Chapter 3

Westfield Boarding School for Girls
2000

THE MIDNIGHT GIRLS didn’t meet for a week after they discovered Sophie Harcourt’s secret. It felt too dangerous, somehow: they’d come perilously close to being discovered themselves and it was best to hold off for a while until things had quietened down.

Imogen couldn’t help staring at Sophie in lessons, astonished that the other girl looked exactly the same as she had before: utterly innocent and normal, working away at her French verbs and preparing for the exams as though nothing had changed. Imogen had half expected to see signs of depravity on her face or maybe a new look of sophistication and knowledge, the kind of expression that Eve must have had after eating the apple. After all, Sophie had taken steps into the secret world they all longed to explore: she had experienced things they could only imagine.

She watched carefully to see if Martha Young and Sophie went near each other, but they didn’t. They were in different houses and different forms. The only time they were together was in the upper-fifth common room during any free or revision periods. Imogen saw them together when Sophie went to make a cup of tea and Martha was rinsing a mug in the sink: they appeared not to notice each other at all, but Imogen thought she saw the merest flicker of a glance between the two of them. She remembered them embracing in the darkness, their skin soft against the rough old wool of the well-worn sofa, and looked away, her face burning.

The day after the discovery, Allegra had been in high spirits.

‘I can’t believe it,’ she’d said excitedly, as they walked around the games field during break. ‘Sophie Harcourt’s a lesbian! And with Martha Young. Shit. I wonder if Arabella knows about it? Bet she doesn’t. God, when you think about how mean Sophie is … Do you remember when she and Arabella spent the whole time teasing Portia Clifford about being a lezzer – and all along Sophie was one herself! Martha had her hand down her pants, for Christ’s sake. She must have been fingering her. What a fucking hypocrite!’

They all agreed that Sophie was a terrible hypocrite, but Imogen found it hard to share Allegra’s elation; something about the discovery worried her, though she wasn’t sure if it was the revelation about Sophie’s sexuality or the power of the secret they now guarded. No matter how worldly wise and grown-up everyone pretended to be, they would still be shocked by a gay relationship – it would mark Sophie out, make her the target of gossip and secret jokes. Romily maintained her cool French exterior as always and didn’t say much, but the glances she swapped with Imogen showed that she secretly shared the same misgivings.

When the games mistress nominated Allegra to help collect kit from the sports hall, Romily pulled Imogen to one side.

‘What are we going to do about all this?’ she said, her dark brown eyes worried. ‘Look at Allegra, I haven’t seen her so cheerful in ages.’

‘I know.’ Imogen gazed at the ground. ‘It’s because of what we’ve found out. I think she wants to use it.’

‘I don’t think she should,’ Romily said urgently.

‘Nor do I.’ Imogen couldn’t help noticing that her friend wore even her games kit with her customary sense of fashion: her tartan kilt was a little more rakish and stylish than the others, her initials stitched on to it in flowing pink script.

‘If Sophie gives Allegra any reason or provokes her, she’ll use it to get her revenge,’ said Romily. ‘She won’t be able to help herself. It’s bound to get out somehow, and it’s going to cause a terrible scandal. Poor Sophie. I know she’s a bitch, but I can’t help feeling sorry for her. It will be so, so embarrassing. How will she face everyone? It will ruin her life here. And Martha’s too. They’ll have to leave.’

They stared at each other.

‘Can we stop Allegra?’ asked Imogen at last.

‘All we can do is try and persuade her to go easy,’ Romily said. ‘I’m sure she’ll listen to us.’ The games mistress returned then with Allegra, whose arms were piled high with bibs. ‘Come on. We’d better go and warm up.’

It felt strange for Imogen to be sharing a confidence with Romily. Allegra had always been their leader, the other two her close lieutenants with their first loyalty to her rather than each other. And Imogen had been at Allegra’s side even before they came to Westfield, two girls from Scotland anticipating their grand English boarding school, Imogen with nervousness and Allegra with unbridled excitement.

They had first met when Imogen was almost ten years old.

‘What an amazing coincidence!’ her mother had marvelled as she dressed Imogen in her smartest clothes.

‘What is? Where are we going?’ she’d asked while her mother brushed out her hair and tied it in a ribbon.

‘My old school friend, Selina Garrett … all this time she’s been living ten miles away and I never knew!’ Imogen could sense her mother’s excitement. ‘Who would have thought it? I met her quite by accident in Edinburgh and it turns out that she’s only gone and married Ivo McCorquodale, the eldest son of Lord Crachmore, and they live at Foughton, that magnificent old castle on the edge of the loch. I can’t believe how many times I’ve driven past it, and all the time Selina’s been living there! We were very best friends at school, though we lost touch afterwards when she went abroad. We’re going to visit today, and you’ll meet her daughter who is the same age as you are. I’m sure you’re going to be friends, just as we were!’

They seemed to drive for ages, out of town and into the countryside, and finally down long, twisty, overgrown roads that led to a beautiful, crystal blue loch, with Foughton standing craggy and impressive at its side. It was amazing, like something from Imogen’s favourite storybooks, a castle where gorgeous princesses danced in satin slippers and where good fairies and wicked witches flew among the grey stone turrets and battlements.

I would love to live here, she thought at once, her imagination alight. It’s so much more exciting than our boring house in our boring road …

She watched as her mother fell, screaming with pleasure, into the arms of her old friend, followed dutifully as they were led through the endless dark corridors and listened as her mother said what an incredible place it was, but her friend said it was a bore to live in something so big and that it was freezing in the winter and how difficult it was to find people to work there – and all the other adult problems that seemed so dull. Who cared, if you could live in a castle like this? And then, they came out into an enormous sitting room and suddenly they were in the light again. Huge windows opened on to a stone terrace edged with what looked like battlements, and beyond that was the sparkling loch and nothing else to be seen for miles and miles except soft Scottish hills melting into the horizon. And there, sitting on the rug in front of an enormous hearth, was a pretty blonde girl, her skinny limbs emerging from a T-shirt and some denim shorts, playing with a grey kitten.

‘This is Allegra,’ her mother’s friend said cheerfully. ‘Allegra darling, get up and say hello to Imogen. She’s just your age and I’m sure you’re going to be great friends.’

Imogen stood awkwardly on the edge of the rug while Allegra got slowly to her feet, her face impassive and her dark-blue eyes watchful and cool.

‘Take her up to the nursery, darling, and show her your things. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time together. Take Zaza with you.’

Allegra tucked the grey kitten against her chest and padded towards the door without giving Imogen another glance.

‘Go on, Imogen,’ said her mother, obviously eager to sit down for a good chat with her friend, ‘off you go with Allegra.’

So she’d gone after her, following in her footsteps and feeling silly in the smart tartan pinafore and patent Mary Janes that her mother had put her in for the visit. Allegra’s clothes, although they were nothing special, seemed a million times more stylish and desirable. On that first visit she barely said a word to Imogen for the first hour. Up in the nursery, she put a cassette tape into a player and they listened to rock music at top volume while Allegra played with Zaza the kitten and Imogen lost herself in the nursery bookcase, which was crammed with Enid Blytons that she hadn’t yet added to her collection. After an hour or so they went back downstairs and Allegra took her to the kitchen where the housekeeper gave them each a glass of orange squash and some digestive biscuits.

‘Do you like Nirvana?’ Allegra said at last, as they munched their biscuits.

‘Mmm, yes.’ Imogen nodded. That must be what they’d been listening to. She’d never heard of them. They were certainly loud, and seemed very het up about things.

‘I fucking adore them,’ Allegra announced. Imogen’s eyes widened with surprise at the extremely naughty word she had just heard. ‘I’m going to marry Kurt Cobain when I grow up.’ She stared at Imogen. ‘Who are you going to marry?’

Imogen didn’t know whether to tell the truth about who she wanted to marry, but she had been brought up to be honest and wanted to be like this glamorous girl, so she swallowed her biscuit and said in a quiet voice, ‘Kevin fucking Costner.’

Allegra laughed so hard she squirted orange squash all over the table. Imogen started giggling too, and the next minute they were squealing hysterically, with Allegra rolling on the floor holding her stomach, until the housekeeper came to find out what on earth all the fuss was about.

After that, they were friends.

Back home, Imogen’s mother couldn’t stop talking excitedly about Selina’s life, her marriage into the aristocracy, her beautiful children, and her amazing house.

‘Who would have thought it?’ she kept marvelling. ‘Selina Garrett. Well, well, well. Of course, it can’t all be a picnic. Ivo’s been married twice before and poor Selina’s got three stepchildren to cope with, as well as her own two, and her boy Xander won’t inherit a thing. And her grim old father-in-law still rules the roost, but still … Perhaps it’s not too high a price to pay for everything she’s got.’

Imogen wondered if her mother was drawn to her old friend and her impressive home because it was a life that perhaps she herself could have had. After all, they had both started out in the same place, as schoolgirls at Westfield, but where Selina Garrett now had a title and a castle to live in, Jeannie Heath had ended up in an average suburban house, with a decent but ordinary husband who ran his own Edinburgh law practice, living an uneventful life.

No matter what Selina Garrett now had, she must have been lonely too because their visits to the castle became quite frequent. Every few weeks Imogen and her mother would get into the car to make the trip to that strange otherworldly place. And with each visit, Allegra and Imogen grew closer. Allegra would take Imogen to her bedroom and show her her prized collection of Hello Kitty bags and T-shirts, and her sparkly bangles, and they were soon putting each other’s hair into bunches and plaits, talking about whether they preferred Whitney Houston or Mariah Carey. They talked about the boys they were in love with; Allegra liked actors like River Phoenix or else rock stars, the grungier the better. Imogen preferred nice, clean-cut boys like Tom Cruise and Take That.

‘How many brothers and sisters have you got?’ Allegra asked one day in her clipped English accent as they lay on the nursery floor doing cat’s cradles with pieces of string.

‘Oh, none. I’m an only child,’ Imogen said placidly. Her soft Scottish accent, picked up at school, was shortening into an imitation of the way her new friend talked.

‘Really? You’re so lucky. I wish I was an only child. I get forgotten all the time.’

‘Where are all your brothers and sisters?’ Imogen had never seen anyone else about and had begun to assume that Allegra was an only child, like herself.

Allegra shrugged. ‘Dad’s been married three times. He’s really old … much older than your dad, I expect. He’s over sixty.’

‘Sixty!’ breathed Imogen, unable to imagine her father at such a great age.

‘He’s got two children from his first marriage, Rory and Tristan. Rory’s going to inherit this place when Dad dies, and he’s grown up and married. Then there’s Miranda – she’s my sister from Dad’s second marriage. She’s away at Sherbourne, and in the holidays she goes to stay with her mother most of the time. After that Dad married Mum and had me and my brother Xander who’s at prep school in Oxford. He’s going to Eton next year.’

‘Gosh.’ It seemed terribly complicated but also very glamorous. ‘I wish I had all those brothers and sisters.’ Imogen twirled her string into a new arrangement.

‘I’d rather be like you,’ Allegra said. ‘At least you get noticed in a good way. I only get noticed when Dad … when he’s angry.’

But Imogen couldn’t imagine why Allegra would want to be like her. To her, Allegra’s life was bordering on the fairytale and she was irresistibly drawn to the other girl whom she considered perfect in just about every way. And, like a princess stranded in a tower, Allegra also seemed lonely and hungry for friendship. It was a perfect fit. Soon they couldn’t imagine life without each other.

‘Selina has a terrible time,’ Mrs Heath said grimly to her husband as they sat at the dinner table back at home. ‘Ivo isn’t easy …’ She cast a glance over at Imogen, who had finished. ‘You can get down, darling. Go and watch telly if you like.’

Television was rarely allowed, so Imogen guessed that there was something of interest to be heard. She got down obediently and lingered outside the dining-room door, listening to the adult conversation, catching clear snippets among the low buzz of her mother’s voice, like a radio tuning in and out to good reception.

‘He drinks! It’s nearly a bottle of whisky a night apparently … his rages are terrible to behold, Selina says …’

Imogen kept her ear close to the crack in the door.

‘The children are terrified too, she says … he’s turned on them once or twice … kicked his boy down the stairs once, can you believe it!’

‘Well, why does she stay?’ came her father’s deep, audible voice, in his reasonable lawyer’s tones. ‘He sounds like a monster, Jeannie.’

‘It’s not so straightforward, darling. She loves him, I think …’

‘Or loves that castle and her title.’

‘How can you say that? Selina’s not that type at all! I’ve met him, and he seemed like a love. You know what drink can do to a man …’

Imogen knew nothing of drink except that one or two glasses of his favourite red wine could make her father terribly sleepy, and she decided to look at Allegra’s father carefully next time she saw him for signs of what it could do. But when she did see him, striding down a corridor at Foughton, he seemed so huge and old and frightening that she ducked down a passage and hid.

‘Have you heard?’ Allegra said with excitement, dragging Imogen to the nursery almost before she was through the door. ‘We’re going to school together!’

‘We are?’ she said, amazed. She’d assumed that she was going to the local secondary school, like everyone else in her class.

‘I heard our mums talking about it! I’m going to Westfield, if I pass the entrance exams. They were saying how lovely it would be if we could go together! Wouldn’t that be fantastic?’

It was a glorious prospect and, as soon as they were in the car on the way home, Imogen asked her mother if it was true.

Mrs Heath seemed a little flustered. ‘Well, how did you hear about that? It’s true Selina and I have discussed it, and I would be so happy if you went to Westfield, just as I did, and with Allegra too. But … it’s terribly expensive. The only way would be if you could win a scholarship to pay some of the fees. I don’t see why you couldn’t – you’re a bright girl, top of your class in some subjects. We’ll talk to your father about it.’

It didn’t take long for Imogen to realise that her father was not at all keen on the idea. Loitering behind doors and on the stairs, she heard him state his views very clearly.

‘I don’t like the idea at all, Jeannie! She’s too young for that kind of pressure. What if she doesn’t get a scholarship? She’ll feel like a failure, and she’s only ten years old.’

‘Of course she’ll get it. She’s very clever.’

‘She’ll be up against lots of other clever but poor girls. And if she does get it, what then? Surrounded by rich pupils who can afford anything they want … it could ruin Imogen. She’ll turn into one of those nasty types, obsessed with herself and her possessions, and permanently dissatisfied. It’s not what I want for her.’

‘I went to Westfield and I’m not like that!’ cried her mother indignantly. ‘It’s not the social aspect I’m interested in – it’s the fact that I want Imogen to have the very best opportunities. The academic results there are excellent.’

‘If it’s academic results you value, why can’t she go to school here in Scotland? Why send her all the way to bloody England? I don’t want her to leave home so young. I’ll miss her.’

‘We must think of what’s best for her. It’s a wonderful chance. We must let her take it. Besides, she’s longing to go. She told me.’

Imogen knew who would win and, sure enough, a few weeks later she was told that they would be taking a trip with the McCorquodales to Westfield so that the girls could sit the exams: a straightforward entrance exam for Allegra and a scholarship exam for Imogen.

It was a prospect that was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.

What if I don’t pass? Imogen wondered, as they took the train from Edinburgh to London where they would stay overnight at the McCorquodales’ house in Onslow Square, South Kensington. Her mother had arranged some extra tuition from a dry old ex-schoolteacher. Miss McTavish came over every evening to drill Imogen in French grammar and vocabulary, and put her through some mathematics exercises.

‘Soyez soigneuse, Imogen,’ she had warned in her Scottish-tinged French accent. ‘You’ll need to think very hard in these exams … and remember to read the question three times before you answer it.’

She tried to forget how frightened she was in the excitement of their trip. It was Imogen’s first visit to London, and in the taxi from the station to the house she was silent all the way, watching as the famous landmarks drifted by outside the windows. Then they reached their destination: a tall, white-fronted house with an imposing columned porch, set in an elegant square. Inside it was enormous, tastefully and very expensively decorated.

‘What a beautiful house,’ exclaimed Imogen’s mother when they went inside. ‘Selina, it’s exquisite!’

‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with me,’ she said airily, leading the way down a long hall with every inch of the walls hung with paintings. ‘It’s Ivo’s brother, David. He did up this place for us, and you know what wonderful taste he has.’

The two mothers looked at each other meaningfully.

‘Come on,’ said Allegra, pulling Imogen by the hand. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’

The room they would be sharing was right at the top of the house, looking out at the back over the rooftops of Kensington. It was done up like a traditional girly room, with rose-printed curtains, and pink-and-white counterpanes on the beds, and white chests of drawers with little lamps on them. Imogen fell in love with it at once and wished that her bedroom at home looked just like this.

‘My uncle David did it,’ Allegra explained. ‘He designed this ’specially for me.’ She jumped on the bed and bounced on it a little. ‘He’s quite famous.’

‘Is he?’ Nothing about the McCorquodales surprised Imogen: their lives were unendingly fascinating, glamorous and impressive. ‘Why?’

‘He knows absolutely everyone. Goes to all the parties and is friends with them all. I mean, he knows the royal family and film stars and rock stars and … everyone.’

‘Does he know Claudia Schiffer?’ asked Imogen. Claudia was her definition of the most famous and beautiful woman in the world, and her favourite supermodel. Allegra preferred Linda Evangelista.

‘I expect so. And Joan Collins. And Princess Diana.’

Imogen shook her head and breathed, ‘Wow! Princess Diana! Do you think he knows her well?’

Allegra said, ‘She phoned him once when I was there, and he said, “Hello, Diana darling, how are you? When are we having lunch?”’

They thought for a moment of what it must be like to know people as famous as that, to have them phone you and to go out for lunch with them.

‘Why does he know them?’ Imogen asked. She sat down on her bed and kicked off her shoes.

Allegra shrugged. ‘Mummy said he’s a style … arbiter. He has a private members club that he started up years ago, and it’s very exclusive and expensive.’

‘A club?’ Imogen thought of the Secret Seven, which was her main idea of a club.

‘A nightclub. You know, a place people go to late at night, to have dinner and cocktails and talk to each other. Perhaps dance a bit, probably to classical music.’

‘It sounds quite fun,’ Imogen said, though she wasn’t entirely sure.

Allegra nodded. ‘I really want him to take me there but he says I’m far too young and that I can go when I’m eighteen.’ She made a face. ‘But that’s ages away. I’m sure I’ll be able to make him take me before then.’

Then they were called downstairs for tea and cake.

The next day they all climbed into the big black Bentley and were driven to Westfield School. It was beautiful, like a palace, and they were shown all over it by a prefect, who looked sophisticated, adult, and just a touch bored despite her impeccable manners. If I come here, I’ll be like that, Imogen thought longingly. I’ll be like Allegra, and all the other girls here. They’re so clever and confident …

The school was full of wonderful facilities, from the huge sports hall, acres of grass tennis courts and Olympic-sized swimming pool, to the library, computer room, theatre, and light, airy classrooms. But it was the boarding houses she loved the most: the dormitories with their rows of cubicles, each decorated to its owner’s taste with posters, family photographs, books and ornaments. It was everything she’d dreamt a boarding school would be, and her heart contracted with a violent yearning to belong here.

Before lunch they sat their first paper. Allegra was shown into a classroom and whispered, ‘Good luck!’ as Imogen was led on down the hall to the room where the scholarship hopefuls were sitting their exams. A sick feeling seized her stomach. Allegra only has to do well enough to get in, she realised as she surveyed the other girls, who all looked frighteningly bright, but I have to do better than all of these others to get my place.

The pressure made her hands tremble and her throat dry.

She did her best. There was nothing too terrifying, although she couldn’t be sure how much she’d got right in the maths paper.

‘How did it go?’ Allegra whispered as they ate their lunch in the refectory, surrounded by the girls lucky enough to be at the school already.

‘All right, I think,’ Imogen said, mainly relieved that her least favourite paper was out of the way. ‘You?’

Allegra shrugged. ‘Okay. We did Venn diagrams this term, so it wasn’t too bad.’

After lunch they had the French paper and then English, which Imogen knew was her strongest suit. Last of all there was an interview with the Headmistress, which wasn’t as frightening as she’d expected: a casual chat about the things she liked doing, her favourite books and her ambitions. Then it was time to go.

‘Do you want to come here?’ Allegra asked as they watched Westfield disappear through the windows of the Bentley.

Imogen nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. She wanted to go there more than anything in the world.

‘Imogen, you clever girl, you’ve won a place at Westfield!’ her mother said, full of excitement as she clutched a letter with an embossed coat of arms at the top of it.

Imogen gasped, her insides burning with pleasure and surprise. A glowing future appeared in her mind, full of dorms and sports kit and toast and lessons and …

‘But …’ Her father took it from her mother’s hand and scanned it quickly. Then he glanced up at his wife. ‘This is a standard place. Not a scholarship.’

‘The competition is terribly fierce,’ her mother said quickly, her cheeks stained with red. ‘And look what lovely things the Headmistress has said …’

Not a scholarship place? Dismay rushed through Imogen. So am I going or not?

‘Look,’ continued her mother, ‘Miss Steele says that your English paper was outstanding. It was just the slight weakness in your other papers that meant you couldn’t be offered the scholarship. But they hope you’ll be able to take up your place anyway.’

Her father said, ‘I don’t see how, Jeannie. It’s ten thousand a year.’ His face was grim.

Imogen glanced between her parents, her eyes wide and pleading. She knew that her mother usually won arguments, but when it concerned money, her father’s word was final. ‘Please may I go, Daddy?’ she asked in a small, tremulous voice. Don’t you realise my life will be over if I can’t go?

‘We’ll see, Imogen, we’ll see,’ he said in a solemn tone, and she knew that the big debate was going to happen when she was in bed. All she could do was await the outcome.

‘Oh, Jeannie, what a shame!’ Selina said, her face full of sympathy.

‘I’ve begged and pleaded, but he won’t be moved.’ Jeannie Heath’s eyes were red and puffy from all the weeping she’d done in an attempt to shift her husband’s resolve. ‘He says we can’t afford it, and that’s that. He’s been against it from the start, and this has given him just the excuse he needed. Oh, if only Imogen had had a little more maths tuition, she would have won that scholarship place, I know she would. But he wouldn’t pay, and now look!’

The girls sat silently on the sofa in the drawing room of Foughton Castle, listening to Imogen’s fate being discussed as they munched Battenberg and Jaffa cakes. Allegra had her place and would be going to Westfield. The thought that Imogen would not had filled their hearts with despair.

Selina leant towards her friend and pressed a hand over hers. ‘If money is all it is … well, we’ll take the wind out of his sails, that’s all.’ She turned to Imogen with a broad smile over her face. ‘Would you like to go to Westfield with Allegra, darling?’

Imogen nodded, her mouth full of cake and her heart full of longing.

‘Then you shall!’ she declared.

‘But, Selina …’ Jeannie looked dubious. ‘You shouldn’t say such things … it’s really not fair to lead her on. Gordon won’t budge.’

Selina turned back to her friend with a satisfied expression. ‘There’s only one solution. We’ll pay for Imogen to go to Westfield. Oh, don’t worry, darling,’ she said, seeing her friend’s expression, ‘you can pay us back, of course. When you’ve got the money. But, in the meantime, we’ll be more than happy to meet the fees. I know I can speak for Ivo. We’d both feel so much better about Allegra going if we knew she had her little friend with her.’

Allegra’s dark blue gaze slid over to meet Imogen’s grey-green one. Their eyes sparkled and danced. Here was the solution. They continued munching and listening as hard as they could.

‘But, Selina, we couldn’t possibly …’

‘Don’t be silly! I won’t hear another word about it. We’ll pay and that’s that. It will be wonderful, darling! Your daughter and mine, at our old school. It couldn’t be more perfect. And as for Gordon … well, you’ll just have to persuade him, won’t you?’

*

It was only Imogen’s own special pleading, when they’d gone out walking together one day, that swung the balance. Her father was still reluctant but when he’d seen how much she longed for it, he couldn’t deny her, even though she could see in his eyes that he didn’t want to lose her to her new English school.

When he’d finally said yes, she’d screamed with joy and hugged him with all her strength, until he’d laughed but not with joy. She was going to belong to Allegra’s world at last, properly, and on her own account.

They’d gone to Westfield that September, full of anticipation, trepidation and excitement, secure only in their friendship but brimming with hope for the future.