Page 72 of The Importance of Being Emma
~~MARK~~
I wasn’t surprised to get a phone call from Henry about the mentoring. He’d paid a considerable amount of money up front, after all.
‘How’s it going?’ he said.
I hesitated, wondering how best to break the news that it wasn’t. ‘Slowly. So far we’ve only had one proper meeting. I can’t count Ashridge and we had to cancel the one scheduled for last Thursday.’
‘And I’ve paid you for six sessions?’
‘You have.’
‘This isn’t like you, Mark, you’re normally so focused. There’s a problem, isn’t there?’
‘Yes.’ I braced myself for a showdown.
‘And the problem, of course, is Jane. You feel she’d benefit from your expertise as much as Emma, if not more so.’ He paused, and I decided not to correct him. He went on, ‘I don’t suppose you’d mentor them together for the same price?’
‘That would never work,’ I said firmly. ‘It’ll have to be just one of them for the remaining five sessions.’
‘Hmmm. Naturally I’d prefer you to continue with Emma, but Jane might never have such a marvellous opportunity again, it would do wonders for her personal development. Hard to choose between them, isn’t it?’
‘Very,’ I lied. ‘But it’d better be Jane. As you say, it’s a great opportunity and should make her even more effective while she’s at Highbury Foods.’
‘Excellent! I’m sure Emma will understand, when I get round to telling her. In the meantime you can start mentoring Jane — let me know how it goes.’
So, no more one-to-ones with Emma Woodhouse. No more treading that dangerous line between business and pleasure. No more fighting the temptation to take her in my arms and—
The relief was indescribable.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
Over dinner a few days later, I found the right moment to ask Dad about an invitation to the Christmas party for Flynn. It was surprisingly easy to persuade him; almost as if he felt he owed me one, although I couldn’t think why.
As soon as he’d settled down with a book in his usual corner of the dining room, I went upstairs, stretched out on my bed and reached for the phone. I smiled to myself as I dialled Flynn’s mobile number.
He answered immediately, his voice warm and loving. ‘Hello, gorgeous.’
I giggled. ‘Hello gorgeous, yourself.’
A pause. Then, ‘Is that you, Em?’
‘Yes.’ I added, somewhat confused, ‘Didn’t you recognise my number?’
‘Of course.’ Another pause. ‘Just thought I’d check, better safe than sorry.’
‘The reception’s a bit dodgy. Where are you?’
‘In the Lake District.’ He laughed. ‘Lots of sheep, just like back home.’
‘The Lakes? But that’s hundreds of miles away! What are you doing there?’
‘It’s a BBC thing, top secret,’ he said. ‘I meant to call and see you before I left, but I ran out of time. Made the mistake of going to say goodbye to the Bateses first and the aunt burbled on for hours.’
‘More fool you for going,’ I said drily. ‘When will you be back?’
‘Could be a couple of days, could be a few weeks. It depends.’
