Lady C pursed her lips. âThose fake appendages must disappear, along with your heavy eye-liner. Then we can concentrate on the more important things you need to learn, like the art of good conversation and table manners.â
Huh? What was all this about?
The old woman glanced at Abbey. âDoes Gemma not know yet that your Uncle James is in the final of Million Dollar Mansion?â
âWhaaat?â I almost choked on the word. âYour Dadâs brother? The one who inherited the family homeâAppleâ¦?â
âApplebridge Hall?â said Abbey. âYes. Thatâs him.â
âAmaaaaaazinâ! 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 howâ¦? Whatâ¦?â
âAll you need to know at this stage, dear,â said Lady C, âis that Abigail is expected to help out with some catering project â no doubt serving cream teas in some shop theyâve 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.â She stood up straighter. âAbbey is unable to go. Thatâs where you come in.â
âMe? On the telly?â Wow. So it wasnât a joke. I bit my thumbnail. âMuch as I love reality shows, the last thing Iâd want is to be on screen. Itâs bad enough in real life, worrying about spots and bad hair days, let alone in front of the whole nation.â
âBut people wonât know itâs you,â said Abbey. âNot even my uncle, who hasnât seen me since I was nine, when he and Daddy had words. My parents will be away on a cruise and my friends donât watch such programmes. Even if they do, more than once, people have mistaken us for each other. Itâs a foolproof plan.â
âWhat about Rupert?â I said.
âIâve discussed the matter with him,â said Abbey. âYou know my little brother â heâs jolly loyal and wonât say a word. He understands my reasonsâ and, by the way, thinks youâll do a wonderful job.â
âDidnât your uncle ask for him to help as well?â
âYes, but Daddy said no way, what with his final year at university coming up. Rupeâs already left for Cambridge early. You know him â never happier than when his head is stuck in some book about the history of art.â
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 yearsâeven boyfriends, as I lazily went to bed with my slap on. âBut why would your dad want you to help, if he and his brother havenât spoken for so long?â
âYou should have seen Daddy when he asked me â he blew his nose and pretended it was hay feverâ¦â Abbeyâs voice cracked. âI suspect he desperately wants to end the estrangement.â
âSo why canât you take part?â
Subtly made-up eyes all droopy, Abbey sighed. âItâs a long story.â
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 couldnât help her family out had to be a mega-serious one.
âYou⦠arenât ill, are you?â 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? Whoâd 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?
âItâs Zak⦠He wants me to travel to Africa with him immediately. The orphanage he helped build there last year in Rwanda is in turmoil. Itâs overflowing after more beastly violence. There are hundreds of children orphaned or whoâve lost their parents. Time is of the essence.â
âBut why you?â
Abbey shrugged. âIn pockets of the community they speak French, which Iâm still almost fluent in, thanks to my finishing school days. I also took a course in childcare. Zak says Iâd be a useful member of the team, seeing as I have catering skills as well.â
âSounds dangerous to me,â I said.
âThe organization Zak works for is very well run.â
âBut⦠but doesnât Zak understand that sometimes family has to come first?â
Abbey raised an eyebrow. âUnder these circumstances?â
I sighed. âNo. Youâre right. Most dads would be chuffed that their daughter was keen to do such charitable work.â
âAnd anywayâ¦â oh, no â Abbeyâs voice wavered again ââ¦Zak already thinks I put him second â like last month when he did that sponsored marathon. I couldnât support him because Daddy insisted I accompany him instead, on that trip to France to source new cheesesâ¦â
I nodded. As a catering magnate, Abbeyâs 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 didnât think minimum wage Zak was good enough for his daughter.
Abbey threw her hands into the air. âIf I go to Africa, Daddy will be forever estranged from his brother â yet, if I donât, Zak might decide his future doesnât include me.â
âLook, Gemma, dearâ¦â Lady C straightened her navy blazer. âWhy donât you and I go for a walk and get to know each other? My niece says you were up for promotion at work â 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 donât you pay your parents a visit, Abigail, and find out some more details about this competition?â
Abbey looked at me.
âGuess itâs only a walk,â I said and smiled, hoping to see her eyes regain their usual twinkle.
âRight,â said Lady C and smoothed down her grey bob as Abbey left the bathroom. âYou should change before we go out. Oneâs make-up and outfit should look modest and effortless.â
Surely the aim of looking good was to show youâd 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 Iâd dress up in Abbeyâs new outfits. My flatmate never minded â said it was a good way of seeing what they looked like on her. KMid (translated: Kate Middleton, now the Duchess of Cambridge) was her fashion hero and, I had to admit, some of her jeans with blazers looked awesome. Also, we both liked our future queenâs knee-high suede boots, high nude shoes and GORGE long layered hair. Plus Abbey had recently bought some amazinâ blusher, supposedly favoured by Kateâs sister, Pippa.
Minutes later, I emerged in old jeans, a T-shirt and my only flat pair of sandals.
âWell, thatâs a slight improvement,â said Lady C, who was waiting in the open-plan lounge. âIf you agree to this proposition, tomorrow weâll go through Abigailâs clothes. Youâre roughly the same size and I brought my sewing kit with me.â
Ooh, that would be a plus - perhaps Iâd 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?
âNowâ¦â Lady C put on a bright smile ââ¦how about removing the rest of that bronzer?â
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.
âGoodness me! The likeness between you and Abigail is quite extraordinaryâ before me stands a glowing young woman with a flawless complexion and eyes as blue as periwinkles.â
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 whoâd watch footie and climb trees to keep up with her brothers.
âAuntie Jan wouldnât approve.â I shook my head. âThis goes against everything she taught me. Without Mum, growing up, at least I had her to point me in the right direction.â
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.
âRight, letâs go for that stroll,â she said and we headed back to the lounge.
âBut what if I bump into a mate, looking like this?â I said. Not that there was much chance of that â Abbeyâs 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 wasnât my thing. Even pets looked better pimped up, in my opinion, like dogs with cute bows and sparkly jackets.
âTrue friends donât care about appearances, Gemma,â she said and picked up her Margaret Thatcher handbag. âWhat counts is your integrity, honesty and kindness.â
Yeah, right. Tell that to the womenâs magazines, who filled their pages with tips on dieting and how to look younger.