The Importance of Being Emma (17 page)

‘
I’m sorry.’

He yanked a mind-numbingly thick document from the pile and turned the pages absently. ‘Actually, it’s been in the offing for some time.’

‘
Really?’ I paused in surprise, then went on, ‘It can still hurt, though. I remember when I finished with Piers, and then Scott, I was ever so upset – even though it was absolutely the right thing to do. And I hadn’t been with them for anything like as long as you’ve been with Tamara.’ I added wistfully, ‘D’you know, it’s been over two months since I even kissed a man, let alone – ’

‘
For God’s sake!’ He put his head in his hands. After a few seconds, he looked up at me and frowned. ‘Sorry, don’t think I can cope with hearing about your sex life right now. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.’

‘
No, I’m the one who should apologise, it was very insensitive of me. But, in case you’re wondering, Saturday night doesn’t count because I didn’t kiss Philip back.’ I pulled a face. ‘Which sort of brings me to our mentoring meeting, you were going to ring me today with a date. Now that you’ve, um, got more time on your hands, how about this week?’

He sighed and looked at his PC screen. ‘My diary’s full, meetings from this afternoon onwards, I’m afraid.’

I gave him an encouraging smile. ‘If office hours are no good, what about after work?’

‘
I’ve already booked something up for the next two evenings, made some phone calls first thing this morning. And Thursday’s our Board meeting, that always involves dinner.’

‘
Friday?’

He hesitated. Then, ‘I’m at Ashridge. Alumni dinner, with a speaker.’

I leaned forward. ‘Anyone of interest?’

‘
No one mainstream, you won’t have heard of him.’ He busied himself with the post again, apparently engrossed by something on an Inland Revenue letterhead.

‘
Have you, er, got a spare ticket?’

Another sigh. ‘If you mean, was Tamara coming with me – then, yes, she was.’

‘
So why don’t I come instead?’ I said eagerly. ‘You wanted to take me there to look at market research reports, remember? We could have our mentoring meeting at the same time.’

‘
I don’t think so.’

‘
Please, Mark.’ I reached across the desk and covered his hand with mine.

He snatched his hand away. ‘No, Emma. Another time maybe.’

Something inside me snapped. ‘You made a commitment to mentor me, but it’s – it’s almost as though you’re trying to wriggle out of it!’ Before Saturday, the very suggestion would have been music to my ears; whereas now …

He got up, crossed to the window and stared out at whatever he’d found so absorbing when I arrived. ‘I’m not. I just don’t think taking you to Ashridge is a good idea at the moment.’

‘
On the contrary, from my point of view the timing’s bloody perfect. The research would be very useful before I do the focus groups and, as I’ve already told you, on the mentoring front I need advice about Philip, urgently.’

He kept his back to me and his tone was cold and clipped. ‘The answer’s still no.’

‘
We’ll see about that,’ I muttered, under my breath.

And I left without another word.

~~MARK~~

There was no way I was spending time on my own with Emma in my present frame of mind. Especially at Ashridge, a former stately home in a beautiful wooded setting; a very romantic environment, which I’d been hoping would revitalise my feelings for Tamara. Although it was barely an hour’s drive away if there were no holdups on the M25, I’d arranged for us to stay overnight …

Tamara emailed me early on Wednesday to say she’d been to my flat in Mumbai, cleared out her belongings and returned everything I’d left at her place. It looked as though she’d already moved on.

So had I, as she’d so bitterly pointed out on Monday night. But ever since then I’d been tormenting myself; not about what I’d left behind with Tamara, but about what I wanted to move to with Emma, however ridiculous that seemed in my more rational moments.

Her visit to my office was a wake-up call, however. When I realised that she’d come as a friend and not for any other reason, I knew I had to stop fantasising and get on with my life – which, in the short term, would consist of work and not much else. After a week or two, I was sure I’d be able to continue mentoring her. Just not at the moment.

I spent Wednesday morning preparing my presentation for the next day’s Board meeting, thirty odd slides on Donwell Organics’ progress towards achieving its strategic objectives. I was just eating a sandwich at my desk when the phone rang. As Cherry was at lunch, I answered it.

‘
Knightley.’

‘
Mark?’

‘
Henry, good to hear from you.’ I knew better than to ask, ‘How are you?’

‘
I’ve got a little favour to ask.’ He hesitated. ‘Emma says you’ve got a spare ticket for a dinner at Ashridge this Friday?’

So now Henry was angling for an invitation. I smiled to myself; taking him would be an entirely different challenge, but one I felt far better prepared for.

‘
Yes,’ I said. ‘It was going to be for Tamara – ’

‘
Ah yes, sorry to hear about you two. I imagine the time of year had something to do with it, our English autumn must have been a terrible shock to her system. Do you know, I think she might have caught a chill on Saturday night? I’m sure you’ll be able to resolve any little differences once you’re back in India with her.’

I steered the conversation firmly away from Tamara and me. ‘You were saying, about Ashridge?’

‘
Ashridge?’

‘
The dinner on Friday.’

‘
It’s the speaker I’m particularly interested in. I believe it’s Charles Durham talking about sustainable and ethical growth in the food and drink industry, a subject very dear to my heart.’

I wondered where he’d got his information from. I couldn’t imagine him surfing the Ashridge website, given that he didn’t even have a PC in his office. Not that it mattered; the main thing was that I would certainly have a much more relaxing evening than if I took Emma.

‘
It’s dear to mine as well,’ I said. ‘And I’ve heard he’s rather controversial, so I’m looking forward to a lively debate with you on the drive home.’

He chuckled. ‘My dear boy, the spare ticket’s not for
me
, you know I don’t go out at night if I can help it. It’s for Emma, of course. She tells me she’s been fascinated by Charles Durham’s work for a long time and it would be a dream come true to go and hear him speak.’

‘
Are you saying you want me to take
Emma
to Ashridge on Friday?’ I said heavily.

‘
Yes, please. And since you’re a bit behind with the mentoring, you can do some of that as well, can’t you? As she says, you may be one of our oldest friends, but business is business all the same.’

~~EMMA~~

Harriet returned to work on Wednesday and I decided to tell her about Philip as soon as a suitable opportunity came along.

With this in mind, I took her out to lunch at Chez Pierre, a smart little restaurant in Crossingley. I had plenty of openings to discuss Philip; in fact, he was the main topic of conversation throughout our meal. Over the wild boar pâté, she wondered what he might be doing in Bristol. Next, the sole Véronique reminded her that he raved about the fish in beer batter at The Ploughman. Then, as we enjoyed a large bowl of profiteroles each, she confided that his behaviour towards me at the Board meeting was due to his star sign, which she believed was Virgo. When I asked her to explain, she told me that his horoscope for Monday had predicted ‘a cosmic clash with a feisty female work colleague’.

By the time coffee was served, however, I felt I couldn’t delay any longer.

I took a deep breath. ‘Harriet, I’ve got something really awful to tell you.’

She clattered her elegant little bone china cup down on its saucer. ‘Is it about Rob? Is he going out with someone else?’

‘
No, it’s not about
him
, why on earth would you think – ?’ I broke off, took another deep breath and tried again. ‘It’s Philip. It seems we’ve been – mistaken about him.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘He’s gay, isn’t he? Trace says these days most of the shaggable ones are.’

I thought of Saturday night and suppressed a shudder. ‘He’s certainly not gay.’ I looked her straight in the eye. ‘He doesn’t fancy you. It’s me he’s been after, all along.’

She stared at me, a strange glassy stare, and her face turned a peculiar whitish green.

‘
If it’s any consolation,’ I added gently, ‘I’m pretty sure he doesn’t fancy me now.’

Then, to my dismay – and that of everyone else in the restaurant – she lurched to her feet and said in a loud voice, ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

I held my napkin to her mouth and bundled her into the Ladies, just in time. As I stood outside the cubicle listening to her throwing up the entire contents of her stomach, I decided it was as though she was cleansing herself of the excesses I’d been feeding her – Philip’s supposed infatuation as much as Pierre’s cooking.

Eventually, the retching stopped.

I tapped on the cubicle door. ‘Would you like me to take you home?’

‘
Yes, please, but only so I can get changed.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I’m coming back to work.’

‘
Oh, Harriet, there’s no need, just take the afternoon off – ’

‘
No, I’d rather be in the office with you than home alone.’

I wasn’t sure that was meant as a compliment, but I didn’t argue. While she washed her face, I went to pay the bill and fetch our things.

On the way to her house, she asked the question I was dreading. ‘How did you find out about – about all this?’

I sighed and launched into edited highlights of my journey home with Philip. I left out his insulting remarks about her, of course, and my fears for my safety, and finished with an apology. ‘I’m so sorry, I should have realised what was going on right from the start. And I can’t forgive myself for misleading you and building your hopes up.’

‘
You didn’t do it on purpose,’ she said sadly. ‘You were just being nice. No one else would have believed that someone like him could fancy someone like me.’

As I waited outside Harriet’s house, I decided she was behaving very sensibly about the whole thing. If I ever wanted to acquire a sort of childlike simplicity, Harriet Smith would make a great role model. Then I remembered who I was. Like it or not, I would never get away with childlike simplicity; the name Emma Woodhouse was synonymous with sophisticated complexity.

But I could take some learnings from this experience, especially around self-awareness. I reached for my personal organiser and set myself three little goals: to take no one at face value ever again; to focus on completing the Harriet’s Secret Recipes research project; and to stop matchmaking. Which would be a real shame because there was a new solicitor at Thrayles, our legal advisors, who might suit Harriet very nicely.

Back in the office, I had some final words of wisdom for Harriet. ‘I think Philip’s unprofessional behaviour at the Board meeting is just the beginning. My advice – not that you have to take it, of course – is to keep well out of his way.’

She shook her head. ‘No need, I’ve just checked his horoscope for the next month and he’s entering a period of harmony and growth in his personal relationships.’ She gave a trembling smile. ‘You realise what that means, Emma? I’ve still got a chance with him after all!’

My heart sank. Getting Harriet to face reality was going to be harder than I’d thought. I could only hope that Philip would indirectly help me out – by being as obnoxious as possible.

~~MARK~~

I called at Hartfield on my way home after dinner with the Board – against my better judgement, but I needed to finalise arrangements for Ashridge with Emma. Although I could have phoned her, I decided to use this as a practice run for the next day.

When she opened the door and saw it was me, her face lit up in a mischievous grin. ‘This is a great honour, are you sure you can spare the time out of your busy schedule? Or are you looking forward to our little outing so much that you’ve turned up half a day early?’

I smiled, in spite of myself, and stepped into the hall. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, I just came to bring your tin back. You should be very proud of me, I managed to make that delicious cake last longer than a day.’ I gave her the tin, making sure our fingers didn’t touch.

This was the way to do it, keep everything at the level of brotherly banter.

‘
Thank you.’ She put the tin down on a marble-topped telephone table nearby and picked up a folded white handkerchief. ‘And I’ve been meaning to return this.’

Instead of handing it to me, she leaned forward and tucked it into my breast pocket. I closed my eyes; tried to shut out her nearness, even as I breathed in her perfume …

‘
Are you tired?’ Her voice was soft – with sympathy, not seduction.

My eyes flew open. ‘Yeah, sorry, it’s been a long day.’

She drew back, thank God. ‘I hope you get a good night’s sleep, you’ve another long day tomorrow,’ she said, her tone brisk again. ‘What time are you picking me up?’