The Rapunzel Dilemma Read online

  Her laptop pinged. She crossed to the bed and read Angel’s reply.

  Darling Lily,

  Don’t worry, I’m sure your audition wasn’t as bad as you think and the verdict will be good. Anyway, I’ve already texted Nick about us coming to London to see you in a few weeks. He was pumped, so you’d better be there!☺

  Vidal’s is amazing and I’ve never worked so hard in my life! I don’t see Monsieur Vidal too often as I’m only a lowly apprentice, but he did stop and ask me how I was doing during a visit to the studio last week. The rest of the team were impressed that he knew my name!

  I can’t send photos of the summer collection as it’s strictly under wraps until the show. I haven’t even seen it yet and probably won’t until after the opening. I’m busy with it, but mostly fetching and carrying and sourcing fabrics. Maybe in a year or two, I might make the team. I can dream!

  I’ve attached a photo of me and Kitty for your room at the Academy. My fingers are crossed for you! Kitty’s staying in Paris with her mum’s family for a few weeks while her dad’s away. I haven’t seen her since the Versailles Ball, so there’s lots to catch up on!

  BTW I spoke to Grandmama last night, she’d just arrived in Monte Carlo and was already busy drumming up support for the Red Cross Ball. She said to send her love if I spoke to you.

  So here it is and my love too.

  Angel xxx

  Lily tried to believe Angel’s hopeful prediction, but the weekend dragged by and the telephone did not ring.

  She did her best not to think about it. She rang Angel a couple of times, but they couldn’t talk for long because Angel was busy at Vidal’s. She sounded so happy that Lily didn’t like to mention how miserable she felt.

  She might have spent the whole weekend on Facebook or Skyping her friends back home in New York, but Lady Langham had strict rules about time spent on the internet and had insisted on taking her sightseeing instead. Lily enjoyed visiting the Globe Theatre and Hampton Court Palace and the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, and she appreciated Lady Langham’s efforts to keep her mind off things. But there were whole hours when she wished she’d never even heard of the London Drama Academy.

  By late Sunday afternoon, she’d given up all hope of receiving a call from Marshall Drake and had started trying to imagine life at a Paris high school.

  It was after eight on Sunday evening when Nick’s father wandered into the sitting room and interrupted Lily and his wife watching a re-run of Downton Abbey.

  ‘It’s raining again,’ he said gloomily.

  Lady Langham looked up. ‘I thought it might rain. Still, the gardener will be pleased. Such a dry summer.’

  ‘In America.’

  ‘Really? Have they been in drought too?’ asked his wife with interest.

  ‘I mean it’s raining in New York. At the tennis – rain’s halted play.’

  ‘Oh dear, how disappointing.’

  ‘I hope it doesn’t put Murray off his game.’

  ‘He’s Scottish,’ said Lady Langham cheerfully. ‘He’ll be used to rain.’

  ‘That’s true,’ replied her husband, brightening. ‘He’s off to a good start, anyway. Took the first two games off Djokovic without a blink.’

  He stood there pondering, until his wife finally said, ‘Did you want me, Charles? Only, Lily and I are trying to watch television.’

  Lord Langham thought for a moment. ‘Had something I needed to tell you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘That’s right – I had a call.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘From that fellow at the Drama School.’

  ‘Oh, Charles, how can you be so cruel?’ cried Lady Langham. ‘How could you ramble on about the tennis when poor Lily has been waiting all weekend for news?’

  ‘Wh–what did the Director say?’ asked Lily tremulously.

  ‘Not much,’ replied Lord Langham. ‘Only that he wants to see you in his office at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, and that he looked forward to offering you a place at the Academy.’

  CHAPTER 6

  The London Drama Academy was an impressive structure. Built almost a hundred years earlier by eccentric English millionaire Solomon Thorngold, it was usually referred to in London guidebooks as ‘a fine example of neo-Gothic architecture’. Privately, Lily thought the great grey-stone building, with its turrets, pointed arches, gargoyles and stone scrollwork, looked like a sort of Gothic Disneyland.

  She loved it though and, as she dragged her duffel bag and suitcase from the car, she stood for a moment looking up at the building that was to be her home for the next three years.

  It stood on one side of a square. On the first floor, rows of high arched windows looked across the gated garden in the middle of the square. Above the curved stone entrance, a stately clock tower was supported by the marble figures of Thalia and Melpomene, the theatrical muses, holding their masks of comedy and tragedy.

  Lily hoped they were smiling down on her as she waved goodbye to Lady Langham and pulled her suitcase eagerly up the steps.

  It was just on eight-thirty and she heard the clock tower chime as she passed through the doorway into the cavernous entrance hall with its polished wooden floor. A pair of wide wooden staircases rose left and right, and on either side of them, long, well-lit corridors led into the north and south wings. Directly across the entrance hall, a short corridor led into the cloisters that surrounded the grass quadrangle at the centre of the Academy.

  There were students everywhere, and Lily stood for a minute watching the tide of people ebb and flow around her. There were as many boys as girls and myriad nationalities. She quickly discovered she was not the only American – to her left she could hear a boy with a distinct New Jersey accent and behind him were a couple of African-American girls, who sounded like they might be from Boston.

  Most of the students seemed older than Lily and none of them looked like first years. They all seemed to know each other and there was a lot of hugging and high-fiving and squealing as people reunited for the first time since their holidays. There was no sign of Charlotte or her friends, which – though a relief – made Lily wonder where the first years gathered on their first day at the Academy.

  For about the millionth time she wished she hadn’t missed last week’s orientation. She’d said as much to Angel last night on the phone when she’d rung her and Grandmama to tell them the exciting news. Of course, Angel had been as reassuring as ever, but Lily couldn’t help feeling it’d be a lot easier if she already had her timetable and her room assignment and knew where to report for her first class. Still, the Director was sure to tell her what she needed to know.

  She glanced at her watch. She had plenty of time before her meeting with Marshall Drake, but she wasn’t exactly sure where to go. The Director’s office had not been on the summer-school itinerary.

  Lily looked around for someone to ask.

  The entrance hall was becoming more crowded by the minute and to her surprise most of the new arrivals were in costume. A group of students in Roman togas strolled past with several boys wearing Russian uniforms and Cossack hats, while on the other side of the hall a knot of girls in Grecian robes mingled with a coven of witches, and a band of musketeers chatted to a noisy troupe of fairies.

  Lily was about to ask someone what was going on when a student dressed as a giant yellow chicken almost knocked her over.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the chicken, flapping his wings. ‘In a hurry. We’re about to start.’

  ‘Start what?’ asked Lily.

  ‘D-Day,’ said the chicken.

  ‘What’s D-Day?’ But it was too late. The chicken had gone. Lily watched him run across the hall to join a duck and a rooster who were talking to a petite Chinese girl with a clipboard.

  It was the clipboard that decided her. She’d ask the girl the way to Marshall Drake’s office and get out of the hall before whatever was going to happen happened.

  She was halfway across the floor, dragging her suitcase
behind her, when there was a sudden commotion on the stairs. Looking up, she saw a mob of students wearing full masks and swirling black cloaks plunging down the steps towards her.

  ‘D-Force coming through,’ shouted the leader, drawing a sword from his belt and holding it aloft.

  ‘D-FORCE!’ shouted those behind him and drew their weapons.

  From the opposite staircase came an answering roar as a group of students in medieval dress threw back their long velvet cloaks, yelled, ‘D-NOTE!’ as they each held up a flute, and hurtled down the stairs towards her.

  Before Lily knew what was happening she was surrounded by people in cloaks slashing at each other with flutes and swords. A cloak whirled round and hit her in the face, she lost her grip on her duffel bag, and her suitcase was kicked aside by someone with a flute. Before she could retrieve them, an elbow caught her in the ribs and she thought she was about to fall when someone grabbed her wrist and she heard an indistinct male voice say, ‘Follow me.’

  Looking up, she glimpsed a heavy black mask before the boy pulled her hard against him, put his arm around her shoulders and forced his way through the crowd.

  It took him only a few seconds to reach the safety of the sidelines and they emerged from the melee right beside the clipboard girl.

  ‘You okay?’ she asked.

  ‘I think so.’ Lily turned to her rescuer. ‘Thanks –’

  But he was already walking away. Lily caught the scent of something familiar – something that reminded her of home – but it was gone before she could identify it.

  ‘Wait!’ she cried, and felt herself blush at the urgency in her voice.

  He looked back.

  ‘Who are you?’ she called.

  ‘Just a rebel.’ He raised his sword and bowed and, even though she couldn’t see his eyes, Lily had the strangest feeling that behind his mask he was laughing at her.

  She wanted to ask him what he meant, but he’d already run back to the battle and plunged into the confusion of whirling cloaks, swords and flutes.

  ‘Too fast,’ muttered Lily regretfully.

  ‘Sorry?’ said the clipboard girl.

  ‘It’s so fast,’ replied Lily. ‘I hope they don’t get hurt.’

  The girl laughed. ‘No chance of that – look again.’

  Lily looked and suddenly she could see that the weapons and flutes were props and the combatants were performing a vaguely choreographed play-fight.

  She wanted to ask if the girl knew which of the black-cloaks had rescued her, but she was busy watching the girls in the Grecian robes holding up their fake Olympic torches. The girl scribbled furiously on her clipboard as they paraded past her chorusing, ‘D-LIGHT, D-LIGHT.’

  There was a ripple of applause, then the fairies ran up the stairs, fluttered their wings, and called out, ‘D-BUG.’ Everyone groaned and the groans turned to booing when the chicken, the duck and the rooster ran through the crowd throwing handfuls of feathers into the air while shouting, ‘D-PLUME!’

  It was fun to watch, but Lily knew she had to go. She tapped clipboard girl’s shoulder and said, ‘Can you please tell me how to get to Marshall Drake’s office?’

  The girl nodded. ‘Sure, it’s over there –’ She was interrupted by loud cheers as the Cossack hat wearers began executing a series of energetic leaps and pirouettes while yelling, ‘D-FEAT!’ in time to Russian music blaring from someone’s iPod speakers.

  ‘Sorry about the noise,’ the girl said. She held out her hand. ‘I’m Mae-Ling Chen, girls’ third-year rep and D-Day judge.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Lily. She looked across to where the band of musketeers were forming a human sculpture that spelled out the word ‘D-POSE’. ‘I don’t know what it is, but it looks weirdly amazing.’

  Mae-Ling laughed again. ‘It does look strange, but the first day of term is always like this.’ She scribbled something and nodded towards the group of witches holding up a sign that read ‘Macbeth Rules’ while they shrieked, ‘D-SIGN!’

  ‘The ones in costume are the new seniors and today is the Dramaturge – also known as D-Day. All the third-year students have to come dressed as a character from one of the plays they studied last year and each group has to come up with a D-pun. The best puns earn the most points, with extra points if it’s somehow relevant to the play.’ She tapped her clipboard. ‘I’m keeping score.’

  She made notes as the Romans began handing out cans of soft drink and chanting, ‘D-SERVE! D-SERVE! D-SERVE!’ as they moved around the hall.

  ‘I’d love to stay and see who wins,’ said Lily.

  ‘This is just the first round,’ said Mae-Ling. ‘Pretty soon everyone will head to the drama hall for assembly and after that there’ll be wordplay and improv followed by a drama-duel in the quad.’

  ‘Sounds amazing.’ Lily gestured to the giant chicken and the black-cloaks. ‘I’m not sure I recognise every play, though.’

  ‘I can’t say I recognise the chicken and his feathered friends, but those guys,’ Mae-Ling nodded toward the masked students, ‘are a special case.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘They’re all students from the Pendragon School.’

  ‘The art school?’ asked Lily, looking intently at the group by the stairs. ‘What are they doing here?’

  ‘They had a fire in the senior boys’ wing during the holidays and some of the bedrooms were badly smoke-damaged. The Academy offered to house them here while their rooms are being refurbished. Our south wing butts up against their building, so they take their classes at Pendragon and eat and sleep here.’

  ‘And do D-Day,’ added Lily.

  ‘And do D-Day,’ agreed Mae-Ling. ‘Usually they’re only allowed to participate at the very end, but this year they talked us into letting them join the D-puns.’

  ‘Lucky for me,’ said Lily. She looked at the duelling mass. ‘Do you know which one rescued me?’ she asked casually.

  ‘Not sure,’ said Mae-Ling. She scanned the crowd of students. ‘But I’d guess it was the tall one with the sword, over there.’

  ‘Do you mean him?’ asked Lily, pointing towards a broad-shouldered black-cloak casually fencing with a shorter masked opponent. He looked taller than she remembered. ‘Do you know his name?’

  Before Mae-Ling could answer, Lily caught sight of her watch.

  It was five to nine.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she gasped. ‘I mustn’t be late.’

  Mae-Ling looked around the hall. ‘Puns are over, so I can take you if you like.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Lily. She looked around. ‘I had a bag and a suitcase.’

  ‘I think they’re over there,’ said Mae-Ling, pointing to a battered case leaning against the far wall with a duffel bag lying beside it.

  Lily retrieved them, then followed Mae-Ling out into the cloisters and around two sides of the grassy quadrangle. At the far corner Mae-Ling stopped by a large wooden door. ‘This is it,’ she said. ‘Just knock and go in, and Mrs Wilson will look after you.’

  ‘Thanks again,’ said Lily. ‘I appreciate it. I’m a bit nervous.’

  Mae-Ling nodded. ‘We’ve all been there. This is my third year but I still remember my first day – I was wobbly with nerves.’ She held out her hand, ‘Good luck –’

  ‘Lily. Lily de Tourney.’

  Mae-Ling’s smiled faded. ‘Right then,’ she said. ‘See ya.’ She turned quickly and walked away.

  Mrs Wilson’s office was an oasis of calm after the din of the entrance hall. The secretary was on the phone, but she greeted Lily with a friendly wave and pointed to a chair outside the Director’s door. She was clearly too busy to talk, so Lily sat down and tried not to think about Mae-Ling’s reaction when she’d heard her name.

  It seemed like an eternity (though the clock said only fifteen minutes) before Mrs Wilson put down the phone and said brightly, ‘You can go in now.’

  Lily looked doubtfully at her grimy duffel bag and dented suitcase.

  ‘Leave them with me, dear,’ said Mrs Wi
lson. ‘In you go.’

  Lily tugged her T-shirt into place, smoothed a nervous hand over her jeans, knocked and entered the Director’s office.

  Marshall Drake was sitting behind a large oak desk perusing some papers and did not immediately look up, so she took a moment to gaze around the large, comfortably furnished room. Behind the Director, the morning sun streamed through the window and landed like a spotlight on the mass of awards lining the shelves of one of the big bookcases.

  She was trying to make out the name on an Olivier award when the Director looked up. ‘Sit down, Lily.’ He indicated the straight-backed chair in front of his desk.

  Lily sat.

  She’d seen Marshall Drake at her audition but she’d been too nervous to really look at him. Up close, he was exactly like his pictures: black hair swept back from his forehead, a short salt-and-pepper beard that ended in a sharp point below his chin, and light-blue eyes that stared at her from beneath dark, well-shaped eyebrows.

  He seemed to look right through her and Lily had to force herself not to fidget.

  ‘Welcome to the London Drama Academy, Lily. I hope you will get a great deal out of your first term with us.’

  Lily suddenly realised she’d been holding her breath. ‘I’m sure I will,’ she gasped.

  ‘Before you join the other students, I need to make sure that we understand one another.’

  Unsure of what to say, Lily nodded.

  ‘A place at the Academy is a privilege,’ said the Director. ‘Something I hope you will appreciate while you are here.’

  ‘I will – I do,’ said Lily fervently.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ replied Marshall Drake, ‘because the circumstances of your admission are extremely unusual.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘I think it only fair to tell you that I was not in favour of allowing you to audition.’ He paused. ‘There were, however, others who felt that you deserved a second chance.’ He leaned forward and eyed her sternly. ‘Although we nurture and encourage creativity at the Academy, let me make it clear that this creativity does not apply to the rules. They are there for good reasons and I expect you to follow them like everybody else.’