Page 73 of The Importance of Being Emma
‘A fewweeks?’ I let out a long ragged breath. ‘It’s just that I’ve got you an invitation for December 2nd.’
‘What’s on December 2nd?’
I tried to keep the exasperation out of my voice. ‘The Highbury Foods Christmas party, remember?’
‘Oh, fantastic! I promise I’ll be there, wouldn’t miss it for the world. Listen, Em, I know we’ve only just met but you must have realised that—’
There was a loud crackle and the line went dead. Shit! I slammed down the receiver and frowned at the ceiling. I knew what he’d been going to say, could hear the words as if he was in the room with me: ‘You must have realised that I’m falling in love with you’. Very gratifying, but now everything would grind to a halt while he was in the Lake District.
Then I forced a smile. After years of waiting, what did a few more weeks matter?
As it turned out, I was right to be philosophical — Flynn was away until the day of the party. But he phoned me regularly at the office; I could always tell when he was on the line from Harriet’s shrieks of laughter as she took the call.
Not that the time dragged; I had far too much work to do. Between us, Jane and I planned the research for Harriet’s Secret Recipes with a view to completing everything by Christmas. It was a constant clash of wills. I took a pragmatic approach, where things didn’t have to be perfect as long as they got done. Jane, however, was nothing short of meticulous. For example, she was taking ages to organise the focus groups, because she insisted on recruiting only those people who fitted our rather demanding profile to the letter.
One morning, I was about to remind her of the consequences of missing our deadline when, out of the blue, she asked if she could take the following week off. The reason that she gave, after much prompting, was ‘a last-minute holiday with a close friend’.
I thought instantly of Dan and my lips tightened. ‘You haven’t worked here long enough to take five days off, so technically I should say no.’
She flushed. ‘Please, Emma. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’
I relented, motivated by the thought of a whole week in the office without her and having the focus groups organised by the time she came back. But I didn’t ask her a single question about her holiday, either before or after. Nobody would be able to accusemeof conniving in her sordid little affair.
Batty also asked me to help her prepare for the Christmas party, in particular choosing a special menu for Dad and allocating rooms to those who were staying overnight. I took full advantage of my position and made sure Flynn’s room was next to mine.
To my relief, I heard nothing more from Mark. But I had a new person to avoid: Gusty. She started pestering Dad to hire her for a strategic financial audit, whatever that was — something Mark had apparently already commissioned her to do for Donwell Organics. Dad kept stalling, which meant that Gusty pestered me instead, convinced that I would influence him on her behalf. When I stopped taking her phone calls, she swept into my office one day and confronted me; but I told her straight that I wasn’t prepared to discuss the subject — with Dad, or her, or anyone else.
At this point, she switched her attentions to Jane. It was rather amusing to listen to her gushing compliments alternating with Jane’s monosyllabic brush-offs. She even assured Jane that her talents were wasted at Highbury Foods and offered to get her a much better job through her Maple Grove contacts. The cheek of it, poaching a member of my staff right under my nose! I almost sent Gusty packing there and then.
But I didn’t; because by now I was wishing Saint Jane miles away from Highbury. Working with her was a nightmare, thanks to our completely different styles; and I had another, more altruistic reason. Batty let slip that Mark had taken Jane out for a very long and expensive lunch the previous Saturday. Jane didn’t mention it, of course, and I didn’t ask her.
It shouldn’t have mattered one jot what Mark Knightley chose to do with Jane Fairfax. But somehow it did.
After all, even Mark didn’t deserve to have Donwell Abbey infested by Battys.
* * *
~~MARK~~
Emma had asked me for space and that’s exactly what she got. I even avoided Henry, just in case I bumped into her. After my first mentoring meeting with Jane, instead of giving him an update in person as I would have preferred, I made do with a phone call.
There wasn’t much to tell. I’d found it difficult to establish rapport with her, although I’d chosen what I thought was a relaxed time and setting — lunch on a Saturday at the newly opened Box Hill Restaurant. Still, as I said to Henry, it was early days.
And, as I didn’t say to Henry, it had been infinitely easier than dealing with his daughter.
But I wouldn’t be able to avoid Emma at the Highbury Foods Christmas party. Or Churchill, who would no doubt be glued to her side. Or everyone’s comments about how they madesucha lovely couple.
As soon as I saw her that evening, the longing twisted inside me like a knife. She was standing beside the Christmas tree in Reception, talking animatedly on her mobile. Unnoticed, I took in every detail of her appearance. Stunning dress, white andstrapless and hugging her body as though she’d been poured into it. Hair falling in glossy waves around her face. Eyes and lips provocatively defined, as if daring someone to accuse her of wearing too much make-up. And above the curve of her breasts a diamond pendant, its sparkle outshone by the golden lustre of her skin . . .
I turned and made for the nearest drink.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
My big night — or rather mine and Flynn’s — had arrived at last.
He phoned me to say he was running late, but I couldn’t be angry with him; the important thing was that he’d come back specially from the Lakes just to be here.
