Miss Manners (18 page)

‘
Does it make a difference whether you’re brewing the tea in a pot or a cup?’ I asked, quite impressed with myself.

‘
Good question.’ Steve thought for a moment before answering. ‘If you are brewing the tea in a pot, as in our case, then adding the milk first will not affect the strength of the tea leaves. But if you are brewing the tea in a cup, then it is suggested that the hot water is added first. As Nancy Reagan once said, “A woman is like a teabag. You never know how strong she is until she gets into hot water.”’

Steve picked up a tea strainer, placing it over his teacup.
‘So, once you’ve poured the milk into the teacup, you will need to place a tea strainer over it, then pour the tea through it.’ He picked up the teapot, poured it elegantly into his teacup, then handed the cup to Brie. ‘What do you think?’ he said flirtatiously.

Brie t
ook a sip, then closed her eyes with pleasure. ‘Gorgeous,’ she purred.

It wasn
’t fair, Brie was having it easy. All she had to do was eat the food and drink the tea.

‘
I can really taste the floral bouquet,’ she continued. ‘Strong and sweet.’

‘
Now, girls,’ Steve announced triumphantly, ‘it’s your turn to experiment with the tea leaves. I’ll come around in about twenty minutes to have a taste of your wonderful tea blends. So, impress me. Oh, and please feel free to try my floral blend of Earl Grey for inspiration.’

I watched everyone else for a while
; they wasted no time in blending and brewing. But I was fixed on trying Steve’s blend to see what Brie was climaxing over. So, I reached over the table, picked up Steve’s teapot, poured the tea into my cup, then replaced it. I’d forgotten to put the milk in first, but I didn’t really care at that point.

‘
Ah, ah, ah,’ Steve reprimanded me, shaking his hairy head. ‘Milk first.’

All this
eagle-eyed watching was really starting to peeve me. I mean, the academy was beginning to feel more and more like MI5. I looked over at the pianist, who was playing ‘Clair de Lune’, and thought how relaxed he looked. He seemed to be having a much easier time. If I could play the piano as well as him, I’d be more than happy to switch places.

I took a sip of Steve
’s tea, which tasted so good it felt as if there were tiny little flute-playing elves dancing a jig on my tongue. Nom, nom.

Meanwhile, Pinkie looked pleased with herself as she mixed in all the flower tea leaves
– jasmine, lavender, osmanthus, rose bud, chrysanthemum and lotus. Genevieve, on the other hand, was blending all the spices into her teapot – ginger, cardamom, cinnamon, vanilla and nutmeg. I decided to go one step further and blend all the fruit tea leaves (lemon, raspberry, strawberry, apple, mango and passion fruit) with all the flower tea leaves, and all the spice tea leaves.

Surely, Steve would be most impressed with my tea-blending skills
.

Once I
’d blended all the flavours, including Earl Grey, in the teapot, I couldn’t wait to taste it. After leaving it to brew for a while, I poured the milk into the teacup first, followed by the tea through the strainer, then took a sip.

M
y attempt at tea-blending had proved to be a complete and utter fail. It tasted like a cross between dishwater and BO. Just then, to my horror, Steve stood up and announced, ‘Okay, girls. It’s time I tasted your delicious creations.’

I think it
’s time I ‘accidentally’ spilled the whole lot on Pinkie
, I thought.

H
e tasted each of the girls’ tea blends in turn. He stopped at Pinkie’s chair. ‘And what is your tea blend called?’ he enquired.

‘
Pink Perfection,’ Pinkie replied, beaming. ‘I want it to taste as beautiful as I am.’

‘
Lovely,’ he said, taking a sip. ‘I can really taste the chrysanthemum. Eight out of ten.’

I was trying hard to control my shaky leg at this point. Pinkie was only
three chairs down from me, so I needed to find a way of preventing Steve from drinking my tea. By the time I thought about swapping teapots with the girl next to me, it was too late. Steve was already standing right next to me.

‘
So, what’s your tea blend called?’ Steve asked me, his face expressionless.

‘
Tea Tang.’ I hyperventilated, trying hard not to look him in the eye.

‘
Interesting name.’ He placed a tea strainer over his teacup, poured the tea into it, then took a sip. There was nothing I could do.

I watched as his nostrils flared, his eyes popped and his mouth wobbled. Although I was slightly petrified,
it was a bit like watching an episode of
Monty Python
but not being able to laugh. I find not being able to laugh difficult because:

1)
        
the corners of my mouth twitch

2)
       
my stomach starts to spasm

3)
       
I hold my breath

I averted my gaze and looked at the floor to stop myself laughing.

‘
What is in this?’ he shrieked into my ear, spitting it back out into his China teacup. ‘This is officially the most disgusting tea I have ever tasted in my entire life. It is truly horrendous. And, as a result, I refuse to rate it at all.’

Whilst everyone sniggered at me, Steve asked a waiter for a glass of water, then rushed over to the next in line.

‘Thank goodness I’ve cleansed my palette of that awful taste,’ Steve added for good measure, just in case I didn’t get the picture already.

After
everyone’s blend had been rated and we had nibbled on a selection of savoury finger sandwiches and sweet scones, Brie stood up at the table. ‘Thank you very much, Steve, for such a wonderful afternoon. We’ve really enjoyed your company.’

Steve smiled, his face blushing like a slapped bottom.
‘Thank you so much for inviting me, Brie. It’s been an absolute pleasure. If anyone would like to find out more about which tea leaves complement each other best, please visit my website. Remember, you can’t just throw everything and anything into the teapot and expect it to taste like roses.’ He looked accusingly at me, raising his eyebrows. ‘It takes a lot of research and practice.’

Once Steve had left, Brie turned to the group.
‘Right, girls. Now that we’ve taken a course on the fine art of tea-blending, it’s time we moved on to table-setting in preparation for the Miss Manners dinner at Alain Ducasse this evening.’

I sighed, because this sounded boring. And when I get bored, I yawn.

‘Phoenix, you do not yawn without covering your mouth. In fact, you do not yawn at all. It is exceptionally rude.’

‘
It’s been a long day,’ I said, which was true.

‘
I don’t care. You do not yawn at the table,’ she scolded. ‘Anyway, it’s time we took our seats in the Krug Room. So, if you would all like to follow me.’ Brie stood up and led us to the dining room at the other end of the Promenade.

19

Posh Nosh

At the entrance to the Krug Room, a member of staff greeted us before ushering us inside. The Krug Room (I know, not a very noble name – in fact, it sounds like some sort of troll hideout) consisted of a large, glass dining table surrounded by red leather chairs. Once we all took our seats, Brie stood up.

‘
Now, as you can see,’ she said, raising her chin slightly, ‘your table has been set out in the correct manner in accordance with
Debrett’s Guide to Etiquette and Modern Manners
.’

There were no windows in the room. Rooms with no natural light make me yawn. And when I yawn, my eyes water.

‘Phoenix, what have I said about yawning?’ Brie didn’t look very happy. In fact, she looked like a mole that’s had the worm pulled out of its mouth. ‘The golden rules at a dinner table are: one, you do not burp; two, you do not fart; three, you do not swear; four, you do not blow your nose; five, you do not yawn without covering your mouth; six, you never place elbows on the table whilst eating; and seven, you should never slouch. If you break any of these golden rules, then you are deemed to possess exceptionally bad manners.’

‘
What if someone else farts and you go, “Por, that stinks?”’ I’m sorry, but I had to ask.

Brie didn
’t answer. She simply looked at me as if she’d actually farted herself.

‘
Now, as you can see,’ she continued, ‘forks are placed at the left of the plate in the order in which they are to be used. The salad fork is next to the plate, and the dinner fork is at the left of the salad fork.’

Now, I
’ve never really been very good at remembering things. I have what you call a fish brain – a lot like Dori from
Finding Nemo
. Although I tried extremely hard to concentrate on what Brie was saying, I couldn’t help daydreaming about Henry for some reason. I never normally daydream about boys. I put it down to boredom.

‘
Knives are placed at the right side of the plate, the cutting edge of the knives turned toward the plate. Spoons are placed to the right of the knives. The oyster fork, if one is needed, is placed at the right of the spoons. It is used for raw oysters, clams and seafood cocktails, and is the only fork placed at the right of the plate.’

I wonder what Henry
’s doing right now
, I thought to myself.
Probably staring at a computer screen, looking bored. Hey, maybe I can telepathically communicate with him; let him know how bored I am
?

I was just about to access my telepathic powers when Brie rudely interrupted.

‘I want you to memorise the positioning of all the cutlery before placing them all into the middle of the plate, then setting the table by yourselves,’ Brie said, looking at each of our faces around the table.

Oh, great. This is
actually going to require me to concentrate
, I thought miserably.

I
’ve always hated memory games. I always dreaded it as a kid whenever it came up on the
Generation Game
.

I stared at the cutlery in front of me for ages (which is something I have never done before), before Brie ordered us to place them onto our plates, even though I
wasn’t ready. I mean, if it were up to me, I’d be more than happy to eat all the courses using just my hands.

I looked up at Brie.
‘Will they be serving any pizza tonight?’

Brie scrunched up her face, resembling
roadkill. ‘No, they most certainly will not. Alain Ducasse is a three Michelin starred restaurant, not a high street pizzeria. Now, please will you get on and set the table.’

The amount of cutlery really depended on the number of courses on the menu. Considering some restaurants served
six courses, I was lucky to be arranging cutlery for just three. Everyone had already set their tables, and Brie was standing up to inspect each one. So, in a flurry of panic, I positioned the cutlery around my plate as quickly as possible.

‘
Spoons are placed to the left of oyster forks, Posy. Please correct it,’ Brie sniffed, unimpressed.

Posy did as she was told like a child being forced to pick up its toys. But it wasn
’t long before Brie was hovering over me, so close I could smell her tea-flavoured breath.

‘
And what is this?’ she scolded. ‘A spoon on top of the plate? Have you been concentrating at all during these past few hours?’

Why was everyone picking on me? I mean, I was only at the
academy because it was an assignment. To prove that
anybody can become a somebody
.

My next plan was to implicate someone as the
diary thief as soon as I got back to blogging. Apparently, Sophie had been spreading rumours around the
Couture
office that I stole Pinkie’s diary, so I really needed to dampen them ASAP.

‘
Why don’t you take a look at Genevieve’s perfect example?’ Brie continued. ‘At least
someone
was listening.’

Genevieve flashed me a smug look, which I couldn
’t wait to wipe off her face. After spending an hour and a half staring at cutlery, it was enough to put me off for life.

‘
Now, girls. Tonight, you’ll be able to put your skills into practice. But, until then, Murphy has arranged a photo call. So if you can make your way to the entrance, he’ll meet you there shortly.’

Everyone stood up and sashayed to the reception area, then sat on the rounded, squishy chairs to wait until Murphy arrived.

Whilst waiting, I took the opportunity to call Felicity. It went straight to voicemail, so I left a message.

‘
Hi, Fi. It looks like we’re having a photo call at the moment. But it shouldn’t take too long, maybe another thirty minutes, so I’ll probably be finished around six-ish. I’ll meet you at The Dorchester lobby. Thanks so much, you’re a star!’ I hung up, hoping she’d check the message. I was beginning to get butterflies and moths dancing around my stomach already.

As I contemplated going to the toilet, Murphy appeared at the door in a purple velvet
seventies jacket and aviators, looking like a rejected auditionee for
Saturday Night Fever
.

‘
Hello, hello, hello, girls,’ he announced, waving royally. ‘How are you all today? Now, as I’m sure you are already aware, the press can’t wait to print your “out and about” outfits. And considering the judges will be taking all of your press images into account at the contest this Saturday, you really need to sell yourself. But there are a few rules I need to discuss with you first. As these are “out and about” photos, you need to a) act natural (i.e. talk on the phone, rummage in your handbag, etc.), and b) avoid eye contact with the camera. You should only pose for the camera during formal occasions (i.e. the dinner this evening). So, now that I’ve debriefed you, I’d like to call Phoenix out first.’

Oh, great. I
’m first.
The trouble with doing something first is that you have no one to observe and learn from. Therefore, you are more prone to making mistakes.

I stood up and made my way out of The Dorchester. It was really sunny, which felt quite nice on my face. Shame I couldn
’t just lie down and have a nap. As my eyes adjusted to the daylight, I noticed Ahmed standing in wait, like a lion cub stalking its prey.

‘
Now, first things first,’ Murphy muttered into my ear, holding a pen and clipboard. ‘Who are you wearing?’

Unfortunately, Danko had named all the designers so quickly that they
’d all gone right over my head. But, luckily, I remembered that Danko had scribbled the names onto a piece of paper then slipped it into my pocket. But which pocket was it?

I checked my pockets. It wasn
’t there. Maybe he didn’t even put it in my pocket. Maybe he put it into my bag?

‘
Chop, chop. Otherwise I’ll have to call out the next girl.’

As I rummaged around in my bag, I finally found the crumpled up note.
‘Wait,’ I pleaded, opening the note then reading from the ‘first outfit’ list. ‘Jean-Pierre Braganza, Prada and Comme des Garçons.’

Murphy smiled,
then clapped his hands, a look of relief sweeping across his face. ‘Oh, well, in that case, lights, camera, action!’

Before I knew it, I was being man-handled into position in front of the flowers, then told to pace up and down the pavement, looking as natural as possible. So, attempting to act natural, I whipped out my phone and pretended to have a conversation on it whilst pacing up and down the pavement
as directed.

At this rate, I
’m sure to win a BAFTA
, I thought to myself.

‘
Here, take my BlackBerry. We don’t want anyone to see your phone,’ Murphy said, handing me his BlackBerry.

It felt slightly awkward, what with passers-by staring at me as if I were actually famous. One man even went so far as to whip out his camera phone and take pictures. It was quite funny
, actually. It was a bit like a stagehand walking out of the stage door after a performance of
Swan Lake
and being mistaken for a ballet dancer, which actually happened to a friend of mine a few years ago.

A
round ten minutes later (which felt a lot longer), I was done. It was now 6 p.m. and Felicity was still not here. So I sat back down on the squishy seat next to the rest of the girls, feeling completely out of place.

‘
So, how was it?’ asked Frunella, her eyes wide with intrigue.

‘
Sunny,’ I said, trying not to give too much away. ‘So it’s probably a good idea to wear shades when you go outside.’

Frunella looked at me, then smiled.
‘Lucky I brought along my pair of D&G shades, then, isn’t it?’

Whatever
, I thought to myself, unimpressed.

As each girl was called up for her photo call, there was still no sign of Felicity. But I promised myself I wouldn
’t get all worked up until all the girls (The Plastics) had had their photo calls.

So, I waited...
and waited... and waited. Still no Felicity. And, what was worse, now all The Plastics had finished their photo calls, so I was left sitting on the polo mint chair all by myself whilst they were probably all getting ready for tonight.

It was now 6.36
p.m. and I had to be at the restaurant at eight, which left me about an hour to get ready. I decided to call Felicity to find out where she was. But she still wasn’t answering.

Now I was really starting to panic. Considering that the Miss Manners Dinner was a formal evening and what I wore would be part of a judged round at the contest, I was beginning to feel more and more like a meerkat.

Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Felicity.

‘
Where are you?’ I answered, relieved.

‘
I am
so
sorry,’ she said, sounding breathless. ‘I had to get from Knightsbridge after work to Camden to get the outfit then to Hyde Park Corner. Plus, the Tube service didn’t do me any favours. Anyway, I’ll be with you in about five minutes. I’m literally walking up now.’ She hung up.

Calm down. Everything is going to be fine
, I coached myself.

A few minutes later, Felicity finally arrived.
‘Hey, Anna. Sorry I’m late,’ she panted. ‘It’s been a real mission getting here.’

‘
No worries,’ I said, trying to remain calm.

As we arrived at the
ballroom, it was packed with Plastics getting ready for the dinner. Felicity spent the next half an hour on my hair and make-up, before delicately extracting the dress from its protective plastic covering and handing it over to me.

I stared at it for a few moments as the beads sparkled under the ballroom lights,
then put it on.

‘
Wow!’ Felicity exclaimed. ‘You look a-maze-ing!’

‘
Thanks,’ I said, admiring myself in the mirrors. I looked like a V&A exhibit.

‘
Well, you’d better make a move, then. You don’t want to be late,’ she warned. ‘I’ll leave my rucksack full of your clothes in the locker room.’

‘
Thanks, Fi,’ I said, hugging her. ‘You’re a star.’

‘
Now, go make me proud,’ she encouraged.

It was now 7.47
p.m., so I made my way to The Dorchester entrance expecting Ahmed to take a few photos.

I was wrong.

It wasn’t just Ahmed waiting to take a photo. Outside was brimming with predatory paps. As I walked to the foyer, I felt an arm drag me along. It was Murphy.

‘
You look fabulous, darling,’ Murphy crooned. ‘You are what we call a PR feast. Now, go out there and pose like you mean it.’