Page 44 of The Importance of Being Emma
She drew back, thank God. ‘I hope you get a good night’s sleep, you’ve another long day tomorrow,’ she said, her tone brisk again. ‘What time are you picking me up?’
‘I thought twelve thirty, from Highbury Foods.’
‘Great, I’ll make sure I have everything I need with me. I’m taking a change of clothes for the evening, they said the dress code was business wear but—’
‘They?’ I said, sharply.
She blushed. ‘I phoned Ashridge.’
‘Before or after Henry rang me?’
‘Before.’ She shot me a provocative look from under her eyelashes. ‘I was curious when you said the speaker wasn’t anyone I’d know.’
Curious? That was laughable. She’d phoned Ashridge because she was determined to outmanoeuvre me. She’d got the information she needed, fed Henry some crap about being Charles Durham’s biggest fan and left him to do the rest. Between them, they’d wrong-footed me completely.
Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night. The practice run had not been a success and the prospect of our visit to Ashridge stretched out before me like a minefield.
One false step could be fatal.
Chapter Six
~~EMMA~~
On Friday morning, I was at my desk composing a letter to selected customers about the focus groups, when I heard someone come into the outer office.
Batty’s voice wafted through the open door of my room. ‘. . . Mother’s terribly sore chest, all the coughing you know, must get David Perry out to her as soon as . . . Now here’s Harriet, she’ll be your PA.’
I stopped typing immediately. Who was she talking to?
My worst fears were realised when she babbled on, ‘This is Jane, Harriet. I know we didn’t expect herquiteso soon, but it’s wonderful to have heranytime, of course, and I’ve cleared it all with Henry just now. She’s starting properly on Monday, today’s a — what did you call it, dear?’
‘An orientation day, to get my bearings.’
That voice. I’d never yet heard it raised in anger, or breathless with excitement, or anything other than bland, monotonous and intensely irritating.
Batty tittered. ‘Such a clever girl, you can tell she doesn’t take after me! Emma’s through here, dear, I expect you’ll be sharing her office, unless . . . ’
Infuriating pause. Unless — what? In a bid to defend my territory, I almost sprinted across the room and came face to face with Saint Jane.
She was, as usual, a picture of restraint: not a dark hair out of place, eyes demurely downcast, expression so bloodypious. Dressed in a plain black suit and prim white shirt, she looked like a terrifyingly efficient female undertaker.
I smiled brightly and held out my hand. ‘Jane. Great to see you.’
‘Emma.’ Her fingers brushed mine with all the impact of a limp lettuce leaf.
I turned to Batty who was fidgeting beside her. ‘Pity you didn’t tell me about this, Mary, I’m going out shortly and I won’t be around for the rest of the day.’
‘So sorry, Emma, it’s all been a bit last-minute.’ She lowered her voice to a furtive whisper. ‘Jane couldn’t bear to stay in Weymouth once Charlotte and Dan left. That’s the Campbells’ daughter and her husband, they’ve gone to live in Ireland, Jane’s missing them already, aren’t you, dear?’
Jane said nothing.
‘They wanted her to go with them, Dan even offered to fix her up with something at his company in Dublin, he’s in marketing, isn’t he, Jane?’
I could have sworn Saint Jane blushed, and I began to wonder . . .
‘The timing wasn’t right,’ she said, removing an imaginary speck of dirt from her sleeve.
Much to my annoyance, Batty changed the subject. ‘Then a friend offered her a lift to Highbury, too good an opportunity to miss, dropped her off here barely an hour ago. Who was it, Jane?’ — shrill giggle — ‘I don’t believe you told me, was it aman?’
