The Importance of Being Emma (39 page)

‘
Mrs Knightley.’

‘
Mrs – ? Oh, your stepmother. But she’s thousands of miles away – ’

‘
I don’t mean her either, I mean Mrs Mark Knightley.’

‘
Who?
’

‘
My wife. And since that person doesn’t exist, I’ll continue to organise everything myself. But thank you so much for offering. ’Bye.’ I slammed down the receiver and yelled, ‘Cherry!’

She came rushing into my room. ‘What is it?’

‘
That woman who just rang, would you recognise her voice?’

‘
Oh yes, quite a strong West Country accent.’ She pulled a face. ‘And a terribly bossy manner.’

‘
Good. If she phones again, say I’m unavailable. Travelling to Mars, on my deathbed, anything.’ I stared out of the window, feeling indescribably weary.

‘
You sound stressed out, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?’ she said, in a motherly tone. ‘I’ve got plenty to get on with – and you don’t seem to have had much time away from the office over the holidays.’

‘
Thanks, but I’m fine.’ I gave her a reassuring smile. ‘There’s one other thing, I’d like you to organise my farewell lunch for Friday. I thought a buffet in the conference room would be best, then everyone can come and go as they please.’

‘
Is it just for staff, or are you inviting people from outside the company?’

‘
Just for staff, I’m taking my family and a few friends out for dinner on Saturday night. Could you book that, too? The Box Hill Restaurant, seven thirty, for about twenty people. I’ll give you exact numbers nearer the time.’

She gaped at me. ‘Box Hill, for twenty? You’d better take out a mortgage.’

I shrugged. ‘I may as well go off in style. I won’t be coming home for a long time.’

~~EMMA~~

After the New Year break, I went back to work and steeled myself to get through the week. As I scanned my personal organiser, I found the three goals I’d set after the Philip fiasco. Normally, I’d have congratulated myself on my progress; I was convinced I’d taken no one at face value, I’d completed the research stage of the Harriet’s Secret Recipes project and I’d kept my matchmaking instincts well and truly under control.

But somehow I didn’t feel like celebrating. Mark was leaving in only four days’ time.

With everyone returning to work this morning, I was looking forward to some company, even Saint Jane’s. But Batty announced that Jane was too ill to come in – ‘pale as a ghost, hardly eating a thing, wasting away’. That left Harriet, who could normally be relied on to provide an endless stream of drivel to distract me. I heard her clattering about in the outer office and waited for her to bring in the post, which we normally went through together.

After a few moments, I called out, ‘Hi, how are you?’

No answer. I popped my head round the door that divided our two rooms. She was at her desk, staring at a pile of unopened letters.

‘
Who?’

‘
FC, the man of your dreams, you know I can’t
mention his name.’

‘
Yeah, but – ’ She paused, then cocked her head on one side. ‘What does FC stand for?’

I knew her English was basic at times, but this was ridiculous. ‘F for Flynn, C for Churchill,’ I said, as patiently as I could.

‘
Yeah, and it’s looking good.’ She hugged herself like an excited child. ‘Can’t wait for tomorrow night.’

My stomach churned. ‘What’s happening tomorrow night?’

‘
Didn’t you get your invitation this morning?’

‘
Invitation?’

‘
Here.’ She rummaged in her pocket and handed me an ivory card, much creased as if she’d been fondling it ever since it arrived. I snatched it from her, hardly registering the printed words about a party for George and Saffron. I was desperate to read what was scrawled across the bottom, in handwriting that was heartbreakingly familiar: ‘Hope you can come – there’s something I need to ask you. Mark.’

Harriet giggled. ‘The food sounds crap, innit? Friggin’ canopies, whatever they are. What are you wearing?’

‘
Nothing.’ Was that a Freudian slip? God knows I’d have pranced round Donwell Abbey stark naked if I thought there was any chance of getting together with Mark … ‘I mean, I don’t know if I’m going.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Haven’t you had an invitation?’

‘
Of course I have. I just can’t decide whether I can fit it in.’ I glanced casually through the pile of letters, but there wasn’t anything that looked like an invitation. ‘Start opening those, I’ll be back in a minute.’

I walked quickly round to Dad’s office, my heart pounding. I didn’t dwell on the revelation that Harriet fancied Mark instead of Flynn; I was more concerned about tracking down my invitation to Donwell. Harriet didn’t even know George and Saffron, so why had Mark invited her? And what on earth could he want to ask her? I reassured myself that there’d be a similar message written on my invitation, if I could find it.

Dad was by the window, examining the pad of his thumb in the watery sunlight. ‘Just cut myself on some paper, would you believe,’ he said, with a mournful sigh. ‘I’m an accident waiting to happen.’

I went straight to the point. ‘Did we have anything from Mark in this morning’s post?’

‘
Look at it, do you think it’s infected?’

I squinted at a tiny cut in his flesh and wrinkled my nose. ‘How could it be? You smell like you’ve bathed in antiseptic. Listen, apparently there’s a party tomorrow night, to welcome George and Saffron home. Does that ring any bells?’

‘
Party? Oh yes, we had an invitation but I don’t think we should go.’

I let this pass for the moment. ‘What did it say?’

‘
Let me see … Seven thirty for drinks and canapés. Those things never agree with me, far too exotic.’

I tried again. ‘What I mean is, did Mark write anything on it?’

Dad gave a wry smile. ‘Our names of course, darling.’

‘
Why not?’

‘
There’s snow forecast. Isabella’s just phoned, she doesn’t want to go either. She’s really worried about leaving the children, but John doesn’t understand – ’

For once, my patience was exhausted. ‘We’re going, Dad, or at least I am. I’ll book a taxi if you don’t want me to drive.’

I left him apprehensively prodding his thumb and walked slowly back to my office. I’d been so blind, so absolutely stupid. Because I’d thought Harriet fancied Flynn, I’d persuaded her that she had as much chance as anyone else to get him. But all along she’d meant Mark; she’d wanted to go to the Westons’ on New Year’s Eve to see
him
. And her flirting with him over Scrabble had been genuine, not an attempt to make Flynn jealous. Later, when Mark had told me that there was nothing to keep him in England, he must have already been planning to take her back to India; far better to start their relationship away from the prying eyes of Highbury. Tomorrow night, at the party, he’d ask if she wanted to go with him. She’d say yes, yes,
yes
, and then …

I’d been so blind.

I found Harriet still gazing vacantly at the pile of letters, but at least she’d opened them. Not that it mattered. All of a sudden, I didn’t give a shit about Highbury Foods. How was I going to get through the next four days? How was I going to get through tomorrow night, come to that?

But the show must go on, for as long as possible. ‘Right, Harriet,’ I said firmly, ‘it’s about time we got down to some work.’

~~MARK~~

Rob Martin and I met in The Hare and Hounds at six thirty. He’d seemed surprised but pleased when I rang to suggest a quick drink. He said he’d been about to do the same; there was something he had to tell me before I went back to India. This put me immediately on my guard – I’d only just set things in motion with Harriet and the last thing I needed was Rob throwing a spanner in the works.

We’d barely sat down with our pints when he said brusquely, ‘I’ve decided to take a break from work and go travelling. God knows what Mum and Dad will say – they’ll have to hold the fort at Abbey Mill – but I can’t stay here any longer.’ He added, with a rueful smile, ‘It’s Harriet. I’m finding it hard to get over her.’

I let out a long breath; it was just how I’d felt about Emma. And I was dealing with it in the same way – escaping to somewhere far removed from Highbury. But at least I was going to a life I knew, to activity and structure, things I believed Rob badly needed.

‘
Seems a bit drastic,’ was all I said. ‘When are you planning to leave?’

‘
Soon as I can stick a pin in a map of the world and book a flight.’ He buried his face in his hands. It was an almost childish gesture, at odds with his large calloused fingers and deep voice. I could hardly make out his next words. ‘I know it’s irresponsible, but I’m desperate.’

I looked him straight in the eye. ‘Rob, I’ve known you for years. I’d say you’re even more of a routine merchant than I am. You’ll go stark staring mad camel-trekking across the Sahara, or whatever you end up doing to fill in the time.’

He snorted. ‘Routine merchant, am I? I’m too old to join the bloody army, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

‘
I’m not. I just don’t think you’ve found the right solution. And that’s probably because you’ve misdiagnosed the problem.’

‘
Impossible. The problem’s simple enough, Harriet’s the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, but she’s not interested in me.’

‘
Look, Harriet’s – ’ I stopped before I said too much; I hadn’t even talked to Harriet yet. But his sudden wanderlust was playing right into my hands. I went on, ‘I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you come and stay with me for a while in Mumbai? You could help me with some ideas I’ve got for our operation out there – and then go travelling, if you still want to. You don’t have to decide now. Sleep on it and let me know in the morning.’

His face brightened. ‘I don’t need to sleep on it. Of course I’ll come, I’ve always fancied India. Hang on, though – what about jabs and stuff?’

‘
Leave it all to me. I’ll book your ticket and let you know what you need to do. But don’t tell anyone except your parents.’

I gave a faint smile. ‘Trust me, I have my reasons.’

Chapter Thirteen

~~EMMA~~

The next evening I dressed with care, selecting a deceptively simple black pencil skirt and turquoise shawl-neck top that showed off every curve. As I piled on the foundation to conceal the dark shadows under my eyes, I remembered that day last September when Mark had walked into the boardroom and criticised me for wearing too much make-up. Tears welled up and I had to blot them away before my mascara ran.

Dad was staying at home and I debated briefly whether to do the same. I knew only too well that this would be one of the last times I’d see Mark before he left; and I had a horrible feeling that it would be the first time I’d see him coming on to Harriet.

Harriet! I pulled myself together and grabbed my coat. I’d offered to drive her to the party and back, even though it meant a considerable detour. I told her it was because her car was unreliable in cold weather and she might get stranded if the snow came; the real reason was that I wanted to interrogate her about Mark on the way home.

As she teetered down her front path, I wondered what – in Mark’s eyes, at least – she had that I hadn’t. Rather ironic, given that for the past four months I’d been trying to make her more like me. Not that I’d succeeded; as they say, you can take the girl out of Essex, but you can’t take Essex out of the girl.

I’d never have guessed she was Mark’s type. He’d described her as ‘pretty and compliant, but that’s about all’; hardly a promising start. At the time, however, he’d been furious with me for advising her to ditch Robert Martin. And fancying someone wasn’t exactly a lifelong commitment; people were always changing their minds – just look at me with Flynn.

But I remembered retaliating at Mark with something like, ‘If you ever break up with Tamara, you could do a lot worse than Harriet’. Those words had certainly come back to haunt me now.