Page 111 of The Importance of Being Emma
‘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, withhim.’ 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?’
