pack bags when they weren’t being paid to do it. Not many people would have come down in the scruffy service elevator with a porter, carrying her own books. Emily had helped out at enough events like this to know that people’s status as a conference delegate was usually too important to them to compromise it by being seen to help with the admin or carry anything that belonged to them.
“Emily!” There was a silvery, jangling sound, and Morgana appeared. She looked anxious. “Darling, any sign of Winnie? Lex is here, and we want to get the tea party underway.”
Emily shook her head. “She must be in London by now.”
“I’ll go and look,” said Morgana, with the vague good intentions of someone oblivious to the fact that London was too vast an area to cover with a search party of one.
“Winnie?” said Polly, after Morgana had left. She frowned. “Most of the time I have no idea what Morgana’s talking about. I hope Winnie is the name for one of her hats.”
Emily laughed. “Winnie’s one of the bloggers. She uses the name Tallulah.”
“Oh, I see! Tallulah’s Treasures? Yes, she’s one of our special guests. Should we be worried that she hasn’t turned up?”
“I hope not.”
But Emily must have looked worried because Polly said, “Do you have any contacts in the police?”
Emily thought of Constable Rory James, whom she had met when she’d helped out at her neighbor Victoria’s stage school recently. He had given her his phone number and suggested they meet one night for some Thai food in Brixton Village, which was an engagingly quirky network of covered alleyways with stalls, shops and restaurants in Brixton town center, and not a village at all. He’d had a pleasant manner and soccer player’s hips, so she’d said yes. But she had never got round to meeting Rory James for dinner, and anyway he was hardly influential. Not in the way that Polly would mean it. If Polly was going to be an MP and she owned a swannery, she was probably related to a chief superintendent at least. Emily shook her head.
“I have a relative in the police force. Flying Squad but he’ll be able to pull a few strings with Missing Persons. I’ll give him a call if this woman doesn’t turn up by nightfall—put Morgana’s mind at rest.”
“Is it true you’re thinking of going into politics?” Emily didn’t want to seem impertinent, but it wasn’t something she’d consider doing in a million years, and she’d never before met anyone who’d been tempted by the power/sacrifice trade-off. “Aren’t you worried the newspapers will try to dig up some scandal—or find something in your past and make it seem scandalous?”
“I’ve thought about that, and talked it over with Pete—my husband. The kids are too young to consult, so I’ll just have to trust that I’m doing the right thing for them. And I’ll try and keep them away from the press while they’re growing up. I’ve done stupid things. I used to get drunk when I was younger. I liked to go clubbing. But so what if some reporter digs up a ten-year-old photo of me staggering out of a gay club at five o’clock in the morning? I’m not going to deny anything or hide anything. It’s crazy to pretend that other young people—voters—don’t do what I did and grow out of it. Making mistakes is a healthy part of growing up. What about you, Emily? Are your wild days behind you?”
“Well…” Emily suddenly felt awfully dull. She always had to get up for work in the mornings, and she valued her precious weekends too much to waste them on headaches and hangovers. “I’m not one for clubbing. I have a little garden I’m really proud of. I grow most of my flowers and a lot of my vegetables from seed. I work in it most evenings if I can. It’s really peaceful. Just me and the squirrels and the birds.”
Polly laughed. “You’re adorable. If you ever go into politics, I’ll vote for you, Emily.”
“Can I help you girls?” It was Cerys,
“Emily!” There was a silvery, jangling sound, and Morgana appeared. She looked anxious. “Darling, any sign of Winnie? Lex is here, and we want to get the tea party underway.”
Emily shook her head. “She must be in London by now.”
“I’ll go and look,” said Morgana, with the vague good intentions of someone oblivious to the fact that London was too vast an area to cover with a search party of one.
“Winnie?” said Polly, after Morgana had left. She frowned. “Most of the time I have no idea what Morgana’s talking about. I hope Winnie is the name for one of her hats.”
Emily laughed. “Winnie’s one of the bloggers. She uses the name Tallulah.”
“Oh, I see! Tallulah’s Treasures? Yes, she’s one of our special guests. Should we be worried that she hasn’t turned up?”
“I hope not.”
But Emily must have looked worried because Polly said, “Do you have any contacts in the police?”
Emily thought of Constable Rory James, whom she had met when she’d helped out at her neighbor Victoria’s stage school recently. He had given her his phone number and suggested they meet one night for some Thai food in Brixton Village, which was an engagingly quirky network of covered alleyways with stalls, shops and restaurants in Brixton town center, and not a village at all. He’d had a pleasant manner and soccer player’s hips, so she’d said yes. But she had never got round to meeting Rory James for dinner, and anyway he was hardly influential. Not in the way that Polly would mean it. If Polly was going to be an MP and she owned a swannery, she was probably related to a chief superintendent at least. Emily shook her head.
“I have a relative in the police force. Flying Squad but he’ll be able to pull a few strings with Missing Persons. I’ll give him a call if this woman doesn’t turn up by nightfall—put Morgana’s mind at rest.”
“Is it true you’re thinking of going into politics?” Emily didn’t want to seem impertinent, but it wasn’t something she’d consider doing in a million years, and she’d never before met anyone who’d been tempted by the power/sacrifice trade-off. “Aren’t you worried the newspapers will try to dig up some scandal—or find something in your past and make it seem scandalous?”
“I’ve thought about that, and talked it over with Pete—my husband. The kids are too young to consult, so I’ll just have to trust that I’m doing the right thing for them. And I’ll try and keep them away from the press while they’re growing up. I’ve done stupid things. I used to get drunk when I was younger. I liked to go clubbing. But so what if some reporter digs up a ten-year-old photo of me staggering out of a gay club at five o’clock in the morning? I’m not going to deny anything or hide anything. It’s crazy to pretend that other young people—voters—don’t do what I did and grow out of it. Making mistakes is a healthy part of growing up. What about you, Emily? Are your wild days behind you?”
“Well…” Emily suddenly felt awfully dull. She always had to get up for work in the mornings, and she valued her precious weekends too much to waste them on headaches and hangovers. “I’m not one for clubbing. I have a little garden I’m really proud of. I grow most of my flowers and a lot of my vegetables from seed. I work in it most evenings if I can. It’s really peaceful. Just me and the squirrels and the birds.”
Polly laughed. “You’re adorable. If you ever go into politics, I’ll vote for you, Emily.”
“Can I help you girls?” It was Cerys,
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