The Importance of Being Emma

by Juliet Archer

  ‘You’re right, it’s not appropriate here. Whenever I’m at Highbury Foods, I’ll forget I know anyone called Mouse.’

  Her voice was edgy. ‘I’d prefer you to stop calling me that, period.’

  This was something of a turnaround, since I’d called her Mouse for at least fifteen years. It started when she accidentally introduced herself to someone as Emma Woodmouse. I teased her about it, called her Mouse for short and it stuck. Back then it suited her perfectly: such a small, scrawny thing, with big bright eyes. But now …

  Maybe she’d outgrown it. She certainly didn’t look like a mouse any longer; and she’d never behaved much like one.

  I grinned. ‘OK, Emma. Where’s the wasp?’

  ‘Up there, on the middle window. I need to get rid of it before Dad comes.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  Henry Woodhouse was the biggest hypochondriac I’d ever known. He was so obsessed with his ‘fragile’ state of health that he’d become a walking medical dictionary. He was so risk-averse that he was practically a recluse, hardly venturing beyond his home and his company, just a mile apart. Whenever I visited Hartfield, I half expected to be given a clean suit and mask or, at the very least, an antiseptic foot bath and hand wash. Accordingly, he prized the use of conventional pesticides, fertilisers and irradiation to safeguard his company’s products from contamination, almost as much as I valued organic methods to produce mine. In spite of such precautions, he never ate anything labelled ‘Highbury Foods’; he said his digestion was far too delicate.

  Nevertheless, he was a long-standing friend of my family and, well, I respected his views and liked him enormously.

  ‘I’ll sort it,’ I went on. ‘India’s given me plenty of practice in dealing with insects, the humane way of course.’ Crossing to the window, I picked up the magazine, stood on the chair, pulled down the sash and gently manoeuvred the wasp outside, before securing the catch.

  As I stepped down from the chair, I unrolled the magazine. What an intriguing headline. And that photo – legs a mile long, inviting smile, eyes looking deep into mine as if we were …

  I gave a disparaging laugh. ‘So fame hasn’t gone to your head – yet. You obviously weren’t planning to keep this for your scrapbook.’

  She folded her arms. ‘No, I wasn’t, it’s a pack of lies. I thought they’d at least get their facts right.’

  ‘You’ve got a lot to learn. Give the press an inch and they’ll take a mile.’ I looked again at the legs in the photo. ‘Shall I dispose of this for you?’

  ‘Give it back to Batty, she brought it in for me. So helpful, as always.’

  ‘Still going strong, is she?’ I said, slipping the magazine into my briefcase. ‘Poor Henry, he’s only got you and her to cosset him now that Kate’s gone.’

  This was evidently more comfortable ground; she unfolded her arms and managed a pale imitation of the smile in the photo.

  ‘That’s a sore point. Dad thinks Kate’ll come back, he says she doesn’t really want to set up an antique wine business with her new husband. That’s why he refused to find a permanent replacement, but fortunately Batty’s got a temp in. I’m hoping he’ll soon forget all about Kate and then we can advertise her job.’

  ‘From what I remember, she’ll be a hard act to follow.’

  ‘Definitely, she kept this place running like clockwork. And she’s been such a good friend. If she hadn’t been willing to move into Hartfield to keep an eye on Dad, I’d never have gone to Harvard.’

  ‘Ah yes, you went there straight after University.’ I paused. ‘You know, there’s a lot more value in an MBA if you’ve worked for a few years first.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re entitled to your opinion, I suppose.’ Then she sighed. ‘Anyway, there’s Kate married at last – and it’s all down to me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said.

  ‘I’ve discovered I’m an expert at matchmaking. When Tom Weston came back here four years ago, I knew he’d be perfect for Kate. And it didn’t take much to arrange, even though people said he’d never settle down at his age.’

  ‘So you controlled their every move?’

  She nodded, oblivious to my sarcasm. ‘Mind you, there were one or two hiccups. For one thing, I would have preferred it if they’d lived together before they got married. Then Tom could have moved into Hartfield with Kate while I was away, which means Dad would have got used to a man about the house.’

  ‘Oh? Why would he want to do that?’

  She gave an impish grin. ‘In case I meet the man of my dreams. I couldn’t possibly leave Dad on his own, so he – whoever he is – would have to live at Hartfield.’

  ‘Lucky man,’ I said drily. ‘And why didn’t Tom move in with Kate as ordered – sorry, suggested?’

  ‘Because he’d set his mind on them living together at Randalls and nowhere else. At the time, Randalls wasn’t even on the market and, when he did manage to buy the place, it needed a lot of work. Remember, Mrs Sanderson lived there for centuries and never spent anything on it.’

  ‘How annoying for you, to be outmanoeuvred so easily.’ I raised one eyebrow. ‘Presumably their wedding turned out as you planned?’

  ‘Oh, it was lovely. I know it’s a cliché, but Kate looked radiant. And I thought Tom might look old enough to be her father, but he didn’t.’

  I frowned. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s only fifty or so and Kate must be at least thirty-five.’

  ‘She’s thirty-eight, he’s forty-nine. Quite an age difference.’

  I thought of my girlfriend back in India – she was twenty-six, I was going to be thirty-five in a few weeks – and decided to change the subject.

  ‘Did Flynn Churchill make it to the wedding?’ I was referring to Tom’s son, who’d achieved cult status in Highbury over the years. All the more incomprehensible since nobody had ever met him, except his doting father.

  Emma’s face clouded. ‘No, he didn’t. Kate and Tom were very upset.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘He was coming, right up to the last minute, then something cropped up.’

  ‘That man wouldn’t turn up to his own funeral if he had the choice.’ I added, casually, ‘What about me, was I missed?’

  ‘Probably, since you’re still meant to be one of the most eligible bachelors in Surrey. And you know what they say, even these days – one wedding leads to another. I’m sure some of the women only accepted the invitation in the hope of seeing you reduced to a romance-sodden wreck at the sight of confetti.’

  ‘Thank God I couldn’t get home until today, then.’

  She gave me a sidelong glance. ‘Still seeing Tamara what’s-her-name?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Isn’t it about time you got married?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’ve been together for five years.’ Her lips tightened. ‘What’s the point if it’s not leading anywhere?’

  ‘We each have certain needs and our arrangement suits us both very well.’

  ‘So it’s just for sex?’ she said, rather bluntly I thought.

  ‘No, it’s not. We help each other out when we need a partner, either for a particular function or simply to scare other people off.’ I grimaced. ‘If I’d been coming to Kate and Tom’s wedding, I’d definitely have brought Tamara.’

  She moved towards the door. ‘Sounds positively dreary and, you’re right, not a good basis for marriage. Anyway, thanks for getting rid of the wasp. Were you on your way to see Dad?’

  I didn’t answer immediately. She was wrong, what Tamara and I had was anything but dreary. Predictable, yes; and convenient. But that was its appeal; although I had to agree, it was hardly the basis for marriage. Actually, it was better, I had all the advantages of marriage with none of its emotional warfare or financial complications.

  ‘I’m meeting him at nine thirty,’ I said curtly.

  ‘I’ll come with you. He asked me along for nine thirty as well.’

  �
�How is he, by the way?’

  ‘Same as always. Whatever he may say, he’s got no major health problems. But he’s sixty-one and sometimes I wonder how much longer he should go on working. I don’t mean he’s incapable, more that he can’t seem to move with the times. Business is done so differently these days.’

  I waited until we were walking along the corridor to Henry’s office, then said, ‘In some ways. But the essentials don’t change, you still need things like integrity, and ethical principles, and sound common sense.’

  I winced as she burst out laughing.

  ‘Mark Knightley, they should stuff you and put you in a museum!’

  ~~EMMA~~

  Dad sipped his fennel tea and eyed us over the rim of his cup. ‘My stomach’s terrible, I’m sure it’s because Kate’s not here. And, do you know, I had to boil the kettle myself? The new PA’s nowhere to be found.’

  I gave him a reassuring smile. ‘She’s in with Mary, and I told you not to have that second helping of porridge this morning.’

  ‘You look remarkably well, Henry,’ Mark said.

  Dad shook his head as he placed the cup down on its saucer. ‘Ah, Mark, sometimes I just have to battle on regardless. And this is one of those times. Emma’s first day as Marketing Director, the first Board meeting for both of you, my first Monday without Kate … ’ His voice trailed off and I guessed there were too many firsts around for comfort.

  ‘We’ll manage,’ I said, reaching across the desk and patting his arm.

  ‘I’ll never be able to get used to – whatever her name is.’

  ‘Now, Dad, come along, Kate’s been on leave in the past and you’ve coped wonderfully. Just imagine she’s on an extended holiday.’

  ‘So wise for her age, isn’t she, Mark?’ He gave Mark no chance to agree or, more likely, disagree but continued, ‘I’m worried about you, darling, you’re taking on a lot of responsibility. Kate’s not here to help, and Mary’s not the woman she was … Neither am I, for that matter … the man I was, I should say.’ He took refuge in another sip of tea.

  ‘Meaning?’ I prompted, as a nasty, Knightley-shaped suspicion formed in my mind.

  Dad turned to Mark. ‘Meaning that, if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to hire you as a sort of mentor to Emma for the next six months.’

  Mark Knightley as my mentor? Bloody hell, more like my tormentor.

  ‘I don’t need – ’ I began, just as Mark said, ‘I’d be delighted.’

  Dad looked at him approvingly. ‘You know the food industry inside out and you’ve got such a successful track record, especially on the marketing side.’

  I tried again. ‘But we need to be forward-thinking and innovative – ’

  Mark cut in. ‘Are you suggesting I’m neither?’

  I forced a smile. ‘I know you’re very knowledgeable and experienced in the more traditional markets, but that’s not what Highbury Foods needs right now. And, who knows, I might be looking to compete with Donwell Organics in some way. You couldn’t possibly mentor me in those circumstances.’

  He laughed. ‘From my outdated knowledge and experience, I’d say any sort of attempt to enter the organic food market at the moment would be commercial suicide.’ Then he was serious again. ‘But I take your point. You’ll simply have to trust me to tell you if I ever feel there’s a conflict of interest.’

  I didn’t retaliate, even though I wanted to. Let him win the first battle; his complacency might cost him the war.

  ‘So I’ll leave it to you two to decide how best to arrange the mentoring,’ Dad said. ‘Now let’s just go over the agenda for the Board meeting – ’

  There was a knock at the door and Batty peered in.

  ‘Henry, I thought you’d like to meet your new PA, she’s from Temp Tation, Pam Goddard’s agency, you know. Although poor Pam’s talking of changing the name, she gets the most peculiar calls sometimes, very distressing. There was one young man who – ’ She broke off just as her conversation threatened to get interesting. ‘Oh Mark, how lovely to have you back in Highbury! I won’t interrupt you, we can do this later.’

  Dad sighed. ‘It’s all right, bring her in, you can introduce her to Emma and Mark at the same time.’

  As Batty pushed the door open and stood aside, I remembered the fragment of conversation I’d overheard earlier. All I knew about this person was that she’d temped at Abbey Mill Haulage; but it was quite possible I’d met her before. Highbury was such a small place, with people rarely moving away, and we often asked our existing employees to recommend friends or relatives for jobs. So I looked carefully at the young girl who tottered into the room on impossibly high heels, wondering if I’d recognise her.

  I didn’t – and, in an odd way, I did. On the one hand, she was a complete stranger; on the other, I felt I’d known her for years. With her long wavy blonde hair, spiky black eyelashes and rosebud mouth, she was the spitting image of Lisa, my adorable Annette Himstedt doll that I’d had since I was nine.

  Except I’d never have dressed Lisa in such a loud check suit.

  ‘Hiya, I’m Harriet Smith,’ the girl squeaked.

  And I’d have to do something about that accent, Pseudo Posh meets Estuary English.

  Dad got slowly to his feet. ‘Good morning, Harriet, I’m Henry Woodhouse. No doubt Mary’s been telling you what an old ogre I am.’

  Harriet stared at him, obviously unsure how to respond, while Batty tittered, ‘Oh Henry, you and your little jokes.’

  Dad went on, ‘This is my daughter, Emma Woodhouse.’

  Harriet took my outstretched hand and managed a shy smile. ‘Hiya, Miss Henhouse. Shit – I mean, sorry … ’

  I laughed and tried to put her at ease. ‘Just call me Emma, Harriet.’

  ‘Hiya, Emma-Harriet.’

  My eyes widened. To my right, Mark seemed to be having a coughing fit.

  Dad looked at him anxiously. ‘And this is Mark Knightley, our friend and non-executive director. Mark, that’s a nasty-sounding cough, would you like to chew on a garlic clove? I always keep some handy, with my troublesome throat.’

  ‘Thank you, Henry, but I seem to have recovered. Delighted to meet you, please call me Mark, Harriet.’ Mark shook her hand and gave her one of his most dazzling smiles.

  The poor girl went crimson. As she opened her mouth to speak, I intervened before she came out with ‘Hiya, Mark-Harriet’.

  ‘It must be confusing being bombarded with so many new names. I’m sure Mary will make you a seating plan for the Board meeting, then you’ll know who’s saying what.’

  Batty’s face lit up. ‘Such a good idea, Emma, as always, I don’t know how you … Harriet dear, come with me and we’ll get started.’

  They went out and I smiled to myself. More through luck than skill, Batty had found me the perfect PA. First, Harriet’s nervousness wasn’t a problem. It was even understandable, since Highbury Foods was a big step up from a half-baked outfit like Abbey Mill Haulage; and I much preferred nervousness to brash self-confidence. Second, she was crying out for my help. A complete makeover was needed and I had plenty of spare time now that my academic studies were at an end. Finally, she had neither the intellect nor the experience to challenge my ideas – or so it seemed. I made a mental note to reserve judgement; anyone would act like a halfwit after a long dose of Batty.

  As if he could read my mind, Mark said, ‘Let’s hope Harriet’s up to the job.’

  ‘Poor Kate, why did she get married?’ Dad spread out his hands in despair.

  Mark was incredulous. ‘Poor Kate? More like clever Kate. She’s just halved her workload – only Tom to run round after, instead of you two.’

  I noticed a teasing glint in his eye and decided to rise to the bait. ‘Especially when one of us is such a pain.’

  ‘You took the words right out of my mouth,’ he said, with a grin.

  Dad gave a wan smile. ‘I know I can be a bit of a nuisance at times – ’

  ‘Oh Dad, we didn’t mean you!’ I dar
ted behind the desk to give him a swift kiss on the cheek. ‘Mark thinks I’m the pain, not you. But it doesn’t bother me, we always say whatever we like to each other, then forget all about it.’

  Dad shook his head in bewilderment.

  ‘If that was true, I’d be wasting my time – and Henry’s money – mentoring you for the next six months,’ Mark said, a note of irritation in his voice. ‘Anyway, I’m probably underestimating Kate, I expect she’s already got Tom running round after her. And I bet she’s enjoying every single minute.’

  Then it hit me. Kate’s life had taken a new direction and she was no longer at my beck and call. I made a big show of arranging the pens on Dad’s desk.

  Mark broke the silence. ‘Now, Henry, where’s that agenda you mentioned?’

  ~~MARK~~

  With the mentoring in mind, Henry had suggested I share Emma’s office whenever I was at Highbury Foods. I sat there now, pretending to re-read the Board papers but secretly watching her as she scowled at her PC.

  I still couldn’t get over how much she’d changed physically. The only photos I’d seen of her were the slapdash efforts of my sister-in-law Izzy, whose camera lens was always focused on her kids. More often than not Emma was just a blurred face, or hardly visible under a pile of chubby little arms and legs.

  So, no more Mouse. It was the end of an era.

  But the dawn of a new one, neatly summed up by that headline, ‘Gentleman’s Relish’. Ironic, of course; when I’d first caught sight of her earlier today, my thoughts had been anything but gentlemanly …

  I closed my file with a snap. Time for the Board meeting.

  ~~EMMA~~

  I couldn’t resist checking Batty’s seating plan from across the boardroom table. At one end of a long rectangle she had ‘HLW – Henry Woodhouse, Managing Director’; at the other, ‘MGK – Mark Knightley, Non-Executive Director’. I knew what the G stood for, of course. The Knightleys believed in recycling the same solid old-fashioned names, as if promoting themselves as fine specimens of English manhood; the father was George James and the two sons were Mark George and John James.