Page 42 of The Importance of Being Emma
~~MARK~~
There was no way I was spending time on my own with Emma in my present frame of mind. Especially at Ashridge, a former stately home in a beautiful wooded setting; a very romantic environment, which I’d been hoping would revitalise my feelings for Tamara. Although it was barely an hour’s drive away if there were no holdups on the M25, I’d arranged for us to stay overnight . . .
Tamara emailed me early on Wednesday to say she’d been to my flat in Mumbai, cleared out her belongings and returned everything I’d left at her place. It looked as though she’d already moved on.
So had I, as she’d so bitterly pointed out on Monday night. But ever since then I’d been tormenting myself; not about what I’d left behind with Tamara, but about what I wanted to move to with Emma, however ridiculous that seemed in my more rational moments.
Her visit to my office was a wake-up call, however. When I realised that she’d come as a friend and not for any other reason, I knew I had to stop fantasising and get on with my life — which, in the short term, would consist of work and not much else. After a week or two, I was sure I’d be able to continue mentoring her. Just not at the moment.
I spent Wednesday morning preparing my presentation for the next day’s Board meeting, thirty odd slides on Donwell Organics’ progress towards achieving its strategic objectives. I was just eating a sandwich at my desk when the phone rang. As Cherry was at lunch, I answered it.
‘Knightley.’
‘Mark?’
‘Henry, good to hear from you.’ I knew better than to ask, ‘How are you?’
‘I’ve got a little favour to ask.’ He hesitated. ‘Emma says you’ve got a spare ticket for a dinner at Ashridge this Friday?’
So now Henry was angling for an invitation. I smiled to myself; taking him would be an entirely different challenge, but one I felt far better prepared for.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It was going to be for Tamara—’
‘Ah yes, sorry to hear about you two. I imagine the time of year had something to do with it, our English autumn must have been a terrible shock to her system. Do you know, I think shemight have caught a chill on Saturday night? I’m sure you’ll be able to resolve any little differences once you’re back in India with her.’
I steered the conversation firmly away from Tamara and me. ‘You were saying, about Ashridge?’
‘Ashridge?’
‘The dinner on Friday.’
‘It’s the speaker I’m particularly interested in. I believe it’s Charles Durham talking about sustainable and ethical growth in the food and drink industry, a subject very dear to my heart.’
I wondered where he’d got his information from. I couldn’t imagine him surfing the Ashridge website, given that he didn’t even have a PC in his office. Not that it mattered; the main thing was that I would certainly have a much more relaxing evening than if I took Emma.
‘It’s dear to mine as well,’ I said. ‘And I’ve heard he’s rather controversial, so I’m looking forward to a lively debate with you on the drive home.’
He chuckled. ‘My dear boy, the spare ticket’s not forme, you know I don’t go out at night if I can help it. It’s for Emma, of course. She tells me she’s been fascinated by Charles Durham’s work for a long time and it would be a dream come true to go and hear him speak.’
‘Are you saying you want me to takeEmmato Ashridge on Friday?’ I said heavily.
‘Yes, please. And since you’re a bit behind with the mentoring, you can do some of that as well, can’t you? As she says, you may be one of our oldest friends, but business is business all the same.’
* * *
~~EMMA~~
Harriet returned to work on Wednesday and I decided to tell her about Philip as soon as a suitable opportunity came along.
With this in mind, I took her out to lunch at Chez Pierre, a smart little restaurant in Crossingley. I had plenty of openings to discuss Philip; in fact, he was the main topic of conversation throughout our meal. Over the wild boar pâté, she wondered what he might be doing in Bristol. Next, the sole Véronique reminded her that he raved about the fish in beer batter at The Ploughman. Then, as we enjoyed a large bowl of profiteroles each, she confided that his behaviour towards me at the Board meeting was due to his star sign, which she believed was Virgo. When I asked her to explain, she told me that his horoscope for Monday had predicted ‘a cosmic clash with a feisty female work colleague’.
By the time coffee was served, however, I felt I couldn’t delay any longer.
I took a deep breath. ‘Harriet, I’ve got something really awful to tell you.’
She clattered her elegant little bone china cup down on its saucer. ‘Is it about Rob? Is he going out with someone else?’
‘No, it’s not abouthim, why on earth would you think — ?’ I broke off, took another deep breath and tried again. ‘It’s Philip. It seems we’ve been — mistaken about him.’
