Page 61 of The Importance of Being Emma
I held it rather gingerly by the edges. It was of good quality and had ‘Augusta Hawkins, ACA, Strategic Financial Consultant’ across the middle, with a five-lobed leaf below, all in gold. I turned it over and read: ‘The Maple Grove Consultancy, for businesses that can afford the best’. I was surprised, however, to see that the contact address began ‘3, Paradise View, Little Bassington’.
‘So you’re going to be based here?’ I said.
‘Until Pipkin tires of me.’ She poked Philip playfully, but hard, in the ribs.
‘That’ll never happen, babe, and you know it.’ ‘Pipkin’ leaned into her and started nibbling her ear.
I gave a brittle smile. ‘Looks like you’re hungry, mustn’t keep you from your tea.’ With that, I steered Harriet firmly over to her car. By the time she’d found her keys, dropped them in a puddle and fished them out again, the lovebirds were safely inside Tilly’s.
Harriet frowned as she unlocked her car. ‘That’s a funny name — Gutsy.’
‘Gusty. It’s short for Augusta.’
‘She’s so-o-o cool.’
‘I thought she was rather vulgar,’ I said, with a sniff.
‘He’s crazy about her.’
‘Looks like it, although I really can’t understand what he sees in her, compared to you — or me.’
‘They’re obviously at it like rabbits.’
‘Yes, we were getting that message loud and clear.’
‘Lucky them. Go for it while you have the friggin’ chance, that’s what I say.’ She let out a long noisy sigh and got into the car. ‘Thanks for the tea, see you Monday.’
She turned the key in the ignition, revved up the engine, fumbled through various gears and drove off, narrowly missing my foot.
I stood in the middle of the car park, deep in thought. ‘Go for it while you have the frigging chance.’ Such a simple philosophy.
Well, I felt sure I had a chance with Flynn. And I’d be going for it — come hell, high water or Mark Knightley.
Chapter Eight
~~MARK~~
The evening at Randalls was just about tolerable, until Churchill started playing his little games.
The seating arrangements didn’t help. He and I were directly opposite each other, which made him difficult to ignore. And I found it even harder to ignore Emma, who was next to him. Especially in that dress, or what there was of it.
I had to admit that the food was good, although I couldn’t believe Churchill had made do with what Kate had in her kitchen. On the other hand, knowing Kate, she’d have an impressive range of ingredients permanently in the fridge and plenty more in the freezer, neatly labelled no doubt. Whatever the truth of the matter, he’d managed to produce smoked salmon pâté, orange-glazed roast lamb and a rum-soaked pineapple cake, all washed down with a few bottles of Château Margaux 1959 from Tom’s antique wine cellar.
Henry, meanwhile, spooned his way through three courses of orangey-yellow mush. I suspected this was simply a purée of what we were eating, but Churchill gave him some bullshit about it being carrots and saffron specially blended with artichoke, which the Aborigines swore by for improving the digestion. Everyone greeted this pronouncement with oohs and ahs of wonder — except me. Anyway, Henry seemed happy enough; or maybe he was too distracted by Mary to notice what he was eating.
‘Dave Ford’s been so kind,’ Mary said, as soon as there was a lull in the conversation. ‘He wouldn’t take any money today for towing my car, said he’d just add it on to my bill, which is very considerate of him when you remember his wife’s . . . Butunfortunately he thinks my big end’s gone, or was it my cylinder head gasket?’
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Churchill whisper something in Emma’s ear and send her off into a fit of the giggles.
Mary continued, ‘Either way, he says it’s going to beveryexpensive and he might have to keep the car for three weeks, with all the other work he’s . . . If there was only me to think about, I’d just hop on my bike—’
‘Your bike?’ Henry leaned forward, his eyes wide with horror. ‘You’d be mown down by a juggernaut in no time, especially with the nights drawing in.’
‘No need to worry, Henry, I won’t even consider it because dear Jane needs to get to work as well. Although I do believe we’ve still got that old bike of hers . . .’ She tittered. ‘She was quite the demon racer at one time, left all the children round here way behind — don’t you remember, Emma?’
Emma’s face darkened and I couldn’t resist saying in a loud aside to Kate beside me, ‘Emma was always going to take her cycling proficiency test but she never put in the hours, did she, after her initial burst of enthusiasm?’
Henry frowned. ‘I’d offer you both a lift with Emma and me, but I’m afraid our morning routine’s rather unpredictable at the moment. Porridge for breakfast, you know,’ he added, as if that explained everything.
