Forty-five minutes in, I’m in full-on panic. I pace around, trying desperately to see what’s down the winding, narrow road leading to the station. Did I get off at the wrong stop? I recheck the sign and it’s definitely the right place. Maybe I gave Cordelia the wrong time? I scroll through my messages and confirm I told her the correct one. The taxi is either held up or isn’t coming and has decided it’s not worth letting me know. How infuriating! I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere with no signal. They would surely know that anyone stranded here is in a tight spot and the idea of letting down the Marquess and Marchioness of Meade can’t be good for business around here…
Another reason for the taxi’s no-show pops into my head. It seems by far the likeliest scenario.
Cordelia never booked one in the first place.
ARGH! How could I have been sostupid? She’s been trying to sabotage me from the beginning. Why would she happily book a taxi for me so I could join the weekend? I can’t believe how naïve I am to have believed her.
“What a BITCH,” I say out loud, to no one. A cow moos in the distance.
A raindrop lands on the side of my nose.
Brilliant.
I grab the handle on my wheelie case and grumpily walk down the road away from the station, holding my phone in front of me as I go, checking the screen every few seconds. Theremustbe a signal somewhere along this road, and as soon as I manage to get a bar, I can google a local taxi company. It starts to rain lightly and I hate myself for not bringing a coat with a hood. Did I pack an umbrella? I must have done. But, if so, it will be in my wheelie case and I can’t be bothered to unzip it on the road and fish it out.
The road goes on forever. Not one bar of signal makes an appearance and no cars pass. The rain gets heavier, water trickling down my face, as I continue, praying that a taxi miraculously appears and I’m wrong about Cordelia. I stop to tie up my hair, which is damp and scraggly, now plastered unpleasantly to my forehead and neck. I’m watched by the curious sheep in the field next to the lane. Most are lying in the shelter of a tree, snuggled together. I’m so jealous, I can’t look at them anymore.
“This is ridiculous!” I cry, deciding it’s time to search for that umbrella.
Crouching, I try to unzip the wheelie case just a little so that the rain doesn’t ruin all the clothes I’ve brought for the weekend, stick my arm in and scrabble about inside. I can’t find it blindly, so I open the case fully and have a good rummage.
“Fuck’s sake,” I grumble. It’s in the zipped pocket on the front. “That’s perfect. I’ll turn up to Dashwell looking like a drowned rat, all my clothes for the weekend ruined.”
A sheep bleats sympathetically. The animals are feeling my pain.
The station road eventually comes to a crossroads wherethere is a sign pointing me in the direction of Dashwell Hall and an actual pavement on both sides. Encouraged by this sign of civilization, I check my phone again just in case. Raindrops splatter over the screen despite my attempts to shield it with the umbrella. Still no signal. And nothing else for miles. Looks like I’m walking all the way there.
“Please don’t be too far, please don’t be too far,” I whimper, setting off, knowing full well that it is quite a long way because I looked at it on a map and I remember it being a good drive from the station.
After a while, my wheelie case goes over a stray stone, causing me to stumble and stub my toe. Yelping, I stop to give myself a moment. I feel like I might burst into tears. I do not deserve this! I hate Cordelia. I. HATE. HER. And why is there no signal? How is there anywhere in this country still with no signal? This is the twenty-first century!What is wrong with this place?
“ARRRRRGH!” I scream in frustration, closing my eyes, clenching my fists, and stomping on the ground to let all my anger out.
A car horn beeps behind me and I jump out of my skin. I spin around to see a mucky old Land Rover crawling slowly toward me. I’m saved!
I drag my wheelie case over and the window rolls down so I can speak to the driver.
Oh. Fuck.
“Emily!” Tom takes in my appearance, his eyes wide with shock. “What are you doing?”
The joy at being saved from my current predicament makes way for an overwhelming wave of humiliation. I can’t imagine what I look like but it can’t be anything good. My makeup is surely running over my face and my hair is scraped back into a wet bun. I also have mud splattered over my legs, splashed up from the wheels of my case.
“Oh, hi.” I smile, trying to appear nonchalant. “How are you, Tom?”
“Were you planning onwalkingto Dashwell?” he asks, ignoring my question. “I thought Cordelia had booked you a taxi.”
“My train got in a bit earlier,” I lie, wiping my forehead. “I forgot there was no signal out here. I thought the walk would do me good.”
As tempting as it is to tell everyone how much of a bitch Cordelia really is, I also know that ratting her out to her brother is not the way forward. The only way this might work is if she starts to trust me. Until then, I have to play along with her game.
Her horrible, crazy game, which includes me breaking into houses in the middle of the night. And being stranded in the middle of the countryside.
Think of the money, think of your career, think of the future clients…
“You thought you’d walk in the rain?”
“It’s very… refreshing.”
