Page 6 of The Importance of Being Emma
The poor girl went crimson. As she opened her mouth to speak, I intervened before she came out with ‘Hiya, Mark-Harriet’.
‘It must be confusing being bombarded with so many new names. I’m sure Mary will make you a seating plan for the Board meeting, then you’ll know who’s saying what.’
Batty’s face lit up. ‘Such a good idea, Emma, as always, I don’t know how you . . . Harriet dear, come with me and we’ll get started.’
They went out and I smiled to myself. More through luck than skill, Batty had found me the perfect PA. First, Harriet’s nervousness wasn’t a problem. It was even understandable, since Highbury Foods was a big step up from a half-baked outfit like Abbey Mill Haulage; and I much preferred nervousness to brash self-confidence. Second, she was crying out for my help. A complete makeover was needed and I had plenty of spare time now that my academic studies were at an end. Finally, she had neither the intellect nor the experience to challenge my ideas — or so it seemed. I made a mental note to reserve judgement; anyone would act like a halfwit after a long dose of Batty.
As if he could read my mind, Mark said, ‘Let’s hope Harriet’s up to the job.’
‘Poor Kate, why did she get married?’ Dad spread out his hands in despair.
Mark was incredulous. ‘Poor Kate? More like clever Kate. She’s just halved her workload — only Tom to run round after, instead of you two.’
I noticed a teasing glint in his eye and decided to rise to the bait. ‘Especially when one of us is such a pain.’
‘You took the words right out of my mouth,’ he said, with a grin.
Dad gave a wan smile. ‘I know I can be a bit of a nuisance at times—’
‘Oh Dad, we didn’t mean you!’ I darted behind the desk to give him a swift kiss on the cheek. ‘Mark thinks I’m the pain, not you. But it doesn’t bother me, we always say whatever we like to each other, then forget all about it.’
Dad shook his head in bewilderment.
‘If that was true, I’d be wasting my time — and Henry’s money — mentoring you for the next six months,’ Mark said, a note of irritation in his voice. ‘Anyway, I’m probably underestimating Kate, I expect she’s already got Tom running round afterher. And I bet she’s enjoying every single minute.’
Then it hit me. Kate’s life had taken a new direction and she was no longer at my beck and call. I made a big show of arranging the pens on Dad’s desk.
Mark broke the silence. ‘Now, Henry, where’s that agenda you mentioned?’
* * *
~~MARK~~
With the mentoring in mind, Henry had suggested I share Emma’s office whenever I was at Highbury Foods. I sat there now, pretending to re-read the Board papers but secretly watching her as she scowled at her PC.
I still couldn’t get over how much she’d changed physically. The only photos I’d seen of her were the slapdash efforts of my sister-in-law Izzy, whose camera lens was always focused on her kids. More often than not Emma was just a blurred face, or hardly visible under a pile of chubby little arms and legs.
So, no more Mouse. It was the end of an era.
But the dawn of a new one, neatly summed up by that headline, ‘Gentleman’s Relish’. Ironic, of course; when I’d first caught sight of her earlier today, my thoughts had been anything but gentlemanly . . .
I closed my file with a snap. Time for the Board meeting.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
I couldn’t resist checking Batty’s seating plan from across the boardroom table. At one end of a long rectangle she had ‘HLW — Henry Woodhouse, Managing Director’; at the other, ‘MGK — Mark Knightley, Non-Executive Director’. I knew what the G stood for, of course. The Knightleys believed in recycling the same solid old-fashioned names, as if promoting themselves as fine specimens of English manhood; the father was George James and the two sons were Mark George and John James.
My parents had been more imaginative; my sister and I were named Isabella Maria, Izzy for short, and Emma Carlotta. That was all down to Sophia, our Italian mother, who died in a car crash when I was three and Izzy was twelve. She’d apparently been a breath of fresh air in Highbury — outspoken and headstrong, but charming with it. It made me wonder how she’d coped with Dad, although Mark once told me that he used to be full of energy.
On Batty’s plan, I was at right angles to Mark: ‘ECW — Emma Woodhouse, Marketing Director’. Next to me was ‘PTW — Penny Worthington, HR Director’, then ‘JM — Jon Marshall, Operations Director’ and ‘TSW — Terry White, Sales Director’. Opposite was Batty herself, ‘MEB — Mary Bates, Company Secretary’, then Harriet and finally ‘PE — Philip Elton, Finance Director’.
Finance, yawn, was my least favourite MBA subject and Philip himself was new to the company. I’d only met him once before, briefly, whereas I’d known the others for years. One of my priorities was to make them forget I was Henry’s little girl and accept me as an equal.
Fortified by a cup of nettle leaf tea, Dad opened the meeting and welcomed the new faces. We went through apologies(none), minutes of the last meeting (approved) and then to the substance of the meeting, the directors’ reports.
Everything was fine until my turn came. I’d persuaded Dad to give me a slot on the agenda, as I wanted to share my marketing plans with the Board and get some early buy-in. I’d prepared a presentation on my PC, then found there was no projector, so everyone had a paper copy of my slides instead.
