Placing my left foot in the dip, I reach up to the top of the wall and attempt to haul myself up.
Fuck Graham Slater. Fuck Daniel. And fuck rock-climbing and its lame harnesses. I’m doing this all by myself. No ropes needed.In your stupid, smug, adventurous face, Daniel.
“Knew you had it in you!” Cordelia encourages. “Swing your leg over!”
“I’m trying!” I wheeze, my right leg flimsily stretching up as high as possible, my trainer scraping down the wall.
“Here you go,” Cordelia says, crouching and shoving her shoulder under my bum, then giving me a push.
My leg hooks over the top and I heave myself up until I’m lying flat, like a worm, along the wall.
“Great! Now, hop down,” she says, getting ready to follow me. “It’s not that big a drop.”
“This is so stupid,” I grumble, dropping my legs down the other side of the wall and attempting to lower myself gently toward the ground.
Unfortunately, my upper-arm strength is nonexistent and my fingers don’t have enough grip. They slip and I yelp as I fall, landing in some kind of bush before rolling off it onto the ground, landing with a thud.
“Ow!” I whimper.
A few moments later, Cordelia jumps from the wall, landing easily on her feet next to me, like Catwoman. She wipes her hands and puts them on her hips. “Are you OK?”
“No,” I whisper grumpily, getting to my feet and wiping the mud and leaves off my leggings. “Let’s get this over with.”
She gives me a salute and rushes to the back door, pulls hairpins out of her pocket, and slides them into the keyhole. There’s a gentle click and she opens the door. “Easy,” she says, grinning. “Right, in you go. I’ll wait here. By the way, you’ve still got leaves in your hair.”
“Wait, what? You’re not going in?”
“Course not,” she whispers, looking stunned. “That’s why I needed you here in the first place. I can’t be seen and I can’t have the photos on my phone. That’s evidence. You also have mud on your face. Seriously, how did you land so badly?”
“You said there were no cameras!”
“And there aren’t.” She sighs. “I don’t think. Also, we don’t know if someone’s working late or whatever. You never know. I can’t risk being seen inside. Imagine the scandal! Nobody cares about you, though. No offense, but you’re anonymous. You go in,get the pictures, then come back out. If anything happens, I can escape before anyone sees.”
“Are youjoking?”
“That won’t happen! But just in case.” She gestures into the studio. “You’ve come this far, haven’t you? Look, if you do this, I’ll drop the Oasis thing, OK?”
I hesitate. “What about the tiara?”
“Fine! Forget the tiara.”
“And the peacocks? And swans?”
“Don’t push it,” she hisses. “Now get in there!”
Steeling myself, I grip my phone, ready on camera mode, then tiptoe into the room, heading toward the wide desk in front of me. Just as Cordelia said, there’s paper everywhere and there are scribbles all over it. Using the light on my phone, I scan the designs until I get to the one in the middle at the top of the pile. “Lady Annabel Porthouse” is written in swirly, arty letters at the top and there’s a rough sketch of a striking strapless, A-line satin dress with a long, dramatic train. I smile at the design. She’s going to look beautiful.
I lift my phone, check that the flash is on, and take the picture.
It’s done.
I creep out of the studio and Cordelia shuts the door carefully behind me. I give her the thumbs-up and she beams at me. Then we hurry across to the wall. She gives me a push up and this time I wait on top for her to climb up and jump back onto the road first. I don’t want to risk falling onto the pavement and breaking something. She supports me as I lower myself, then gestures for me to run, following her along the road and around the corner to where Joe is waiting with the car.
We jump in and he sighs. “I’m not going to ask any questions,” he says, and sets off.
“I can’t believe we did that!” I squeal, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I feel like I’ve got off a roller coaster.
“Can I see the picture?” Cordelia asks.
