Can You Keep a Secret?

by Sophie Kinsella

  My words wither on my lips as I glimpse a flash of familiar-looking blond hair at the entrance to the hall. My heart stops.

  That can’t be—

  That’s not—

  “Connor, I have to go,” I say, and start hurrying toward the entrance.

  “She told me she’s size six!” Connor calls after me. “What does that mean? What size should I really buy?”

  “Eight!” I shoot back over my shoulder.

  It is. It’s Jemima. Here. Standing in the foyer. What’s she doing here?

  Then the door opens again—and I feel faint. She’s got a guy with her. In jeans, with cropped hair and squirrelly eyes. He’s got a camera slung over his shoulder and is looking around with interest.

  No.

  She can’t have—

  “Emma,” comes a voice in my ear, and I give a start of panic.

  “Jack!” I swivel around to see him watching me with affection. How long has he been there?

  “You OK?” he says, and gently touches my nose.

  “Fine!” I say a little shrilly. “I’m great!”

  I have to manage this situation. I have to. “Jack, um, could you get me some water?” I hear myself saying. “I’ll just … stay here. I’m feeling a bit dizzy.”

  Jack looks alarmed. “You know, I thought there was something wrong. Let me take you home. I’ll call the car—”

  “No. It’s … it’s fine. I want to stay! Just get me some water. Please,” I add as an afterthought.

  As soon as he’s gone, I tear into the foyer, almost tripping up in my haste.

  “Emma!” Jemima looks up brightly. “Excellent! I was just about to look for you. Now, this is Mick, and he wants to ask you some questions. We thought we’d use this little room here.” She heads into a small, empty office that leads off from the foyer.

  “No!” I say, grabbing her arm. “Jemima, you have to go. Now. Go!”

  “I’m not going anywhere!” Jemima jerks her arm out of my grasp and rolls her eyes at Mick, who’s closing the door of the office behind me. “I told you she was being all hissy about it.”

  “Mick Collins.” Mick thrusts a business card into my hands. “Delighted to meet you, Emma. Now, there’s no need to get worried, is there?” He gives me a soothing smile, as though he’s completely used to dealing with hysterical women telling him to go. Which he probably is. “Let’s just sit down quietly, have a nice chat.…”

  He’s chewing gum as he speaks, and as I smell the spearmint wafting toward me, I almost want to throw up.

  “Look, there’s been a misunderstanding,” I say, forcing myself to sound polite. “I’m afraid there’s no story.”

  “Well, let’s see about that, shall we?” says Mick. “You tell me the facts.”

  “No! I mean … there’s nothing.…” I turn to Jemima. “I told you I didn’t want you to do anything! You promised me!”

  “Emma, you are such a wimp. You’ll just let any man walk all over you and do nothing about it!” She gives Mick an exasperated look. “Do you see why I’ve been forced to take action? I told you what a bastard Jack Harper was to her. He needs to learn his lesson!”

  “Absolutely right,” agrees Mick, and puts his head on one side as though measuring me up. “Very attractive,” he says to Jemima. “You know, we could think about an accompanying interview feature. ‘My Romp with Top Boss.’ ” He adds to me, “You could make some serious money.”

  “No!”

  “Emma, stop being so coy!” snaps Jemima. “You want to do it, really. This could be a whole new career for you, you realize!”

  “I don’t want a new career!”

  “Well, then you should! Do you know how much Monica Lewinsky makes a year?”

  “You’re sick!” I say in disbelief. “You’re a totally sick, warped—”

  “Emma, I’m just acting in your best interests!”

  “You’re not!” I cry, feeling my face flame red. “I … I might be getting back together with Jack!”

  There’s a thirty-second silence. I’m holding my breath. Then it’s like the killer robot jerks into action again.

  “Even more reason to do it!” says Jemima. “This’ll keep him on his toes! This’ll show him who’s boss! Go on, Mick.”

  “Interview with Emma Corrigan. Friday, fifteenth July, nine-forty P.M.” I look up, and stiffen in fresh horror. Mick has produced a small tape recorder and is holding it toward me.

  “You first met Jack Harper on a plane. Can you confirm where this was flying from and to? Just speak in a natural way, like you would to a mate on the phone—”

  “Stop it!” I yell. “Just leave! Leave!”

  “Emma, grow up!” says Jemima. “Mick’s going to find out what this secret is whether you help him or not, so you might as well be—” She stops abruptly as the door handle rattles, then turns.

  The room seems to swim around me.

  Please don’t say—Please—

  As the door slowly opens, I can’t breathe. I can’t move.

  I have never felt so frightened in my entire life.

  “Emma?” says Jack, coming in, holding two glasses of water in one hand. “Are you feeling OK? I got you both still and sparkling, because I wasn’t quite …”

  He trails off in confusion, his eyes running over Jemima and Mick. In disbelief he takes in Mick’s card, still in my hand. Then his gaze falls on Mick’s turning tape recorder, and all the happiness seems to slide out of his face.

  “I think I’ll just make myself scarce,” murmurs Mick, raising his eyebrows at Jemima. He slips the tape recorder into his pocket, picks up his rucksack, and sidles out of the room. Nobody speaks for a few moments. All I can hear is the throbbing in my head.

  “Who was that?” says Jack at last. “A journalist?”

  He looks as though someone just stamped on his garden.

  “I … Jack …” I falter. “It’s not … it’s not …”

  “Why …” He hesitates as though trying to make sense of the situation. “Why were you talking to a journalist?”

  “Why do you think she was talking to a journalist?” chimes in Jemima proudly.

  “What?” Jack slowly turns to Jemima with a look of dislike.

  “You think you’re such a big shot millionaire! You think you can use little people! You think you can give away someone’s private secrets and completely humiliate them and get away with it! Well, you can’t!”

  She takes a few steps toward him, folding her arms with satisfaction. “Emma’s been waiting for a chance to get her revenge on you, and now she’s found it! That was a journalist, if you want to know. And he’s on your case. And when you find your little Scottish secret plastered all over the papers, then maybe you’ll know what it feels like to be betrayed! And maybe you’ll be sorry! Tell him, Emma! Tell him!”

  I’m paralyzed.

  The minute she says the word “Scottish,” I see Jack’s face change. It kind of snaps. He almost looks winded with shock. He looks straight at me, and I can see the growing incredulity in his eyes.

  “You might think you know Emma, but you don’t!” Jemima is continuing delightedly, like a cat tearing apart its prey. “You underestimated her, Jack Harper. You underestimated what she’s capable of!”

  I try to speak—but not a sound comes out. Nothing in my body will work properly. I’m pinioned, staring helplessly at him with a face I know is covered with guilt.

  Jack opens his mouth, then closes it again. Then he turns on his heel, pushes the door open, and walks out.

  For a moment there’s silence in the tiny room.

  “Well!” says Jemima, brushing her hands together with satisfaction. “That showed him!”

  It’s as though she breaks the spell. Suddenly I can move again. I can draw breath. “You …” I’m almost shaking too much to speak. “You stupid … stupid … thoughtless … bitch!”

  The door bursts open and Lissy appears, wide-eyed. “What the hell happened here?” she demands. �
�I just saw Jack storming out. He looked absolutely … like thunder!”

  “She brought a journalist here!” I say in anguish, gesturing at Jemima. “A bloody tabloid journalist! And Jack found us all closeted here, and he thinks … God knows what he thinks.”

  “You stupid cow!” Lissy slaps Jemima across the face. “What were you doing!”

  “Ow! I was helping Emma get vengeance on her enemy!”

  “He’s not my enemy, you stupid …” I’m on the verge of tears. “Lissy … what am I going to do? What?”

  “Go,” she says, and looks at me with anxious eyes. “You can still catch him. Go.”

  I tear out the door and through the courtyard, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my lungs burning. As I reach the road, I look frantically left and right. Suddenly I spot him, down the road.

  “Jack, wait.”

  He’s striding along with his mobile phone to his ear, and at my voice he turns around with a taut face. “So that’s why you were so interested in Scotland.”

  “No!” I say, aghast. “No! Listen, Jack. They don’t know. They don’t know anything. I promise. I didn’t tell them about—” I stop myself. “All Jemima knows is that you were there. Nothing more. She was bluffing! I haven’t said anything!”

  Jack doesn’t answer. His eyes search my face briefly, then he starts striding again.

  “It was Jemima who called that guy, not me!” I cry desperately, running after him. “I was trying to stop her … Jack, you know me! You know I would never do this to you. Yes, I told Jemima about your being in Scotland. I was hurt, and I was angry, and it … came out. And that was a mistake. But … but you made a mistake, too, and I forgave you!”

  He’s not even looking at me. He’s not even giving me a chance. His silver car pulls up at the pavement, and he opens the passenger door.

  I feel a stab of panic. “Jack, this wasn’t me,” I say frantically. “It wasn’t. You have to believe me. That’s not why I asked about Scotland! I didn’t want to … to sell your secret!” Tears are streaming down my face, and I roughly brush them away. “I didn’t even want to know such a big secret. I just wanted to know your little secrets! Your little stupid secrets! I just wanted to know you … like you know me.”

  But he doesn’t even look around. The door closes with a heavy clunk, and the car moves away down the road. And I’m left on the pavement, all alone.

  Twenty-six

  For a while I can’t even move. I stand there, dazed, with the breeze blowing on my face, and stare at the point at the end of the road where Jack’s car disappeared. I can still hear his voice in my mind. I can still see his face. The way he looked at me as though he didn’t know me after all.

  A spasm of pain runs through my body and I close my eyes, almost unable to bear it. If I could just turn back time … if I’d been more forceful … if I’d marched Jemima and her friend off the premises … if I’d spoken up more quickly when Jack appeared …

  But I didn’t. And it’s too late.

  A group of party guests comes out of the courtyard onto the pavement, laughing and discussing taxis.

  “Are you all right?” says one to me.

  “Er, yes,” I say. “Thanks.” I look one more time at where Jack’s car disappeared, then force myself to turn around and make my way back up to the party.

  I find Lissy and Jemima still in the little office, Jemima cowering in terror as Lissy lays into her.

  “… selfish, immature little bitch! You make me sick, you know that?”

  Lissy is in full Rottweiler barrister mode. As I watch her striding up and down, her eyes blazing in fury, I’m actually pretty scared myself.

  “Emma, make her stop!” pleads Jemima. “Make her stop shouting at me!”

  “So … what happened?” Lissy looks at me, her face alight with hope. Mutely, I shake my head.

  “Is he—”

  “He’s gone.” I swallow. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “Oh, Emma.” She bites her lip.

  “Don’t,” I say in a wobbly voice. “I’ll cry.” I lean against the wall and take a couple of deep breaths, trying to get back to normal. “Where’s her friend?” I say at last, and jerk my thumb at Jemima.

  “He got thrown out,” says Lissy with satisfaction. “He was trying to take a picture of a Linklaters partner in his tights, and a bunch of lawyers surrounded him and bundled him out.”

  “Jemima, listen to me.” I force myself to meet her unrepentant blue gaze. “You cannot let him find out any more. You cannot.”

  “It’s OK,” she says, sulking. “I’ve already spoken to him. Lissy made me. He won’t pursue it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He won’t do anything that would piss Mummy off. He has a pretty lucrative arrangement with her.”

  I shoot Lissy a “can we trust her?” look, and she gives a doubtful little shrug.

  “Jemima, this is a warning.” I walk to the door, then turn around, trying to summon all my strength. “If anything of this gets out. Anything at all … I will make it public that you snore.”

  “I don’t snore!” says Jemima.

  “Yes, you do,” says Lissy. “When you’ve had too much to drink, you snore really loudly. And we’ll tell everyone you got your Donna Karan coat from a discount warehouse shop.”

  Jemima gasps. “I didn’t!” she says, color suffusing her cheeks.

  “You did! I saw the carrier bag,” I chime in. “And we’ll make it public that your pearls are cultured, not real …”

  Jemima claps a hand over her mouth.

  “… and you never really cook the food at your dinner parties …”

  “… and that photo of you meeting Prince William is faked …”

  “… and we’ll tell every single man you ever date from now on that all you’re after is a rock on your finger!” Lissy finishes. I shoot a grateful glance at her.

  “OK!” says Jemima, practically in tears. “OK! I promise I’ll forget all about it. I promise! Just please don’t mention the discount warehouse shop. Please. Can I go now?”

  “Yes, you can go,” says Lissy with a contemptuous nod, and Jemima scuttles out of the room.

  As the door closes, I catch Lissy’s eye. “Is that photo of Jemima and Prince William really faked?”

  “Yes! Didn’t I tell you? I once did some stuff for her on her computer, and I opened the file by mistake … and there it was. She just pasted her head onto some other girl’s body!”

  “That girl is unbelievable!”

  I sink down into a chair, feeling suddenly weak, and for a while there’s silence in the room. In the distance there’s a roar of laughter from the party, and somebody walks past the door of the office, talking about the trouble with the judiciary system as it stands.

  “Wouldn’t he even listen?” says Lissy at last.

  “No. He just left.”

  “Isn’t that a bit extreme? I mean, he gave away all your secrets. You only gave away one of his—”

  “You don’t understand.” I study the drab brown office carpet. “What Jack told me … it’s not just anything. It’s something really precious to him. He came all the way here to tell me. To show me that he trusted me with it.” I swallow hard. “And the next moment he thinks I’m spilling it to a journalist.”

  “But you weren’t!” says Lissy loyally. “Emma, this wasn’t your fault!”

  “It was!” Tears are welling up in my eyes. “If I’d just kept my mouth closed, if I’d never told Jemima anything in the first place …”

  “She would have got him anyway,” says Lissy. “He’d be suing you for a scraped car instead. Or damaged genitals.”

  I can’t help but laugh, albeit weakly.

  The door bursts open, and the feathered guy I saw backstage looks in. “Lissy! There you are. They’re serving food. It looks rather good, actually.”

  “OK!” she says. “Thanks, Colin. I’ll be along in a minute.”

  He disappears agai
n, and Lissy turns to me. “Do you want something to eat?”

  “I’m not really hungry. But you go,” I add quickly. “You must be starving after your performance.”

  “I am rather ravenous,” she admits. Then she gives me an anxious look. “But what will you do?”

  “I’ll … just go home,” I say, and try to smile as cheerfully as I can. “Don’t worry, Lissy. I’ll be fine.”

  And I am planning to go home. But when I get outside, I suddenly find I can’t bring myself to. I’m wound up with tension like a metal coil. I can’t face going into the party and having to make small talk … but I can’t face the four silent walls of my bedroom, either. Not quite yet.

  Instead, I find myself heading across the gravel, toward the empty auditorium. The door is unlocked, and I walk straight in. I make my way through the darkness to a seat in the middle row and wearily sit down on the cushiony purple plush.

  Two fat tears slowly trickle down my face. I cannot believe I’ve fucked up so monumentally. I can’t believe Jack really thinks I … that he thinks I would …

  I keep seeing the shock on his face. I keep reliving that trapped powerlessness, that desperation to speak, to explain myself.

  If I could just replay it …

  Suddenly there’s a creaking sound. The door is opening.

  I peer through the gloom as a figure comes into the auditorium and stops.

  In spite of myself, my chest constricts with unbearable hope.

  It’s Jack. It has to be Jack. He’s come to find me.

  There’s a long, agonizing silence. Why won’t he say anything? Why won’t he speak? Is he punishing me? Is he expecting me to apologize again? Oh, God, this is torture. Just say something, I plead silently. Just say something.…

  “Oh, Francesca …”

  “Connor …”

  What? I peer again and feel a crash of disappointment. I am such a stupid moron. It’s not Jack. It’s not one figure; it’s two. It’s Connor and what must be his new girlfriend—and they’re kissing.

  Miserably, I shrink down in my seat, trying to block my ears. But it’s no good; I can hear everything.

  “Do you like this?” I hear Connor murmuring.