Page 109 of The Importance of Being Emma
So it was some furtive phone call with Dan Dixon that had made her cry. Unless . . . what if she actually meant Mark? Maybe he was wrong and she was hopelessly in love with him. Weird to think I might have that in common with her. And weird to think he could have had either of us, yet he’d chosen Harriet.
I let out a long breath. ‘Join the club. I used to think I was an expert, but now . . . I’ve had two serious relationships and I managed each of them like a project. You know, see it throughto completion in an organised way, evaluate the learnings and all that crap. Now I realise that was because I always engaged brain rather than heart.’
She gave a faint smile. ‘You don’t get your brain broken, do you? People talk about brain ache, which suggests some sort of minor discomfort that you recover from fairly quickly. But a heartbreaks —much more catastrophic.’
Another silence, this time almost companionable.
‘When do you think you’ll be back at work?’ I said, at last.
‘Would you mind if I stayed off until Monday? It’s not that I’m too ill to work, I’ve been doing some at home. It’s just — well, Aunt Mary’s a lovely person, but I’m a bit fragile at the moment, I need some space. If I come into the office, she’ll fuss round me all day and I’ll lose it with her, I really will.’
For once in my life, I felt I could come to respect Jane Fairfax. With time and a following wind, of course.
* * *
~~MARK~~
The rest of the week was full of meetings with Father and the other directors. In between, I made all the remaining arrangements for India, passed on the relevant medical information to Harriet and Rob and started my packing.
And then it was Saturday, the day of my farewell dinner at the Box Hill Restaurant. I drove there alone an hour ahead of my guests. John was bringing the rest of the family along later and Father had offered to drive the Mercedes home at the end of the evening, so that I could indulge in a few celebratory drinks. Celebratory drinks? More like drowning my sorrows. All week I’d kept my despair at bay — but only just. Now I could feel it looming like a thundercloud.
I was determined nothing would ruin tonight, however; not even my own masochistic tendencies. And yet, as I arrived at BoxHill and was shown into the large lounge area, I couldn’t help hoping that Emma would be impressed by its ambience. Rough-cast cream walls and exposed black beams blended surprisingly well with chunky chocolate-leather armchairs, ethnic rugs and modern artwork. The heavy burnt-orange curtains had been left open and the soft glow of the lights was reflected in the dark glass, so that the room seemed doubly warm and welcoming. I sat down beside the log fire, ordered a gin and tonic and willed myself to relax.
I hadn’t seen or spoken to Emma since the party at Donwell. Within the hour, however, she’d be here and I’d feel the beat of my heart quicken at the very sight of her . . . Strange how you live for the next twist of the knife.
The waiter came to see if I wanted another drink and I took the opportunity to check tonight’s bookings. It had just occurred to me that, by some awful coincidence or contrivance, Gusty might turn up. I heaved a sigh of relief when he announced there was nothing under the name of Elton or Hawkins.
Another gin and tonic later, I was still on my own and getting more and more dejected. What if my plans for Harriet and Rob didn’t work out? I’d have raised their expectations and disrupted their lives for nothing. And what if things had changed on the business front in India, even in such a short time? I’d tried to protect our supply chain from four thousand miles away, and I had some good local contacts to help me; but people could be fickle, particularly in a developing market. Most of all, what if I couldn’t handle seeing Emma tonight? Especially withhim? I’d invited him because I’d been brought up to do the right thing, even when it hurt like hell.
I let out a long, ragged breath. Perhaps the only solution was to drink until I was incapable of causing GBH.
The arrival of Steve and my other good friend Ben, along with their wives, forced me to pull myself together. They weresoon followed by the Perrys, who’d brought Mary and Jane; and John, with Izzy, Father, Saffron and my nephews Harry and James. I’d invited all the children, but Izzy didn’t approve of the younger ones eating out, as their digestive systems were ‘still so delicate’. I had to smile; John obviously hadn’t told her about the Chicken McNuggets Bella wolfed down when he took her to see the latest Disney film over Christmas.
Despite all these distractions, I knew the moment Emma entered the room. I turned round and there she was, standing just inside the door, in the blue dress she’d worn at Ashridge — the night we’d first kissed, the night before Churchill came on the scene. The dress didn’t fit quite as well as I remembered, as though she’d lost a bit of weight, and she looked tired. I hoped it wasn’t sleepless nights over Churchill; the bastard wasn’t worth it.
Talk of the devil. Just as our eyes met and held, he materialised at her side, took her arm and walked her jauntily towards me.
‘’Evening,’ he said. ‘The others won’t be long, Dad’s just parking the car, Henry’s removing ninety layers of clothing and Kate’s in the Ladies, where she seems to spend most of her time these days. Bet you’re glad you’re not pregnant, Em.’
I froze. How much had she told him about that night at Forbury Manor? Had she ever confided her fears that she might be pregnant with my child? She gave an almost imperceptible flinch and looked away, while he fixed his gaze on something — or someone — behind me, apparently unconcerned. Somehow I knew that it was just one of his careless remarks and he was unaware of that particular tension between us.
‘Right,’ I said, forcing a smile, ‘now that everyone’s here, let’s get started on the champagne.’
* * *
~~EMMA~~
‘Now that everyone’s here’ . . .
Everyone except the new person in his life, Harriet.
Not that I minded in the least that she wasn’t here tonight; I’d had enough of her in the office, smiling into space and singing love songs — oh, and suddenly announcing that she was taking the next two weeks off and hoping it wouldn’t inconvenience metoomuch.
The morning after the party, I’d asked her outright what Mark had said; but she told me he’d sworn her to secrecy. I could piece it all together, though, from her scribbled reminders about suntan lotion and malaria tablets, and the India-related websites she surfed when she thought I wasn’t looking. I’d guessed right; she’d be boarding that plane with him on Sunday so that they could get to know each other far away from the twitching net curtains of Highbury.
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 andHarriet? 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.
