Sloane Sykes stalked off to telephone her mother.

She was furious. Anyone would have thought Alice-Miranda was the movie star, the way the girls had all mobbed her after her aunt and Lawrence Ridley had left. Just watching the whole display turned Sloane’s stomach. Life simply wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t her mother have married someone like Lawrence Ridley instead of her loser vacuum-cleaner salesman father? Sloane dreaded the other girls finding out about that. She’d never live it down. At least she had proof of her mother’s having been a successful model, even if it was a hundred years ago.

“Hello, Mummy,” Sloane said.

“Are you having a good time?” her mother asked.

“No, not especially.”

“You just need to make some friends, that’s all,” her mother cooed. September was enjoying her newfound freedom with her children away. It was lovely not having to do the daily school run—now she could loll about in bed until nine a.m. and spend the rest of the day pleasing herself. The last thing she wanted was for Sloane to come home again.

“Septimus has got a new roommate,” Sloane drawled.

“That’s nice. I’m glad you’re keeping in touch with your brother. I was worried he wouldn’t make any friends, being the strange little fellow that he is,” said September, admiring her French manicure.

Sloane offered the smallest titbit of information. “His father’s a movie star.”

September dropped the phone. There was a rustling sound as she fumbled about, retrieving it from the floor. “What did you say?”

Sloane repeated herself, slowly. “Septimus’s new roommate’s father is a movie star.”

“Oh my gosh, are you kidding?” Her mother steadied herself on the counter, then had to sit down.

“No, Mummy, I’m not kidding,” Sloane said.

“Well, who is it, then?” September demanded.

“Some kid called Lucas,” Sloane teased.

“I don’t care about him,” September spat. “Who’s his father? Who’s this movie star?”

“Umm, well, I just met him a little while ago,” Sloane continued.

“Sloane Sykes, hurry up and tell me. Or do I have to drive over there and drag it out of you?” her mother demanded.

“Oh, it’s Lawrence Ridley,” Sloane sighed.

There was a dull thud at the other end of the line. September had fallen off the chair and was now picking herself up from the kitchen floor. Sloane could hear her mother’s squeals and wondered if perhaps she was having a heart attack.

“Are you there, Mummy?” she asked. “Mummy, are you there?”

There was the sound of deep breathing—more like huffing and blowing—until September finally gathered herself together enough to speak. “Sloane Sykes, you’d better not be putting me on.”

“I’m not, Mummy. He was just here a little while ago, having tea.”

“Then why didn’t you call me? I could have been there in an hour. You just don’t think, do you, Sloane? And now I’ve missed my chance to meet Lawrence Ridley.” There was another thud. Sloane rolled her eyes. She waited for her mother to come back on the line.

“Mother, I have to go.”

“No, no, you don’t. Tell me about him.” September gathered herself together. “What’s he like?”

“He’s handsome and charming and he’s marrying Alice-Miranda’s aunt,” Sloane grouched.

“Really? What’s she like?” September asked. “Is she pretty?”

“She’s okay, I suppose. But totally wrong for him.” Sloane scratched at her pinkie nail.

“Not glamorous enough, it happens all the time. Movie stars always marry beneath them.” Her mother clicked her tongue. “He needs someone more like … well, like me, I suppose.”

“That’s what I thought,” Sloane replied. “But I have to go, Mummy.” Sloane glanced up at the line of girls who were waiting to use the telephone. Mrs. Howard had appeared and was tapping her watch and giving Sloane very dark looks, before bustling out of the room with an armful of towels.

“Call me tomorrow,” her mother demanded. “Is he coming back again soon?”

“Who?” Sloane asked.

“Lawrence Ridley, of course.” September wondered where her daughter got her brain sometimes.

“I don’t know,” Sloane replied.

“Well, you’d better find out. Maybe we’ll get invited to the wedding,” September squealed.

“Yeah, maybe, if he goes through with it.” Sloane turned her back to the line of girls waiting for the phone.

“Bye, darling.” September hung up.

Sloane continued talking into the phone for at least another three minutes before she finally put it down.

“Sorry, girls, important business.” She smiled like a toad in a swarm of flies.

“Sloane Sykes.” Mrs. Howard reappeared. “In here, young lady. NOW!”

Sloane huffed and walked to Mrs. Howard’s little office, which was across the hallway from the sitting room.

“Close the door,” Mrs. Howard commanded.

The girls waiting to use the phone listened intently as Sloane got a very solid telling off for being so inconsiderate of others.