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Nettie beams up at me when we reach the front door.
‘Such a sweet girl you are, Emily.’ Her face darkens for a brief moment, but then she smiles again.
My belly full of delicious scones and hot sweet tea, but my heart emptier and colder than when I’d arrived, I say my thanks again and dismally make my way through the extensive grounds and out into the streets. Back into pleb world where I belong – a mere speck on the crystalline, pristine world of Lady Mary Heatherton-Smythe.
But I also need to see the silver lining. Could the fact that my grandmother is a noblewoman somehow turn out to be a blessing in disguise? Because if the MIL-to-be finds out I come from blue blood, maybe she’ll let off and ease up on me.
As expected, Maisie isn’t there when I get back to the inn. There are no messages on my phone from anyone, let alone Stephen. You’d think he’d at least check to see how I got on.
Not knowing what to do with myself, I debate. I could go out and have a quick lunch at the local pub. But then I’d run the risk of having unpleasant encounters with the village slosher. Or I could sample the culinary delights of the restaurant of the inn, having heard wonders about it. Then again, I’m still full from all the scones Nettie has piled into me. In the end I choose to let myself go to dejection, stay in and feel sorry for myself.
It’s still too early to give up for the day, but all the same, I slip into my pyjamas and into bed with the remote. But there’s nothing on any channel that interests me. A documentary on the little blue penguin. Cute, but I can’t concentrate. A spy thriller. No thanks. And, oh, look at that… teary romance. No thank you – I’ve got my own.
Settling on the penguins, I roll onto my side and snuggle up with a corner of the duvet under my chin. As it turns out, the little blue penguin is the cutest of all the species. Little baby blue furballs that you just want to cuddle forever. A group of penguins is called a waddle, but if they’re in the sea, it’s called a raft. Another interesting fact that I’d forgotten: the male penguins of some species give pebbles to their mate as a symbol of their undying love. Stephen uses diamonds. I look at the promise ring he gave me last year and know that Stephen has given it to me with the same determination as the dashing but cuddly male wearing a tuxedo on the screen.
I’m tempted to call him but already imagine how the conversation will go:
‘What do you mean she wasn’t there? Hadn’t you told her that you blew off our engagement party for her? What kind of respect is that?’
‘No, of course I didn’t tell her. What do you want me to say?’
‘There’s nothing you can say, is there?’
To which I’d sigh and try to make up an excuse for all of us, which he’d see through.
Weary of this dialogue chess already, I turn off the penguins and give my pillow a good punch before I replace it under my head and pull out my Kindle to see what Jane Eyre is up to, as if I didn’t know. The poor girl is currently being summoned to Gateshead by her rich aunt – Mrs Reed, who had never liked her enough to pull her out of poverty. And now I really know how she feels.
Of course, I could surprise Stephen with the news that I actually descend from nobility just to shut the MIL up, but that would ruin the joy of seeing the surprise when I tell her face to face.
When I look up again, my window has become a big black rectangle onto the night. I love The Old Bell Inn, because when you turn off the lights, there’s no ambient light to disturb you except for the glow of the Milky Way. I turn over and scan the sky through the window, marvelling at how the stars look like diamonds that have literally been hand-tossed into the heavens. I don’t know much about constellations, but I recognise a few here and there, such as Orion’s Belt and Ursa Major. If I lived here, I’d definitely own a telescope. Much more fascinating than any film.
As I’m straining my eyes to follow a new pattern of stars I’ve never seen before, the door opens and in stumbles Maisie, whispering and giggling. She’s with a man! How could she even think of bringing him back here, to the room we share? Just as I’m about to say something, there’s a soft thud as they land on her bed.
I reach out an arm from under the duvet and feel for the light switch.
Lying diagonally across from the bed is Maisie, her arm trailing over the side of the mattress, and coming out of the bathroom –ourbathroom – is a man with a wastepaper basket. Jago bloody what’s-his-face!
He freezes as his eyes meet mine.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I rasp.
He puts the bin down and marches out of the suite, closing the door softly behind him without another glance in my direction.
Fuming, I want to wake Maisie and chew her out for bringing him back here. Drunk or not, she shouldn’t be bringing anyone to our room. I’m going to have to have a chat with her tomorrow morning. Because if I wake her right now, as is my first instinct, we’ll fall out for real this time.
*
The next morning when I awake, she’s still in the same position, fully dressed and lightly snoring.
After a quick shower, I check the time – ten o’clock. Not too early to make that phone call to my grandmother. I’m hoping Nettie will answer as I’m not quite sure of how to speak to Lady Heatherton-Smythe. How do I address her? What do I say?
‘Yes?’ comes a soft voice.
Not Nettie’s.
‘Oh! Hello. This is Emily Weaver. May I speak with, er, Lady Heatherton-Smythe, please?’
‘This is Lady Heatherton-Smythe.’
