The Importance of Being Emma

by Juliet Archer

  ‘You – you don’t want to know.’

  ‘Trust me, I do. I need some light relief, I have a feeling this evening’s going to be a hard slog.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘It’s just – I didn’t know you were bringing Morticia.’

  He burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Emma!’ As Tamara glanced in our direction, he pretended to have a coughing fit, which immediately had Dad looking across as well. When he’d recovered, he grinned at me. ‘I remember you being obsessed with the Addams Family at one time. You used to recite what seemed like every show, word for word, it drove us all round the bend.’

  ‘And to think I was desperate to be like Morticia when I grew up.’ I let out a long, nostalgic sigh.

  ‘Thank God you’re not,’ he said sharply.

  I was about to ask what he meant when Philip came up to us. He gave Mark a curt nod, then handed me a glass of wine and smiled complacently.

  ‘A little bird told me you prefer white before the meal, Emma. I’m so glad you’re here, I was terrified you’d caught what poor Harriet’s got.’

  Mark excused himself to join Dad and Tamara, while I smiled back at Philip, pleased he couldn’t stop himself from mentioning Harriet.

  ‘Poor thing, she’s suffering in more ways than one. Dad sent her a couple of his remedies, slippery elm bark tea and his all-time favourite, raw garlic cloves. When she phoned me to ask how often she should take them, I told her to stick to Lemsip! But the worst thing is that she’s on her own – all the girls in her house have gone away for the weekend. I don’t suppose you could call in tomorrow and check on her? I’ve got my hands full with my sister and family.’

  He looked horrified. ‘No, I couldn’t, I might catch what she’s got. And it’s your presentation to the Board on Monday, I don’t want to miss that. Plus we need to discuss your budget some time next week, in considerable depth.’

  For a moment, I was disappointed. Then I decided he was just being sensible; and, to be fair, his commitment to his job was exemplary.

  I suddenly realised he’d asked me a question. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

  He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Emma, I’m finding our conversation equally distracting. I merely asked who looks after you when you’re ill? I don’t suppose Henry’s up to it and I couldn’t bear to think there’s no one taking care of you.’

  I stared at him in alarm. I told myself that he was probably thinking of Harriet and feeling frustrated that he couldn’t risk going to see her. However, just in case, I resolved to circulate a bit more.

  ‘Fortunately, I never get ill,’ I said coolly. ‘That reminds me, I’d better go and see how Mrs Bates is. She had a nasty attack of shingles a while ago.’

  I hurried off to spend the next ten minutes shouting pleasantries at Old Mother Bates about her state of health. All the time I had the feeling that I was being watched. It was weird, though. Whenever I looked round at Philip, I sensed he’d just that second averted his eyes from meeting mine. And whenever I looked in the other direction, I sensed Mark had just done the same. Or had they been gazing at each other – and I was simply in the way?

  Even one of Kate’s superb meals didn’t improve my mood.

  Perhaps it was being opposite Mark and Tamara. She picked at her food and hardly spoke a word. Mark occasionally tried to jolly her out of it, without any noticeable success; she was determined not to enjoy herself.

  Or maybe it was seeing Philip enjoying himself far too much. After that first comment about ‘poor Harriet’, it was as though he never spared her another thought. Again, I justified his behaviour to myself; a sociable man who lived alone had to make the most of these occasions, didn’t he?

  While Kate served the main course of beef bourguignonne, Tom returned to an earlier subject. ‘We’ve had exciting news today from Flynn – that’s my son, he’s a TV chef in Australia,’ he added, for the benefit of Philip and Tamara. He paused, then said impressively, ‘He’s coming to Highbury!’

  This announcement provoked mixed reactions around the table: gasps of delight from Batty, Dad and Izzy, polite interest from Philip, indifference from Tamara – and from Old Mother Bates, who at least had the excuse that she was hard of hearing. Mark and John exchanged knowing looks.

  Tom went on, ‘He hasn’t given me a date yet, but he’s actually in England as we speak. Out of the blue, he got an invitation to cook at The Mulberry Tree, that’s a Michelin-starred restaurant over in the West Country apparently. He’ll be there for another week or so, then he’s coming straight here.’

  I glanced at the large photo that had the place of honour on the sideboard; a man’s face in close-up – dark red curly hair, crinkly green eyes and a devilish grin. Flynn Churchill, drop-dead gorgeous and, at twenty-eight years old, still unattached. Tom often joked that he’d not met the right woman – yet.

  I allowed myself a little smile of anticipation.

  ‘Of course, his aunt Stella’s not best pleased he’s come to England,’ Kate said. ‘But Flynn’s got his career to think of, he’s meeting with the BBC while he’s over here. And I’m sure he’ll bring Stella round, in time.’

  ‘I’m sure he will, since she’s got a few million to dispose of,’ John put in. ‘And who could blame him … Any more of this amazing beef stuff?’

  As Kate dished out second helpings, the conversation turned to other matters and Flynn was forgotten. Not by me, however; my thoughts were full of him. To think that, after all these years, he was only a few hours’ drive away … I paid little attention to what the others were saying, just nodded and smiled and laughed in what I hoped were the right places.

  Then, over dessert, the mention of my bête noire, Jane Fairfax, brought me up short.

  Saint Jane of Highbury, as I called her, was around the same age as me; but that was all we had in common. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop everyone thinking we should be the best of friends and, as children, we were forced to play together whenever she came to stay with Batty, her aunt. Even worse, Jane always seemed to have mastered a new skill, like playing the piano or crocheting coasters. How could I be friends with the girl who outshone me at everything?

  Not surprisingly, it was Batty who brought her name into the conversation. ‘Lovely gooseberry fool, Kate, a real taste of summer. That’s when we last saw dear Jane – my niece, for those of you who don’t know, such a lovely girl. Oh, that reminds me, she phoned just before we came out. A tiny favour,’ – coy giggle – ‘I was going to ask you on Monday, Henry, but it’s the Board meeting and there may be other things on your … Remember Jane’s work placement, in Weymouth, as part of her degree? Well,’ – conspiratorial whisper – ‘it’s ended rather suddenly, she won’t say why, but there are nine months left to go and I just wondered … ?’ She stopped and looked expectantly at Dad.

  I guessed what was coming and nearly choked on my gooseberry fool; which, given its perfect consistency, would have been quite an achievement.

  Dad seemed perplexed. ‘You wondered what, Mary?’

  Kate came to Batty’s rescue. ‘Mary’s hoping you can give Jane a work placement, so that she can meet her course requirements.’

  ‘Not that Jane wanted me to ask, you know,’ Batty twittered, ‘but I offered to, as soon as she … And it’s rather urgent, although the friends she’s lodging with, the Campbells, would love her to stay on with them.’

  Dad’s face brightened. ‘Of course we can find work for Jane. What’s she studying? I’m sure you’ve told me, Mary, but my memory’s not what it was.’

  ‘Business Studies, quite a broad course, even some Finance.’ Batty simpered at Philip, while I heaved a sigh of relief. Then, ‘But her special subject for this year is’ – demure look in my direction – ‘Marketing.’

  I nearly choked again, this time on my wine. Across the table, Mark grinned at me. He knew my opinion of ‘dear Jane’ and, needless to say, disagreed with it completely.

  After that, there was no time for pleasant daydreams about Flynn;
I spent the rest of the evening thinking up arguments to keep Saint Jane as far away from Marketing as possible.

  Even though it was a Saturday, everyone seemed keen to go home at a respectable hour, no doubt for quite different reasons. Dad, Batty and Old Mother Bates to embark on their various bedtime rituals; Izzy to check on the children; John to watch Match of the Day; Mark and Tamara to make up for lost time in the bedroom; I didn’t like to speculate what a lonely bachelor like Philip got up to last thing at night; as for me, I was just longing to curl up with a book.

  There was a change of plan, however, when Mark went to start the Mercedes and nothing happened. He tried a few more times, then got out of the car and lifted up the bonnet.

  ‘Father told me the battery plays up sometimes, I’ll have a quick look.’

  ‘Not in that new Versace jacket, darling,’ Tamara drawled. ‘Leave the car alone and call a taxi.’ It was the longest speech I’d heard her make all evening.

  ‘No need,’ John said. ‘I can give you four a lift, the Volkswagen holds seven. Hang on, there are eight of us – ’

  Philip cut in, his tone unusually assertive. ‘I’ll take Emma.’

  I hesitated, then decided I was the most obvious person. Izzy and Tamara didn’t know him and the others would struggle to get in and out of his low sports car or, in Mark’s case, to sit comfortably. And maybe I could have a little chat about Harriet on the way home.

  ‘Thank you, Philip,’ I said, giving him a dazzling smile.

  He grinned back. ‘Fantastic, I’ll just clear the front seat, won’t be long.’

  While he rummaged around in his car, Mark said in an undertone, ‘Emma, are you sure about this?’

  Typical ‘Mark knows best’ attitude, as if I’d just accepted a lift from Jack the Ripper. I glared at him. ‘Absolutely.’

  He said nothing more, but then John took me to one side and muttered, ‘I can always come back for you, if you’d rather not go with Elton. He’s been eyeing you up all evening, obviously got the hots for you. Mind, you certainly egged him on during dinner, you laughed like a drain at all his crap jokes.’

  This was getting silly. ‘I laughed at everyone’s crap jokes, including yours,’ I said haughtily. ‘And I’m not a simpleton, don’t you think I’d know if Philip fancied me? Believe me, he’s not the slightest bit interested.’

  John shrugged. ‘In that case, I’ll leave you to it.’

  As Philip opened the car door for me with a flourish, I reflected that people – especially men – would never cease to amaze me. There was John Knightley, a very able Finance Director but hardly what I’d call intuitive, meeting Philip for the first time and thinking he could read him like a balance sheet!

  Soon Philip and I were speeding off towards Hartfield. He glanced across at me frequently and grinned, but made no attempt to talk.

  I found the silence unnerving. ‘Lovely meal, wasn’t it?’ I said at last. ‘Kate’s a very – oh Philip, I thought you knew we had to go left there, you’ve missed it.’

  A lay-by came into view; he swerved into it and brought the car to an abrupt halt.

  ‘Yes, best to turn round,’ I went on, ‘otherwise it’s quite a detour – oh no, the engine’s cut out.’

  He flung off his seat belt and loosened his shirt collar. For a moment, I thought the fan belt must have broken and he was about to substitute his tie.

  But I was mistaken. About everything.

  It all happened so quickly. He let out a peculiar sort of groan and lunged at me – grabbed my arms – clamped his mouth to mine. Somehow, I twisted out of his clumsy embrace and shrank back against the passenger window, gasping, unable to speak.

  In the moonlight, his eyes glittered. ‘I know, Emma, you take my breath away too … No point wasting time, let’s go to my place.’ He leered at me as his hand scraped along my thigh. ‘My Ikea bed’s not called a Ramberg for nothing.’

  ‘Get – off – me.’ I slapped his hand away.

  He smirked. ‘Come on, stop acting the prude, you’ve been leading me on for weeks. When you bent over your tripod and wiggled those hips at me during the photo shoot, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.’

  I stared at him. ‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous! You fancy Harriet, not me.’

  He gave an unpleasant laugh. ‘Harriet? You’re mad, what would someone like me see in Harriet? Oh, I’m sure she’d be good for a quick shag, but why would I bother with her when you’re giving me all the encouragement I need?’

  ‘Encouragement?’ I said, hotly. ‘You’re the one that’s mad, I’ve never given you any encouragement, except where Harriet’s concerned.’

  ‘You mean pretending those flowers I gave you were for her? I thought that was all part of your little game.’ His lip curled. ‘Most of the time you understood me perfectly, I bloody well know you did.’

  ‘Oh yes? Like when?’

  ‘The Board meeting, when I said that you had beauty, class and brains and that you were my real-life inspiration for Victoria’s Secret Recipes.’

  ‘But you never actually said who you were talking about, so I – ’

  He interrupted me, grim-faced. ‘And when we were looking at those photos of your sister’s family, and you said there were no couples involved in the photo shoot, and I said not yet – you behaved as if you knew I meant you and me. And then, when I told you that my idea for the strapline had the name of my ideal woman in it, you said it was glaringly obvious to you!’

  ‘It was,’ I said, coldly. ‘Harriet’s Secret Recipes.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, only Harriet would think it was something that obvious. I meant “Emma-ncipated” – the way I said it was a big enough clue, surely!’

  I sat in silence, twisting my hands in my lap. What a fool I’d been, what a blind, self-opinionated fool. And now here I was, alone in a deserted place with a man I knew very little about – and even less than I thought I did – whose advances I’d just rejected. What if things got – out of control?

  I took a deep breath. ‘Look, Philip, I’m not interested in you and I’m really sorry if you got the impression I was. Please take me home – now, before the others find out I’m not back.’

  There was a nerve-racking pause. Then he yanked his seat belt on, bullied the engine into life and reversed the car, at speed, all the way back to the turning he’d supposedly missed. Once again, he drove fast and in silence; but this time he kept his eyes on the road and I made no attempt at conversation. I was trembling, both with relief that he was taking me home and with fear that we wouldn’t get there in one piece. Only when he stopped the car outside Hartfield, in a squeal of brakes, did I relax.

  I forced myself to look at him. ‘Let’s be sensible about this, Philip. We’ve both made a mistake, but I hope we can still work together in a professional way. I won’t breathe a word about this to anyone and I’ll make sure Harriet sees you as nothing more than a work colleague from now on.’

  ‘Great,’ he said, glowering at the windscreen.

  Getting out of the car in my long tight skirt was tricky. Needless to say, the attentive Philip who’d helped me into it was nowhere to be seen; I’d barely shut the passenger door when he drove off, tyres screeching. I stayed outside for a few minutes, taking big gulps of the fresh night air, fighting back tears, cursing my stupidity.

  I’d completely misjudged Philip Elton. When it came to women, he wanted the ‘safe and lucrative’ option – exactly as Know-it-all Knightley had predicted.

  Chapter Five

  ~~MARK~~

  Since Sunday morning was dry and sunny, and the autumn colours at their best, I decided I’d walk to Randalls to have a look at the car.

  Tamara opted for a lie-in, especially when she heard where I was going. She’d been less than impressed by the Westons’ dinner party, dismissing Mary, Mrs Bates and Henry as ‘a bunch of old women, especially Henry’, Tom, Kate, John and Izzy as ‘too boring for words’, Philip as ‘a waste of space’ and Emma as ‘quite the su
rprise package’. When I probed a little further into this last comment, she said she’d imagined Emma to be more like her nickname and refused to say more.

  As I strode along the bridleway, I realised how good it felt to be on my own. With Tamara’s frequent demands, the last few days had been a bit of a strain …

  Ahead of me, a twig snapped. A small boy came hurtling along the path and skidded into my legs. My nephew, Mark.

  ‘Up!’ he said, with the supreme confidence of a three-year-old.

  I grinned down at him. ‘Hello to you, too. Who are you out with on such a beautiful morning?’

  He pointed to a woman in red trousers some distance behind him; as she approached, I saw that it was Emma, with Emily in the backpack. Her trousers were tight-fitting, leaving little to the imagination. A bit like that skirt she’d worn to the Westons’ …

  ‘Up!’ Mark said again. ‘Please.’

  I switched my thoughts firmly away from last night. ‘OK then, one – two – three.’ I swung him onto my shoulders and he clapped his hands in delight.

  ‘Aunty Emma, look, I’m the king of the castle!’

  ‘And who’s the dirty rascal?’ she said, as she reached us.

  ‘Uncle Mark.’

  We all laughed; except Emily, who surveyed me gravely with her big hazel eyes, so like her aunt’s.

  Mark whispered in my ear, ‘Are you coming to Grandpa’s to see us?’

  ‘No, I’m going to see my poorly car. I could call in on my way home, though.’

  ‘We’ll turn back now and walk as far as Hartfield with you,’ Emma said.

  We set off side by side, falling easily into step with each other.

  ‘Izzy and I are taking the children to visit the Bateses as soon as they get back from the nine o’clock service,’ she went on. ‘But John and Dad will be in, if you decide to drop by. Or you could bring Tamara for lunch, we’re having roast pork and all the trimmings, there’s plenty to spare. You never know, she might enjoy it.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’ve booked a table at The Hare and Hounds.’