Page 89 of The Importance of Being Emma
She whirled round, knocking a half-filled flute to the floor. Champagne and fragments of glass went everywhere. She looked as though she was going to burst into tears, then collected herself.
‘That one was yours,’ she said coldly, and went to fetch a floor mop and bucket from the nearby utility room. In a matter of seconds, she was sweeping the damp mop across the tiles with an air of vicious satisfaction.
I stayed out of her way, folding my arms and leaning against the door jamb to observe her with as much detachment as I could muster.
‘Maybe I’d better not have anything alcoholic,’ I said, in a casual tone. ‘God knows, I should have learnt my lesson about the evils of drink by now.’
She looked up, her face pale with anger. ‘Is that why you came in here? To taunt me about — about that?’
Incredible, it was as if she still couldn’t bring herself to say that we’d slept together! I struggled to keep my temper in check. ‘No, I came to tell you to make an effort, keep up the appearance that everything’s normal in front of our family. It’s Christmas,remember? At least let the children enjoy their day instead of involving them in whatever little games you’re playing with me.’
She paused within a yard of me and gave a supercilious smile. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I only asked Bella to give you your present.’
‘She’s a bright kid, they all are, they could tell there were — undercurrents.’
‘How could they, when there weren’t any? At least, not on my side.’
‘Don’t talk such crap, you wouldn’t even look at me.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘Oh, I forgot, I’m supposed to fall down on my knees and gaze at you adoringly, aren’t I? I should be so grateful that Highbury’s very own Sex God condescended to knock me off! Just a pity it wasn’t more memorable. But, of course, I have that charming book to remind me of how it all started. You know, when you brought me home from Ashridge and behaved so unprofessionally. Such a thoughtful present from such a thoughtful man.’
I lost the struggle with my temper, but managed to keep my voice deceptively quiet. ‘Ah well, it was a toss-up between that and a framed transcript of the proceedings at Forbury Manor, for you to hang on your bedroom wall. Shame you can’t remember much about it, because your task focus was rather impressive for once — something you’d be well advised to transfer to the workplace. What did you say again? “I need you to undo my dress” and “Kiss me”. Oh, and then there was “Don’t stop, not now”.’
I knew I was totally out of order, but it just didn’t seem to matter any more. I went on, ‘And let’s see if I can recall the grand finale, when you actually begged me to—’
She slapped my face, hard. We glared at each other in silence while I rubbed my smarting cheek.
‘I’m sorry.’ It was out before I realised I’d said it. I didn’t even know if I meant it. Part of me would never willingly cause her pain; but another part of me wanted to provoke her into some sort of physical retaliation, which was precisely what I’d got. So why didn’t I feel good about it?
‘Emma, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of those things.’ This time I meant it. And, God help me, I wanted her more than ever. I reached out and cupped her face with my hand, letting my thumb caress the corner of her mouth. It was exactly the wrong thing to do. She wrenched herself from my grasp and ran into the utility room, sending the mop flying.
I’d taken no more than a couple of steps after her when the doorbell rang. Cursing, I went to get rid of whoever it was, resolving to come straight back and sort things out with her. As soon as I opened the front door, however, I knew it wouldn’t be that simple. It was Kate, laden with presents.
She greeted me with a kiss. ‘Merry Christmas, Mark. Are you having lunch, or can we stop by for a while?’
‘Of course you can,’ I heard myself say, lamely.
I stood to one side while she came in, followed by her husband and, of course, her grinning stepson. I gritted my teeth and shook their hands — Tom’s warmly, Churchill’s as briefly as possible — then showed them into the drawing room, fully intending to leave them to it and slip back to the kitchen. But James was wearing the Doctor Who Cyberman mask I’d brought for him and clamouring to show me what a realistic noise it made. No sooner had I given him the horrified reaction he expected, than Harry wanted me to help him set up his Simpsons Game of Life. When I next looked around, Emma still hadn’t returned and there was no sign of Churchill. My lip curled. They were probably locked in a passionate embrace in the kitchen. It was too much to hope that he’d impaled himself on the mop in the process.
I let out a long breath, pasted a smile on my face and played the role of doting uncle to perfection.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
I stared out of the utility room window; seeing nothing, trying to hold on to my fragile composure, remembering with intense shame the wave of longing that had flooded through me at his touch. I’d felt my eyes start to close, my lips part, my body sway towards him — all just moments after he’d humiliated me by repeating things I couldn’t possibly have said.
No. Deep down, I knew I’d said those things.
And more . . .
Then, unbelievably, a few minutes later he was behind me, his arms round my waist, his breath ruffling my hair.
I dug him violently in the stomach with my elbow. ‘Get off me, you bastard!’
He gave a loud groan and backed off. ‘Em, what the hell was that for?’
Flynn! I spun round and blurted out, ‘Sorry, I thought you were Mark.’
