And yet, as I sat in the Box Hill Restaurant knocking back the champagne and staring blindly at the menu, it still didn’t quite add up. Mark and Harriet? Should I confront him about it or accept that, in this particular case, the laws of attraction were beyond all understanding?
Eventually we went through to the dining area, a maze of interconnected rooms, all decorated in a similar style but with different layouts. Our room had a tank of tropical fish, which immediately fascinated the boys, and a large rectangular table. Whether deliberately or instinctively, we sat by age group: Dad, George, Saffron and Batty at one end, the Perrys and the Westons at the other, and the rest of us in the middle, with Mark and Jane opposite Flynn and me.
When more champagne arrived, George stood up and waited until he had our full attention. ‘As you all know,’ he said, ‘four months ago Mark put his life on hold and came back to England to look after Donwell Organics. Leaving the company in such safe hands helped Saffron and me enjoy our cruise far more than was good for us, which is why we’re back and he’s giving this farewell dinner a few weeks earlier than planned.’ He paused until the ripple of laughter died down. ‘Seriously, I am so grateful. Mark never made me feel I was imposing on him, and the same goes for John who’s been his right-hand man.’ He looked around the table. ‘Quite a few of you are parents, so you’ll know what I mean when I say my children have taught me far more than I ever attempted to teach them.’ Then, raising his glass, ‘To Mark – don’t stay away too long this time.’
‘To Mark,’ everyone chorused. My lips shaped the words, but no sound came. One day, I might be able to wish him well – and Harriet, if she was still with him – but not tonight.
I thought Mark might have responded with a little speech, but all he said was ‘Thank you’. Maybe, like me, he wasn’t enjoying the meal. My crab starter might as well have been fish paste; the Chablis Premier Cru, lemonade.
Shortly afterwards, as I toyed forlornly with my Dover sole, Flynn hissed in my ear, ‘You look bored stiff. I’ll liven things up a bit, just for you.’ He rose from his seat and tapped his glass to get everyone’s attention. ‘Miss Emma Woodhouse and I,’ he intoned, ‘Highbury’s answer to Posh and Becks, want to hear exactly what you’re all thinking. No fibbing, mind, just give it to us straight.’
Mark gave a grim laugh. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not? Have you got something to hide?’ I said, with an insolent stare, and wasn’t surprised to see him colour and look away.
Flynn sighed loudly. ‘OK, since our dear host objects, let’s make it easier. You all have to say something entertaining, but it needn’t be the truth.’
Tom chuckled. ‘Depends what you call entertaining. Some of us will find it easier to be truthful.’
‘Fine, we’ll give you a choice – quality or quantity,’ Flynn went on. ‘You can say one extremely clever and entertaining thing, two quite interesting things, or three amazingly dull things. Who’s going first?’
On the far side of Mark, Batty leaned forward. ‘Oh, it’ll be three dull things for me, as soon as I open my mouth I say dull things, no problem’ – shrill titter – ‘except I might not manage as many as three at once.’ She blinked happily at us, secure in her self-humiliation.
A sudden shiver went through me. It was like seeing myself in thirty years’ time … An object of ridicule – or pity, thinly disguised as kindness. Making up the numbers at Highbury’s pathetic little social gatherings. Doting on my nephews and nieces, in the absence of any children of my own. Living alone with an elderly parent – because, given the wonders of modern medicine and a basically sound constitution, Dad could live well into his nineties, couldn’t he?
No, it was impossible, I was nothing like Batty!
But what if she hadn’t always been this way? What if she’d been completely different when she was younger? What if she’d lost the love of her life too, and never really got over it? Perhaps we were more alike than I could ever imagine. Oh God, what a horrible thought …
Next to me, Flynn murmured, ‘Who’s she trying to kid – “I might not manage as many as three”? We’ll never shut her up.’
I started to giggle. ‘You’re so right.’ I raised my voice. ‘Nonsense, Mary, you’ll definitely manage three dull things. It’s stopping at three that’ll be your little challenge.’
She giggled too; then, as my words sank in, her smile faded and she shrank back behind Mark. I heard her say to him, ‘Oh dear, I didn’t realise I got on her nerves so much, I’ll try not to in future. I mean, she wouldn’t have said anything, would she, if she didn’t think – ’
Mark interrupted her, his voice thick with anger. ‘Don’t worry, Mary, it’s nothing to do with you, she’s just being a silly little teenager all over again.’
I couldn’t bear it any longer. I got abruptly to my feet and walked out of the room.
~~MARK~~
As soon as I felt I could leave Mary, I went to find Emma. I guessed she’d taken refuge in the Ladies, so I paced up and down the corridor outside. Five minutes passed, then ten; I was just beginning to wonder if she was somewhere else, when the door swung open and out she came. The instant she saw me, her troubled expression switched to one of defiance.
I took a step forward, blocking her path, glaring down at her. ‘How could you?’
Her eyes widened in mock surprise. ‘How could I what?’
‘Be so – fucking – rude to Mary.’ In my fury, I almost choked on the words.
She laughed, she actually laughed in my face. ‘You call that rude? It was only what everyone else was thinking. Anyway, she probably didn’t understand what I meant.’
I grabbed her arm. Her golden skin was warm and soft, just as I remembered. Part of me ached to gather her close and kiss away her maddening, pig-headed indifference. But, in my present state of mind, such feelings didn’t stand a chance.
Instead I ground out, ‘She understood perfectly, and you know it!’
‘Get off me.’ She tried to wrench herself free but I tightened my grip, beyond caring whether my fingers bruised her flesh. ‘Ow, you bastard, that hurts!’
‘I couldn’t give a toss, I hope I’m hurting you as much as you’ve hurt Mary. How could you say that to her? She’s my guest, and my friend. And God knows she’s always been a good friend to you.’
Her lip curled. ‘Oh yeah, get the violins out.’
‘What the hell’s got into you?’ As if I needed to ask; it was Churchill’s influence, the useless piece of shit.
She looked up at me and swallowed, but her gaze never wavered. ‘I just don’t need you in my life, telling me what I should and shouldn’t say. Get lost, Mark Knightley, you’re history!’
I stared at her as each word stabbed into me. For a few seconds, all I could hear was my laboured breathing as I fought to bring myself under control.
At last I let go of her arm. ‘Old habits die hard,’ I said coldly. ‘Can’t help giving you a lecture when I think you need it. Still, after tonight you won’t have to put up with me any more.’
And I walked away without another word.
Chapter Fourteen
~~MARK~~
I didn’t go straight back to my guests. Instead, I walked round the car park a few times and returned just as they were studying the dessert menus. I wondered if our orders reflected our individual states of mind. Mary, Jane and I had nothing; Churchill chose Devil’s Food Cake, which he ate with relish; Emma went for Passion Fruit Fool and left it untouched. Everyone else had home-made ice cream; apart from Henry, who ordered crème brûlée – much to my surprise.
‘Just a tiny portion, please, with none of that sugary stuff on top,’ he told the waiter. ‘I had it once, in 1995 I think, and I quite fancy some tonight, after all it is a special occasion. And Emma raved about it when she went to Ashridge, not just the crème brûlée, everything in fact.’ He called across to her, ‘Remember when Mark took you to Ashridge, darling?’
‘Not
really,’ she said in a subdued voice, her eyes downcast.
‘That’s odd.’ Henry turned to me. ‘She seemed very impressed at the time, couldn’t stop talking about the place for days afterwards.’
‘She’s always had a convenient memory,’ I said heavily. With a savage sort of pleasure, I watched her go red and knew she was thinking about our bitter confrontation in the bedroom at Forbury Manor, just as I’d intended.
While we were moving through to the lounge area for coffee, Churchill’s mobile went off. He immediately left the room and came back a few minutes later, face flushed, eyes glittering.
‘That was Stella, she’s just landed at Gatwick. Sorry, must dash, my taxi’s due any moment. Thanks for the meal, all the best.’ He gave a dismissive nod in my direction and turned towards the door.
Tom put his hand none too gently on his son’s shoulder. ‘Hang on, what’s Stella doing in England? The woman’s never been over here for thirty years. I think you owe us more of an explanation than that!’
Churchill edged away from him. ‘OK, but it’ll have to be quick, she’s not the most patient of people.’
I saw Kate’s lips tighten and suspected she was running short of patience herself. I wondered briefly why Churchill hadn’t mentioned Stella’s visit earlier and glanced across at Emma to gauge her reaction; but she was looking down at the floor, so it was impossible to tell.
A petulant note crept into Churchill’s voice. ‘I was going to tell you anyway, it’s just that Stella’s got the final say-so, it’s her money after all.’ He paused and his eyes flicked across at Emma – or was it Jane? ‘Here goes, then. Most of you know I’ve been in the Lake District for the past couple of months. What you don’t know is that I’ve been getting my own restaurant up and running, the Brook Inn, near Kendal. Once Stella’s happy with how I’ve spent her money, I’ll be ready to start filming my new show for the BBC, Flynn’s Cook-in at the Brook Inn.’ He gave one of his flashiest grins. ‘Hope to see you all up there on opening night.’
We all made appropriate congratulatory noises – with varying degrees of sincerity, I was sure.
Tom brightened visibly. ‘That’s great news, Flynn, I’m looking forward to hearing all about it when you’ve got more time. Where’s Stella staying? Have you booked her in anywhere?’
‘It depends on – various things,’ Churchill said evasively. ‘Look, my taxi must be waiting, I’ll phone you later.’
And with that he was gone, leaving Tom with just enough information to be able to speculate long and loud about his son’s brilliant career prospects.
~~EMMA~~
I was barely aware of Flynn dashing off; I simply wanted the evening to end. Only then would the ordeal of saying goodbye to Mark be over.
Before, I’d been terrified of breaking down and making a fool of myself. Now, after that scene outside the Ladies, I couldn’t wait for him to be gone. When the time came, we played our parts well and kept up the pretence of normality in front of the others; a brief, clumsy hug and some glib lies about staying in touch.
And yet, back at Hartfield, I felt duty bound to wish Harriet well, whatever my feelings. I rang her from my bedroom and she answered immediately, dashing my hopes of just leaving a message.
‘Yeah?’ I could tell from the wariness in her voice that she recognised my number.
‘I wanted to say … ’ I took a deep, painful breath. ‘I know you’re going there, to India, and I hope you’ll be – very happy, with him.’ The words came out stilted and wrong, but it was a miracle I’d said them at all.
‘Shit, so you know, did Mark tell you?’
‘Oh Harriet, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.’
Brief pause; then she said, sounding relieved, ‘I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t, Mark said you might try and talk me out of it.’
I felt a surge of anger at being judged so unfairly. ‘If you really want something, no one should be able to talk you out of it – ’ I broke off, remembering how easily I’d persuaded her to drop Robert Martin for Philip Elton. Maybe Mark had a point, maybe he already knew Harriet better than I did. ‘I need to go, it’s late and I’m sure you’ve still got packing to do. Have a good trip and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.’
‘If I come back at all,’ she said cheerfully and hung up.
I threw the phone on the floor and cried myself to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache. Dad made me his favourite hangover remedy, uncooked porridge oats in barley water, but after a couple of mouthfuls I couldn’t face any more. There was something weighing on my mind, something I needed to do as soon as possible. I found an unopened bottle of vintage port in the cellar, grabbed my car keys and poked my head round the door of the dining room, where Dad was tut-tutting over the Sunday papers.
‘Just popping into Highbury to give this port to Mary’s mother, I promised it to her ages ago.’
‘Fine, darling, best to call now before they go to church.’
Kings Row looked congested, so I parked on the high street and dashed across the grass verge that separated it from Batty’s house. I rang the doorbell and waited as patiently as I could.
When Batty eventually came to the door, she seemed even weirder than usual. ‘Oh, it’s you, have you heard already, did Kate tell you?’
I decided to ignore her ramblings and get my apology over and done with. ‘I brought this for you and your mother, I know how much you both like port.’ I paused. ‘And I’ve come to say sorry for last night, I don’t know what got into me.’
She took the port with a distracted smile. ‘That’s very kind of you, of course I thought nothing of it really, after … Do come in, dear, we’re all at sixes and sevens this morning but I’m just about to make another cuppa.’
As I hesitated, she added in a stage whisper, ‘Jane’s gone off to live in sin with Flynn Churchill, Mother would have kittens if she knew! I’ve had to say she’s in Ireland visiting Charlotte Dixon.’
I stood stock still for a moment, absorbing what I’d just heard. Then I closed the door behind me with a firm click and almost pushed her into the tiny kitchen. I switched on the kettle and stood between her and the tea things, in an attempt to keep her focused on the task in hand.
‘Right, Mary,’ I said with an encouraging smile, ‘I’ll make the tea and you can tell me all about Jane.’
~~MARK~~
As far as I knew, this morning would be Rob and Harriet’s first meeting for several months. I’d told each of them that they could back out of the arrangement at any time, but neither of them showed any signs of doing so. Still, until they saw each other again, I was on tenterhooks.
Rob lived outside the village, on the road we’d be taking to Gatwick Airport, so I planned to pick him up last. At eight o’clock sharp, Jack Thomas collected me from Donwell in his taxi and we went from there to Harriet’s house. I could see in a split second that she had too much luggage, but it took far longer to persuade her to ditch any of it. At last, she agreed to leave all the fake leather behind; January might be Mumbai’s coolest month, but temperatures could still reach twenty-eight degrees and the humidity was always high.
It was just after nine o’clock, well behind schedule, when we turned into the high street on the way to Rob’s. In the distance, I saw a familiar figure in red trousers come out of Mary’s cottage and walk slowly down the path.
I spoke without thinking, my voice taut with regret. ‘Oh God, there she is, there’s Emma.’
I needn’t have worried; Harriet caught only the name, not the undercurrent of emotion. She loosened her seat belt, leaned across me and banged on the window.
‘Oi, Emma!’
Emma didn’t seem to hear. The traffic lights were on red and the taxi rumbled to a halt right opposite her as she opened her car door. Harriet banged on the window time and again, shouting her name and waving frantically, but Emma had her head down, as if in a little world of her own. Then the lights changed. The taxi lurch
ed forward, Harriet fell on top of me and Emma glanced in our direction at last.
I was hardly aware of Harriet straightening herself up with an embarrassed giggle; all I could see was the look of utter anguish in Emma’s eyes. And I had to find out what, or who, had put it there.
‘Pull over,’ I said to Jack.
As soon as he stopped the taxi, I jumped out and ran back down the street. Too late – Emma had driven off in the opposite direction. In three strides I was at Mary’s front door, almost hammering it down.
She did a double take when she saw me. ‘Mark, dear, aren’t you meant to be – ’
‘Going to the airport, yes, and I’m in a hurry. But I’ve just seen Emma and she looked very upset. And I had to know – is everything all right?’
‘She wasn’t upset when she left here, more shocked than anything.’ She gave a nervous titter. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard our news.’
I smiled grimly. ‘It wouldn’t be to do with Jane and Flynn Churchill, would it?’
Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘How did you guess? Jane left me a note, she’s with him and Stella in the Lakes, must have gone late last night, I didn’t hear a … Poor girl, she says she’s been in a terrible state ever since they met at Weymouth, not knowing whether he was The One, or whether Stella had her spies watching, she threatened to cut off Flynn’s … But they’re hoping Stella will come round when she sees the Brook Inn and meets dear Jane.’
‘And you told Emma all this?’
‘Oh yes, we had quite a long chat, she came to apologise for last night, which I’d quite forgotten about, what with all the excitement this morning.’ Another nervous titter. ‘Like me, she never suspected anything … Mind you, I always wondered how Flynn knew about the Perrys’ son nearly being expelled, because I only mentioned it to Jane and Emma. And Emma says she certainly didn’t tell him.’
The Importance of Being Emma Page 31