call shortly. Oh, and good luck. I’m sure you’ll all be incredible.’

Then
Murphy bowed his head, pressed a forefinger to his earpiece and frowned.

‘
Ah, it looks like the curtain is about to be raised and the show about to begin,’ he announced. ‘So, girls, if you’d like to apply any finishing touches to your faces, hair and outfits, I need you all to follow me as quickly as possible to the backstage area.’

The girls swamped the mirrors in their final attempts to perfect their looks, pushing and shoving each other out of the way. It really was dog eat dog.

Once Murphy had made the final call, the girls murmured, trampling each other on the way out to the backstage area.

As I stood behind the curtain, I could hear the gentle murmuring of the audience, the orchestra warming up, and
feel the lights melting my make-up. It suddenly all felt so real. I felt like a terrified five-year-old who’d just wet herself on her first day of school. In fact, I was so nervous that butterflies were doing the YMCA in my stomach.

‘
Eyes on the prize,’ I chanted to myself in a desperate attempt to stay focused. ‘Eyes on the prize.’

What made me feel worse was the fact that Miss Manners was going to be filmed – live! A live event, which meant I had no room for error! And, in the famous last words of Michael Jackson,
‘This is it!’ This was the reason I had sold my car, gambled away all my money and lost my best friend.

At first, I was happy just
to blog about a socialite’s diary. But, thanks to Romilly, I was assigned with the task of actually winning the contest in return for a job at
Couture
. So, here I was, a fortnight after The Incident that changed my life forever, standing on a stage, my mind numb, my head spinning and my heart pounding. So many things had happened in the past week to push me out of my comfort zone. But right now, there was only one thing on my mind – winning.

‘
Welcome, lords, ladies, gentleman and your highness, to the fifth annual Miss Manners contest ahead of National Good Manners Day tomorrow!’ I heard the compère shout to the awaiting audience, who I presumed was standing in front of the curtain.

‘
As I’m sure you are aware,’ he continued, ‘Miss Manners has been covered in both the national and international press throughout the past week, as well as on numerous televised talk shows. According to one critic, Miss Manners has been dubbed, “
Ladette to Lady
meets
Britain’s Got Talent
.” But, of course, Miss Manners is not just another reality TV or game show. Brie Breckenbridge originally set up the contest in an attempt to find the next headline-making It girl who was worthy of the spotlight. A girl who was intelligent, talented, skilled, dignified, refined and mannered. She wanted to find someone who young girls could aspire to be, admire and respect – a
real
role model. And, as I am sure you agree, the past four winners are more than worthy of that title. But, today, we are here to find this year’s fifth Miss Manners.’

I looked at the other girls standing in the line and swallowed hard. I suddenly needed the toilet. Somehow, this always seemed to happen at the wrong moments
– whenever I was either cold, scared or nervous. You know the feeling when you’ve just sat down on a notoriously terrifying rollercoaster, started having second thoughts, then the harness suddenly locks you in tightly? Well, this was one of those moments. The point of no return. So, I just had to click my heels and get on with it.

Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore
.

‘
And on the judging panel this year are,’ he announced, ‘Your Royal Highness Princess Annabelle of Monaco, current Miss Manners title holder Arden Maxwell,
Tatler
editor in chief Lisa Blake and musical director Fraser Harrington. So, please join me in giving them a huge round of applause.’

The audience applauded uproariously to prove they believed in fairies. Meanwhile, behind the curtain, I was sweating like Lee Evans after a gig and trying not to wet myself at the same time.

‘And, of course, the incredible tutors at the Miss Manners Academy over the past week, who will be assisting the judges in their final decisions: name analyst Maxwell Hilton, image director and stylist Arabella Mears, publicist Murphy Richards, dialect coach Eve Hamilton…’ The list went on. And on.

By the time he finishes reading the list
, I thought to myself,
I might find I’ve aged by about twenty years
.

I glanced around at the other co
ntestants. Whilst Frunella looked like a rabbit in headlights, Pinkie and Genevieve seemed as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

‘
And, of course, not forgetting Brie Breckenbridge,’ the compère finally added. ‘So, it is with great pleasure that I introduce to you this year’s Miss Manners contestants.’

Sudde
nly, the curtain began to rise and I felt the panic rise again with it. As I tried to think up all the possible ways of dealing with stage fright, I remembered something my mum once told me. ‘Imagine everyone in the audience is sitting on the toilet,’ she said. So, as soon as the curtains were up, I did. I stared at the overweight, snooty woman in the front row who seemed to be the only one refraining from applause, and imagined she was on the toilet discreetly attempting to squeeze out a solid. It didn’t work. I still felt as nervous as a karate kid being asked to shoot a basketball hoop.

Oh man, if I
’m going to do this, I need to do it
, I thought. It was like jumping off a diving board. Hold your nose, deep breath, go!

As the comp
ère announced each of our stage names, he flashed a mega-watt smile at the audience. At the front of the stage there was a retractable catwalk, which I presumed we would have to use at some point, probably for the posture round.

‘
And Phoenix Valentine,’ he announced, which made me jump. It reminded me of when I used to jump whenever the teacher used to announce ‘Five minutes!’ during a timed exam.

‘
Now, stage one,’ he continued, ‘is style, focusing on media image, where we shall be taking a look at projections of each contestant’s image in the media, including newspapers, magazines, TV and radio. For example, any photo shoots, interviews and so on which have occurred within the last week.’

If it only included
media image from the past week, then this meant that Pinkie was pretty much immune from all her tacky Z-list shenanigans since The Incident. Unfortunately for me, the only pictures they chose to project onto the screen were of Pinkie trying to look all innocent, demure and respectable, which we all know she isn’t. Then, her interview with
Couture
was quoted, which was sickening.

Eventually, the comp
ère turned to me. ‘And Phoenix Valentine,’ he announced.

I turned around to find several unflattering pictures of me plastered onto the projection screen. The kind of photos I would need to Photoshop before daring to show anyone other than myself.

In the photos, my eyes were half shut, my mouth mid speech, my legs tangled. After that batch, I pinned my hopes on the
Couture
photo shoot, which also turned out to be a let-down. I highly doubted I would score points on any of the photos.

Next was the
Couture
interview.

‘
It says here,’ the compère continued, ‘that you’re interested in working with UNICEF to help supply more female teachers to schools in Afghanistan in response to gender discrimination. In your words, “All girls have dreams and the rights to realise those dreams.”’ He turned to me, smiling. ‘I look forward to the Q and A round.’

Oh
, no! I’d completely forgotten about the Q&A round! I couldn’t even remember my own name, let alone any of the questions. In fact, I couldn’t remember any of the rounds.