Page 51 of The Importance of Being Emma
Judy gave me a sympathetic look. ‘Would you excuse me, Emma? Charles Durham’s just arrived with our Chief Exec and I need to check something.’
This time I heard every word Mark said, his voice deceptively even. ‘Yes, you’ve got a chance, arsehole — a chance of getting your face smashed in, nothing else.’
‘No need to be so touchy, you wanker.’ Lorimer stumbled off, while Mark and I stared at each other in embarrassed silence.
Mark cleared his throat. ‘Sorry about that.’
I shrugged. ‘It’s not your fault. And, believe me, I’ve been called worse than high-class totty.’
‘And I’ve been called far worse than a wanker,’ he said, with a rueful smile. ‘Come on, let’s go and talk to that guy in the pink shirt over there. I happen to know he’s a market research expert, so you can pick his brains about your focus groups. And I guarantee he’s not a bit like Lorimer.’
He guided me across the room, his hand in the small of my back under my jacket. Meaningless etiquette, nothing more; but I missed its warmth when he took it away.
It seemed no time at all until dinner was served. If I’d been impressed by the elegant restraint of Hoskins, I was dazzled by the gilded opulence of the Lady Marian Alford room: hugepillars of rose marble, ornate fireplaces, and the most fabulous painted ceiling showing gods and goddesses at play. Our table companions were entertaining, without being overpowering; the food was exquisitely cooked and presented; and Mark was on top form — charming, attentive, funny — as if he wasn’t missing Tamara one bit. I knew better than to take him at face value, though; he was certainly putting on some sort of act.
I had my own problems, however. Although, as he’d predicted, I’d fallen in love with Ashridge, there was a most peculiar side effect. During the meal, I found myself looking at Mark and imagining us together in that cosy little room for the night. As there was nothing else to sleep on, we’d have to share the bed. Would we lie rigid at its edges, or snuggle up to each other to keep warm? Another scenario came to mind, but I dismissed it instantly. That was why I was so determined to go back to Highbury tonight — to prove that I had no designs on him whatsoever.
It was fortunate that I’d arranged to ring Dad, as it provided a temporary distraction; I couldn’t resist describing the meal in mouthwatering detail.
He tut-tutted down the phone. ‘Far too much saturated fat, especially at this time of night. Crème brûlée for dessert, did you say?’
‘Yes, Mark says it’s acquired a cult status among the Alumni. And it was absolutely delicious, the topping caramelised to perfection and the custard so thick and creamy.’
He gave a faint moan, presumably of disgust, then asked to speak to Mark. I guessed this was to make sure he sounded sober enough to drive me home and we laughed about it later, over coffee.
‘All he supposedly wanted to know was whether there was a frost,’ Mark said. ‘I told him I hadn’t really noticed, whichimmediately put the fear of God into him. But I think I managed to reassure him I wasn’t paralytic, just unobservant.’
I sighed. ‘He still thinks I need protecting.’
Mark raised one eyebrow. ‘From me?’
‘Hardly,’ I said, trying not to blush. ‘I wasn’t thinking of anyone specific.’
‘Of course.’ That amused tone again. ‘Look, I think Charles Durham’s about to speak — do you want another coffee, or something from the bar?’
‘Coffee, please. I have a feeling you’re going to interrogate me afterwards, so I’ll need all my wits about me.’
A teasing look. ‘Am I really that bad?’
‘You know you are — with me, at least.’
For once, it seemed, those steely blue eyes softened. ‘I could change, if you wanted me to.’
I pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure I could cope with a changed Mark Knightley.’
Before he could respond, a man I assumed was the Chief Executive got to his feet. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce our speaker. He’s known to have extremely high principles and, more unusually, the integrity to live by them. Please welcome Charles Durham!’
During the polite applause that followed, I reflected that Ashridge seemed to have done Mark a power of good. He was more mellow, almost flirtatious; great company, provided you didn’t take his attentions seriously.
In the end, I spent far too much time thinking about Mark, at the expense of listening to Charles.
* * *
~~MARK~~
‘Good speech, wasn’t it?’ I said, as we walked back to the room. To pick up our bags, of course. Nothing more.
‘Brilliant.’
