Page 110 of The Importance of Being Emma
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 toEngland 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 toin 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.’
