I took a deep breath. ‘There’s no time like the present. Especially as we don’t seem to find it easy to talk these days.’
He frowned. ‘OK, but get in the car where it’s warm.’
And more private for what I had to say, I added to myself.
He led the way down the sparkling gravel path to the Mercedes. It was only a few steps, yet it felt as though I was jumping over an abyss. And then I was in the passenger seat next to him, just like on the way home from Ashridge, and I felt safe and – and cherished, somehow. He had the engine running and the interior light on and the heater was going full blast. I didn’t look at his face; I just watched his fingers drumming on the leather-clad steering wheel and gave in to all sorts of wild, impetuous imaginings …
‘Yes?’ he prompted.
I started and glanced nervously across at him, twisting my hands together in my lap. ‘It’s just, um, I’m not sure if you know who Dixon is.’
‘Dixon?’ he said, blankly.
‘The word Flynn made from my letters.’
He stiffened and looked away. ‘Oh, that. I don’t want to know, I’m not interested in little private jokes between the two of you.’
I swallowed. This was going to be even more difficult than I’d thought. ‘It wasn’t just something between Flynn and me, it involved Jane too. You see, we were referring to Dan Dixon. He’s a friend of hers.’
‘So?’
‘More than a friend, if you know what I mean.’
‘What’s that to me?’
I gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Surely you don’t have to be so discreet all the bloody time? Everyone knows you’re – well, Kate’s been speculating for weeks that – oh, you know what I’m saying, that Jane and you … ’ I let my voice trail off, desperate for him to bail me out.
He stared at the windscreen, his face expressionless. ‘That Jane and I – what?’
‘Come off it, giving her the Jag, taking her out for expensive lunches, then asking her to partner you to the Donwell Organics do. Not forgetting how much you’ve always gone on and on about how marvellous she is.’
At last he looked straight at me. ‘You mean you – and Kate, and God knows who else in Highbury from the sound of it – think that I’m sleeping with Jane?’
Just saying it made it seem real, too real. I felt tears sting the back of my eyes, but I nodded and managed a nonchalant smile.
He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Sometimes I hate this place – people adding two and two together and making at least eight!’ He let out a long uneven breath, then went on, ‘Look, I certainly didn’t give her the Jag, I thought it was from her friends, the Campbells or whatever they’re called, although now I’m not so sure … And the lunches were only for our mentoring sessions, I felt it would be more relaxing for her than my office. As for the Donwell Organics party – well, she was the obvious choice in the absence of – of anyone more suitable. Of course I think very highly of her and I don’t mind who knows it, but that’s as far as it goes.’ He gave a grim laugh. ‘I have absolutely no plans to get her into bed. She’s not my type at all.’
I didn’t buy that for one moment. ‘But she’s so like Tamara, all long black hair and white skin – ’
‘I don’t mean her looks, I mean her personality. Too reserved, secretive almost. I may as well be mentoring a block of wood. I prefer a woman who’s much more spontaneous and in your face and – ’ He stopped and cleared his throat. ‘Just believe me when I say that I don’t want to sleep with Jane and I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual. Oh, and please make sure the rest of Highbury gets the message.’
There was a pause while I digested this information. I should have felt ecstatic that he didn’t fancy Saint Jane of Highbury, of all people. But my mind was off at a tangent. Did that mean he fancied someone else? If so, who? And if not, then maybe, just maybe … Oh, what was the point of even thinking about it! He’d told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t as good in bed as Tamara. And yet … a little voice inside me begged for another chance.
Then, out of the blue, he said, ‘How long has Jane known Churchill?’
‘Why do you want to know?’ I was genuinely puzzled; he’d just denied being interested in her, hadn’t he?
He scowled. ‘Just answer the question, please.’
His abrupt tone got under my skin. ‘Work it out for yourself,’ I said sullenly. ‘They met in Weymouth shortly before she started at Highbury Foods.’
‘Three months, say. And how well do you think they know each other?’
I shrugged. ‘As Flynn said to me when I asked him that very same question, he knows her as well as he ever wants to.’ I added, with a frosty smile, ‘I think it’s safe to assume that means hardly at all.’
‘I think it’s safe to assume nothing of the sort,’ he said, frowning. ‘There was something funny about their behaviour tonight. With each other, I mean. Especially him, he was provoking her, making her upset.’
So that was it. Poor little Jane always managed to get the sympathy vote, didn’t she? My lips tightened.
He went on, ‘Somehow it made me think that they were – ’ he hesitated, as though searching for the right words ‘ – more intimate than they’ve led any of us to believe.’
That sounded uncomfortably like him and me. I shifted in my seat and forced a laugh. ‘Flynn and Saint Jane – intimate, as you so delicately put it? That’s absolute bollocks.’
‘How do you know?’
Funny, I could have sworn there was a catch in his voice. Typical Mark, he may not fancy the woman, but he was obviously concerned about her well-being. I looked him straight in the eye and smiled broadly, to give him all the reassurance I could.
‘Because Flynn’s in love with someone else. I can’t say who just yet, for various reasons, but it’s definitely not Jane Fairfax.’
He closed his eyes, as if in relief, and leaned back against the headrest. I took the opportunity to study his profile. How many times over the years had I looked at him without really seeing him? Except for that unfortunate teenage crush, I’d always taken his physical appeal completely for granted – the deep brow, the strong straight nose, the unbelievably sensual mouth and determined chin. With a strange sort of hunger, my gaze returned to his mouth. I watched his lips move, the words just audible above the noise of the heater.
‘By the way, I’m going back to India.’
‘I know, when your father gets home,’ I said, absently. That would be some time in February, which gave me at least a month, perhaps six weeks, to see if we could …
He opened his eyes and I hurriedly averted my gaze. ‘My father’s coming home in two days. John and I told the others tonight, before you arrived. And my flight’s on Sunday.’
I blinked rapidly at my reflection in the passenger window. ‘Wh-what did you say?’
‘I’m leaving on Sunday.’
‘So soon?’ I sounded amazingly calm, almost dismissive.
‘There’s nothing to keep me here,’ he said, and there was an air of finality in his tone. Thank God I hadn’t allowed myself to hope …
When his warm hand covered mine, I nearly jumped out of my skin; but I kept my face turned away.
‘Emma, if there’s ever anything troubling you, just call me.’ His voice was low and grave. ‘You know I’ve always been there for you, don’t you? And that won’t change, wherever you are, whoever you’re with.’
It was as if the words had been in my head for years, but jumbled up. Now, at last, they made perfect sense: ‘I want to be with you, wherever you are.’
I didn’t say them, of course. I couldn’t trust myself to speak. I had to get out of that car with some semblance of dignity before I gave everything away. So I took a deep breath, pulled my hand from under his and opened the door with as much composure as I could manage.
‘Goodnight, Mark.’
And I ran from the car without a backward glance. As I reached the porch, I heard his tyres crunching down the frosty
drive.
In a week he’d be gone. The dream was over before it had even begun.
~~MARK~~
Thank God the holiday period was over. I’d gone to the office most days in an attempt to distract my thoughts; not easy when the place was empty. But now, on the first working day of the new year, there was a welcome buzz of activity which I drew on to boost my own flagging energy levels. I’d also made progress on the personal front; even though I couldn’t be happy myself, I’d decided that I could make someone else happy.
So I started to put my plans into action. At nine sharp, I called the Executive together and told them that my father would be home the next day and back at work by the end of the week. From then on, there would be no need for an acting MD and I would return to India.
Most of them had some experience of Saffron, so they fully understood the situation. ‘Surprised George stuck it out this long,’ one of them muttered as they left the room.
John stayed behind. To my relief, he didn’t raise the subject of Emma; instead, he asked me if I wanted a hand with the arrangements for tomorrow.
‘Tomorrow?’ I said, preoccupied with opening an urgent email about the Parkinson contract.
He chuckled. ‘That little informal surprise party Saffron’s expecting, remember?’
‘Oh, that.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Between us, Mrs Burn and I seem to have it all under control. Everyone should have got their invitation this morning. As it’s such short notice and the numbers are small, I didn’t bother with RSVP. And I’ve said drinks and canapés, so that people feel they can drop in even if they’re already booked to go somewhere else for the evening.’
‘Poor Father, a party’ll be the last thing he feels like.’
‘Do you think he had any choice in the matter?’
Another chuckle. ‘No, but we did.’
‘Sorry, I couldn’t be bothered to fight this particular battle,’ I said, with a hollow laugh. ‘I’d like my last few days in England to be relatively happy and healthy ones.’
‘Point taken. Have you heard what time they’re getting here?’
‘Mid-afternoon, Saffron’s stopping on the way for some emergency repair work. You know, hair, facelift, and so on. Oh, there is something you could do for me.’
‘What’s that?’
‘On your way into work, can you collect Tao from the kennels and take him to Donwell? Mrs Burn will be there from half past eight.’
He grimaced. ‘I get all the good jobs, don’t I?’
Just after he’d left, Cherry called out, ‘I’ve got someone on the phone for you. Wouldn’t give me her name, just said something about Mrs Burn.’
Shit, all I needed was for Mrs Burn to fall ill or something. ‘Better put her through, whoever she is.’
But as soon as I heard the voice, I knew I’d made a mistake.
‘Marrrk?’
‘’Morning, Gusty,’ I said coolly. ‘What’s this about Mrs Burn?’
‘Sheila’s come to do some extra cleaning for me and she says you’re organising a little soirée to celebrate the return of your father and stepmother.’
Good God, it hadn’t taken her long to extract that information out of poor Mrs Burn, it was barely twenty past nine.
I made an effort to remain civil. ‘I can’t see how that concerns you. It just means she’ll be working longer hours tomorrow, when she usually comes to Donwell anyway.’
‘Actually, Marrrk, there are one or two things that do concern me,’ she purred. ‘Firstly, Philip and I don’t seem to have received our invitation and Sheila assures me that they were all posted first class on Saturday. And secondly, I hate to be blunt, but it sounds like a rather low-key affair.’
She paused and I took the opportunity to deal with her first point. ‘You and Philip haven’t received your invitation because I haven’t sent you one.’
‘Oh, a little oversight, we can soon remedy that,’ she said airily. ‘But I have some very exciting ideas for livening up the party and there’s no time to lose. As soon as you give me the nod, I’ll get started. My sister once hired a very classy – ’
I cut in before she could enlighten me further. ‘There’s only one woman I’d consult about this party.’
After a moment she snapped, ‘Not Kate Weston, surely.’
‘No.’
‘Who then?’
‘Mrs Knightley.’
‘Mrs – ? Oh, your stepmother. But she’s thousands of miles away – ’
‘I don’t mean her either, I mean Mrs Mark Knightley.’
‘Who?’
‘My wife. And since that person doesn’t exist, I’ll continue to organise everything myself. But thank you so much for offering. ’Bye.’ I slammed down the receiver and yelled, ‘Cherry!’
She came rushing into my room. ‘What is it?’
‘That woman who just rang, would you recognise her voice?’
‘Oh yes, quite a strong West Country accent.’ She pulled a face. ‘And a terribly bossy manner.’
‘Good. If she phones again, say I’m unavailable. Travelling to Mars, on my deathbed, anything.’ I stared out of the window, feeling indescribably weary.
‘You sound stressed out, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?’ she said, in a motherly tone. ‘I’ve got plenty to get on with – and you don’t seem to have had much time away from the office over the holidays.’
‘Thanks, but I’m fine.’ I gave her a reassuring smile. ‘There’s one other thing, I’d like you to organise my farewell lunch for Friday. I thought a buffet in the conference room would be best, then everyone can come and go as they please.’
‘Is it just for staff, or are you inviting people from outside the company?’
‘Just for staff, I’m taking my family and a few friends out for dinner on Saturday night. Could you book that, too? The Box Hill Restaurant, seven thirty, for about twenty people. I’ll give you exact numbers nearer the time.’
She gaped at me. ‘Box Hill, for twenty? You’d better take out a mortgage.’
I shrugged. ‘I may as well go off in style. I won’t be coming home for a long time.’
~~EMMA~~
After the New Year break, I went back to work and steeled myself to get through the week. As I scanned my personal organiser, I found the three goals I’d set after the Philip fiasco. Normally, I’d have congratulated myself on my progress; I was convinced I’d taken no one at face value, I’d completed the research stage of the Harriet’s Secret Recipes project and I’d kept my matchmaking instincts well and truly under control.
But somehow I didn’t feel like celebrating. Mark was leaving in only four days’ time.
With everyone returning to work this morning, I was looking forward to some company, even Saint Jane’s. But Batty announced that Jane was too ill to come in – ‘pale as a ghost, hardly eating a thing, wasting away’. That left Harriet, who could normally be relied on to provide an endless stream of drivel to distract me. I heard her clattering about in the outer office and waited for her to bring in the post, which we normally went through together.
After a few moments, I called out, ‘Hi, how are you?’
No answer. I popped my head round the door that divided our two rooms. She was at her desk, staring at a pile of unopened letters.
‘Are you OK?’ I said.
She looked up. ‘Mmm?’
‘What’s the matter, are you pining for FC?’
‘Who?’
‘FC, the man of your dreams, you know I can’t mention his name.’
‘Yeah, but – ’ She paused, then cocked her head on one side. ‘What does FC stand for?’
I knew her English was basic at times, but this was ridiculous. ‘F for Flynn, C for Churchill,’ I said, as patiently as I could.
She let out a squeal of disgust. ‘Him? Why would I want him when I can have Mark?’
‘Mark? Mark who?’
‘Mark Knightley, of course,’ she said, looking at me as if I was mentally deficien
t.
I felt the colour drain from my face. ‘Mark Knightley?’
‘Yeah, and it’s looking good.’ She hugged herself like an excited child. ‘Can’t wait for tomorrow night.’
My stomach churned. ‘What’s happening tomorrow night?’
‘Didn’t you get your invitation this morning?’
‘Invitation?’
‘Here.’ She rummaged in her pocket and handed me an ivory card, much creased as if she’d been fondling it ever since it arrived. I snatched it from her, hardly registering the printed words about a party for George and Saffron. I was desperate to read what was scrawled across the bottom, in handwriting that was heartbreakingly familiar: ‘Hope you can come – there’s something I need to ask you. Mark.’
Harriet giggled. ‘The food sounds crap, innit? Friggin’ canopies, whatever they are. What are you wearing?’
‘Nothing.’ Was that a Freudian slip? God knows I’d have pranced round Donwell Abbey stark naked if I thought there was any chance of getting together with Mark … ‘I mean, I don’t know if I’m going.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Haven’t you had an invitation?’
‘Of course I have. I just can’t decide whether I can fit it in.’ I glanced casually through the pile of letters, but there wasn’t anything that looked like an invitation. ‘Start opening those, I’ll be back in a minute.’
I walked quickly round to Dad’s office, my heart pounding. I didn’t dwell on the revelation that Harriet fancied Mark instead of Flynn; I was more concerned about tracking down my invitation to Donwell. Harriet didn’t even know George and Saffron, so why had Mark invited her? And what on earth could he want to ask her? I reassured myself that there’d be a similar message written on my invitation, if I could find it.
The Importance of Being Emma Page 28