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The Legal Stuff: Emma  ©2004 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Part 8
 
 
As I left The Teesdale College of performing Arts, three years later, in December 2000, I was nearly nineteen, and an awful lot wiser and more mature.
 
 
The three years had been interesting.

Our recording contract had been quite successful, but short-lived. As the guys were good but not great, and we had our eyes set on other things, we made one album, and managed to get ‘I’ll wait, but not forever’ as a single into the charts. It made number nine, and we performed on Top of the Pops. The following week we dropped to 24^th, and then to obscurity.

Gwen had ensured that we fulfilled our contractual obligations, and we all walked away with a reasonable sum in the bank. I was at last solvent, but was sad when Steve departed to Police Training School. We had become very close, and I had to admit to myself that I loved him.

Marcia returned to the college, and completed her two years with us. Her father managed to obtain the services of an eminent medical professor to explain his daughter’s unique case, and she was able to live her life to her heart’s content. A progressive dance company snapped her up, and as I returned to undertake a third year, she flew to New York for a season on Broadway in a highly acclaimed dance show.

Sheri joined me for the third year, and she and I were the only members of our year to stay on.

I had now completed the Diploma course, and had concentrated on my singing, and musical side, but now I wanted to specialise in drama, as I was keen to broaden my skills base.

I spent my holidays with Mike and Mary, and they treated me as if I were their daughter and they were my parents as far as I was concerned. I watched, as the little church became fuller and fuller every Sunday, until there was rarely any spare room. Mike became a dynamic evangelist, and with a heart for youth. I became increasingly involved in the youth work in the church, and I found I rarely had time to consider my beloved mother.

Due to a lack of hard evidence, Raoul was only charged with firearms offences, and nothing else. They were sufficient to get him a couple of years in prison, but he wasn’t going to go away. The links to my mother were tenuous, and as no crime had actually got beyond the planning stages, the CPS were unwilling to run to the cost of a lengthy and expensive extradition and court case. So she was still free, and living in my house in Monaco.

I maintained my phone links with the police, and went to great lengths to send them postcards with my fingerprints all over them.

When I had my seventeenth birthday, and celebrated my year with Mike and Mary. I applied for, and obtained my provisional drivers licence, and Mike took it upon himself to teach me to drive.

Steve, now 20, completed his course, and he invited me to be his special guest at their celebratory meal before their passing out parade. The meal took place in a large conference suite of a hotel near Birmingham, and it was a very formal affair.

Steve told me that he had booked me a room at the hotel, and I took the train. I caught a taxi to the hotel, to find that he had booked us a double room. It was a lovely room, and as I sat on the big double bed, I realised that I was not disappointed with him. However, I was a little bit ashamed with myself, as I had plans for tonight.

I changed into a lovely long black evening dress, cut low across my bust, and was virtually backless. I had my hair done into ringlets, and my nails were perfect. I spent a long time on my makeup, and was very pleased with the result. I did not think I looked only seventeen.

I went down to the large entrance concourse, and waited for the coach to arrive from the Training School. I was approached by several apparently respectable businessmen, and realised, that if the worst came to the worst, I could always become a high-class whore.

Indeed, I was just fending off yet another potential customer, when the coach arrived. It disgorged a horde newly trained police officers - men and women, and their spirits were running high.

Steve was one of the last off the coach, and he saw me standing there. He stopped, and the guy he was with said something to him. Steve replied without taking his eyes off me. The other guy stared at me, and then made some remark to Steve, who smiled and shook his head.

As I looked at him, I realised how much I had missed him, and how fond I had become of him. I smiled, and he came over to me.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi yourself, is that all I get?” I said, pouting.

“You look fantastic, I can’t believe you are so gorgeous, so stunning,” he said, and held his hands out to me. I put my arms around his neck and looked up at him.

“Don’t you want to kiss me then?” I asked.

He pulled me close to him, and kissed me, amazingly tenderly.

“I have a bone to pick with you,” I said, when we came up for air.

“I know, it’s the room. I’m really sorry, but the rooms are  £100 a night, and I couldn’t afford two. I will sleep on the couch,” he said.

My heart melted, as he probably knew it would. So, I just kissed him, and we went up to the room together.

I sat on the bed and chatted while he changed into his dinner jacket. I had persuaded him to wear a white one, just to be different, and I thought he looked great.

I repaired my make up, and he started nuzzling my neck. I felt shivers of pleasure run through me, and I knew that I would need all my will power, and steel knickers to remain a virgin tonight. It was such a pity that I was fresh out of both!

We went down to the bar for a drink, and he proudly introduced me to all his mates. The guys outnumbered the girls by a third, but as everyone had a partner, the actual party was very evenly matched. I watched Steve, as he looked at all the women, and he leant in close to me, and whispered, “You are by far the most beautiful and sophisticated woman here.”

He went to get the drinks, and I was left with his friend, called Roger, the same man he had been with as he got off the coach.

“So, Steve tells me you are a professional singer, what kind of stuff do you sing?” he asked.

“Anything from classical to rock, or pop. Did Steve tell you we performed on Top of the Pops?” I said.

“Yes, until we all got tired of it, but you were the vocalist, and if I remember right, there were four or five of you, and little camera time was given to Steve and his band.”

“You saw it?”

“Yes, you were very good,” Roger said with a grin. “The black leather mini skirts and sexy boots were very, ah, stimulating.”

I laughed and Steve returned with the drinks.

“What are you two laughing about?” he asked.

“Roger was expressing his considered opinion in relation to the merits of certain fashion statements,” I explained.

“You what?” Steve asked, frowning.

“He likes girls in short skirts,” I said.

Various other colleagues came and talked to us, and I found myself the centre of quite a circle of young men, who had no specific partners, or, were just being nosey.

Steve became quite possessive, and I could see he was experiencing a conflict of emotions. On the one hand, he was very pleased and proud to have a glamorous girl as his partner, and then at the same time, he would rather he able to have her all to himself.

I leaned close to him, and said, “Don’t worry, you will have me all to yourself later,” and smiled suggestively. Careful girl, danger! What the hell, I was young, female, attractive, and it wouldn’t last forever.

We went in and dined on a typical large event meal, good, but not fantastic. Speeches followed, but most people were not interested in them, or too pissed to care.

After the speeches, the disco started, and I never sat down all night. If I wasn’t dancing with Steve, then it was someone else, and I think I danced with most of the intake.

They actually started playing our record, ‘I’ll wait but not forever’, and the poor DJ was really confused by the reaction. Everyone knew that I had sung it, and Steve had played lead guitar.

They made me get up with a microphone and sing along to it. It was hard to do the movements, as I was in a long elegant dress, and not my mini skirt and leather boots. Nevertheless, it was just fun, and everyone seemed to enjoy it.

As I gave the microphone back to the DJ, he asked if I was the Emma on the label. The group was called ‘Steve’s Mob with Emma and the Four Ms’.

“Yes, and that guy there is Steve,” I said, pointing out Steve to him.

He then asked us to sign the record sleeve, and his book of celebrities he took with him.

By 01:00, the party was over, and I was completely knackered. We said goodnight to the few still standing, and went up in the lift to our room. I was conscious of feeling a strange sort of excitement, and I was confused. I wanted to please him, and then I didn’t want to be forced into anything I would regret later.

Steve opened the door, and put on the lights. He threw his jacket onto the bed, and grabbed me round the waist.

“I can’t tell you how proud I was to have you come here this evening. You were so stunning, no one else came close to you,” he said

“You’re biased, there were plenty of very pretty girls here this evening,” I replied.

“Sure there were, but you were by far the most beautiful,” he said, and kissed me.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and the next thing I knew my dress had slipped to the floor.

I broke away, as I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Now, now. Rule one,” I said, and covered myself with my crossed arms.

“I love you, Em,” he said, openly and simply.

He looked so helpless; I put my arms around his neck again, and kissed him.

“I know, and I think I love you too. But I am tired, and sweaty, and am going for a shower, are you going to join me?” I heard myself say.

He grinned, and sat on the bed, pulling his shoes off.

Two minutes later, we were naked together in the luxurious shower. He held me close to him, and I had both arms around his neck. We kissed, and I felt his hands stroking my back, and down to my bum. He pulled me tight towards him, and I felt his penis hardening against me. I felt my breasts tingle, and he kissed my nipples, which hardened to the touch. His beard stubble scratched me, and I took hold of the shaving gel, and lathered his face.

I took hold of his razor, and shaved him, which was difficult to do, as his hands were busy fondling every inch of me.

I managed the task, and kissed him to check, that was better. He lathered the soap, I let him wash me all over, and I knew then that tonight I was going to lose my virginity. Importantly, it was because I wanted to.

We got out of the shower, and started drying each other, but I wanted him so badly, that I took him by the hand, and led him to the huge bed.

I pushed him onto the bed, and opened my small evening bag. I took out the three condoms I had bought in Boots earlier that day, and ripped open one of the packets. I rolled the condom onto his engorged penis, and pushed him back onto the bed.

“Emma, I am not forcing you…” he started to say.

I put one finger to his lips, and kissed him passionately. I wanted him so much now it hurt.

I swung my leg across him, so I was kneeling astride him, he kissed my breasts, and I felt for his penis, and helped him slide it into my very damp and hot little hole.

I lowered myself onto him, and felt him slide deep inside me, up to the hilt, I was so turned on that the combination of the visual, the sensual and the mental images, brought me to a plain of experience that was completely new to me. I felt a glow sort of explode deep within me and spread throughout my whole being. I gasped with pleasure as I came as he kept kissing my breasts. I rode him hard and repeated the sensation several times until he gave a huge shudder, thrust deep inside me, and then relaxed.

I slowly slid off him, and noticed that the condom was still intact. He took it off, and threw it in the bin.

I pulled him close to me, and kissed him.

“Thanks, I have wanted you to do that to me for ages,” I said.

“I wanted to do that to you ever since I first saw you,” he admitted.

We snuggled together in the bed, still naked, and just held each other.

“Em?”

“Mmm?”

“I have a confession to make.”

“Oh,” I said, my heart sinking.

“That was my first time too,” he said.

I was very surprised, and looked at him.

“How come?”

“I never found anyone special enough,” he said.

“Am I special, then?”

“Em, you are the most special person in the world. You are like an angel, and I can’t believe you chose me,” he said.

“Don’t you start,” I said, smiling.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter. So it looks like I will have to go on the pill,” I announced.

“Are you sure?”

“They don’t make enough of those rubber things to keep us stocked up. And besides, I don’t really trust them,” I said with a grin, and we kissed again.

“Well?” I said.

“Well what?”

“I thought you wanted to sleep on the couch,” I said, and he tickled me.

“Oh Emma. You make me feel so good, I love you so much,” he said.

“Mmm, you only want me for my body,” I said, and giggled when he tickled me again.

He turned the lights out, and we cuddled and I fell asleep in his arms. I was smiling, as I was now a complete woman.

We made love two more times before we finally got up. Both were amazing, and lasted for quite a long time, as we just savoured each other, and he was so tender. I decided that I liked being a woman.

We had breakfast together in the large hotel dining room. I was wearing a white skirt and jacket, with a black silk blouse. I was conscious of the glances I received from most of the males in the room, and revelled in it. Steve just sat and stared at me, dreamy eyed.

“What are you looking like that for?” I asked him.

“I still can’t quite believe that last night was real. I’ve heard so many people tell me that their first time was instantly forgettable, I will never forget last night,” he said, and reached over and took my hand.

“Marry me, Em.”

I smiled, “I am flattered that you’ve asked me, I rather thought you might, but, Steve, although I do love you, I am not ready yet. You are three years older than I am; I haven’t finished my training yet. There is a big world out there, and I have seen very little of it. Ask me again in three years time, if I haven’t conquered the world by then, it won’t be worth conquering,” I said.

He looked disappointed.

“Steve, I am not saying I won’t, because if I still feel as I do today about you, then I will. But we both don’t need the complications of being married this young,” I said, in attempt to make him feel better.

“I know all that Em, but I just want you forever.”

“Sweet Steve, I am yours now, and I will probably still be yours in three years, please, let’s wait, huh?” I said.

He smiled, and squeezed my hand.

“Why are you so bloody sensible, Em?”

“Because that is the way I am.”

We finished breakfast, he caught the coach back to college, and I tagged along for the ride. There were a great many hangovers on the coach, and I was very grateful that I had stuck to orange juice all evening.

It was a great day, and Steve’s Mum and Dad came to watch as well. They were quite surprised to see me, and Steve had forgotten to tell them that I would be there.

Steve’s mum, Joan, seemed to be aware that our relationship had deepened, particularly when she watched how Steve looked at me during the day. During the parade, she cried as she saw her younger son march into the real world.

She turned to me, and said, “You will look after him well, won’t you?”

I thought the comment a little over the top, but smiled and replied, “Of course.”

She took my hand and squeezed it, and just smiled at me.
 
 
He went off to join his station at Aylesbury, and I continued with my studies. As time passed, our feelings for each other became stronger if anything. He still lived at home, and helped convert an old barn, on the farm, into a nice two-bedroom house. I still spent most of my time with Mike and Mary, and despite Steve’s urgent pleas for me to move in with him, I declined.

When I was just eighteen, I passed my driving test on the first attempt. With the savings from various gigs and the record sales, I managed to afford to buy a little second hand Peugeot. I was now independent, and not reliant of everyone to give me lifts everywhere.

The joys of being a Third Year student at the college meant that many restrictions were now lifted. I was able to stay out overnight, and as long as Gwen knew where I was, there was a lot more freedom.

It was strange, because I now chose to remain in college, apart from the odd occasion when I really missed Steve, and just had to see him. I spent most weekends with him, and had been on the pill since just after his passing out ball.

I was in the library one evening in February. It was almost exactly two years to the day since I had walked away from my old life. I was quietly reading when Gwen came in.

“Ah, here you are! I’ve been looking for you, Emma.”

I looked up from my book, and she sat next to me.

“You like it in here, don’t you?” she asked, looking around at the shelves of books.

“I love it. I can escape everything, and lose myself in my latest book.”

She smiled and looked at what I was reading. It was The Lord of the Rings, by Tolkein.

“That’s one of my favourites too. Have you read it before?”

“Several times.”

“Emma, I’ve received an invitation from a local boys’ school to join with their Sixth form in a production of Shakespeare’s A Merchant of Venice. They are studying the play for A level, and decided to put it on in the early summer, just before the A level papers. It seems that in these enlightened times, it isn’t PC to ask boys to pretend to be girls any more. They are desperate for professional influence to improve their dramatic arts unit, and are willing to pay the college for whatever input we can provide. I thought to provide them with any female cast members they needed, and I want you to take the lead role as Portia. I also want you to act as assistant director, to give technical advice as and when they require it.”

I was stunned. It would be good experience, and a change of scene was always welcome.

“I’m flattered you have so much confidence in me. I’d love to. Which school?”

“It is a small public school a few miles south. Monksreach Hall.”

The world stopped.

I couldn’t go back there! That is where I had escaped. It was impossible. I became aware that Gwen was still talking.

“……, So tomorrow, I thought you and I would drive over and meet the Drama master.”

I smiled vacantly, and nodded. Gwen looked at me and frowned.

“Emma, are you all right, dear?”

“I’m fine. Sorry, I was just trying to imaging being trapped inside a boys’ school.”

She laughed.

“Oh, Emma, you are priceless! I would have thought that your young man was enough to keep you going!”

I blushed, and smiled.

“He’ll do,” I said.

I didn’t sleep much that night. My mind was in a whirl. No matter how much I told myself that no one would recognise me, it had been over two years, I still worried. I had such terrible memories of that damn place!

The next morning, I dressed up. I wore a dark knee length skirt, with a pale blue blouse, a dark scarf around my neck, and a matching dark jacket. With stockings and high heel shoes, I know I looked very smart. I spent ages on my makeup, trying to look as sophisticated as I could. My hair was quite long now, and I loved the feel of it swishing across my shoulders and down my back. I think the fact Steve adored it long clinched it, so I put up with the hassle.

I stared at my reflection, trying to see anything of Russell Drysdale. I failed, and began to feel that all my worries were silly. I was Emma Pearson. Russell didn’t exist anymore, except in memories.

It was a ridiculously short drive, and yet it was a lifetime away. As soon as we entered the familiar gates, I had a feeling of dread come over me.

As the main school building appeared as we rounded the bend in the drive, I was surprised. It was so much smaller and more insignificant than I remembered.

It was a mock Victorian building, including phoney battlements and towers at odd places. I had been a wealthy industrialist’s home in the 1920’s, and had become a school after the Second War.

Gwen parked the car outside the front of the school, in a place marked, Reserved for Visitors. We entered through the main front doors, and the headmaster came out of his study to meet us.

George Carstairs-Brown was in his sixties, and looked how a headmaster is expected to look. He was very tall and distinguished, with a shock of white hair, and almost a military bearing. He was wearing an impeccable grey suit, with his academic gown over the top.

“Ah, Gwen. How lovely to see you again. It has been too long!” he said, and kissed Gwen on the cheek. He turned towards me, with one eyebrow raised.

It was so strange. I knew this man so well. I had been in his maths set for three years, and yet he never looked at me like this before.

“George, this is Emma Pearson, one of my most gifted students. Emma, this is George Carstairs-Brown, the headmaster.”

We shook hands, and he smiled at me in rather a lecherous manner.

“Hello Emma. My goodness, it is so good of you to agree to come into the lion’s den. I only hope I can control the boys with such a beautiful girl in their midst,” he said.

“Emma is my top student, having attained her diploma last year, she is undertaking further studies to add to her already impressive portfolio. Emma has agreed to come and be your assistant director, and she will take on the role of Portia. She is a professional musician in her own right, and is an experienced actress,” Gwen explained.

He took us to the theatre, which was empty, and then to one of the sixth form classes. It was so weird, as I would now have been in the sixth form, probably this very class!

He opened the door and preceded us into the class. I heard the sounds of chairs being pushed back as the boys stood. Gwen followed him, and I took up the rear.

Mr Jobbing, the English and Drama master was at the front of the class. I was very conscious of the sound my heels made on the wooden floor, and the fact that every one of the fifteen boys was now staring at me.

The boys sat down, and Mr Carstairs-Brown introduced Gwen and me to the class. One of the boys came up the front with his chair, and put it down for me to sit on. There was already one for Gwen.

I sat down gratefully, and crossed my legs. Every male eye in the room was watching, and I felt the colour rise in my cheeks. I looked at the boy and smiled thanks.

My heart nearly stopped. It was Mike Paterson. The last time I saw him, we played football together. He blushed and smiled, returning to the back of the class, as Gwen stood at the front.

“Good morning. I just want to tell you a little about my college. ……….”

She gave them a quick spiel about the college, as a bit of background. Then, she finished up, and embarrassed the hell out of me.

“This is an exciting opportunity. My companion today, the lovely Emma, is one of my most experienced girls, and she will head the team who will work with you to produce the play. She has spent the last two and a half years studying drama, music and dance, and is more than capable of giving you all the help you need.”

The class broke up, and we walked back to the theatre. The school caterers produced some coffee and tea, and we were introduced to all the boys who were involved in the production.

After a while, I began to relax. I was satisfied that nobody recognised me, and it was actually quite funny the way all the boys competed for my attention.

Mr Jobbing, whose nickname was probably still, ‘Jobbie’, was going to allocate the various roles to the boys at this stage. Gwen suggested that we all start with a read through, and find the character with the most appropriate voice and general delivery for each role.

I read the part of Portia, and gradually the boys settled down and vied for the best role opposite me.

I couldn’t help but smile, for here were all my ex-classmates, who teased me rotten and constantly made my life miserable. Now they were all being so very charming, and trying desperately to impress me. I started to enjoy myself.

The session ended all to quickly, and Gwen and Mr Jobbing invited me to remain as the boys went off to their next class.

We discussed the most appropriate casting, and drew up a plan of action.

“Emma will come down with the other girls on a weekly basis to start, and as the performance dates get closer, she will be here for every day in the last two weeks.”

So, it happened just that way. The following Wednesday, I set off in my little blue Peugeot with Sheri, and three girls from the Diploma course, Julie, Sue and Marion.

We met the class in the theatre, and I introduced the others to Mr. Jobbing and the boys. The reaction of the boys was actually quite funny, as they started to dribble almost immediately.

Mr Jobbing seemed to treat me with a little awe, and allowed me to take an upper hand in the organisation of everything. I had to remind him that I was supposed to be his assistant, and he just grinned, saying that he hoped to pick up some tips from me!

Once we got to know everyone, and it was made clearly apparent that sex was not on the agenda, things worked well. All the parts had been allocated, and everyone was learning their lines well. The part of Shylock, Portia’s father, was given to Mark Paterson, and he made a very good mean bastard.

The weeks whizzed by, and I was also undertaking other projects in the area. I was helping run a drama workshop in Milton Keynes for the youth offending team. I worked with kids who were consistently in trouble, and needed some focus other than crime and mischief in their lives.

I was actually very grateful to Gwen for ridding me of some personal demons. Monksreach was no longer this edifice of doom set squarely in my subconscious. I began to appreciate that my perceptions were distorted by my own misery, and in fact, as schools go, it was actually not that bad.

I began to look forward to my sessions there, and put a lot of effort into helping to produce their play.

We at last reached the time for the dress rehearsal, and the story called for Portia to dress as a man and pretend to be a lawyer. She was defending her lover, against her father, whom the lover owed money, and Shylock was demanding a pound of his flesh in lieu of payment, as he wasn’t able to pay on time.

I was a little nervous dressing as a boy, as I feared someone might recognise me as Russell.

I wore the Elizabethan costume, with the ruff and codpiece, with long maroon tights. I tied my hair back in a tight bun, and wore no makeup at all. My boobs were hemmed in by the tight tunic, and felt somewhat foolish. It felt so wrong trying to look male, but I tried to make all my mannerisms as masculine as I could.

As soon as I walked on stage, I felt very nervous, but it was Mark who dispelled all my fears.

“It’s no good, Emma, nothing would ever convince me you could ever be a man!”

I blushed, smiled, and was able to deliver my most dramatic speech without any problem.

“The quality of mercy is not strained. It drops as gentle rain from heaven…..”

The dress rehearsal was successful. We found some niggling problems with lights and props, and a few of the players missed their cues. I was more than happy with their efforts, and it seemed that Mr Jobbing was too.

As I was leaving the stage, to go and change, Mark approached me.

“Emma, this may sound daft, but did you ever have a relative come here?” he asked, and my heart started to race.

“Here? You mean this school?”

“Yeah. I mean, it may be nothing, but something about you is so familiar. It’s as if I’ve known you for ages. I thought maybe you had a brother, or someone nearer my age who could have been here.”

“No, I haven’t got a brother, and I was brought up in Africa. My parents were Missionaries, and I only recently returned to the UK after they died in a car crash. So, who do I remind you of?”

“I’m not sure. It’s just some of your mannerisms, facial expressions and voice inflection. I mean, please don’t get me wrong, I never saw it before today. But seeing you dressed like a boy reminded me of someone.”

“Oh, well, I hope he was dishy,” I said, trying to make light of it.

Mark smiled and looked slightly sheepish, particularly as I was going into the temporary girl’s dressing room, and he was following me in.

It worried me slightly, and I was ever so pleased to get back into my skirt and blouse. As I applied my makeup, I once again looked for Russell. He wasn’t there, but I suppose as I had tried to act as a boy, some of the old me must have shone through.

Mark was waiting for me outside. He looked at me rather strangely, as I walked over to my car.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Nothing. I take back everything I said back there. You look fabulous, and nothing about you now could ever suggest a boy. It must have been your acting, you are even better than I thought.”

I smiled, and saw Sheri and the others coming to meet us.

“Believe me, there’s nothing boyish about me. Ask my boyfriend,” I said.

His face fell a little.

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Yup, he’s a police officer. We’re virtually engaged.”

“Oh, congratulations. He’s a very lucky bloke.”

“I know, and I keep reminding him of it.”

We got in the car and left him looking after us.

“Picked up an admirer?” Sheri asked.

“I think so. I told him about Steve and he’s a bit miffed. Do you know, he thought I looked like a boy, earlier.”

“Well you were dressed as one, and supposed to be one. So, it’s hardly surprising, is it?”

“No, it wasn’t that. He said I looked like someone he knew. A boy at the school.”

“Who?”

I shrugged, and slowed down for a tractor turning into a farmyard.

“He didn’t know. He just said I had the same mannerisms and expressions as this unknown boy.”

“That’s a bit spooky. Did he still think so after you’d changed?”

I smiled. “No, he apologised and took it all back. Still, I’d like to know if I have a male counterpart out there somewhere.”

“Nah, you’re one of a kind, Em!” Sheri said, and I smiled.

I certainly was.

The performances were brilliant. We ran three. The first on the Thursday for the school, and although a couple of things went wrong, no one really noticed and it went fine.

The next two were for parents, and went brilliantly. At the end of each of the performances, Mr Jobbing came on stage, and explained to the audiences that I was the real director, and without my, and the other girls’ input, the play would never have been as good as it was.

It was a real feather in my cap, and to be able to drive away from Monksreach Hall, without a care in the world, made it all very worthwhile.
 
 
I was in my last few months at the college, when I got a letter from Marcia. I was in Steve’s living room as I read it. Steve was strumming on his guitar.

She was having a ball. She had met a wonderful man, and was finally happy. She had danced her way from Broadway to L.A.
 
 

3rd September 2000 Darling Angel Emma,         Words cannot describe my life now. I have gone from about as low as one can ever get, to being on such a high, for so long, that sometimes I think I am living a dream.         As you know, I was really lucky to get a part in the Broadway show, ‘Tap Unlimited’, well, we went on tour, and ended up in L.A., having spent a month in Las Vegas. While we were in Vegas, I started getting flowers and gifts from some unknown admirer. It was nice at first, but then it started getting a bit creepy, so our manager did a little snooping, and it turned out to be a guy called Ron Watson the third.         He is one of the 100 richest men in America, and was addicted to the show. He offered to take me out to dinner, and apologised for upsetting me. He is 32, and a really sweet shy man. Anyway, we had this amazing dinner in his private suite at one of the big casinos. He was a complete gentleman, and never even made a pass at me. He asked if he could see me again, and I told him we would be in L.A. the next week, so it might be difficult.         We arrive at L.A., and there he is, on the first night, standing by my dressing room door with the biggest bunch of roses you have ever seen. He never missed a performance, and when the show finished, he asked me to join him on his yacht for a cruise of the Caribbean. That was six months ago. On a moonlit night, in Tobago bay, he asked me to marry him.         So, Emma, guess what I said?         Yeah, I knew that you would know, so this is an invitation to our wedding. I would very much like you to be my Maid-of Honor. You will get a proper invitation, in due course, as the wedding is due for June, his mother wants a June Wedding. I had thought about getting married over there in England, but it is just not practical, and so we are having it here on Saturday June 23rd 2001.         What I would really like is for you to come and see me. I was thrilled to hear about your record success, and have worked out that you will be finishing college soon. So, take a break, and come and stay.         You know that I owe you so much. My life is like it is because of what you did for me. You are my best friend, and so I would very much like you to be my maid of honour, as they call such silly things over here. Unless, of course, that you have to return to you know where.         How’s Steve? I guess he’s asked you to marry him at least ten times by now. Are you going to? Are you allowed to? Or is it forbidden by You know who? Give my love to him, and bring him over when you come.         I wrote some words for a song, it’s dedicated to you, so if you like it, try to get Steve to help you write the music. I called it, “You are my Angel.”         I must go, please come over; I miss you all so much.                 Lots of love                   Marcia.

 
 
“Marcia sends you her love. She has fallen on her feet. She is marrying some millionaire, and we’ve an open invitation to go and stay with her in L.A.,” I told him.

“Oh yeah, Marcia, she was the one whose legs went on forever,” he said, with a grin.

“She has written some lyrics for a song, do you fancy giving me a hand trying to put it to music?” I asked him.

“Okay, let’s have a butchers,” he said, so I took the sheet of paper over to him.

We played about with it, and decided it was not a fast, up beat style, but a more romantic and meaningful song. In fact, we spent all day on it, and eventually had a rough draft of something that I thought had potential.
 
 
Well, as you know, all that’s history now, and when it reached number 1 in the UK charts, in December 2000, you could have knocked me over with a feather duster. Steve and I had recorded it in the college studio, and Gwen had sent it off to various companies.

Steve accepted that it wasn’t the kind of song that should be sung to a single guitar backing, and was quite happy when I was asked to record it with the college orchestra.

The result was a superb track, and I was delighted when it did the rounds of the companies, just before Christmas.

We had our annual Christmas revue at the college, and many of the leaving students were lucky enough to land jobs and contracts almost immediately. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, and rather fancied a quiet Christmas, for a change. Steve was working, and was nights over Christmas day and Boxing day.

As I was packing, Gwen came up to my room.

“Emma, this is a sad day for the college, you have really become part of the furniture here.”

“Oh, Gwen. You don’t know how wonderful this place has been for me. I can’t thank you enough for having faith in me, and giving me all the help and support over the last three years.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. Did you know that you are the first scholarship student who has fully reimbursed the college whilst still a student here?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“My percentage of your royalties and fees that you have earned, have more than paid for your courses. I have decided to offer you a new contract, should you wish to retain my services as an agent.”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?”

“It’s up to you dear, but, I have great hopes for you, so before you leave, pop into the office, and we will go over a few things,” she said, and left me to finish packing.

I took my bags downstairs, and left them in the hall. I saw Steve’s car already in the car park, so I went and knocked on Gwen’s door.

She showed me a new contract, which no longer gave her such a large percentage of my income. It was in fact slightly better than most contracts, so I signed without any qualms.

“I’m so glad you signed, as we can now rip up the old one,” she said, and did just that.

She then smiled, and said, “I have to tell you that your recording of ‘You are my Angel’ has been bought by Polyphon Records, and they want you to meet them in London on Monday morning. It seems, you may have another song in the charts by Christmas.”

I was thrilled, and as it happened, Steve had the Monday off, and we went up together to the recording studio. I recorded the song, again, but this time with a professional session band.

They asked me to record another song, at the same time, and had brought one that I had been working on by myself. I had called it, ‘I ain’t no Angel, I’m a Woman’, and it was a much more up beat song. They liked it as much, and said it would appeal to a broader customer base.

Steve took me back to his house, and we spent the evening chilling out. I had bought two open return tickets for Mike and Mary to go to New Zealand, and wanted to surprise them.
 
 
A week later, on December 16^th, Steve woke me up by calling my mobile. He had insisted that I have a mobile, and got really cross whenever I forgot to turn it on.

“What’s so important?” I asked.

“Congratulations, you’ve reached number one,” he said.

“What,” I asked, not sure if I had heard him right.

“Our song, ‘You are my Angel’, is number one,” he said.

“No. You’re having me on?” I said.

“Turn your radio on, Radio One, right now,” he said.

I fumbled with my radio, and heard myself singing a very familiar tune.

“Shit. I don’t believe it!” I said.

“What more proof do you want? You’re now a celebrity. Marry me,” he said, laughing.

“I’m only eighteen, you have to wait at least two years yet,” I reminded him.

“That’s cheating, you’re nineteen in February.”

I heard the radio DJ say, ”And that is the latest number one sound from the delightful Emma P., I am sure we will hear more from her over the next few weeks and months.”

I giggled, and Steve said, “See, you’ll be on Parkinson next.”

Mike and Mary were completely bemused by the whole affair, and suddenly the telephone never stopped ringing.

I called Marcia in the States, and congratulated her on writing a number one hit. She was over the moon, and told me she would see if she could arrange for release through some of her Ron’s contacts in various radio companies.

The next few weeks became a whirlwind of appearances, and TV shows. It stayed number one for only a week, as the competition was very stiff. However, the other song came creeping in, and hit the number one spot in late January. I now had two in the top ten at once.

Christmas was not the quiet affair I had envisaged, and Steve had been spot on, as I was invited to go onto the Parkinson talk show. I was invited to sing one song, have a chat, and then sing the other number as the show ended.

I duly turned up at Shepherds Bush, and a researcher met me, sat me down, and went through everything that was going to be asked. I was keen to avoid too much on my fictitious past, and concentrated on the college and my aspirations.

I was then given an opportunity to rehearse my numbers with the orchestra, and it was all very daunting. I met Michael Parkinson, and he was charming, and did his best to calm me down. I then changed out of my jeans into a stunning black dress, which had loads of sparkles all over it. Being blonde and quite tall, in my heels, I thought I looked very elegant.

I was very nervous, and was one of three guests; the others were an American actress I’d never heard of, over here to plug her new film, and Billy Connelly, a favourite guest of Parkinson, whom I thought was brilliant. I was to be announced, and then launch into my first number.

I sat in the hospitality room, and watched as the first guest went on. I had been introduced to her, but found her shallow and rather snotty. She was not interested in anyone else, and Billy was rather quiet and down to earth in real life, but we had a good chat, and he helped calm me down a little, before he was announced.

I sat with the researcher, a friendly girl called Sue. She had wanted to be an actress, but found the competition too heavy, so switched to media studies, and was running through a variety of jobs for the BBC.

We got on really well, and she told me that many of the young singers of the day had very little talent, and even less personality.

We were so engrossed in chatting, that she suddenly said, “There’s your cue, you’re on.”

I stepped out onto the area in front of the band, and heard Parky introduce me.
 
 
“And now, a young lady who has recently taken the UK charts by storm, with her first number one hit, ‘You are my Angel’. The delightful Emma Pearson.”

The music started, I just counted myself in, and we were off.

It was strange singing to a small studio audience, with loads of cameras rushing about. In rehearsal, they told me to ignore the cameras, but if one should come in close, then look into the lens, briefly, and then look away.

I managed to get through the song with no disasters, and the studio audience applauded dutifully. I handed the microphone to the soundman, went up to the rostrum, and the man himself greeted me.

“That was lovely, Emma, You seem to really enjoy that,” he said.

“Yes thanks, Michael, I did. I love singing, and I can just really expand myself somehow,” I said.

“Now tell me, you’ve been trained in all forms of singing, from classical to this type of style. Do you have a favourite?”

“Not really, song is such a broad medium of expression that can be used for many kinds of situations. I just love to sing, whether in church on Sunday, or in a large hall heaving with people.”

“Now you mentioned church, your father was a missionary, was he not?”

“Yes Michael, he was, but my parents died in an accident in Africa few years ago, and I have been living with a friend of the family. Now Mike, the friend, is a vicar, and I try to sing in church as often as I can.”

“Do you find a faith is important to you?”

“Oh yes. I often wonder how someone with no faith can ever get the strength up to get out of bed every day. But I accept that there are many different views, and I am content in my personal faith, which, if given an opportunity, I would share, but I don’t force anyone to listen,” I said with a smile.

“Now, you have another song at number one at the moment, which I understand you wrote yourself. Tell me about that, and the one we have just heard.”

“Well, I have this friend called Marcia, who is in the States at the moment. She wrote the lyrics to ‘You are my Angel’, and I co-wrote the music with my boyfriend. I know that Marcia wrote the lyrics for this song to me, as I helped her at a time when she was rather down, so the next song, ‘I ain’t an angel, I’m a woman’, was my answer to her.”

“You had another in the charts a few years ago, did you not?”

“Yes, Steve, my boyfriend, had this band, and some of us at college got together with him and brought out a couple of good little songs. One got into the charts, but the time was not quite right for us.”

“Now, Steve, he is a policeman, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he has been in the police for a couple of years, but he co-wrote the music for ‘I ain’t an Angel’ with me. He is a very good guitarist, but he always wanted to be a copper.”

Billy Connelly made a comment, which I missed, but the audience roared with laughter, and I guessed that it had something to do with coppers.

There was a bit of banter between Billy and Michael, and the laughter continued, and then Michael returned the focus to me.

“So, Emma, what is next for you?”

“Well, I have no real plans, I have heard that ‘I ain’t an angel’, is in the US charts this week, and my agent is looking to book a tour of North America. I have been offered a couple of good parts in some current shows, so I will just wait and see. It’s all very exciting.”

“Well, it certainly is, and I wish you all the very best. You are going to sing us out with ‘I ain’t an angel’, are you not?” he said.

“I certainly am, Michael, and thank you.”

“Thank you, Emma. Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Emma Pearson,” he said, and I stood up, waved and returned to sing my second song.

It went very well, and I was very relieved when it was over.
 
 
Part 9
 
 
The Michael Parkinson Show was the beginning, and, as you may all be aware, Emma Pearson has now become a household name. At least in those households that boast a male aged between ten and ninety.

I received a call from Gwen shortly after the show, and I was offered shows and gigs that, had I accepted them all, I would have enough work to last until I was eighty.

I took a part in a West End musical show, and that was a good move. It got me known, and I managed to develop the credibility, stamina and reliability, which producers demand these days. I loved the show, and got to make some good friends. The show ran for four months, and at the beginning of May, I took my leave, more experienced, and determined to get into serious drama.

I produced a CD of twelve songs for the record company, and it did very well, and surprisingly, got into the top 20 in the USA. Marcia’s Ron owned several radio companies, and it pays to have friends like Marcia. The producer of a new James Bond movie approached me, through Gwen, and signed me up to sing the title song of the movie. Gwen suggested that I undertake a trip to the USA to promote my CD and get my face known, and thereby increase my chances of exposure to the US market.

I packed Mike and Mary off to New Zealand, and took them to Heathrow, on May 4^th 2001. They were both very different people from those who had selflessly helped me not that long ago. They were keen to get to know their daughter again, and she was now ready for them. I was so pleased for them, and considered them almost my true parents.

I had contacted Marcia, and told her that I would be honoured to be her maid of honour, and found several others from the college had been asked, as had Steve and the band. She was delighted, and squealed with pleasure at the other end of the phone.

With this in mind, I booked up my trip to America, starting on the 28^th May, just after Mike and Mary were due to return. Gwen had decided, just before Christmas that I needed a manager, and she declined the job. She referred me to a friend of hers, a woman called Sophie Stanning, who was an experienced performer in her own right. After a nasty car accident left her severely restricted, she took up the management of young performers, and was exceptionally good at contractual work, and generally arranging things.

She had an office in London, and we sat down and worked things out. She put my financial affairs in order, and I had to admit to not really having a clue how much I had. She worked it all out, and opened various accounts, one for working, one for personal, one for costumes and equipment, and then she had a financial adviser look at the balance of what I had to invest.

He was advising on the stock market, but Sophie wasn’t happy and we decided to invest in property. Therefore, on my behalf, my adviser bought a large piece of land on the outskirts of Aylesbury, which a property development company snapped up, and made me a 600% profit in six months.

Sophie worked out, by the time I was looking to jet out to the States that I was worth about  £1,000,000, with 80% invested in property in the South East of England. I was gob smacked, but delighted, for now my dearest mother could do what she liked, I no longer cared, in fact I looked forward to seeing her disinherited. I was only 19.

America was wonderful. We landed at JFK, having travelled first class on British Airways for the first time, now that I could get used to! Sophie had arranged for some press to be on hand for my arrival, and the whirlwind started.

I had a full schedule ahead of me, with a week in New York, a couple of days in Chicago and then out to California. Chat shows and personal appearances at nightclubs, interspersed with several concerts. Sophie had come with me, and handled the publicity and all the travel and accommodation arrangements, she was proving to be brilliant. She even had great tips on personal presentation and dress.

She was thirty-six, and her husband was a chartered accountant for an international bank, based in Dubai. Although based in the UK, he spent much of the time abroad, so she was delighted to have a break too. They had two daughters, both at boarding school.

I aimed on getting to Marcia’s by June 12^th, and having a rest before the wedding. Steve promised he would fly out some time between the 12^th and the 20^th, depending on his work. He had been warned for Crown Court in June.

I sang on TV, I sang in small venues, and I sang to thousands of people in huge halls, and loved every minute. The Bond movie was released, and so I included that song in all my concerts and TV appearances.

By the time I reached L.A., I was totally knackered, but managed to fulfil my obligations.

My last event was at a huge open-air venue in a vast stadium, with four other singers and bands. The organisers estimated that nearly 100,000 people had bought tickets, and was the largest audience I had ever faced. I had two sessions on the programme.

Just before it started, I was in my trailer, shaking like a leaf, with Sophie trying to calm me down. There was a knock on the door, one of the security men told me that a lady wanted to see me, and she had said that was an old friend.

“Marcia!” I yelled, and went and saw that I was right. She was waiting by the security gate, and was looking fabulous. There was a man with her, very conservatively dressed, looking vaguely uncomfortable and out of place.

She saw me and shrieked, and the security man waved them through.

We hugged and were crying with delight, and eventually she introduced me to the man in her life.

“Ronnie, this gorgeous girl, is my bestest friend in the world, and she is truly an angel. I can’t tell you what a difference she made to my life when I was very low. Emma, this is Ronnie, and he has made my life complete,” she said.

Ron kissed me on both cheeks, in rather Gallic style, and smelled of sandalwood.

I took them back to my trailer, and introduced them to Sophie. I had told her about Marcia, just so she didn’t put her foot in it accidentally.

I changed, so Marcia sat in as I did so. We caught up on each other’s news. I found she had been following my rise through the charts quite closely, and was more up to date with me than I was with her.

She looked beautiful, having filled out a little. She was still slim, but went in and out in a more voluptuous manner. There was absolutely no doubt as to her gender.

“Have you told Ron?” I asked.

“Oh yes, I had to. I told him the official version, as he couldn’t get his head round the truth. Hell Emma, I can’t really, and yet I know what happened,” she said.

I shook my head, as regardless of how often I denied it, she would never be convinced. I was not prepared to share the truth until my family skeletons were well and truly buried.

I was in my favourite short black skirt, and top, showing the usual indecent amount of leg, accentuated with my long high heel boots. I was also wearing long black fingerless gloves, and lots of glitter.

“Wow. Emma, you look fantastic. There will be a sea of erections out there tonight,” she said.

Someone knocked on the trailer door.

“Ten minutes, Miss Pearson,” he said.

“Oh shit. Marcia, wish me luck,” I said.

“Emma, come on, with your contacts, what room have you got for luck? But I do wish you the best, you know I do,” she replied and gave me a huge hug.

I was shaking like a leaf as I went onto the huge stage, and the musicians were all ready. I stood in the wings and heard the announcement and my name. It is the most un-nerving experience to hear your name, and then one hundred thousand people roar.

The stage went pitch black, and strobe lights flashed around the stadium. Then I was centre stage, with my back to the audience, but the spotlight hit me, and I watched the bandleader count the band in with his hand — one, two, three, four…..

……..we were off.
 
 
One hour later, I was on a high. It had been amazing, despite being almost drowned out by the sea of voices, my own voice had lasted, and I had sung my heart out and danced until I was exhausted. I had nothing left to give, and the audience was still clapping and stomping its feet. I was almost completely spent, and drank nearly a litre of water.

“Can you manage one more, honey?” asked the promoter.

I shrugged and nodded.

“Have I got time?”

“Sure, there is only one band to go now. But, at present, it’s you they want.”

“I guess I can then,” I said.

So I quickly changed into a long white sleeveless dress, and the make up girl put my hair up so I looked very sophisticated, as if I were about to attend a formal function. I slipped on two long white gloves and went back out looking as fresh as I could. I felt completely knackered. I whispered the song to the band, and walked to the front of the stage holding the cordless mike.

The applause was absolutely deafening, and I held up my arms. Eventually a hush settled.

“Hey, you Guys, what are you like?” I said, and they cheered themselves.

“I’d like to thank you for being so welcoming to me. I feel so humble to have been able to perform in front of so many people. You have been so wonderful. You have no idea how terrifying it was to walk out in front of so many. Therefore, I’d like to dedicate this last song to my good friend, who is getting married very soon. Poor girl, she is marrying an American, so she needs all my support at this sad time,” There was a huge cheer mingled with laughter, as I realised that I had sounded very English indeed.

“I wrote this with my fella, he’s called Steve, and I miss him dreadfully. So all you girls who have their guys with you right now, appreciate them. Okay?” This got another huge cheer.

I waited for near silence, and looked at the band. They nodded me in and I looked straight at Marcia as I sang, ‘I ain’t an angel, I’m a woman.’

She grinned at me, and I put everything I had left into the song. As I finished, there was a stunning moment of complete silence, and I dropped my hands to my side and bowed my head. They hated it.

The applause started, and built and built, and the cheering began, and got louder, and louder. Until my ears were ringing, and the vibrations of the noise threatened to knock me off my feet.

I slowly looked up, and found that I had a huge smile stuck to my face, and I raised my arms, and I can honestly say that I had never ever felt like this. Nothing could have prepared me to be the focus of that kind of applause, and I knew that if I did nothing else in my life, it was worth it just for this moment.

To see so many people, all standing, applauding, and cheering me, was the single most exhilarating and humbling experience of my life.

I waved my hand towards those hidden heroes, the band, and the applause seemed to move up a notch. Then a little girl walked on and handed me an enormous bouquet of flowers, and I almost burst into tears. I curtseyed to the crowd, waved, and blew kisses to them all, and then I walked off for the last time. I heard the next band start up, and the crowd had a different idol to worship.

Marcia and Ron met me at the bottom of the steps, and we walked back to the trailer together. I gratefully went into the trailer, and noticed that there was a man sitting in my chair chatting to Sophie. I was tired, and rather cross that someone should be there at this time.

Steve stood up with the most enormous grin on his face.

“Bloody Hell, woman, where did that fantastic performance come from?” he said, and Marcia giggled.

“Steve!” I yelled.

“Marcia, you knew?” I growled, as I ran to him and he swept me into his arms. I was crying and laughing. He kissed me, and I felt wonderful.

Eventually we came up for air, and Marcia and Ron were grinning like fools.

“They paid for my flight. I got a few extra days off, and thought I’d come and see you perform,” he told me, holding me tightly.

“I thought you were at Crown Court?” I asked, still numb with surprise.

“I was, but the defendants changed their pleas to guilty. You have no idea how much I missed you, Em,” he said.

I punched him on the arm.

“You know perfectly well that I missed you just as much,” I said, and he kissed me again.

Ron opened a chilled bottle of champagne, and poured out a glass for everyone. I discovered that Steve had arrived just as I went on, and watched me from the wings with Marcia and Ron.

“You looked stunning out there, and they loved you,” he said.

I just grinned; I was still floating on air. I had just experienced the most exhilarating performance of my life, and I had the man I loved with me. Life could get no better than this.

There was a knock on the door, and Sophie opened it. It was the concert promoter, Lou Hutchins. He came in and received some champagne. He came over to me, and gave me a hug.

“Hey girl. That was out of this world. When we booked you, we knew you could sing, but your whole act was amazing. You looked as good as your voice, and you were really great.”

“Thanks Lou, it was an amazing experience. All those people.”

“We have a sales outlet near the exit, there are loads of your albums and singles available. It would be good if you were available to sign some for the fans. As your agent has signed the recording deal, people can order the Video/CD of the concert there as well. I understand that there are photographs available for you to sign. And afterwards there is the party.”

So, along with my friends, I went to a huge hall and spent an hour signing album covers and photographs. I was bowled over by the amount of people who crushed in to try to get close to me, but the enormous bouncers and stewards kept me from being molested. Steve sat next to me with a silly grin on his face, and, every now and again, I would kiss him, just to keep topped up.

It was just so good to see him again. I hadn’t realised how much he meant to me. In the back of my mind, I was seriously considering his proposal for marriage. I knew that there were things in my life that I had to deal with before then. One of them being my inheritance, and the other, my mother.

The party was a blast, but I was not in any mood to appreciate it. I just wanted to get away and be with Steve, and at the earliest opportunity we sneaked off to the trailer, and gave ourselves to each other as only lovers could. As we lay together afterwards, I knew that he was the guy for me.
 
 
Marcia’s wedding was simply wonderful. Her parents came over from the UK, along with a few of her relatives. Her father had found it hard dealing with certain family members, as he had to try to explain that his son actually had been a daughter all along. Such were the prejudices that it was too much for some, and they simply broke contact and refused to have anything to do with them any more.

Anne hugged me as if I was someone special, and even Roger went out of his way to speak to me at some length. They were so proud of their daughter, and somehow they seemed to feel that I was responsible for turning her life around.

Anne introduced me to Marcia’s older brother, Stewart. He was a tall guy, and very good-looking. He was also very self-opinionated and arrogant, and I disliked him almost from the start. He seemed embarrassed of his sister, and when he did speak to her, he seemed to be belittling her achievements. However, Marcia was so high, that she wasn’t going to let him ruin her day.

Sheri, Sally and Simone were all bridesmaids with me, and we really had a hoot. We all got ready together with Marcia, and our dresses were fabulous. Marcia had taken our measurements over the phone and her dressmaker had made them all. We looked like something from Gone with the Wind.
 
 
Marcia looked wonderful. She was not quite so slim as when she had arrived in the States. If anything, her fuller figure made her even more attractive. One of the top Hollywood dress-designers made the dress, and her whole outfit, from her hair to her shoes, was breathtaking. I was a little jealous. Ron’s family was extensive, and very wealthy. As everyone filtered into the church, filling the entire right hand side. Indeed, the few from the UK managed to fill three rows on the left, and the rest was overflow from the groom’s side.

Ron’s mother was the archetypal American Mother-in-law, who was utterly besotted with her new daughter-in-law. She had resigned herself to never seeing her son married, and now he was it was like a dream come true. The fact that Marcia was willing to forgo the usual tradition of getting married in the bride’s hometown, made it even better for her. The whole wedding was lavish in the extreme. Those Brits who made it were completely gob smacked at the details to which money had been thrown.

We followed the bride and her proud father into the church, and it was lovely to see her looking so happy. I was the only person who really appreciated how depressed she had been in her previous life. I vowed to share the truth with her one day.

Marcia asked me to sit in the front pew with her family, and Steve joined me. I have to admit that I almost cried as she took her vows, and Steve squeezed my hand.

“Us next,” he whispered to me.

I looked at him and smiled. Yes, I thought to myself, possibly. However, I had to sort out dear Mummy first.

The reception was held at Ronnie’s mansion in Beverly Hills. Marcia had been living with him for a few months, so was already well known to the neighbours. She had dealt with the truth behind her gender problems months ago with Ronnie, and had leaked a little to the press in such a way as to make it out as some minor cosmetic condition. As a result, she had controlled any press revelations, resulting in no scandal and little interest at a time when the world had more startling news to offer.

The party went on long into the night, and at midnight, the bride and groom left by private helicopter for their honeymoon in Mexico.

Sophie flew home, so Steve and I had a week’s holiday in California. We became even closer in that week, and I realised that he had grown up in the short time we had been apart. He still played his guitar, and slightly regretted joining the police, but he was mature enough to realise that although a good musician, he was never perhaps going to be the best, and he actually loved his new job.

When we finally flew home to England, I had to make some decisions. After all, I was still only nineteen, so I decided to ask Gwen about getting a teaching qualification.

Steve went back to work, and once again asked me to move in with him. I thought about it, and declined. I explained that if we lived together, then the marriage commitment meant less. I wanted the whole package, without compromising. I still stayed with him for most of the time, but I lived with Mike and Mary

Their trip to New Zealand was a great success.

Caroline was the epitome of the middleclass suburban housewife with two young children. Her husband was working as a manager in a restaurant, and all Mary’s fears and reservations were dispelled after a few moments of meeting them.

By the end of the holiday, Caroline had confessed to everything to them, even Charles Gregson’s baby. There was a lot of crying done, as parents and daughter came to a closer relationship once more. The children adored their new grandparents, and they were all terribly sad to leave. Seeds were sown, and I was sure that one or other couple would end up moving to make the family united again. I had my money on Mike and Mary moving there, as there was already Caroline’s In-laws in New Zealand.

Mary had lost weight, and was looking so much happier. As she busied herself in the kitchen, Mike asked me into his study.

“Emma, as you heard, Caroline told us that Charles had got her pregnant, and she had the abortion. I was surprised, yet when we told you, you didn’t bat an eye. Now, I know you, and you are one of the brightest people I know. So, I thought back, and remembered that when Charles moved away, you pretended that you hardly remembered him. That was not like you, so, it got me thinking.

“I think that you knew that Charles was responsible for Caroline’s pregnancy, and my guess is that somehow you managed to blackmail Charles into doing what he did.

“I don’t want to know the details, because what is done is done, but I need to know how you found out.”

I looked at this man, who was the nearest thing to my father. I couldn’t lie to him, so I told him about the diary.

“I was so angry and the damage that man had done to you all, so I wanted him to pay. I didn’t want to destroy him, as he had so nearly done to you, but I wanted him to pay. It was wrong of me, I know, but I decided to deal a new hand of cards to you and Mary,” I said, feeling quite guilty.

“Where is the diary now?”

“Safe,” I said.

He smiled.

“Emma, thanks for caring, but I think it should be destroyed now. The past is now well and truly dealt with. It’s dead,” he said.

I went and retrieved it, and handed it to him. He looked at it and turned it over in his hands. We walked down to the bottom of the garden, where he put it on the bonfire. He then lit the dry twigs and newspaper, and soon the diary was ash.

He put his hand on my shoulder.

“We are now even,” he said, and I grinned.
 
 
Part 10
 
 
The photographer was trying to get us all in the picture. We were all giggling and pushing, and he was having a hard time controlling us.

“Come on, this is your graduation picture, you should be serious,” he said, which made us giggle more.

It had been three hard years, and I was now the proud holder of a BA Ed, specialising in Drama and Music, from De Montfort University, Bedford. I was twenty-two, and it had been Gwen’s advice that I look at a teaching degree, so that I would be able to pass on my skills to others when my singing career came to an end.

I had continued to produce songs, and was making a very reasonable living at singing. However, due to my studies, I had not performed so much as before, and I missed it quite a lot.

I had really enjoyed University, and felt completely vindicated that I had not needed to finish my education at Monksreach Hall. As I posed with Mike and Mary, and then with Steve, in my gown and mortarboard, I ensured that my engagement ring was there for the world to see.

My twenty-first birthday had come and gone. There was a flurry of press interest in the Drysdale Trust, but I had deliberately not upset the status quo by rushing off and claiming what was rightfully mine.

On my twenty-second birthday, Steve had asked me to marry him again, for about the six-hundredth time, and I had simply said, “Yes.”

That evening, I was spending the night with Steve, and I had sat down with him, and put the ring on the table. He looked at the ring, and frowned.

“Steve, it is truth time,” I had said, and the frown deepened.

“My real name isn’t Emma Pearson.”

I then told him the whole story, with the exception of the blackmail of Charles Gregson, I laid myself completely bare before him.

“So, now you know. It’s only fair that you know the truth. If you decide that you have to walk away from me, then I will understand. It will completely devastate me, but I promise I have no hold over you. Regardless of whom I used to be, I am more Emma that I was ever Russell. I just pray that you don’t hate me too much.” I said, trying unsuccessfully to refrain from crying. The stress of holding it all in for so long got the better of me, and I broke down in tears, and fled from the room.

I lay face down on the bed, and wept, partly with relief that I had finally managed to release the truth, and partly out of the fear that he would be angry and stop loving me.

A few moments later, he lay next to me, and I risked a peek at him. He had a silly smile on his face.

“You silly tart. I don’t give a shit about the past, no matter how far fetched it all may be. I have loved you since that first day we met, and you don’t have to doubt that you are 100% Emma. Of course I still love you, but please, never tell anyone else this silly story.”

I just wrapped my arms around him, and wept with pure relief. Needless to say, it led to other things, and I realised how much I loved him.

Later, as we just lay entwined together, he kissed my forehead.

“So, why the charades?” he asked. “Surely there was an easier way?”

I told him about my mother and my inheritance.

“So why didn’t you claim your inheritance when you were twenty-one?”

“Lots of reasons. There was too much press interest, I was afraid that I’d lose you, I was enjoying my studying, and really I didn’t want to change my life.”

“Okay, so what are you going to do?”

I shrugged, as I had no desire to collect my inheritance, as it would mean revealing myself to the world.

“I don’t know. Nothing, I suppose. My mother will try all sorts of tricks, and hopefully she will be disinherited.”

“It is your life. It seems a shame for all that wealth to go to some dog lover.”

I smiled, we talked over various options and in the end, I agreed to try to claim what was mine.

The next day I got a shock, for on the second page of the Daily Telegraph was a photograph of my mother, and a tall young man. The article said:
 
 

MILLIONAIRE'S WIDOW TRIES TO CHEAT HER OWN SON

French born Brigette Drysdale (48) seen here leaving her late husband’s solicitors in the Strand yesterday, after taking a complete stranger to the offices purporting to be her son Russell, who went missing six years ago.     Her late husband, industrialist Charles Drysdale, left most of his fortune to his only son Russell when he died. However, fearing that attempts may be made to cheat him out of the money, Drysdale established certain tests to be met before his son could claim the inheritance.     The first was that he should be over twenty-one and that his finger prints should match those taken when he was seven years old. This last test was unknown to Mrs Drysdale, and she was reported to have been shocked and angry that her late husband did not trust her.     It was rumoured that it was her infidelity that was partially to blame for Charles’s stroke, and subsequent death. The police have been notified and papers are being prepared for the CPS.     Although Russell has never come forward, police state that they have been in constant communication with the boy over the period of time. He claimed that he was in fear of his life, as he thought that his mother would attempt to kill him for the inheritance.     Mrs Drysdale is seriously in debt, and last year attempted to sell a villa in Monaco, that belongs to the estate. Having failed to sell the villa, she tried to falsify the records of the family yacht, and attempted to sell that. Authorities in Monaco seized the yacht, and are holding it for Russell to come forward.     The identity of the young man pretending to be her son is still unknown, but his fingerprints have been handed over to the police.

 
 
Steve saw my dazed expression, and read the article.

“A bloody yacht?” he asked.

I nodded, and he continued to read.

“Decision time, Emma,” he said.

The telephone rang. I knew exactly who it would be, and I was right.

“Hi Mike,” I said.

“You’ve seen it?”

“Yup.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I think I ought to at least go to the solicitors.”

“I agree. Would you like us to come with you?”

“No thanks. Steve is with me, and this is something I need to do by myself. Besides, I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“You’ve told Steve?” he asked, surprised.

“As we are going to get married, I felt I owed it to him.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Mike?”

“Congratulations. We always thought you would, when did he propose?”

“Just about every day for as long as I can remember, but last evening was the clincher.”

“Do you want to tell Mary, or can I?”

“You tell her. Oh, and Mike?”

“What?”

“Can you marry us, as well as give me away?”

There was silence on the other end, and I realised he was crying.

“Yes, Emma, I’d be honoured to.”

We chatted about likely implications and consequences, and I decided that this must end today.
 
 
Steve drove us up, I was very quiet, and my mind was in a real whirl.

“You look fabulous,” he said.

I had tried to look as elegant and sophisticated as I could. I was wearing a very expensive black and gold outfit I had bought in America. There was no doubting that I was female, short of being actually pregnant, I was about as female as one could look.

We managed to park a short distance away, and I was surprised to see Ron Higgins approach us.

“Steve, thanks for your call. Emma, I understand you have information about Russell Drysdale?” he said.

I looked at Steve, and he shrugged. I smiled and put a hand on his arm to signal that I approved.

“Yes, if you care to come with us, I hope to clear the whole matter up in a few minutes,” I said.

Together with the two policemen, I walked to the solicitors’ offices. I stopped and looked up at the clock, it was exactly as I remembered it, and I had a wave of memories about my father.

“Are you okay, Sweetie?” Steve asked.

“Fine, just a blast from the past,” I said, and Ron frowned.

We went in and the receptionist looked at us.

“Yes, can I help you?” she said.

“Hello, I’d like to speak to the solicitor handling the Drysdale estate,” I said.

“Have you an appointment?”

“No, but I have something very important to tell him, and I won’t be long. Oh, and these gentlemen are from the police,” I said.

“One moment,” she said, and picked up a telephone. She spoke for a few moments, and then looked at me. She was obviously describing me to whoever was on the other end of the phone.

“Mr Carter will be down presently.”

“Thanks.”

A few moments later, a portly man in a pinstripe suit and huge red handkerchief in his breast pocket came out of the door to our left. He was in his sixties and was balding.

“Rupert Carter. You mentioned something about the Drysdale estate?” he was the epitome of the pompous solicitor, with public school accent and flamboyant gestures.

“Hello, yes. I have information about the present whereabouts of Russell Drysdale,” I said.

He looked at me, and snapped his fingers.

“I know you. You’re the singer, Emma Pearson. My sixteen-year old son and has posters of you all over his bedroom wall,” Rupert said.

I smiled, saying nothing.

“Well, come into my office. And your, ah, the officers,” he said.

Once he closed the office door, he invited us to sit in the leather chairs provided.

“Now, Miss Pearson, I am at a bit of a loss to understand why the police are with you.”

“Well, this is Detective Sergeant Ron Higgins, he was the officer who initiated the initial enquiries when Russell left his school. PC Steven Roberts is here as moral support. We are engaged to be married,” I said, and Ron started as if he had been poked with a shark stick.

“Congratulations, but what can you tell me?” he asked.

I looked at Steve, and then Ron, who was frowning. I looked down and took a deep breath.

“Russell ran away from his school because something happened to him. He could no longer stay there due to the, ah, peculiar, um, well I suppose it was the medical condition he had, so he left. A lovely couple, who helped him become the person he is today, found him. His mother actually contracted her lover to kill him, and so he was forced to hide. However, you may have gathered that from the press.

“The police are aware of all this, and indeed the lover, Raoul, was arrested in Milton Keynes armed with a pistol while looking for the boy.

“He adopted a new identity in line with his new persona, and continued his education, and indeed recently graduated from university as a qualified teacher. Yesterday’s newspaper article prompted me to come forward,” I said.

Ron was staring at me as if I’d grown three heads.

“You said that you know Russell’s current whereabouts?” Rupert said.

“I do.”

“Well?”

I looked at Steve and he nodded. Ron was still staring at me intently.

I took a deep breath.

“I am, or rather, I was Russell Drysdale,” I said.

Rupert burst out laughing.

“I can prove it,” I said, and he stopped laughing. Ron was sitting on the edge of his seat, now staring at me with a smile on his face and shaking his head.

“How?”

“I remember coming here when I was seven, and a man took my fingerprints. I also have my wallet and bankcards that I had when I left Monksreach Hall. If you take my fingerprints, I am sure this can be resolved in seconds.”

Rupert stared at me, just blinking.

He stood up and went to a safe, and removed a file.

He took out an inkpad, and a plain piece of A4 paper.

“Would one of you like to do this, I am sure you have more experience than I?” he said to the officers. Steve looked at Ron, so Ron stood up. He came over to me.

“I knew there was something really different about you,” he said.

A few moments later, I was washing my hands in the ladies. I noticed that they still used Pears soap, and I wondered whether it was the same bar. I dried my hands, checked my makeup and returned to the office.

Rupert was comparing the fingerprints to those taken all those years ago.

“Emma, you mentioned a medical condition, what exactly was it?” Ron asked.

I smiled.

“Simple. I woke up one morning and discovered that I had become female. So, I could hardly stay at an all boys’ school anymore, now could I?”

“What, just like that?” asked Ron.

“Well, I guess it took a couple of days, because I noticed that my boy’s stuff seemed to shrink, and I started to grow breasts. I mean, not much, just a sort of slight swelling. Enough for me to be teased in the showers. But that was nothing unusual. But then one morning, I went to the loo, and I was a girl.”

“Well, I’ll be buggered. You were there all the bloody time,” Ron said, and started to laugh.

Rupert handed the prints to Ron.

“They look the same, what do you think?”

Ron looked and I looked, the new ones were larger, but then I had been seven when I had had the first ones taken.

“No doubt. Look at the ridges and whorls on this index finger. An absolute match,” said Ron.

Rupert sat down, and mopped his brow with his large red handkerchief.

“Well, I have to ask you a few questions, this is most extraordinary,” he said, and opened the file again.

“Have you attained any academic qualifications?”

“I have a Diploma from the Teesdale College of dramatic arts, and a BA Ed, from University.”

“Have you taken steps to ensure that you are capable of earning a reasonable living, independent from any family or friends?”

“Over the last three years, my income after tax was in excess of eight hundred thousand pounds. And all my own work,” I said with a smile. “In addition, I have invested in property, and I am not sure how much that is worth.”

“Try a guess.”

“Two million?”

All three men looked at me with somewhat dazed expressions.

“Are you committed to family values and the establishment of a family of your own?”

I looked at Steve, and smiled. He reached out and took my hand.

“We are going to be married in the summer, how much more committed do you need?”

The lawyer smiled and took out a letter and opened it.

“This letter is addressed to this firm, ‘to be opened as and when my natural child meets the criteria stipulated in my will’. It is signed by your late father, Charles Drysdale.”
 
 

If this letter is being read, then I am happy. It means that my child is present and has proved himself worthy to be my heir.         To Russell:         I am so sorry to have put you through this, but I had to be sure. You are the most important person in the world to me, and as such, I have to know that you are equipped to deal with the wealth, which you now inherit.         Your mother is not the person I once thought she was, for I did love her dearly. She has betrayed me, and I fear she will betray you too. I have no doubt that already she is attempting to cheat you out of what is yours, well, there is a proviso to my will, which comes into force as you now assume your birth-right.         As from this moment, she has a pension of twenty thousand pounds a year, until she dies. She has no other benefits, and it is conditional on her having been a good mother to you over the last ten years, or so.         If she attempts anything to cheat you, then as from this moment, she gets nothing.         Wealth brings responsibilities, and great wealth brings great responsibilities. Your life will never be the same, and it is my hope that you will be a good steward of that which you now have. A man’s measure is not what he leaves behind, but what his life said about him.         May God bless you, and I wish I could see you, and be with you now. I love you with all my heart, and pray you have a long and fruitful life.                     Your Father,                 Charles

 
 
I found myself crying. Steve came over and put his arm around me.

“I can hardly remember him,” I said.

“You meant a lot to him,” Rupert said, even his eyes were moist.

“I hope he understands, now that I am his daughter.”

“I’m sure he would.”

There was a long silence.

“So, what happens now?” I asked.

Rupert produced a form, and asked me to sign it, as Russell Drysdale. I did so.

“Then, I have to inform you, that as from this moment, you are now the legal heir to the Drysdale estate, and trust.”

“That sounds very nice, but what does it actually mean?”

“The trust was set up so you would have some capital at twenty-one. This is because all the estate is tied up in property or commercial interests. The trust has been managed by your father’s financial advisers, and is very healthy.”

“How healthy?”

“Twenty million pounds, give or take a few thousand.”

I was very quiet.

“And the estate?”

He took out a single sheet of paper.

“There is your father’s house near Great Missenden in Buckinghamshire. There is a flat in Mayfair, and an apartment in New York. There is the villa in Monaco, and a house in Florida. The yacht is currently at Monte Carlo. The business interests alone amount to about two hundred and fifty million pounds, not including the properties and yacht.”

Ron laughed and stood up. He walked over to the window. Steve looked glazed.

“How long until I have access to the trust?”

“You signed receipt of the trust and the whole estate, and it is yours now. There are one or two administrative details to complete, but they are not too complicated. The big problem is actually your name.”

“My name?”

“You are Russell Drysdale, but you are also Emma Pearson. This is a unique problem.”

“Not necessarily. I have obtained a letter from a doctor, clearly stipulating that I am a perfectly normal fertile female. It is my intention to change my name from Russell Drysdale to Emma Pearson, so as to bring into alignment my two identities.”

“Well, as your late father’s solicitor I am of course at your service, should you wish to continue using this firm’s services. But that is a matter for you,” Rupert said.

“Thanks, I would be more than happy with continuing the arrangement, and if I could leave the matter of my name in your hands, I am sure I can trust you to be discreet. Above everything else, I would dearly love to keep as anonymous as possible about the whole affair. I do not want to draw attention to myself,” I said.

“That might be hard, as you might imagine, there has been considerable press interest in the whole affair.”

“There is no reason for anyone to know that I was once Russell Drysdale,” I said.

Rupert smiled.

“I will do what I can.”

“Thank you. Is there anything else?”

I spent another half an hour signing various documents, and gave him my address at Little Mudsley. He then shook me by the hand, and kissed my cheek.

“Never did I imagine that this case was going to turn out like this. Of course, you mother has successfully disinherited herself from all monies, and is, therefore, as from this moment, penniless.”

I looked at him, and Steve smiled.

“I know she was an absolute cow, but she is still my mother. Can we let her know exactly where she stands, and should a full and public apology be forthcoming, then I should like to give her that pension of twenty thousand a year. However, if she wants to be a greedy cow, and holds out for more, then she can stuff herself. If you excuse my language.”

All three men smiled, and Ron burst out laughing.

“Well, I am more than satisfied that Russell Drysdale is alive and very well. So, I shall have great delight in closing that case. I can see why you stayed quiet; I don’t blame you at all. However, I find it amazing that you were under my nose all the time, and that I spoke to you several times and never realised it. I even remember that conversation when you told me you could dress as a boy and pretend to be yourself. Very smart girl,” he said.

We prepared to leave, and Rupert said, “Your father would be very proud of you. If you were my daughter I would be.”

I kissed him again and thanked him. We then left the office, and the haughty receptionist looked daggers at me, as I had told her I would not be long.

“Mrs Green, Miss Pearson has just become an extra special client, so whenever she calls, please put her through, regardless of whom I may have with me,” he said, so I chuckled as we left the office.

There were some reporters hanging about, obviously waiting for anyone who might look as if they could be involved in the Drysdale inheritance case. One of them recognised me, and shouted out.

“Hey Emma, what ya doing girl?”

I smiled sweetly, and replied, “Just seeing my lawyer about a recording contract. So for whom are you lot waiting?”

“Hoping the Drysdale kid comes to collect his millions,” he said.

“Sorry, it’s just little old me,” I said.

They took a few snaps just for the hell of it, and I noticed Ron and Steve made themselves scarce.

I took my two pet policemen for lunch at Simpsons in the Strand, where we toasted my father. I was still somewhat bemused by the whole thing, and it had yet to sink in that I was now worth over two hundred million pounds.

Steve was very quiet, and I could tell something was brewing.

“What’s the matter, love?” I asked.

“I suppose being a copper’s wife is off the cards now,” he said.

“Not at all. Unless you don’t want me.”

“You know I want you. But you could have anything you want now.”

“Good, because all I want is you,” I said, and Ron made vomit noises.

I kissed Steve, and he started to smile again.
 
 
Ron went his separate way after lunch, and Steve drove me home. We were both quite quiet on the journey, as there was a lot to think about. He dropped me off at Mary and Mike’s, and held me in his arms for a moment. I just liked feeling him hold me. It was so reassuring. He smiled and gave me a kiss.

“It takes some getting used to,” he observed.

“I suppose. But it doesn’t change anything. Life goes on, and I still want to marry you.”

He just held me for a while, and I could see he was trying to see what the wealth really meant.

“Hey, we won’t need a mortgage, and we can have really nice holidays,” I said, and he grinned.

“I could jack in the job, and concentrate on my music,” he said.

“No, you don’t want to do that. I’ll still pursue my career, and so I expect you to do the same. I fully intend to off-load my wealth so it is more manageable.”

“How do you mean?”

“Steve, I don’t need all that wealth. Think what good it could do, if only given half a chance?”

“You’d give it away?” he asked incredulously.

“Why not? We won’t need it.”

“How?”

“I’ll set up a charitable trust, and find worthy causes and support them.”

“Very noble, but how do you select who to give stuff to, and who not to?”

“You have trustees who get together and manage the charity, it would be fun.”

He smiled. “You are truly unique. You inherit more money than most people could even dream about, and then, the same day, you plan how to give it all away.”

“No, I never said all. I only said most,” I said.

He laughed, and kissed me again.

“So, Miss moneybags, how much would you keep?”

“Enough,” I said, and he smiled.
 
 
Over the next few weeks, I was busy sorting through material for a possible new album. I had done very little over the last three years, and I wanted to get back into the swing of things.

The solicitor, Rupert was being busy with my identities. It was proving to be a problem, as I was legally two people, so he was looking at how he could manage to eliminate one, without drawing attention to me, and harming my career, or by getting Mike into trouble. Ron popped in for a visit, and we went through the whole saga with my mother, including her attempt to have me bumped off.

Ron got me to sign some forms, and Mike actually told him how he had managed it. Oh, the pain of a Christian conscience!

Four weeks later, I was recording the new album, and I got a phone call from Rupert.

“Emma, my dear, I have some news. The police have charged your mother and the young man she used to pretend to be you.”

“What with?”

“Attempted deception.”

“What happens now?”

“They are on bail, and will be before the Magistrates in two or three days.”

“My God, what will happen to them?”

“Well, as neither has previous convictions and if they elect to be tried in the magistrates court, who knows. Nevertheless, the court can send them to the Crown court for sentencing. They could get five years in prison.”

“She’ll skip the country,” I said.

“They’ve thought of that. She had to surrender her passport, and there is a security of fifteen thousand pounds. If she buggers off, she loses the lot. But the best bit is the CPS are considering a charge of conspiracy to murder.”

“Will it stick?”

“Probably not, there is very little evidence. Incidentally, her lover, Raoul has recently been sentenced to three years in a French Prison for tax and accounting irregularities. He was only released from the British Prison a year ago after the firearms charges.”

I laughed, and asked him about Mother’s court case.

He told me which court, and the date and time of the hearing. I had not seen her since that day outside Aylesbury Police station.

“Another thing, Russell Drysdale does not exist.”

“How did you manage it?”

“With a great deal of paper sifting. But eventually, using the medical evidence, I have changed Russell Drysdale to Emma Drysdale, quite legally, as he was wrongly identified at birth as a boy. I have checked records, and no one has twigged that Emma Pearson has never existed, all the certificates had been logged as genuine, and you are Emma Pearson.

“However, you are also, Emma Drysdale, and you are the only person I know who has two completely separate apparently legal identities. So, with the cooperation of the police, your friend Ron Higgins was brilliant, we have managed to sort things so that the certificates have been withdrawn, as being utilised as an official cover in order to protect you from assassination. It took a Home Office memo and a note from a very senior police officer to straighten things out. There were questions as to how you managed it, and the police stated that as the danger of you being killed was so great and the amount of capital involved was in excess of two hundred million pounds, so that the security services were involved, and no questions need be asked.

“My task was to then change Emma Drysdale to Emma Pearson, and with Home office approval, we have managed to keep the whole thing classified. The Home office have asked, unofficially, how you managed it, and with a promise of no action being taken, Mike actually explained it and handed over any spare certificates so that it could not be repeated.

“End result: Mike in the clear, you are Emma Pearson, and the heir to the Drysdale estate, which is still highly confidential. The police have cleared up a Missing Person report, and charged your mother with a serious offence and no one is any the wiser.”

“You seem to have earned you rather high fees,” I said, and he chuckled.

“We are very good,” he said, with an upper class snigger.

“You will have to be with complicated clients like me,” I said, laughing.

“Well, anything else?”

I told him about my idea for a charitable trust, and he was quite surprised. I arranged an appointment to see him so we could work out the details.

I went over to see Steve’s parents, as I did quite often, and they accepted me as one of their own. We were planning the wedding in June, and Mike would conduct his last wedding before retirement. He and Mary were determined to go to New Zealand to be close to their grand children. Steve came round on his way home from work, and I was pleased to see him. I told him the news and he was delighted.

“I want to go to court and see what happens to my mother,” I said, and he nodded.

“I thought you might. Are you going to tell her who you are?”

“I don’t know. Probably not, as this way I have control.”

He nodded again.

“Do you want me to come?”

“If you want. You know I always like having you with me.”
 
 
So it was, I sat at the back of the court and watched my mother surrender to the court, and was seated in the dock. The strange young man had been identified as an out of work young actor with a drug problem, whom my mother had persuaded to supply for life if he pretended to be her son. He had told the police everything, and separate lawyers defended each of them, as his evidence further incriminated her.

My mother was looking older. Her crowning glory, her hair, was looking decidedly tatty, and the darker roots were showing, as the dye needed replacing. I could even see a hint of grey at those roots, and her whole demeanour was far less controlled than previously.

Her clothes had been expensive once, and had been smart, but were no longer, nor indeed did they suit her. She wore a light fawn tight skirt that was too short and too tight. Her white blouse showed too much, and the dark jacked displayed all her dandruff. Her white shoes had very high heels, were scuffed and looked rather silly.

The term, ‘mutton dressed as lamb.’ sprang to mind, and her make up appeared to be applied so very thickly that she looked like a middle-aged tart.

She stood when the Magistrates entered, and when asked her name and whether she pleaded guilty or not, she was arrogant and supercilious. She pleaded not guilty, but her co-defendant pleaded guilty.

This caused the lawyers to ask to consult with their clients, and there was a brief exchange of heated whispers.

In the end, the lawyer defending her stood up.

“Your Worships. I regret to inform you that my client has declined to take my advice in this matter, and therefore I am unable to further represent her,” he then started to gather his papers together.

“You useless bastard. You are fired!” my mother shrieked from the dock.

The magistrates ordered her to be quiet, which she refused, and swore at them too.

She turned and looked at everyone at the back of the court. For a brief moment, our eyes locked.

“You fucking ghouls. Piss off, I’m not a fucking freak-show,” she shouted. Her French accent made the offensive swear words seem so ridiculous, somehow.

A police officer and a security guard took hold of her and removed her from the court, and the court was going to hold her for contempt. It then dawned on me that, on top of everything else, she was drunk.

I shook my head, and turned to Steve.

“Let’s go, I’ve seen enough,” I said, and he nodded.

We went over the road to a coffee shop, and he bought me a cup of hot chocolate.

“Well?” he asked.

I shook my head. Tears were not far away.

“It’s so sad, she had the chance to have everything, but blew it. What makes someone become so evil?”

“I don’t think it is evil, just sort of twisted, as if she can’t see what’s right any more,” he said.

“I actually wanted her to turn round and be a mother for me for the first time in her life. I’d have forgiven her everything,” I said, and Steve took my hand.

“I know.”

“I was so alone.”

“I know, but you aren’t now.”

I looked at him, and smiled. I squeezed his hand.

“I know, thanks for being there for me,” I said, and kissed him.

“Hell, you have been there for so many people, and without you, my life would be so dull,” he said, and I stroked his cheek.

“Everyone needs someone. No one should ever be alone. I was alone for far too long, and I was young and it hurt me so much.”

Steve said nothing, as he was aware of how miserable I had been.

“Our children will never be alone,” I said.

He smiled. “Oh yes, are you pregnant?”

“Not yet, but I so want your children.”

“I’m sure we could work out how to acquire them, with a little practice,” he said with a grin. I smiled, and kissed him. I loved him so much.
 
 
Part 11
 
 
My mother was eventually sentenced to two years, but it took six months to reach the crown court for sentencing. The unfortunate lad, Darren, was given community service, and had to attend a drug rehabilitation unit for six months.

By which time I was now Mrs Emma Roberts, and already pregnant with our first child. I conceived on our honeymoon, and it was quite deliberate on my part. I had tasted fame, I had fortune and I now wanted family. Above everything else, I wanted to be a mother, and I was about as happy as I could get.
 
 
Our wedding had been the most fantastic event, and I had to re-run the video to remind myself of everything that happened.

It had been a warm June Saturday, and I woke to the sound of the birds singing in the wisteria outside my bedroom window. I got up and looked out of the window, knowing that it would be for the last time.

Mike and Mary were now all ready to go, and the new vicar was already appointed and would be moving in on the following Friday.

I looked out across the view that had become home to me, and cried a little. It was not out of sadness, but out of a sense of change. I had been so happy since they had taken me in, that wet, bedraggled waif that cold morning all those years ago. They had simply taken me in, no questions asked, and loved me without reservation. I owed them my life.

I had a shower, and slipped on my dressing gown. I went down and found Mary up and busy in the kitchen. We had been very busy for the preceding few days, and the church hall was now prettier than it had ever been.

I had contracted some excellent caterers, and Mary and Joan were eternally grateful that neither of them had to cook.

The wedding was at 2pm, and it was the lull before the storm. I knew exactly where Steve was, and smiled as I watched Mary busy herself about the kitchen.

They were due to leave in the following week, so most of their belongings were in boxes. Much of the furniture was staying, as they were emigrating to New Zealand, and so Mary was just organising everything that was going with them.

I looked at my watch - 8 am. Steve would be meeting the flight from New Zealand as Caroline, her husband and children arrived. I had bought them all tickets, and arranged for them to stay at a super hotel a couple of miles away. They were going to take Mike and Mary with them when they returned, and it was to be a surprise.

I ate my toast, and looked at the paper. There had been mild interest when it was announced that Russell Drysdale had collected his inheritance, and then promptly disappeared. No further information was forthcoming, and the press moved off onto other prey.

In March, shortly after seeing my mother in court, Gwen approached me and offered me a place on the teaching staff at her college. I was actually thrilled and accepted without hesitation. I would be starting after the summer break, and couldn’t wait.

Steve and I found a gorgeous farmhouse just outside Mursley, and I had great pleasure in buying it outright, but in joint names. It was just what we wanted, with five bedrooms in the main house, and an annex in one of the converted barns with another self-contained four bedrooms and a small kitchen/dining room for self-catering if friends wanted to stay. There was a triple garage, as we both had cars now, and Steve wanted to rebuild a thirty year-old MGB roadster.

I preferred my Mazda MX5, and his Golf took him to work every day.

I immediately arranged for the builders and decorators to move in and improve it to our specifications, which included a small recording studio in one of the converted barns. I also insisted on a nursery just off the main bedroom, and we spent April and May getting the furniture.

I asked Sheri, Pam, Marcie, tall Sally, and Simone to be my bridesmaids, and all accepted. We had a real hoot selecting and fitting the dresses. I chose a very old-fashioned satin and lace dress with a full veil and long train. It was utterly gorgeous, and it fulfilled every dream I had ever had. The girls’ dresses were all in gold and pale blue, and they looked stunning.

Marcie emailed across her measurements, and she had just had her second child, she still had a wonderful figure. I hadn’t seen her for ages, and was dying to see her children. Both the girls were my Goddaughters, and the photographs were divine. They were all coming over, and Steve had the farmhouse annex ready for them all.

They arrived a week before the wedding, and had taken over the farm.

Steve and I went to Heathrow to meet them in my future father in law’s birthday present from me, a new Land Rover Discovery TD5.

I stood in Terminal Four, waiting for them to arrive, and then there was this high-pitched shriek.

“Emma!”

Marcia had arrived.

Ron looked a lot more relaxed and casual. He had been rather stiff at his wedding, and I don’t mean in the trouser department, although he probably had been.

Marcia looked utterly fantastic. She had blossomed and motherhood suited her. Ron pushed a toddler in a buggy, and Marcia held a small baby on her hip with practised ease. Both girls were very pretty, just like their mother.

We hugged, and both talked ninety-nine to the dozen from then on.

We packed them all in the car, and drove the hour and a half back home. Marcia fell in love with the farm, as I knew she would, and we were very proud of our home.

Steve was living there all the time, and to be honest, so was I, but tradition dictated that the bride and groom should not spend the night before the wedding together, so we hadn’t.

I stopped taking the pill two months ago, and not said anything. I just wanted a child so badly it almost hurt. Steve had just smiled when he found out.
 
 
I helped Mary with the lunch, and she was so excited.

“It almost makes up for missing Caroline’s wedding,” she said.

“That is sweet of you, but I know that that is one hurt that you will never get over.”

She smiled and sighed.

“No, you are right, but I’d loved to have had them all in the church, just once before we left.”

I smiled and turned away. Mary announced she was going to finish the flowers, and disappeared off to the hall.

I went and put on some jeans and a tee shirt, and my mobile phone rang. It was Steve.

“Hi sweetie. I’m about five minutes away,” he said.

“Everything all right?”

“Yes, do they know?”

“Not a clue. Mary is in the Hall doing the flowers and Mike is in the church, so bring them to the house.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

I watched Steve arrive with the Land Rover. He glanced at my window, and I waved. He gave me the thumbs up sign. I saw Caroline alight from the back with one of the children. Her husband Bruce got out and another child followed. They came to the back door, and I raced down to meet them.

Caroline was a little shorter than I, and now looked rather plump, and a good deal older, but I felt that I was looking at the nearest person I had to a sister.

We stood for a second, just looking at each other.

“Hi Caroline, I’m Emma.”

She nodded.

We embraced, and she held onto me so tight, I was rather surprised.

“I can’t thank you enough for what you have done. You’ve saved us,” she said.

“No, they saved me,” I said, and we both had a little cry.

I met her husband and both children. It seemed unreal that this middle-aged woman was that rebellious teenager all those years ago, and her husband was a wandering lad with no hope or future.

Steve saw Mary coming and gave me a sign, so I sat everyone round the kitchen table, and just sat there as if we were all local friends having a chat.

Mary walked in, carrying a huge bunch of flowers.

“Emma, could you get me a vase for these, please sweetheart?” she said.

“Hello Granny,” said a childish voice of Maryjane.

Mary froze, and lowered the flowers. Then she dropped them and went very white.

I placed a chair behind her, in case, but Caroline was there before me, and just grabbed and hugged her mother.

I sat and watched, as they both wept and laughed at this unexpected and wonderful reunion.

The children jumped on the table, and hugged their grandmother too. I glanced through my tears at Bruce, and saw he was openly crying as well.

After about fifteen minutes, emotions were more or less brought under control, and Mary looked at me.

“Emma, you are so naughty!” she said.

I just smiled. Steve came and put his arm around me.

“She is not naughty, she’s just an angel,” he said and kissed me.

“You can say that again,” said a voice from the door.

Marcia and her family had just arrived, and had brought her parents.

“You see Emma, everyone knows the truth,” said Anne, Marcia’s mother.

I found everyone looking at me.

“What?” I said.

“Go on, admit it, Emma, you’re really an angel, aren’t you?” said Marcia.

I looked at Steve, and he just grinned at me. I had told him about their silly notion, and he had simply nodded and said that he understood why they thought that way.

At that moment, Mike chose to walk in.

He stood and stared in complete disbelief at the scenario that met his eyes.

“Hello Daddy,” Caroline said, and he crumpled in front of us.

Steve and I took Marcia and her clan out, and let Mike and Mary have some time with Caroline.

Gradually, the other girls arrived, so we had an early lunch. I was excited, and then Steve disappeared to get ready. I went up to my room to change. Mary was with me, and she was crying.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I’m so happy,” she snivelled.

I smiled.

“Did you know they have asked Mike to bless their marriage after your service?” she asked.

“Yes. I suggested it,” I said.

She looked at me. “Emma, are you really an angel?” she asked, perfectly seriously.

I smiled.

“I didn’t think so, but everyone is trying to convince me that I am.”

She smiled, and came and gave me a hug.

“It’s just ever since you came into our lives, everything changed, and got better. I was speaking to Marcia and her mother, and they said the same thing. Even Caroline thinks you are.”

“Sometimes we are used by a higher power,” I said. “Besides, you two have done the same for me. You know that you are really my mother, don’t you?” I said, and she burst into tears again.

I finished dressing despite the tears.

Mary stood back and looked at me.

“You’re such a beautiful girl. Are you happy?”

I nodded. “Absolutely.”

She hugged me.

“I will miss you.”

“I’ll come and visit you all, often,” I said.

“I know. But thank you.”

I smiled.

“We both met each other’s need’s. You gave me love and were a mother to me when I desperately needed one. So it’s only fair that I be your daughter.”

“I couldn’t have wished for a better one,” she said, and we had a final hug, and she went to change.

On returning downstairs, I found the girls all waiting in the dining room for me. They were simply stunning in their dresses, the garlands of flowers in their hair were wonderful, and they all told me that I looked a beautiful bride.

It only took me a couple of minutes to walk over to the church, but it was like a marathon. By the time I got to the door, I was shaking like a leaf when Mike appeared.

He smiled at me, and I wished he was my real father. Mary fussed about with my train, and then looked at me.

“This is the first time I have given away the bride, and married her,” he said with a chuckle.

“Mike, words cannot ever hope to express the thanks I have for what you both did for me. I owe you both my life,” I said.

“Then, let’s call that quits,” he said, as the organ started. I couldn’t back out now, even if I wanted to. Mary kissed my cheek, went in and sat next to her daughter, at the front on the bride’s side.

I took Mike’s proffered arm, and began my last walk as Emma Pearson.
 
 
The church was full.

I recognised many of Steve’s family and friends, and there were all my friends from the Teesdale College, not least Gwen herself. There was a large contingent of police officers, with Ron and others. I just smiled and felt as if I was walking on air. I saw Steve turn and look at me from up by the altar rail.

His smile coincided with a shaft of sunlight, and I smiled back, but I realised that he probably couldn’t see me under my veil.

Mike handed me over, and then took the place of his friend, the vicar of the next parish, who covered the beginning bit.

It all went very smoothly, and we made our responses, I held him tightly, and then Mike asked that dreadful question, “Is there anyone here present who can give any just cause why these two should not be wed?”

Mercifully, there was no reply, we were pronounced man and wife, and I wore my ring with joy and pride.

I lifted my veil from my face, and we kissed. I felt all light-headed, and totally convinced that I was doing the right thing. I loved this man with all my heart, and all my soul.

We went and signed the register, and then we returned for a short, but even more moving ceremony, as Caroline and Bruce had their marriage blessed by Mike. Steve and I stood next to them as witnesses, and then we were all out into the sunshine for the photographs.

“I love you, Mrs Roberts,” Steve said, kissing me.

“I love you too, Mr Roberts,” I replied.

The day went so fast, that I can hardly remember much. The speeches were short and funny, by my decree. However, there was so much charged emotion, that there was hardly a dry eye in the house at some points.

Mike actually gave a speech, it was short, but he made his wife, his daughter and me cry several times.

He ended up thus:

“It is rare in a man’s life to be permitted a glimpse of heaven, so it is with great pleasure and humility that I can make such a claim.

“A few years ago, a young waif came to us in tragic circumstances. Her short life a catalogue of misery, loneliness and disaster. She came to us when we were at the lowest point in our lives, and our family was so split that every day was an effort to struggle through.

“With this waif came a free and wonderful spirit, which touched everyone she met. She brought sunshine where only dark clouds existed, she brought colour where there was none. She brought laughter where there were only tears, and joy where there was sorrow.

“Such was her impact on this family, that I have now blessed the marriage of my prodigal daughter, and I have witnessed the congregation of my little church grow from less than thirty to nearly eighty people. I have had so many witnesses come forward to testify to her magical charm, and I know several people who are convinced she is an angel sent amongst us, to save us from ourselves.

“It has been a joy and a privilege to have been part of your life, and to watch everything you touch turn into blossom and joy, from the deepest depths of my heart, Emma, I thank you.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you, my daughter, the angel, Mrs Emma Roberts.”

I was crying so much, I could hardly see, but I saw everyone rise and toast, “Emma, the angel.”

There was hardly a dry eye in the house, and it took several minutes for us to recover.

I had had enough, so I stood, which was not planned. I took the microphone, and was going to have my reply.

“Friends, and new family,” I said.

“The waif will speak!” shouted Marcia, and there was some laughter.

“I have sat here and heard everyone say such wonderful things about me, and it is making me cry a little, but it is also making me slightly nauseous.

“Marcia and her mother have accused me of being an angel, and now my husband and adopted father are doing the same. I am flattered and pleased that I come over as such a heavenly being, but in truth, I know that I’m not an angel.

“But, what is an angel?” I asked, and paused.

“An angel is a heavenly creature, whose sole purpose is to serve God, and help men when they are in trouble,” I paused again, and Marcia interrupted.

“Everything you’ve said, I agree with, and I still think you are an angel!” she said, and there were many nods of agreement and laughter.

I laughed, but felt frustrated, I knew what I wanted to say, and it was not coming out right.

“If I were an angel, then I should be able to make something miraculous happen on such a day as today. But what has happened is wonderful, but hardly miraculous. I see a family reunited, I see friends gathered and differences forgotten and forgiven. You have done this, not me. Two wonderful people, who dragged me from the pits of despair, and helped me become the person I am today, took me in. I am mortal, I feel pain and sorrow, I feel joy and can laugh, I am not an angel, but I feel very humble that some of you see me as such. But in truth, Mike and Mary are the real angels. Moreover, without them, none of us would be here today.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Mike and Mary.”

After the toasts, we cut the cake, and the party began.
 
 
I sat and chatted with everyone I could. Pam and her dweeb, Paul, who was now her fiancé, were having a great time. Pam took me aside.

“Emma, I thought your speech was great.”

“Thanks Pam.”

“But I don’t buy it.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“I don’t know what you did that time you first met Paul, but he is a completely different bloke.”

“Huh?” I said, completely baffled.

“You know he came second in a top class rally, and Renault have just sponsored him to drive for their new team?”

“Good for him. No, I didn’t know. But what is that to do with me?”

“You did something to him, that night. He took me home, and he was quite quiet all the way back, then he turned to me and said, ‘Pam, I have been a real drongo. I’m so sorry, I should have told you that you look so pretty and your dress is stunning, but I was so worried about being a prat, that I was one naturally. I was so proud that you came with me, and I think I love you.’ He then kissed me in a way he had never ever kissed me before, and he has been like that ever since.

“He encouraged me to go to back to college, and then to take courses in massage and fitness, and even to have other boyfriends, but, I came back to him, and he is just wonderful. Therefore, you can deny it all you want, but I know the truth. And thanks, he is gorgeous.”

I looked at her and shook my head sadly, but with a smile.

“Pam, I am so pleased, but I didn’t do anything, he just opened his eyes.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, and gave me a hug. “Whatever you say, Emma, whatever you say.”

Steve came over, and grabbed me round the waist.

“Hiya wife,” he said.

“Hello husband,” I said, and kissed him.

“What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“She is an angel, isn’t she Steve?” Pam asked.

“Of course. But don’t tell anyone, she hates anyone knowing,” he said, and I hit him.

“Ow. I deserved that, thank you, O Angelic one, for correcting me,” he said, and I pulled my fist back again.

Marcia came over, having overheard.

“Pam, she definitely is, I can prove it,” she said.

“Marcia, no. Please.”

Marcia looked at me.

“Then you have to tell me the truth, you know those secrets you said you would tell me, or otherwise I am going to spill the beans about my miracle.”

“That’s blackmail,” I said, and Steve grinned.

“Steve, do something.”

He held up both hands, palms towards me.

“This is your fight, my love, you got into this, so you have to get out of it.”

“But tell her that I’m not an angel, please.”

He looked right into my eyes.

“I can’t. Because to me, you are.”

“Steve!” I said, frustrated.

“Well?” asked Marcia.

I took her by the arm, and led her to the bench by the churchyard. We sat down.

“Marcia, you know that night when the miracle happened for you?”

“I’ll never forget it. So?”

“I went through exactly the same thing a few weeks before you.”

She stared at me.

“No. You couldn’t have. You could never have been a boy.”

“How do you think I knew how you felt? Because I’d been there. I was at a boys public school, and was as miserable as you. Only my mother hated me, and was to try to bump me off a few weeks later.”

She stared at me, shaking her head.

I told her the whole story, leaving nothing out.

“You’re Russell Drysdale, the missing millionaire?”

“No, I’m Mrs. Emma Roberts, the multi-million heiress. I was Russell Drysdale, in another life.”

“And Steve knows?”

I nodded.

“How many others?”

“Mike, Mary. Steve, Ron Higgins the policeman, and my solicitor.”

“And you trust me that much?”

“Marcia, you are the sister I never had,” I said, and she burst into tears and hugged me for all I was worth.

“I knew I was right asking you to be Godmother to my children,” she said with a grin. “Now I know they will get super presents.”

We laughed, and she continued to shake her head.

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t care, to me you will always be an angel. So, just accept it,” she said, kissed my cheek, and dragged me back to the party.

There was a subtle change, as some of the older generation drifted away at about eight o’clock, and the disco started. I went and changed into a skirt and top, and felt pleased to be out of my dress. It was lovely, but hardly practical, and I had eaten nothing for fear of spilling food down it. I helped myself to a huge plate of food, and Steve joined me.

“Ready?”

“For what?” I asked.

“Your honeymoon.”

I smiled. “You’ve kept it a secret, I can wait a little longer,” I said.

His car was on the drive, absolutely covered in the usual wedding rubbish. Cans and boots, crazy foam and duct tape, the car was a riot of crap.

He looked up, and I saw the lights of an aircraft approaching. Closer and closer, it came, and then it dawned on me, it was a helicopter.

“Go get your case, my love, for your carriage has arrived.”

I ran and got my case, and when I came down, Mike and Mary were waiting with Steve.

“We just want to say goodbye. Emma, we…” Mike broke off, tears streaming down his face. Mary was crying too.

I hugged them both. Words were unnecessary, and would never cover what we wanted to say.

“Enjoy New Zealand. And we will come and have Christmas with you.”

“We’d like that,” Mary said.

“That’s if they will let me fly,” I said, and they all frowned.

“Why?”

“Because I will probably be about six months pregnant by then,” I said.

Steve stared at me with an open mouth, and I laughed.

“No, I’m not, but after tonight, who knows?” I said.

“Oh, Mike, this is for you,” I said, thrusting an envelope into his hands.

The helicopter landed in the adjoining field, we dashed over to it, and I was helped in. We circled the crowd a couple of times, and I dropped my bouquet. Pam caught it, so I smiled. We then headed for the airport.

“What did you give Mike?” Steve asked.

“The deeds of a cottage in New Zealand, just fifteen minutes away from Caroline. I asked Bruce to find it, but I bought it. It was the least I could do.”
 
 
Part 12
 
 
We spent our honeymoon in tropical paradise, in Tobago. I turned golden brown, and we spent most of the time making love, sunbathing, lying on a beach or swimming.

We had two weeks of it, and I knew by the end of the first week that I was pregnant. It was odd. I just felt different, as if my body was changing, and I was humbled to be allowed to bear new life. I told Steve, and he thought I was joking. However, he gradually realised I wasn’t, and treated me very tenderly, until I threatened to beat him soundly.

Once we arrived back, I went to the doctor and he confirmed what I already knew. I was over the moon, so was on the phone to Mary immediately. The fact that I called her first made her cry.

I then told Marcia, Steve’s mother, and anyone else I thought of. My regret was that my own mother was not aware and wouldn’t care even if she did.

It made me curious as to her origins, as all I knew was that she had met my father in the South of France a year before I was born.

I asked Ron to do some digging, but he didn’t have the time, but put me onto a retired police detective who ran his own private investigations company.

George Ruskin was about fifty-five, and looked very unhealthy, but he came with good references from Ron. I met him in his office in Oxford, and gave him as much information as I could. He had my parents’ marriage certificate and all the details about my mother I could find.

“I’ll give you a ring when I find something,” he told me, and I heard nothing more for ages.

I watched my mother being sentenced to a term in prison, and somehow I managed to divorce myself from the dishevelled figure slumped in the dock. I no longer recognised any ties, and I cried for that reason.

Steve took me home in a sombre mood, and he just cuddled me, knowing that words were useless. The phone went and it was George Ruskin.

“I found out where she came from. She was born near Lille, from a poor farming family. Her mother is still alive, but her father died ten years ago. Her elder brother runs the farm, and she has two sisters, both younger and married to local men.

“Her mother is called Helene, and her brother is Jean Brochard. There are loads of kids, and as far as I’m aware, they’ve not heard from your mother since before she got married to your dad.”

“She has a family?” I asked staggered. She had never even hinted that her parents might be alive.

He promised to send me all the details in a report with the invoice. I was in a daze, as here was a family I never knew existed.

“What are you going to do?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know. I can hardly just turn up and announce, hi, I’m your granddaughter.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll write first. Just to let them know.”

Which I did, straight after George’s report arrived, I tried my rusty French and wrote a simple letter introducing myself, and told them I’d like to meet my Grandmá¨re.

A couple of weeks later a letter came back written in a spidery hand. It was from my grandmother. She was shocked and surprised as she thought her daughter was dead. (I hadn’t told them what had happened, so I had something to talk about to them if I ever visited.)

She invited me to go and see them. Steve and I took a long weekend and caught the early ferry from Dover, and drove to Lille.

The farm was just outside a small village. It was rather dilapidated and in need of extensive repair. I could see that it was in full use, and despite the missing slates, the machinery and tractors were relatively new, and the cows seemed in good health.

I was obviously pregnant now, not heavily, but just obvious. I was dressed in a smart dark dress, and my bump was for all to see. Steve parked the car, a new Range Rover, outside the farmhouse, next to a beaten up Citroen. I got out and felt very nervous indeed.

“Seems deserted,” Steve said, just as a terrific yapping started from behind a door.

The door opened, and a small furry creature with more noise than was good for it appeared, and dashed round increasing in pitch and volume. A tall man, with receding hairline and a large paunch appeared. He was wearing a set of faded blue overalls, and a pair of slippers. A pair of heavy work boots lay by the doormat.

“Est-ce que tu es Emma??”

“Oui, je suis Emma, est tu mon oncle Jean?”

He gave me a huge smile and wrapped his enormous arms around me.

“C'est mon mari, Steven,” I said.

He shook Steve’s hand and gave him a hug too.

“Bienvenu. Viens sur, entre,” he said, and ushered us inside.

The interior was completely different from the scruffy outside, and was really lovely and clean and well presented.

I stood in the hall, and a small thin woman dressed in black came from what I found later was the kitchen.

“Mamam, c’est ta fille grande, Emma, d'Angleterre.”

The lady looked at me, burst into tears, and came and embraced me. I could feel she was ever so thin, as I could feel her bones.

“Good God. So, you are Brigette's daughter. I never even knew she was married. Where is she?”

“It’s a very long and not a very happy story,” I said.

"Well, I have made lunch, so you can tell me everything as we eat. Your aunts will be here soon," she replied.

She led us into the large kitchen, which was old fashioned, but well equipped. A simply huge table filled one end, with about fifteen chairs set around it.

Another woman was there, fussing with some pots, she turned as we came in.

“C'est ma femme, ta tante Jeanette,” my uncle told me, and we embraced.

“Oh, ma fille, est-ce que tu attends un bébé?” my grandmother said, noticing my bump.

“Oui, notre premier bébé,” I said.

Steven, who’s French was limited to ordering a couple of beers and a bottle of wine, was left floundering a bit, so I updated him with the conversation.

“Ah, your husband, he does not spik de francais?” my uncle asked in broken English.

“Non,” I said.

“I spik a leetle of the English,” he said and grinned at Steve.

“You like a beer?” he asked, so, grinning back, Steve nodded.

He took Steve off, leaving me with the women. Two more arrived, and these were obviously my mother’s sisters. They brought their husbands, and several children ranging between teenagers and toddlers. The men kissed me, and disappeared, obviously to find the beer or wine.

I told the story of my parents’ marriage, my birth and my father’s premature death. I omitted to disclose my original gender as I thought that would confuse. I then was brutally honest about my treatment at my mother’s hands, which caused mush teeth sucking and tut-tutting.

I then explained about my father’s will and the trust, again not disclosing the rather large monetary figures involved. I then gave them a brief history of my short yet quite successful career to date, and at one point one of my aunts clapped her hands and said, “Aha, est-ce que tu es Emma Pearson, la chanteuse?”

I nodded.

“Oui, je suis Emma Pearson, mais mon nom marié est Emma Roberts.”

The fact that they knew me here surprised me, and they seemed pleased to have someone famous in the family. There was some discussion about the songs that I sang, and they argued about which ones they liked the best.

I then told them about my mother trying to have me killed, and then trying to cheat me out of my inheritance. I finally explained that she had been sentenced to imprisonment just a few weeks ago. My grandmother shook her head and looked really quite cross.

“Your mother was always a very wilful and unpleasant child. She left home as soon as she was sixteen, and went top work down south. I heard that she became pregnant and had an abortion in Marseilles. She moved to Nice after that, and got a job as a hostess in a nightclub. We never heard from her again,” she told me.

“Well, I’m not my mother. And you’re the only family I have left,” I said, and this made her cry.

Lunch was a very noisy and typically French occasion. The wine and beer flowed very freely, so Steve seemed quite content, as the men were practising their English on him, and encouraging him to try his very rusty French.

I never managed to remember everyone’s names, and strangers seemed to arrive throughout the afternoon. Lunch seemed to just turn into dinner, and the party grew. I became aware of a police uniform, and it turns out one of my cousins was a police officer, and he and Steve were the same age. I saw them disappearing out together to look at the French Police car.

Whatever turns one on!

The food was very simple, but wonderful, and in such quantities. I was full before the main course of goose was plonked on the table. When I say goose, there were two, both roasted to a golden brown, and looking as good as they smelled. Then there were tarts and cakes, followed by the most wonderful local cheeses.

I had to tell my story repeatedly, and I felt a little guilty about casting my mother in such a bad light. The truth was told, and the family took me to their heart.

By ten o’clock, some started to drift off, as they had children to get to bed. I was now universally known as ‘Cousin Emma’ so got a hug and a kiss from everyone, even the smallest.

Steve and I had planned to spend the night at a local hotel, but they gave us a very comfortable room, which obviously hadn’t been used for a while, but was still very nice. Steve was just short of being completely intoxicated, so was fast asleep before I got into bed.

The weekend was very successful, so by the time we left they treated me as if I’d been part of the family forever. My grandmother hugged me very tightly, and put a hand on my tummy.

“You look after yourself. That baby is very precious. Mind you come and see me often.”

“I will, I promise.”

She was actually crying, and my uncle gave me a hug and kissed both cheeks, twice.

“Uncle. This may not be the time. But I am quite a wealthy young woman, and I just wondered if there was any way I could help the family?”

He looked at me, and then at his mother, who hadn’t heard.

“Telephone me, when you get home. We are having trouble with the bank, so there is something you could do. But I hate to ask.”

“Uncle. I have more than enough, and I feel that if I am part of this family, then I have a responsibility to help. I will call you. I promise.”

They watched us drive away, and I was sad to be leaving, but pleased to find that I had some family, and that they hadn’t all been like my mother.

“They were a lovely bunch. I hadn’t a clue what the fuck was being said for most of the time, but it was okay.”

“Did the policeman speak English?”

“Yeah, a little, but it was amazing how quickly my school French came back.”

He came to the main road, but turned left instead of right.

“Steve, what are you doing, the coast is the other way?”

“We are not going to the coast. Or not that one anyway.”

“What?”

“I’ve taken a week off. Now I remembered your solicitor saying you had a villa and a yacht in Monaco. So, you and me are going there for a week.”

“You sod. I haven’t packed enough for a week.”

“You’re going to the rich person’s shopping capital, and are complaining that you haven’t any clothes?”

I smiled, as it was a lovely surprise.

He drove fast and well, so we arrived in the evening. He had managed to get the address, and even contacted the housekeeper to say we’d be arriving. I wondered what sort of reception we’d receive, as my mother lived here for so long.

As it happened, I needn’t have worried.

We drove up a sweeping drive through some majestic gates, and stopped in front of the enormous villa. It was off white, just with a tinge of pale pink. The red tiles on the roof and maroon shutters gave it a Mediterranean feel. The Hibiscus and geraniums were all in full bloom, so the scent was heavenly.

The garden was immaculate, and I gathered that mummy dearest hadn’t been here for some time. She had been on bail in the UK for months, restricted to remaining in England until the trial, and was now languishing in Holloway Prison.

As we were still getting out of the car, a liveried butler appeared. He was tall and very smart, his grey hair the only indication of his advancing years.

“Mrs Roberts?”

“Yes?”

“Madam, I am Michael. I was your father’s butler, and I have been managing the house for the last twenty years,” he spoke excellent English, with just a hint of an accent that I could not identify.

“Ah, how nice to meet you Michael. Unfortunately, circumstances precluded me from visiting before this,” I said, and he took my offered hand and raised it to his lips.

“I understand, and, you have my deepest sympathies. The whole situation was most disagreeable.”

He was looking at me very strangely, and as he noted that I was so obviously with child, his frown deepened.

I smiled.

“Dear Michael, you look so confused. You are asking yourself, ‘How on earth did young Russell suddenly become Emma, and is now very pregnant.’ Well, I don’t know how or why I suffered from the strange gender dysfunction, but clearly, someone goofed when I was born. As soon as my hormones started, I became the normal female you see before you. This is my husband Steven, and I understand you spoke with him when he planned this little surprise?”

“Yes Madam. May I say, it is so wonderful to have you both here.”

I smiled, and turned to him.

“Michael, now, please put me out of my misery, where is that accent from?”

“I’m Canadian, Madam, but I’ve lived in Europe all my life.”

“Ah, that’s it. I knew it wasn’t American, but for the life of me, I just couldn’t identify it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Madam. Have you luggage?”

“I got it, don’t worry,” Steve said, carrying our two cases.

“My dear husband didn’t tell me that we were coming, so I will have to go shopping tomorrow,” I said.

“Ah, that will be so distressing for Madam,” Michael said, perfectly straight-faced.

Steve laughed.

“That’s what I said,” he said, so I hit him.

Michael relieved Steve of one of the bags, and took us inside. The place was immaculate, and I wondered how much damage my mother had done.

“Michael, did my mother ..?”

“Madam, you mother tried many things, however I was able to prevent the serious works of art from being removed by locking them in the vault just after you father died. I also removed the silver, gold and crystal. The items that were left were either reproductions or fakes.”

“I get the impression you two weren’t the best of friends.”

“That’s an understatement, Madam.”

“Michael, we are now in the twenty-first century. Do you think you could call me Emma?”

“I doubt it, Madam.”

I smiled.

“Please?”

“How about Ma’am?”

“Michael, a woman who runs a brothel is a madam, and we call the queen, Ma’am. My name is Emma, please call me Emma, when it is just us, at least.”

“I shall try, m..Emma.”

“Thank you.”

He showed us up to the master bedroom, which was truly magnificent. There was a painting on the wall of two semi naked women, and I was sure it was a famous one.

“Yes, M..Emma, it is the original.”

“Are all the paintings original?”

“Yes, M..Emma. I have replaced everything to exactly how your father liked it.”

“Have you seen the size of bathroom, Em?”

I shook my head, as I was having a moment.

“Michael, what was Daddy like?”

“He was one of the finest men I ever met, Emma. He adored his wife, and when you were born, I had never seen him so happy. He was kind and generous, but a very good businessman, nonetheless. I respected, admired and looked up to him.”

“I only have so few memories of him. I came here a couple of times, and I remember it vaguely. I’d so like to meet him again. I’d like him to know his grandchild,” I said, stroking my bump.

Michael had a tear in his eye.

“I’m sure he’d like to have done both.”

I wiped my eyes, and smiled.

“Well, he’s not, so I just have to accept it. Is there any food in the house, or shall we go out?”

“Dinner has been prepared by my wife, and it will be served in the dining room at your convenience.”

“Michael, have you eaten?”

“No, we will eat after you.”

“Michael, you and your dear wife will eat with us, and we shall join you in the kitchen.”

“Madam.”

“Michael.”

He smiled.

“Thank you, that is most gracious,” he said.

“No, it isn’t. Michael, I’m twenty-two, my husband is twenty-five. You’re old enough to be our parents, or worse. I will not step into a class system in which I don’t belong. I accept that you are paid to undertake your responsibilities, but that doesn’t mean we have to perpetuate an outdated system of “us and them”. If we entertain, then I will accept usual practices, but when it is just us, I will become offended if any barriers exist.”

“Emma, I understand. Unfortunately, your mother..”

“My mother is no longer an issue. She is in prison, and will not be mentioned in this house again,” I said, very firmly.

He smiled.

“Yes Madam,” he said, and I punched him lightly on the arm.

“My grandmother, my mother’s mother, is at this address. Please could you ring the number and ask for my Uncle Jean. I must have a pee, I’ll take it when I get out,” I said, and gave him a piece of paper, and dashed to the loo.

He was talking in French to Jean when I reappeared.

“Your Uncle,” he said, giving me the phone.

“Hello, Uncle Jean?”

“Emma. Thank you for calling. It was not possible to talk earlier. Were you serious about your offer to help?”

“Of course.”

“Well, we have a debt with the bank, and they are talking about foreclosing. Now I have extended it twice, but we are just not making enough to keep all the family. Times are hard, and we make enough to live, but not to pay the interest to the bank as well.”

“How much?”

“Three hundred thousand Euros.”

“Which bank, and the account number?”

He told me and I wrote down the details.

“What is the manger’s name?” I asked.

He told me.

“Consider it done.” I said.

“That easily?”

“Uncle Jean. My mother was a selfish cow, who lived for herself, and no one else. My grandmother worried about her for years, and she never even called. Not once. How can a child do that to her mother? And yet as a mother, she tried to have me killed and then to cheat me out of my father’s money. I am not my mother, and I owe it to my father to put right what wrongs she has done to my grandmother.”

“But, it is a lot of money.”

“Uncle, it’s a drop in the ocean. It is not what you attain that people remember you for, but how you lived your life.”

“Gracious child. How will we repay you?”

“You already have. You gave me a family.”

I sensed he was crying, and so I said goodbye.
 
 
Supper was a little strained to start with, as Michael’s wife, Claudette, a round, jolly woman of about sixty, was clearly unused to having people in her kitchen.

I laid the table, while Steve put the glasses round as Michael opened a bottle of wine. We sat and enjoyed the most superb seafood medley. Fresh fish of about eight varieties and salad, with some exotic and delicious sauces made for a very happy meal. Claudette thawed remarkably quickly, and even managed to call me Emma once.

We helped wash up, after which I kissed Claudette soundly on the cheeks, thanking her for just being there.

We retired to our fabulous bedroom at eleven, standing on the balcony looking out across the sea. The stars were out, and the lights were twinkling on the mastheads of the many boats in the marina. It was a magical scene. Steve wrapped his arms around me, and held the bump with both hands.

“Happy?”

“Mmmmm,” I said, and he kissed my neck. Shivers of pleasure ran down my spine.

I turned and kissed him.

The kiss went on, and I wanted him. I pushed him onto the bed, and started undressing him.

“Emma, careful. The baby.”

“Shh. I claim my marital rights,” I said, and took his growing erection into my mouth.

“Emma!” he said, but made no move to escape.

Firmly, he prised me off before he came and undressed me, kissing every inch of my body until I was naked next to him, and tingling with anticipation.

He was so damn gentle, but he took me to new heights of pleasure as he dutifully impaled me and made slow delightful love to me for ages. We finally slept, curled together naked, with the sea air just gently cooling our bodies.
 
 
I awoke first, the baby was pressed against my bladder, and so I had to go. I slipped out of bed, and found a black silk ladies robe behind the door. I put it on and went to the loo. It was only six o’clock, and the sun was rising across the Principality. I had my pee, and walked out onto the terrace. The air was still, and there were few sounds from the city. I could see vehicles moving up the Grande Corniche behind us, and took in the spectacular views properly for the first time.

I caught my reflection in the glass, and a tall blond young woman looked at me, with a twinkle in her eye and a smile in her heart. I opened the robe, and saw my firm breasts, which had swollen some since I had become pregnant, and the round belly, within which rested my hope.

I was so happy. I closed the robe, looked across the flowers, and thought back to that moment when I discovered that I had become female.

Ever since that moment, my life turned round. From the point of desperation, where I actually considered taking my own life, I had come full circle to the point of giving new life back. I still don’t know how or why it happened, but I offered my daily thanks to the unseen power that allowed it to happen.

A pair of strong arms caught me from behind, and I smiled as my husband nuzzled my neck.

“I missed you,” he said.

I turned and kissed him. He was all scratchy, and needed a shave. I ran the palm of my hand down his cheek, and kissed him again.

“I love you so much,” I said.

“Jolly good job,” he said.

I stripped off my robe, and naked again, turned and dived into the pool.

He followed suit a couple of moments later, and we ended up making love in the shallow end. The buoyancy of the water was wonderful, and I found the whole experience so erotic.

We climbed out, and lay on the grass.

“You are so randy now you’re pregnant,” he said, as he kissed my breasts.

“Are you complaining?” I asked, as he did something very remarkable with his tongue.

“No, not at all. I just adore you, did you know that?” he asked.

“Mmmm. I don’t know what you are doing, but don’t stop,” I said, as he brought me to orgasm, again.

“You are insatiable,” he said.

“Are you still complaining?”

“Would I?” he said, as he took me from behind, and screwed me into submission.

“Oh my God. Steve. YES. Oh Yes. Oh shit. Oh. Oh. Oh.”
 
 
We returned to our room, and had a spa bath together, and yes, we fucked again. I couldn’t get enough of him today, and by the time we went down to breakfast, I was ready to go for a rest.

We had breakfast on the terrace by the pool.

Steve was looking into the filter, and being nosy.

“Do you think pubic hair clogs the system up?” he asked, and I got the giggles.

“Well?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “Look.”

He turned to look at me and I opened my legs. I was wearing a short dress, and no knickers. I had shaved my pubic hair, and so the cool air on my now completely bald fanny, was amazingly erotic.

“Bloody hell. What are you like?” he said, and was by my side very quickly.

He bent down and I felt his tongue brush against the lips, and titillate my clitoris, and I immediately came, and he simple swept me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom.

He placed me on the bed, and buried his face into my groin, letting his tongue reach as far inside my vagina as it would reach. I moaned and clawed his clothes, and he shook off his shorts, and we formed a classic 69 position, and within moments I was swallowing a huge mouthful of delightful semen as he licked my now soaking fanny clean.

We eventually found the energy to dress, and walked the short distance to the Marina. Dad’s yacht was an eighty-foot luxury Sunseeker, which promised to be enormous fun. We shared visions of cruising the Greek islands, and swimming naked in desolate coves.

Oh yes, life looked exceptionally good, and my baby chose that moment to give me a hearty kick.

I kissed my husband, and decided that I liked being Emma very much indeed.
 
 

The End (Of the Beginning)

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