Page 68 of The Importance of Being Emma
‘I haven’t, he can’t do today any more. But he says he can do Thursday and he’ll pick you up from here at one o’clock.’
Huh, I’d been so confident that my suggestion to meet on Thursday would be a non-starter. I screwed up the letter I washolding, a glossy invitation to learn ‘intuitive influencing skills’, and hurled it at the waste paper basket. It missed.
‘Shit.’ I gave Harriet a tight-lipped smile. ‘Sorry, must have got up on the wrong side of bed.’
It wasn’t strictly true — I’d been fine until Flynn’s phone call. This was the second time he’d let me down; not a very promising start, given that we’d only known each other for two days. When I told him as much, he just laughed and said there was another reason for going into London, but he wasn’t at liberty to tell me. I immediately thought of his negotiations with the BBC and felt slightly less annoyed.
The morning dragged by; in desperation, I invited Saint Jane out to lunch. We went to Chez Pierre, where I hoped the haute cuisine and a large glass of Chablis would loosen her tongue on two subjects: everything she knew about Flynn from her time in Weymouth, and what had happened with Mark on Saturday night.
It didn’t go to plan at all; instead,shesubjectedmeto an hour-long interrogation on my marketing strategy. The only thing I learned about Flynn was that he claimed he’d increased The Mulberry Tree’s revenue by an average of thirty per cent a week. More importantly, however, I got the impression that he didn’t have a girlfriend — which was all I really wanted to know.
When it came to Saturday night, I tried the subtle approach.
‘Mark’s been behaving quite strangely since his split with Tamara,’ I said. ‘Didn’t you notice, when we were at Kate and Tom’s?’
She paused with a forkful of Caesar salad halfway to her mouth. ‘What, exactly?’
Trust her to quibble. I racked my brains and came up with, ‘He was staring at people.’
‘Can’t say I noticed.’ She began to chew the salad, very slowly.
‘What about when he took you home?’ I leaned forward. ‘Did he do anything there that was, um, out of the ordinary?’
I had an agonising wait while she finished chewing. At last she said, ‘Not that I recall.’
So they hadn’t even . . . I mean, surely the woman would recall a kiss that made you feel like . . . Oh shit, why did I have to remember it all so vividly?
Maybe she was lying; but somehow I knew she wasn’t. As I’d thought, Kate was totally off track about her and Mark.
Back at Highbury Foods, we were walking to the lift when Jess, one of the receptionists, rushed over to us, grinning broadly.
‘Your car’s just been delivered, Jane, here are the keys.’
Jane stopped dead. ‘My what?’
‘Didn’t you see it in the car park? An old Jaguar, an E-type, the man said. Go outside and look over to the left, it’s a lovely bright red, you can’t miss it.’
Jane was silent for a moment. Then, ‘There must be some mistake.’
‘So you weren’t expecting it this soon?’ Jess said. ‘Chill out, it’s not often things arrive early—’
‘I wasn’t expecting it at all,’ Jane said abruptly. ‘You must have got me mixed up with someone else.’
‘No way, I saw your name on the papers — Jane Fairfax, Marketing Department, Highbury Foods. Here, see for yourself.’ She held out a large brown envelope.
Jane made no move to take it, just looked down at the floor.
Jess giggled. ‘If you don’t know anything about it, you must have a very nice boyfriend.’
‘Thank you, Jess, I’ll have the envelope, and the keys,’ I said. I took them from her, then steered Jane back through the main door and into the car park.
I spotted the Jag in one of the visitors’ spaces, low and sleek, its immaculate red paintwork gleaming in the pale autumn sun. We came to a halt several yards away and simply gazed at it. I reckoned it must have cost several thousand pounds, maybe even five figures. Some car. Some present. Some boyfriend.
For the first time in my life, I heard a little moan of pleasure escape from Jane Fairfax’s lips. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? I’ve always wanted one exactly like this.’
I said nothing; such an unexpected glimpse into her inner world threw me completely. Saint Jane, secretly hankering after a red E-type — whatever next?
Then she folded her arms and said, ‘Now I’ll have to send it back.’
