Miss Manners (23 page)

Mr Anonymous, or Mr A, was wearing a full face mask, a black suit and a pair of brogues, and although I couldn
’t make out his face, I immediately noticed his ocean blue, smiling eyes.

Who was he? Where did he come from? Why did he want to dance with
me
? Did he even know the dance?

I was about to find out soon enough. But not before Duke interrupted my thoughts, gesturing to the waiting musicians with his hands. As the light
s dimmed and the music started I tried hard to retrace the steps I’d learned earlier that day, which were harder than I remembered, especially with Mr A standing right in front of me.

Once the dance had finished, I was tempted to take of his mask,
Scooby Doo
-style, to reveal his identity. But, during the applause, I decided to ask him a question instead.

‘
Who are you?’ I asked as if I were Christine from
The
Phantom of the Opera
.

Mr A looked at me for a moment before answering.
‘I am who I am,’ he replied in a posh English accent, his voice sounding strangely familiar.

I don
’t like riddles.

Okay, so Mr A had an English accent, danced
baroque, and liked riddles. Unfortunately, that narrowed it down to absolutely nobody in my social hemisphere. But before I had the chance to ask another question, Murphy made another announcement.

‘
The next dance will be a waltz, accompanied by the Queen’s Symphony Orchestra’s rendition of Chopin’s “The Last Waltz”. So please join me in giving the contestants a huge round of applause for what I am sure will be a feast for the eyes,’ he announced.

Mr A pulled me towards him, placing his hands in position. He was standing so close that I
was conscious of his minty breath mingling with mine (not so minty). I also felt very conscious of where he placed his hands as we waltzed around the expensively decorated hall. I felt like Belle in the ballroom scene of
Beauty and the Beast
as I imagined a camera tracking our dance moves, making it appear as if we were on a waltzer.

Pinkie, who looked miserable, her lips all puffed out and
sulky, caught sight of me and furrowed her brows. Meanwhile, I rested my chin on Mr A’s shoulder, which smelled like expensive men’s cologne.

At the end of the final dance, we pulled apart and examined each other for a moment as the audience applauded in the background. I smiled
for the first time in what felt like years, which made my cheeks ache a bit. But it felt good. If I smiled on a regular basis, it might even act as an inexpensive facelift.

As the audience applauded, the clock chimed midnight. Midnight? There was something niggling at the back of my mind. Something I
’d forgotten.

Suddenly, I remembered. Tara
’s audition! Oh no, I’d
completely
forgotten!

I turned to Mr A.
‘I have to go,’ I muttered reluctantly, before running as fast as I could out the door like someone with a firework up their bum. My face burned so wildly on the way out, I was surprised I didn’t set off any alarms. I ran through the crowd of paps, hailed a cab, then threw myself inside, which must have looked about as sophisticated as a giraffe attempting to sit on a toilet. But I didn’t care. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

If I hurr
y, I can still just about make it
, I hoped.

‘
Could you go a little faster?’ I asked the cabbie.

But as he turned around to answer me, I realised it was the cabbie I had held up w
hen my Mini broke down the week before.

The cabbie narrowed his eyes, then answered
darkly, ‘Sure. No problem.’ Then he slowed down to about twenty miles per hour, driving like an old man. I was never going to get there at this rate, so I did the only thing a girl in a couture outfit and heels could do – I apologised.

‘
Look, I’m sorry for holding you up last week. If it makes you feel any better, I lost my job, my car and my money.’

The cabbie grunted
then looked at me through his rear-view mirror, his eyes softening slightly. Suddenly, the cab picked up pace. He smiled. ‘Yeah,’ he growled. ‘Yeah, it makes me feel much better.’

Once I
’d arrived at The Forum, I turned to the cabbie. ‘You wouldn’t mind waiting for a few minutes, would you? Otherwise, I might lose my best friend, too.’

The cabbie looked at me for a moment, a hint of forgiveness in his eyes.
‘Sure.’

I ran as fast as I could into
The Forum, hoping I wouldn’t fall on my face, or worse, wreck Felicity’s Antoinette dress which she’d spent so much time working on.

I
nside, I found everyone packing up the stage. I ran over to the nearest stagehand to ask him where I could find Tara.

‘
She left about half an hour ago,’ replied the tall man in a black shirt.

What
? Oh, no! Tara was going to kill me. I knew exactly how much this audition meant to her and I had failed to show my support. Some friend I was!

I pulled out my phone and dialled her number in a flurry. As soon as Tara picked up, I launched into a heartfelt apology.

‘Tara, I’m so sorry. I really am. It’s just that–’

‘
Look, I don’t really have time for this,’ Tara said flatly.

‘
It’s hard to explain, Tara. It’s just that–’

‘
Forget it. I’ve got to run. I’ll call you if I get it. Not that you really care either way.’

I tried to protest, but she
’d already hung up.

‘
Dammit!’ I watched as the stagehands continued to pack up, then returned to the cab and asked him to drive me back home.

‘
So?’ the cabbie asked.

‘
So, I’ve lost my job, my car, my money... and my best friend,’ I replied sadly, looking out at the bright lights passing as we drove by.

25

Bad Heir Day

SATURDAY, 30th APRIL

The next morning, I slithered out of bed and into the living room to find Felicity working on another dress.

‘
Where’s Tara?’ I wondered.

‘
Oh, she’s just popped into the Lock for a bit of shopping,’ she said, balancing a pin in her mouth.

I
glanced at the dress Felicity was working on, which already looked like a masterpiece.

‘
Wow!’ I gulped. The exquisite dress wouldn’t have looked out of place in a classic Hollywood movie. ‘What’s that for?’

‘
It’s my third piece, the Cleopatra. But it’s not finished yet. It just needs a few last touches. I’ve still got until tomorrow, though.’

‘
It’s incredible,’ I said.

The Cleopatra was a beautiful blue chiffon beaded
-collar dress, the collar emblazoned with black, yellow and green stones.

‘
Oh, and whilst I was in the market, I managed to find a golden snake headdress, necklace and a pair of vintage earrings that wrap themselves around the ears. What do you think?’ Felicity gestured at the accessories on the table.

‘
If you don’t win the competition, then I’ll eat my own head,’ I announced.

Then
I remembered that I had to make a dress for the dressmaking round of Miss Manners tonight. And I hadn’t even begun.

‘
Felicity,’ I said worriedly. ‘I have a problem.’

Felicity looked at me with a concerned face, a pristine eyebrow arching.

‘Well,’ I continued, ‘basically, I have to make a dress by tonight for the dressmaking round of the contest and I haven’t even started on it yet. I don’t know what to do. Shall I just go and get a ready-made dress in Primark, then customise it?’

‘
No,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’ll help you, don’t worry. We can start on it now if you like?’

I suddenly remembered the promise I
’d made to Danko.

‘
I can’t,’ I mumbled. ‘I have to hand back the designer clothes I borrowed from Danko. Apparently they’re for a photo shoot this afternoon. Plus, I need to get to the bottom of why Brian, my dance partner, failed to show up at the ball last night. And I need to find out who the hot guy I danced with last night is.’

Felicity mouthed an
‘O’ and raised her eyebrows. ‘I like mysteries. Especially the ones involving hot guys.’ Felicity paused for a moment, then sighed. ‘Don’t worry, just let me know when you’re free, and we’ll get started. You know, I made a dress in under an hour once.’

I smiled at Felicity,
wanting to hug her. ‘Thank you!’ I said. ‘You’re a real lifesaver!’

I don
’t know what I would have done without Felicity over the past few days. Actually, I do – probably given up.

I packed up all the borrowed items of clothing into a rucksack and prepared to leave. But before I had the chance to get changed, the phone rang.

It was Danko.

‘
Hello, darling,’ he chimed from the other end, like Edna Mode from
The Incredibles
.

‘
I’ll be there as quickly as I can,’ I answered, checking the time on my watch. It was 11.27 a.m., so I still had a good half-hour to get there.

‘
Listen,’ he babbled excitedly, ‘don’t worry about bringing in those three outfits you’ve been wearing over the past few days. Because what’s got everyone talking are those dresses you’ve been wearing at the Miss Manners events over the past few days. I mean, the fashion blogs, magazines, radio and television shows have all gone Lady GaGa for Felicity Diamond. So, the
Couture
fashion editor has decided to do a shoot of those two ensembles instead and maybe even get an interview with Felicity herself. Do you think you can do that for me?’

I looked over at Felicity, who was busy stitching and threading.

‘Sure,’ I beamed. ‘That shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘
Fantastico!’ Danko screamed. ‘I’ll see you at twelve.’

Once Danko hung up, I ran towards Felicity and screamed. She looked rather frightened, so I quickly explained.

‘You’ll never guess what!’ I announced. ‘
Couture
wants to shoot your clothes AND they want to interview you! This afternoon!’

I could barely contain my excitement. Felicity was going to be a household name!

‘What? You’re kidding, right?’ She looked at me disbelievingly, her face a perfect replica of Edvard Munch’s
The Scream
.

‘
No, seriously,’ I said, blinking as if I had a fly in my eye.

‘
I can’t believe it!’ Felicity screamed. ‘What time is the shoot?’

‘
Twelve,’ I replied.

Felicity stood up like a hyperactive kid on Easter Sunday, then raced to pack
up the clothes for the shoot. ‘I really hope this isn’t a dream,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’ve had dreams like this before.’

‘
I can pinch you, if you like?’ I offered.

She looked at me, smiled,
then hugged me so tightly I almost released a long, satisfying burp. ‘I don’t believe it!’ she tweeted.

‘
You’re starting to sound like Richard Wilson,’ I said with a smile, then remembered the third dress. ‘What about the Cleopatra? Are you taking it?’

‘
I’ve still got a few beads to stitch on.’ Felicity bit her cheek, then looked at the packed bags on the floor, before adding, ‘You wouldn’t mind helping me take a few items, would you?’

‘
Of course. No problem,’ I said.

So
we called a taxi, then hauled all sorts of clothes, jewellery and shoes to Couture House. It was all really exciting. I couldn’t wait to see the Felicity Diamond double-page spread.

Once
we’d taken all the items to
Couture
, I’d be going straight over to Fairfax Manor to find out why Brian didn’t turn up at the ball. Man, he’d better have a brilliant excuse for his no-show. A sudden death in the family, accidental amputation of a limb, the house being set on fire – all would be acceptable. That, and an apology. But first, I had to help Felicity prepare for the shoot that would launch her glittering fashion career.

After giving her a quick tour of the offices,
the beauty closet and fashion closet, I led her to the studio, where the shoot was about to take place. There were no words to describe how excited Felicity looked right then as she watched assistants pushing clothes rails around, stylists sketching in their notebooks and photographers changing films.

Danko spotted us and came skipping over like a wallaby.

‘Daaaaarrrlings!’ he warbled legato, before eyeing up my outfit. ‘I love the Anna Sui on you, very stylish.’ He turned to face Felicity with a flick of his perfectly coiffed hair. ‘Ah, so this is the infamous Felicity Diamond, yah?’ Danko placed his hands on Felicity’s hips, clearly impressed. ‘So, let’s take a look at the Aphrodite and Antoinette,’ he demanded charmingly.

Felicity gently pulled out the Aphrodite, followed by the Antoinette, which made Danko scream with delight. As he touched each dress, he shivered.

‘Any more fabulous creations you can tantalise us with?’ Danko asked, like a diner at a Heston Blumenthal restaurant.

‘
Well, I’m working on one at the moment, but it isn’t quite finished yet,’ Felicity said, her grin spanning the Nile.

‘
When do you think it’ll be finished, darling?’ Danko said, fluttering his lashes.

‘
Well, the deadline is one tomorrow. So I have to finish it before then.’

‘
Fantastic, darling! It’s a shame we can’t shoot it today. What have you called it?’

‘
I can’t say yet. It’s a surprise, so you’ll just have to wait.’

Wow, Felicity really knew how to play those PR strings.

‘Mmmh. Tantalising,’ he pronounced.

Recording the interview on her Dictaphone was Sophie, who looked at me
, shark-like. She really didn’t seem like she wanted to be there.

Once the interview was over, Felicity was called over by the photographer to commence the shoot. Meanwhile, Sophie saw this as an opportunity to saunter over to me and play her Dictaphone again, which was really starting to lose its novelty now. Except this time, she rewound it before playing it.

‘Item: one thousand and twenty-seven. Time: eleven forty-two a.m. Henry asked me out on a date tonight. And I said, “Yes.”’ Then, she clicked the Dictaphone off with her thumb, stared at me for a moment, turned on her heel and bounced off, looking just about as satisfied as a lion after eating its game.

Did Henry really ask Sophie out? Of all the girls he could have picked, why Sophie? My stomach lurched, as if I
’d just spotted a school teacher in a supermarket. It wasn’t enough that I’d lost my job, my car, my money AND my best friend – now Henry, too?

I thought for a moment, my face crinkling like a centenarian who
’d just received a telegram from the Queen.

Henry never even spoke to Sophie. Was it because he fancied her? I didn
’t get it. There was no point wasting any time dwelling on something that wasn’t meant to be. As Doris Day once sang, ‘Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be.’ And anyway, there might be a chance that it wasn’t true. That it was simply a manipulative scheme hatched by Sophie to demoralise me before the contest.

I know she
’s up to something
, I thought.
But what
?

Well, I would find out soon enough. I
’d have to ask Henry for his side of the story before I started mourning anymore losses. But first, I had to go to Fairfax Manor to ask Brian a question. So I wished Felicity luck, then left.

Fairfax Manor was more intimidating the second time around.
Probably because I was on my own this time. I stepped out of the taxi and walked up to the mansion, knocking the hotel-style lion’s head door knocker three times. The door opened.

Giles, the butler, stood there staring at me.

‘May I help you?’ he asked, his face giving nothing away.

‘
Is Brian in?’

‘
Please, follow me,’ he said robotically.

So I did. The problem was, as I walked into the living room, it wasn
’t Brian I found. It was Henry.

‘
Henry?’ I frowned. ‘What are you doing here? Where’s Brian?’

Henry looked at me for a moment, his face hiding something.

‘You realise he didn’t turn up to the ball last night? I had to dance with a different guy, who just so happened to know all the dance moves. Anyway, Henry, what are you doing in Brian’s house?’ I persisted. ‘Are you giving him another interview?’

There was another silence. Henry handed me today
’s
Daily Mail
. It read:

FAIRFAX FRAUD

It has recently been discovered that Adam Knight, an aspiring actor, pictured below at the East End Film Festival promoting his gritty, low-budget film,
Sebastian
, has been posing as Brian Fairfax for the past week.

Sebastian
, a tragi-drama loosely based on
Twelfth Night
, centres around a young, gay man who transforms into Viola to get closer to Duke, with whom he has fallen in love.

According to Knight, adopting the false identity was all part of his research for his role as Sebastian, of which he insists the
real
Brian Fairfax was fully aware.

However, further investigation is underway.

I looked up at Henry, my mouth parched and head aching. ‘So if he’s not Brian Fairfax, then who is?’

Henry looked down at his feet, swallowing hard.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a masquerade mask lying on the table. So I went to pick it up. It was the same one my dance partner had been wearing. I held up the mask to Henry’s face.

‘
I am who I am,’ Henry said, feigning an English accent.

I stared at Henry for a moment.
‘It was you,’ I breathed disbelievingly. ‘You’re Brian Fairfax?’

He looked at me, his face expressionless.

‘Anna, I–’

‘
You’re
Brian?’ I repeated, feeling more confused than a barking cat or meowing dog. ‘Brian Fairfax?’

He nodded.

‘And you live
here
?’