“We’ll see.” He looks at his watch. “You’d better get on. Your desk is a fucking mess.”
“OK. Um, what time will my appraisal be?”
“Emma, in case you hadn’t heard, Jack Harper’s visiting us today,” says Paul in his most sarcastic voice. “But of course, if you think your appraisal’s more important than the guy who founded the company—”
“No! I didn’t mean … I just …”
“Go and tidy your desk,” says Paul in a bored voice. “And if you spill fucking Panther Prime over Harper, you’re fired.”
As I scurry to my desk, Cyril comes into the room looking hassled. His round face is a little sweaty, and his striped shirt is edging out of his double-breasted suit.
“Attention!” he says, clapping his hands. “Attention, everyone! This is an informal visit, nothing more. Mr. Harper will come in, perhaps talk to one or two of you, observe what you do.… So I want you all just to act normal, but obviously, at your highest standards.… What are these papers?” he suddenly snaps, looking at a neat pile of proofs in the corner next to Fergus Grady’s desk.
“That’s the, um, artwork for the new Panther Gum campaign,” says Fergus, who is very shy and creative. “I haven’t quite got room on my desk.…”
“Well, they can’t stay here!” Cyril picks them up and shoves them at him. “Get rid of them! Now, if he asks any of you a question, just be pleasant and natural. When he arrives, I want you all at work. Just doing typical tasks that you would naturally be doing in the course of a normal day.” He looks around distractedly. “Some of you could be on the phone; some could be typing at your computers.… A couple of you could be creatively brainstorming.… Remember, this department is the very hub of the company. The Panther Corporation is renowned for its marketing brilliance!”
He stops, and we all stare dumbly at him.
“Get on!” He claps his hands again. “Don’t just stand there! You!” He points to me. “Come on! Move!”
Oh, God. My desk is completely covered with stuff. I open a drawer and sweep a whole load of papers inside, then, in slight panic, begin to tidy the pens in my stationery pot. At the next desk, Artemis Harrison is redoing her lipstick.
“It’ll be really inspirational to meet him,” she says, admiring herself in her hand mirror. “You know, a lot of people think he single-handedly changed the face of marketing practice.” Her eyes fall on me. “Is that a new top, Emma? Where’s it from?”
“Er, French Connection,” I say after a pause.
“I was in French Connection at the weekend.” Her eyes are narrowing. “I didn’t see that design.”
“Well … they’d probably sold out!” I turn away and pretend to be reorganizing my top drawer.
“What do we call him?” Caroline, a product manager, is saying. “Mr. Harper or Jack?”
“Five minutes alone with him,” Nick, one of the marketing executives, is saying feverishly into his phone. “That’s all I need. Five minutes to pitch him the Web site idea. I mean, Jesus, if he went for it—”
God, the air of excitement is infectious! With a spurt of adrenaline, I find myself reaching for my comb and checking my lip gloss. I mean, you never know. Maybe he’ll somehow spot my potential. Maybe he’ll pull me out of the crowd!
“OK, folks,” says Paul, striding into the department. “He’s on this floor. He’s going into Admin. first.…”
“On with your everyday tasks!” exclaims Cyril. “Now!”
Fuck. What’s my everyday task?
I pick up my phone and press my voice mail code. I can be listening to my messages.
I look around the department—and see that everyone else has done the same thing.
We can’t all be on the phone. This is so stupid! OK, I’ll just switch on my computer and wait for it to warm up.
As I watch the screen changing color, Artemis starts talking in a loud voice.
“I think the whole essence of the concept is vitality,” she says, her eye constantly flicking toward the door. “D’you see what I mean?”
“Er, yes,” says Nick. “I mean, in a modern marketing environment, I think we need to be looking at a, um, fusion of strategy and forward-thinking vision.”
God, my computer’s slow today. Jack Harper will arrive and I’ll still be sitting here like a waxwork.
I know what I’ll do. I’ll be the person getting a coffee. I mean, what could be more natural than that?
“I think I’ll get a coffee!” I say, and get up from my seat.
“Could you get me one?” says Artemis, looking up briefly. “So anyway, on my M.B.A. course …”
The coffee machine is near the entrance to the department, in its own little alcove. As I’m waiting for the noxious liquid to fill my cup, I glance up and see Graham Hillingdon walking out of the admin. department, followed by a couple of others. Shit! He’s coming!
OK. Keep cool. Just wait for the second cup to fill, nice and natural.…
And there he is! With his blond hair and his expensive-looking suit and his dark glasses. But to my slight surprise, he steps back, out of the way.
In fact, no one’s even looking at him. Everyone’s attention is focused on some other guy. A guy wearing jeans and a black turtleneck, who’s walking out now …
As I stare in fascination, he turns.
Oh, my God. As I see his face, I feel an almighty thud, as though a bowling ball’s landed hard in my chest.
It’s him.
The same dark eyes. The same laugh lines. The stubble’s gone, but it’s definitely him.
It’s the man from the plane.
What’s he doing here?
And … and why is everyone’s attention on him? He’s speaking now, and everyone is lapping up every word he says.
He turns again, and I instinctively duck back out of sight, trying to keep calm. What’s he doing here? He can’t—
That can’t be—
That can’t possibly be—
With wobbly legs, I walk back to my desk, trying not to drop the coffee on the floor.
“Hey,” I say to Artemis, my voice pitched slightly too high. “Erm, do you know what Jack Harper looks like?”
“No,” she says, and takes her coffee. “Thanks.”
“Dark hair,” says someone.
“Dark?” I swallow. “Not blond?”
“He’s coming this way!” hisses someone. “He’s coming!”
I sink into my chair and sip my coffee, wincing automatically at the disgusting taste.
“… our head of Marketing and Promotion, Paul Fletcher,” I can hear Graham saying.
“Good to meet you, Paul,” comes the same dry American voice.
It’s him. It’s definitely him.
OK, keep calm. Maybe he won’t remember me. It was one short flight. He probably takes a lot of flights.
“Everyone.” Paul is leading him into the center of the office. “I’m delighted to introduce our founding father, the man who has influenced and inspired a generation of marketeers … Jack Harper!”
A round of applause breaks out, and Jack Harper shakes his head, smiling. “Please,” he says. “No fuss. Just do what you would normally do.”
He starts to walk around the office, pausing now and then to talk to people. Paul is leading the way, making all the introductions, and following them silently everywhere is the blond man.
“Here he comes!” Artemis suddenly murmurs, and everyone at our end of the office stiffens.
My heart starts to thump, and I shrink into my chair, trying to hide behind my computer.
Maybe he won’t recognize me. Maybe he won’t remember. Maybe he won’t—
Fuck. He’s looking at me. I see the flash of surprise in his eyes, and he raises his eyebrows.
He recognizes me.
Please don’t come over, I silently pray. Please don’t come over.
“And who’s this?” he says to Paul.
“This is Emma Corrigan, one of our junior marketing
assistants.”
He’s walking toward me. Artemis has stopped talking. Everyone’s staring. I’m hot with embarrassment.
“Hello,” he says pleasantly.
“Hello,” I manage, “Mr. Harper.”
OK, so he recognizes me. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he remembers anything I said. A few random comments thrown out by a person in the next-door seat. Who’s going to remember that? Maybe he wasn’t even listening—
“And what do you do?”
“I, um, assist the marketing department, and I help with setting up promotional initiatives,” I mumble.
“Emma was in Glasgow only last week on business,” puts in Paul, giving me a completely phony smile. “We believe in giving our junior staff responsibility as early as possible.”
“Very wise,” says Jack Harper, nodding. His gaze runs over my desk and alights with sudden interest on my polystyrene cup. He looks up and meets my eye. “How’s the coffee?” he asks pleasantly. “Tasty?”
Like a tape recording in my head, I suddenly hear my own stupid voice, prattling on.
The coffee at work is the most disgusting stuff you’ve ever drunk, absolute poison.…
“It’s great!” I say. “Really … delicious!”
“I’m very glad to hear it.” There’s a spark of amusement in his eyes, and I feel myself redden.
He remembers. Fuck. He remembers.
“And this is Artemis Harrison,” says Paul. “One of our brightest young marketing executives.”
“Artemis,” says Jack Harper thoughtfully. He takes a few steps toward her workstation. “That’s a nice big desk you’ve got there, Artemis.” He smiles at her. “Is that new?”
… This new desk arrived the other day, and she just took it …
He remembers everything, doesn’t he? Everything.
Oh, God. What the fuck else did I say?
While Artemis makes some show-offy reply, I’m sitting perfectly still with my pleasant, good-employee expression. But inside, my mind is frantically spooling back, trying to remember, trying to piece together what I said. I mean, I told this man everything about myself. Everything. I told him what sort of knickers I wear, and what flavor ice cream I like, and how I lost my virginity, and—
Suddenly my blood runs cold.
I’m remembering something I should not have told him.
Something I should not have told anyone.
… I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I so wanted to get the job …
I told him about faking the A grade on my CV.
Well, that’s it. I’m dead.
He’ll fire me. I’ll get a record for being dishonest and no one will ever employ me again, and I’ll end up on a Britain’s Worst Jobs documentary, cleaning up cow poo, saying brightly, “It’s not too bad, really.…”
OK. Don’t panic. There must be something I can do. I’ll apologize. Yes. I’ll say it was an error of judgment that I now deeply regret, and I never meant to mislead the company, and—
No. I’ll say, “Actually, I did get an A grade, ha-ha—silly me—I forgot!” And then I’ll forge a GCSE certificate with one of those calligraphy kits. I mean, he’s American. He’ll never know—
No. He’s bound to find out.
OK, maybe I’m overreacting here. Let’s just get things in proportion. Jack Harper is a huge, important guy. Look at him! He’s got limos and flunkies, and a great big company that makes millions every year. He doesn’t care if one of his employees got a poxy A grade or not! I mean, honestly!
I laugh out loud in my nerves, and Artemis gives me an odd look.
“I’d just like to say that I’m very glad to meet you all,” says Jack Harper, looking around the silent office. “And also introduce my assistant, Sven James.” He gestures to the guy with blond hair. “I’ll be staying here for a few days, so I hope I’ll get to know a few of you better. As you know, Pete Laidler, who founded the Panther Corporation with me, was British. For that reason, among many others, this country has always been immensely important to me.”
A sympathetic murmur goes around the office. He lifts a hand, nods, and walks away, followed by Sven and all the executives. There’s silence until he’s gone, then an excited babble breaks out.
I feel my whole body sag in relief. Thank God. Thank God.
Honestly, I’m ridiculous. Fancy thinking even for a moment that Jack Harper would remember what I said. Let alone care about it! Fancy thinking he would actually take time out of his busy, important schedule for something as insignificant as whether I faked my CV or not! As I reach for my mouse and click on a new document, I’m actually smiling.
“Emma.” I look up to see Paul standing over my desk. “Jack Harper would like to see you,” he says curtly.
“What?” My smile fades away. “Me?”
“The meeting room in five minutes.”
“Did he say … why?”
“No.”
Paul strides off, and I gaze unseeingly at my computer screen, feeling sick.
I was right the first time. I’m going to lose my job.
I’m going to lose my job because of one stupid comment on one stupid plane ride.
Why did I have to get upgraded? Why did I have to open my stupid mouth?
“Why does Jack Harper want to see you?” says Artemis, sounding put out.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Is he seeing anyone else?”
“I don’t know!” I say distractedly.
To stop her from asking any more questions, I start typing drivel into my computer, my mind whirring around and around.
I can’t lose this job. I can’t ruin yet another career.
I mean, obviously, if he’d told me he was my employer, I would never have mentioned my CV. Or … any of it.
And anyway, it’s not like I faked my degree, is it? It’s not like I’ve got a criminal record or something. I’m a good employee. I try really hard and I don’t skive off that often, and I put in all that overtime with the sportswear promotion, and I organized the Christmas raffle.…
I’m typing harder and harder, and my face is growing red with agitation.
“Emma.” Paul is looking meaningfully at his watch.
“Right.” I take a deep breath and stand up.
I’m not going to let him fire me. I’m just not going to let it happen.
I stride across the office and down the corridor to the meeting room, knock on the door, and push it open.
Jack Harper is sitting on a chair at the conference table, scribbling something in a notebook. As I come in, he looks up, and there’s a grave expression on his face that makes my stomach turn over.
But I have to defend myself. I have to keep this job.
“Hi,” he says. “Can you close the door?” He waits until I’ve done so, then looks up. “Emma, we need to talk about something.”
“I’m aware that we do,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “But I’d like to say my part first, if I may.”
For a moment Jack Harper looks taken aback—then he raises his eyebrows. “Sure. Go ahead.”
I walk into the room and look him straight in the eye.
“Mr. Harper, I know what you want to see me about. I know it was wrong. It was an error of judgment that I deeply regret. I’m extremely sorry, and it will never happen again. But in my defense …” I can hear my voice rising in emotion. “In my defense, I had no idea who you were on that plane ride. And I don’t believe I should be penalized for what was an honest, genuine mistake!”
There’s a pause.
“You think I’m penalizing you?” says Jack Harper at last, with a frown.
“Yes! You must realize I would never have mentioned my CV if I’d known who you were! It was like a … honey trap! You know, if this were a court, the judge would throw it out! They wouldn’t even let you—”
“Your CV?” Jack Harper’s brow suddenly clears. “Ah! The A grade on your résumé.” He gives me a penetrating look. “The fals
ified A grade, I should say.”
Hearing it out loud like that silences me. I can feel my face growing hotter and hotter.
“You know, a lot of people would call that fraud,” says Jack Harper, leaning back in his chair.
“I know they would. I know it was wrong. I shouldn’t have … But it doesn’t affect the way I do my job! It doesn’t mean anything—”
“You think?” He shakes his head thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Going from a C grade to an A grade … that’s quite a jump. What if we need you to do some math?”
“I can do math,” I say desperately. “Ask me a math question. Go on—ask me anything.”
“OK.” His mouth is twitching. “Eight nines.”
I stare at him, my heart racing, my mind blank. Eight nines. I’ve got no idea. Fuck. OK, once nine is nine. Two nines are—
No. I’ve got it. Eight tens are 80. So eight nines must be—
“Seventy-two!” I cry, and flinch as he gives a tiny half smile. “It’s seventy-two,” I add more calmly.
“Very good.” He gestures politely to a chair. “Now. Have you finished what you wanted to say, or is there more?”
“I …” I rub my face confusedly. “You’re … not going to fire me?”
“No,” says Jack Harper patiently. “I’m not going to fire you. Now can we talk?”
As I sit down, a horrible suspicion starts growing in my mind. “Was …” I clear my throat. “Was my CV what you wanted to see me about?”
“No,” he says mildly. “That wasn’t what I wanted to see you about.”
I want to die.
“Right.” I smooth back my hair, trying to compose myself, trying to look businesslike. “Right. Well. So, er, what did you … what …”
“I have a small favor to ask you.”
“Right!” I feel a tweak of anticipation. “Anything! I mean … what is it?”
“For various reasons,” says Jack Harper, “I would prefer it that nobody knows I was in Scotland last week.” He meets my eyes. “So I would like it very much if we could keep the fact that we met that day between ourselves.”
“Right!” I say after a pause. “Of course! Absolutely. I can do that.”
Can You Keep a Secret? Page 7