Society Girls

  “I'm not scared of him,” spits out Emma. No? Well, I am. God, it's all about her, isn't it?

  “We could have brazened it out. What was he going to do?” Er, kill us all, Holly? And that's probably the best case scenario.

  “I COULDN'T SEE HIM BECAUSE I'M PREGNANT, YOU SILLY COW!” bellows Emma.

  I'm glad she pitches it thus because it filters through a bit quicker to my befuddled brain. We all look down to her stomach. Well, Holly does but I have to do a pretty amazing neck twist just to get it in sight. It is a little swollen. I personally would have put that down to one too many cream buns but maybe Charlie wouldn't. Oh my God. Could this get any worse?

  Another significant silence descends which is just as well because the conversation hasn't been going too great so far. It is actually very welcome for me as I try to make sense of all this. So Emma was due to marry this Charlie character. Right, my brain is fine with it up to here. Then she finds out that he is actually Martin. The same man her father put away in that case I was reading about on the microfiche this morning. Was it this morning? It seems an awfully long time ago. Anyway, the case created quite a bit of controversy here in Bristol because a lot of people believed Martin shouldn't have been sent to prison. There were protests outside the courthouse and Sir Christopher was sent a lot of hate mail over it. Martin was fifteen years old then, very bright and destined for Oxbridge and for great things. He had been taking ecstasy. A girlfriend of his wanted to take some too so he sold her one of his tabs. She died and he was convicted of manslaughter. From what I could gather he was not a supplier of the drug but just happened to sell one of his own supply on. Sir Christopher had gone for the manslaughter charge while others were urging for it to be dropped, and he had got the maximum sentence too. The fact that Martin had actually sold one of his own stash seemed to be the icing on the cake for Sir Christopher because, as he explained, had he not sold it on then Martin would be dead rather than the girlfriend. The fact that she had paid for it rather than been given it seemed peculiarly pertinent too.

  The newspapers seemed split on whether Martin should be punished or not. Some said that if he took the drug and sold the drug then he should take the penalty for it. Others said that thousands and thousands of people have done the same thing, Martin was not an official supplier and therefore should not be made a scapegoat. Sir Christopher McKellan believed an example needed to be set. And in front of me sits his daughter who, it would seem, is paying dearly for this example, because Martin Connelly must be one very severely pissed off bunny.

  Holly pulls up quietly and soberly in front of a building.

  “Where are we?” I ask from my eyrie.

  “James's flat. I have a key. It would only be a matter of time before Charlie found us at my flat.”

  After I have been levered out, our little group makes its way to James's building. Holly uses a key to let us in the front door, we go up two flights of smart stone stairs and then in a second door to a spacious, airy apartment. There are cardboard boxes everywhere because James is, of course, moving in with Holly, but a huge leather sofa with accompanying TV still sits in the middle of the room and Emma and I make our way over to it and flop down.

  “Tea?” Holly asks after a moment.

  “Wine?” I'm in need of something slightly stronger.

  She nods and then makes her way over to the kitchen, leaving me with Emma's slightly hostile presence.

  I wondered briefly whether “Thought of any names yet?” might be a good opening gambit. I would also enjoy a tsk-men-are-crap chat but decide Emma isn't the girl to have it with because Seth, although extremely crap, would actually come out looking pretty good next to Charlie. I let the silence continue instead and take the opportunity to look at Emma properly. She looks a little shaken but still manages to exude this God-given certainty that she is simply the best thing to have walked on this planet.

  Holly returns holding three glasses. She's even managed to find some ice. She gestures her head toward me to take the front glass and then hands one of the others to Emma.

  “I've added some water to make a spritzer for you, Emma. You know, because of the . . .”

  Her words trail off at the extremely withering look that Emma deigns to give her. Of course, Emma is pregnant. This pregnancy malarkey is already not scoring very high on my fun-for-Clemmie scale. I take full advantage of my baby-free state and start swilling back the booze.

  Emma takes her drink and looks determinedly out of the window while Holly sits down on a nearby cardboard box. I sincerely hope that it doesn't collapse on her because I will be forced to laugh and Emma hates me enough already.

  “So, Emma,” says Holly hesitantly, probably hoping she's not going to be shouted at again. “Do you think you could possibly tell us the whole story?”

  Yes, this silence, although highly desirable not so long ago, is now starting to play on my nerves.

  Emma takes a small sip of her drink and then looks at us both. “Very well,” she says calmly. “I met Ch . . . Martin about six months ago at a party . . .”

  “In London,” Holly finishes off for her.

  “Shhh,” I say, not willing to stop Emma now that she's got started.

  “Yes, in London. Did he tell you that?” We both nod. “Well, he was telling the truth at that point. God knows how he managed to orchestrate it, he must have been monitoring my movements for months. Anyway, we started to chat and then he asked me out the following week. I was completely flattered, I suppose. I mean, you've met him, he's really nice looking and very charming. Perhaps I should have suspected something, but why on earth would I?”

  Holly and I shake our heads madly, which seems to be the appropriate response.

  “We started to see each other more and more often, always in Cambridge though. He never came down here to Bristol, I suppose for fear of meeting my father again.”

  “You didn't know what he looked like?” I ask suddenly. “I mean from the case?”

  “He was a minor at the time so the papers weren't allowed to print pictures of him. Daddy never involved me in his work, he always tried to protect me from it. I was at school anyway and to me it was just another of Daddy's cases, I scarcely paid it any attention. After Charlie and I had been seeing each other for a while, I started to fall in love with him.” Tears well up in her eyes and all at once I feel incredibly sorry for her. “And he did a very good job of making me think he was in love with me too.”

  She pauses for a second and has another sip of her drink. I finished mine ages ago but no matter, the story is engrossing.

  “He asked me to marry him which did take me by surprise because it was so early on but he said he simply couldn't wait. Of course, then I wanted him to meet my father. I don't have much family—”

  “Yes, we know,” says Holly. “In fact, that's what made it so easy to . . .” Her words trail off and she shifts uncomfortably on her box. “Sorry. Go on, Emma.”

  “He said he didn't want to meet my father. Daddy has always been a bit of a snob where my boyfriends are concerned.” Although we try our level best not to, neither Holly nor I can stop our eyebrows raising at this point. I try not to look at Holly and quietly boggle into my glass. Daddy has always been a bit of a snob? Does Emma think she's an amazing free-thinking socialist? She continues, oblivious to our eyebrows, even though she doesn't possess any herself, “. . . and Charlie, I mean Martin, convinced me that it would be a really bad idea. He said that Daddy would tell me that he wasn't worth marrying and that we should have a private ceremony, just the two of us, and then we could go straight down after the wedding and announce it to him. That way he couldn't do anything about it. Of course, I was so blind with love that I agreed, and it seemed so wonderfully romantic. I can't tell you how exciting it was having this huge, great secret. I would listen to the conversations at work, the girls talking about their love lives, and I would think to myself that I am marrying this gorgeous hunk of a man and wouldn't they all fall off their c
hairs in shock if they knew.”

  A tear falls from her eye and lands on her tracksuit bottoms, where she rubs at it absently with her thumb.

  “But you told Tasha, your flatmate?” I say encouragingly.

  She takes a deep breath and manages to carry on, albeit in a shaky voice. “Yes, I told Tasha. I had to share it with someone because I was so excited and I knew that I could trust her. I actually told no one else. I hope she isn't too worried.” I look nervously at Holly. She probably is now that we've put the wind up her. “I just couldn't face phoning her to tell her the truth. I felt so ashamed.”

  “So you were getting married?” Holly prompts gently.

  “Yes, and as the wedding got closer I became more and more nervous about doing this behind Daddy's back. I tried to talk to Charlie about it a couple of times but he just looked at me really reproachfully and said something about how we had made an agreement so I dropped it. But then I found out I was pregnant.”

  “But how?” I interrupt. “I mean, I know how but was it deliberate?” I color slightly.

  “No, I was on the pill but I'd had an ear infection. The doctor gave me antibiotics and told me to take extra precautions but I just didn't believe it would happen to me.” Now, I wonder how many times those words have been uttered. “Maybe subconsciously I wanted to get pregnant. I don't know. But I was still having periods because I was still on the pill so I simply didn't realize. Then I started to put on weight and felt really tired so I went to the doctor again last week. I suppose I panicked once I knew but I simply didn't know what to do. I didn't tell Charlie, I mean Martin. It all got too big for me and so I went straight round to Daddy and told him everything. It was quite a relief.”

  “How did he react?” I ask nervously.

  “Of course he was angry at first, but he's not a bad father and finally after all the ranting he said as long as I was happy he was, and did I have a picture of the lucky chap? Daddy knew immediately who he was. I remember he went an almost deathly white and wouldn't speak for a long time.”

  “Charlie, I mean Martin, told us that he had asked your father for permission to marry you and your father had refused him.”

  Emma gives me a withering look. “Obviously my father hasn't set eyes on him since the court case. That didn't stop him from recognizing him instantly from the photo though. After all, he did stare at his face for eight hours a day in a courtroom for four months.” I wonder what her father will do if he sets eyes on me again. I dread to think what he must think of me.

  “God, what an awful shock for you.”

  “I thought it must be coincidence at first. I thought we must simply have met each other at the party and fallen in love and that it was awfully unlucky. Of course, when I started to think about it I could see that he knew exactly who my father was. He had lied about his whole life. He told me he had lived all his life in Cambridge and was a teacher. There's no way a convicted felon can be a teacher. Daddy said he had a really rough time in prison and he regularly received hate mail from him. Martin absolutely despises Daddy, he said in his letters that he ruined his whole life. He missed out on his youth for the sake of one ecstasy tablet which he took alongside thousands of others and yet he seemed to pay for them all. What better way to get back at the man who ruined your life than by ruining the life of his beloved daughter?” More tears run down her face and I hastily fish about for a tissue. I hand over a manky old one that's been buried at the bottom of my handbag. She's about to object but then takes it anyway.

  I look over at Holly. I feel unspeakably dreadful.

  “So your father hid you away?” Holly asks quietly.

  “My father was petrified that Martin was going to do something awful. He wouldn't let me go back to work or to my flat. He called John Montague immediately and I went to stay there. Luckily I hadn't told Martin about John and how close we are to him. My father went to the police but didn't tell them I'm pregnant. The police said they couldn't do anything because Martin hasn't done anything officially wrong, he's just asked a girl to marry him. But you see, if Martin notices I'm pregnant, bearing in mind this is the man I've slept with for the last six months and he knows my body pretty well, then he will never let me go. Do you understand me? He will never leave me in peace if he knows I'm carrying his child. And can you imagine how he would laugh? How I have played into his hands? I mean a divorce would have happened, but a child as well? My God! What a coup for him! An everlasting memory for my father right in front of his eyes.”

  “How far gone are you?” Holly asks.

  “Fifteen weeks now.”

  “You don't look that pregnant,” I say, trying to comfort her. “I mean, if he did catch sight of you.”

  “I simply cannot take that risk. I just can't. Besides, I don't want to see him.” Her voice rises slightly with the emotion. “I don't want to see his gloating, triumphant face. It would be like some sort of little victory ceremony for him.”

  “But he must know that his game is up?” asks Holly in puzzlement. “He must know that you have somehow found out who he is? Why else is he trying to find you?”

  Emma places her glass on the floor and then looks at her hands. “I don't know,” she says simply. “Maybe he wants to gloat; after all, we did snatch away his near-perfect revenge just as he was about to pull it off. Maybe he's confused and wants to find out why his carefully laid plans have gone wrong. Or even worse, maybe he has found out that I'm pregnant.”

  “But how could he do that?”

  “Maybe the doctor's surgery has called about something, maybe he's noticed I now hate the smell of coffee, maybe . . . maybe a lot of things.” She is starting to get anxious; the once still hands are pawing at her knees. “If he looks back at our last few months together then maybe he can piece something together. I just don't want to be around to see him.”

  “But you can't stay hidden forever.”

  “My father wants to move me far away. He knows some people and he's making arrangements.”

  “And you've decided to keep the baby?” Holly asks gently.

  Emma jerks her head up and looks at us both square in the eye. “Yes,” she says defiantly. “I've decided to keep the baby.”

  “I'm so sorry, Emma, about letting Charlie know you were at John Montague's house.”

  “My father hasn't even let me return to my flat to collect any clothes, so I am stuck wearing these . . .” She brushes contemptuously at her tracksuit bottoms. “John's housekeeper had to lend these things to me. Can you imagine? His housekeeper.” Hmm. Sympathy is st-ar-ting to evaporate. “On top of the fact I am pregnant by someone who just wanted to get back at my father . . .” Her eyes fill with tears and her voice chokes a little. Okay, sympathy is coming back. “Besides, if you managed to find me then it was just a matter of time before he did too.”

  Holly takes this insult squarely on the chin and makes head motions at me to follow her. We decamp to a corner of the room.

  “We have to help her,” whispers Holly.

  “I know. I suppose she could stay here. Would James let her?”

  “James is going to kill me.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “But we have to look after her until her father can move her to those people.”

  “I know, it is our fault she's lost her little hidey hole.”

  “We must not cock up on this,” says Holly firmly.

  “The Colshannon girls may cock up a lot of things but I vow that we will not cock up this,” I say firmly.

  And with this small promise, we return to Emma and the wine bottle.

  Chapter Eleven

  James is a little bit more than cross. In fact, I don't think I would be exaggerating if I say that James pretty much hits the roof several times and then goes on to hit the roof of the flat above. I stand in the corner of Holly's flat later that day, quite hoping that my part in this won't be overdramatized or even mentioned at all.

  “How can you be so bloody irresponsible?” he roars.
“Whenever you mentioned Emma, I told you to leave it. Couldn't you take a gentle hint?”

  “Well, you should have told me what was actually going on,” says Holly defensively.

  “Holly, I COULDN'T tell you what was actually going on because, believe it or not, some parts of police work are CONFIDENTIAL. Not to mention the added complication that you actually know Emma McKellan and you're a reporter. I had no idea you were doing a story on the poor girl.”

  “Well, maybe the police should have done something about Martin Connelly.”

  “What could we do? Arrest him for asking a girl to marry him? We had to wait for him to commit an offense. You should have done your research more thoroughly. Instead you took your information from a convicted felon and Emma's flatmate.”

  “Clemmie went to see Sir Christopher McKellan too,” adds Holly sulkily. James looks over in my direction. I'm hoping he might mistake me for a pot plant or something. Does she have to involve me? Does she?

  “You sent Clemmie to see Sir Christopher? Oh my God, Holly, you involved your sister in all this?”

  Atta boy. That's the attitude.

  “I couldn't have gone to see him, he knows who I am.”

  “And would probably have explained the situation to you. Why did you automatically assume he was the villain in all this? Didn't it occur to you that Emma had gone to a great deal of trouble not to be found? And that if she really wanted to marry this man then she wouldn't just lie down and let her father lock her away? She had defied him thus far. There are so many questions that simply didn't occur to you.”

  “I needed a story,” says Holly sulkily.

  “You WHAT? Are you saying you didn't care what the actual facts were? Poor Emma McKellan has been through hell and all you care about is your story?”

  I don't think Holly quite meant it that way. She probably meant to say that her need for a story temporarily blinded her to a couple of pertinent facts. I push myself a little harder into my corner while James continues.