No. Act normal, Becky. Act normal.
‘Um … is it?’ I swallow. ‘Wow, of course it’s your birthday! Well, that sounds lovely.’
‘We’ll have to spend Friday night with my clients, I’m afraid, but at least it should be a celebration. I mean, once we’ve seen Christian, we’re well on the way to meeting with Sir Bernard himself!’ Luke sounds ebullient. ‘I’ll get Bonnie to make the arrangements. So that’s agreed?’
‘Fab!’ I smile weakly. ‘I just need to text Suze about something …’
I reach for my phone and quickly text Bonnie:
Luke wants to take us to Paris on Friday! Do NOT book tickets!!
Honestly, I’m going to crack up at this rate. No I’m not. It’s fine. Elinor’s on the case. Deep breaths. Only three days to go.
*
Hardy House School is a much nicer school than St Cuthbert’s, I instantly decide. For a start, the secretary who greets us has a really cool Pippa Small necklace on. And there aren’t any pupils called Eloise. (I asked.) And they make their own homemade biscuits.
As we sip our coffee and eat the biscuits, we have a view out to the playground, which is surrounded by horse chestnuts. I watch all the little girls running round and skipping, and feel a sudden pang of longing. I can just see Minnie joining in with all of them. It would be perfect.
‘D’you think Minnie’ll get a place?’ I turn anxiously to Luke.
‘I’m sure she will.’ He looks up from his BlackBerry. ‘Why wouldn’t she?’
‘Because it’s really oversubscribed!’
I glance again at the sheet of paper I’ve been given entitled ‘Our Entry Procedure’. There are six stages to it, starting with filling out a form, and ending with ‘Final Assessment Tea Party’. Suddenly I can see why everyone gets stressed out by schools. I’m already terrified. What if Minnie grabs all the cakes and yells ‘Miiiine’? They’ll never give her a place.
‘Luke, stop looking at your BlackBerry!’ I hiss. ‘We have to make a good impression!’ I pick up a leaflet on attainment grades and start flipping through it, just as the door opens and the secretary appears again.
‘Mr and Mrs Brandon? Come this way, please.’ She ushers us along a short passage smelling of beeswax. ‘Here’s the headmistress’s office,’ she says, leading us straight into a panelled room with a mahogany desk and green upholstered chairs. ‘Our current head, Mrs Bell, is leaving at the end of term, and the prospective head is with us for a few days, so we thought it would make more sense for you to see her. She’ll be along in just a moment.’
‘Thank you,’ says Luke charmingly. ‘And may I compliment the school on your delicious home-made biscuits?’
‘Thank you!’ She smiles. ‘I’ll be back presently with the new head. Her name is Mrs Grayson,’ she adds as she exits. ‘Harriet Grayson.’
‘There,’ murmurs Luke. ‘We’re making a perfect impression.’
I can’t reply. In fact, I’ve frozen. Don’t I know that name?
OK. This could be bad. I need to get out of here, or warn Luke, or—
But the door is already swinging open again – and it’s her. It’s Harriet Grayson, MA, dressed in the same knitted suit. She comes forward with a professional smile – then recognition flashes across her face.
‘Professor Bloomwood!’ she says in astonishment. ‘It is Professor Bloomwood, isn’t it?’
There is no way out of this. None.
‘Um … yes!’ I say at last, blood flooding my face. ‘Hi!’
‘Well, what a surprise!’ She beams at Luke. ‘Professor Bloomwood and I have met before. Brandon must be your married name?’
‘That’s … that’s right.’ I gulp.
I risk a tiny glance at Luke, then wish I hadn’t. His expression makes me half want to burst into laughter and half want to dash out of the room.
‘Are you in the art world too, Mr Brandon?’ she says pleasantly as she shakes his hand.
‘The art world?’ Luke says after a fairly long pause.
‘No, he’s not,’ I chime in hurriedly. ‘Not at all. Anyway, moving on to the really important subject, we’d like to send our daughter Minnie here. I love your playground. Beautiful trees!’ I’m hoping we can move on, but Harriet Grayson, MA looks puzzled.
‘So, are you relocating from New York?’
‘Um … that’s right,’ I say after a pause. ‘Isn’t it, darling?’ I shoot Luke a brief, desperate look.
‘Goodness! But what about your work at the Guggenheim, Professor Bloomwood?’
‘The Guggenheim?’ echoes Luke in a slightly strangled voice.
‘Yes, the Guggenheim. Absolutely.’ I nod several times, playing for time. ‘Obviously I’ll miss the Guggenheim very much. But I’ll be … focusing on my own art.’
‘You’re an artist yourself?’ Harriet Grayson seems bowled over. ‘How wonderful! Are you a painter?’
‘Not really.’ I cough. ‘My work is … it’s quite hard to describe …’
‘Becky’s art form is unique,’ Luke suddenly chimes in. ‘She creates … unreal worlds. Fantasyland, some might call it.’
I shoot him a tiny glare, just as there’s a knock on the door.
‘Mr Brandon?’ The secretary looks in tentatively. ‘You have an urgent message to call your office.’