Page 65 of The Importance of Being Emma
‘I never gossip,’ I said coolly, trying to shake her off my arm.
Just then Kate appeared with fresh coffee and I managed to give Batty the slip. For the rest of the evening, I kept well away from her relentless wittering and stayed as close as I could to Flynn. We spent most of the time in stitches at his stories about near disasters on Flynn’s Cook-in.
At one point, Tom took a phone call from Mark. It seemed he was delayed, but we were not to worry; Jane was safely home and he’d taken the opportunity to deliver some paperwork to one of his directors, which would involve a cup of coffee and a chat. With Kate’s prediction ringing in my ears, I didn’t believe this pathetic explanation for a moment.
When at last I heard his voice in the hall, I glanced at my watch. It had taken him over an hour to drive to Batty’s front door and back, a journey of less than a mile each way. Had Saint Jane invited him in? Had he kissed her the way he’d kissed me?Had Old Mother Bates heard them and come downstairs, just as Dad had done last night?
Then I remembered. Old Mother Bates was deaf and could hardly walk without help, let alone cope with the stairs. She couldn’t have interrupted them if she’d tried.
Did I care what Mark Knightley got up to with Jane Fairfax?
Absolutely not.
* * *
~~MARK~~
Not surprisingly, after taking Jane home I was in no rush to go back to the Westons’. I drove straight on to Kingston and came back to Highbury by an extremely slow and circuitous route. Being in the car reminded me of last night, with Emma sleeping beside me.
It felt like a century ago.
When I walked into the living room at Randalls, the first thing I saw was Emma and Churchill in a corner together, laughing their heads off. I sat down beside Henry, refused his offer of cold camomile tea and gratefully accepted Kate’s of freshly brewed coffee.
Churchill immediately broke off his conversation with Emma and grinned unpleasantly at me. ‘We were wondering where you’d got to, Mark, until you rang and explained. Do you often dish out work on a Saturday night?’
I kept my tone as neutral as I could. ‘Not usually, but it couldn’t be helped.’
‘And how was dear Jane?’ Mary said.
‘When I left her, she was about to take a painkiller and go to bed.’
‘Did you see Mrs Bates?’ This from Emma, the first time she’d spoken to me all evening.
Mary gave her a puzzled look. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so, dear. I put Mother to bed before I went out, with the TV on and the phone next to her, of course. And she can’t get very far on her own, as you know.’ She turned to me. ‘I imagine she was asleep by the time you arrived.’
‘I imagine she was,’ I said, with a reassuring smile. ‘She certainly didn’t disturb us.’
Emma jumped up, scowling. ‘Time to go, Dad. I’ll get our coats.’
I sensed she wasn’t at all happy with my answer, although I couldn’t for the life of me see why.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
I vowed never to drink camomile tea again. What was the point of dosing yourself with something that tasted like stewed grass — which technically it was, I suppose — if it didn’t do what it was meant to? Instead of dropping off to sleep instantly, I lay awake for the second night in a row, mulling over everything that had happened.
Most of the time I thought about Flynn, of course. But there was also Harriet’s incomprehensible fixation with Robert Martin; then that distasteful encounter with Philip and Gusty; and finally, the possibility that Saint Jane would very soon be snugly — or should that be smugly? — installed at Donwell . . .
Kate phoned the next morning, with the news that Flynn was coming to see me. ‘He’s gone to Mary’s first, she left her mother’s specs here last night and he offered to drop them off on his way to you.’ She paused. ‘Tom and I were just saying, you seem to have made a big impression on him already.’
I smirked at myself in the mirror above the telephone table, then did a double take. Shit! After that lousy sleep, I lookeda complete wreck. ‘When do you think he’ll get here?’ I said, anxiously.
She laughed. ‘Who knows? He said last time he called at Mary’s he was trapped there for three hours. We all know what she’s like, don’t we?’
I brought the conversation to an end as soon as I could, and raced upstairs to change my clothes and put on some make-up. Then I waited, and waited . . .
After an hour and a half, the phone rang; it was Flynn, full of apologies.
