Can You Keep a Secret? (24 page)

'Oh!' she says, looking taken aback. 'Erm …'

'Try and think. Is everyone who goes there on the … old side?'

'Gosh,' she says slowly, and screws up her brow. 'Now you mention it, I suppose everyone is kind of quite … mature. But honestly Emma, you should come along.' Her face brightens. 'We have a real laugh!'

'You're still
going
there?' I stare at her.

'I go every day,' she says in surprise. I'm on the social committee.'

'Hello again!' says Phillip cheerily, reappearing with three glasses. He beams at Katie and gives her a kiss on the cheek, and she beams back. And suddenly I feel quite heart-warmed. OK, it's weird. But they do seem to make a really sweet couple.

'The man behind the stall seemed rather stressed out, poor chap,' says Phillip, as I take my first delicious sip of Pimm's, closing my eyes to savour it.

Mmm. There is absolutely nothing nicer on a summer's day than a nice cold glass of—

Hang on a minute. My eyes open. Pimm's.

Shit. I promised to do the Pimm's stall with Connor, didn't I? I glance at my watch and realize I'm already ten minutes late. Oh, bloody hell. No wonder he's stressed out.

I hastily apologize to Phillip and Katie, then hurry as fast as I can to the stall, which is in the corner of the garden. There I find Connor manfully coping with a huge queue all on his own. He's dressed as Henry VIII, with puffy sleeves and breeches, and has a huge red beard stuck to his face. He must be absolutely boiling.

'Sorry,' I mutter, sliding in beside him. 'I had to get into my costume. What do I have to do?'

'Pour out glasses of Pimm's,' says Connor curtly. 'One pound fifty each. Do you think you can manage?'

'Yes!' I say, a bit nettled. 'Of course I can manage!'

For the next few minutes we're too busy serving Pimm's to talk. Then the queue melts away, and we're left on our own again.

Connor isn't even looking at me, and he's clanking glasses around so ferociously I'm afraid he might break one. Why is he in such a bad mood?

'Connor, look, I'm sorry I'm late.'

'That's all right,' he says stiffly, and starts chopping a bundle of mint as though he wants to kill it. 'So, did you have a nice time the other evening?'

That's what this is all about.

'Yes, I did, thanks,' I say after a pause.

'With your new mystery man.'

'Yes,' I say, and surreptitiously scan the crowded lawn, searching for Jack.

'It's someone at work, isn't it?' Connor suddenly says, and my stomach gives a small plunge.

'Why do you say that?' I say lightly.

'That's why you won't tell me who it is.'

'It's not that! It's just … look, Connor, can't you just respect my privacy?'

'I think I have a right to know who I've been dumped for.' He shoots me a reproachful look.

'No you don't!' I retort, then realize that sounds a bit mean. 'I just don't think it's very helpful to discuss it.'

'Well, I'll work it out.' His jaw sets grimly. 'It won't take me long.'

'Connor, please. I really don't think—'

'Emma, I'm not stupid.' He gives me an appraising look. 'I know you a lot better than you think I do.'

I feel a flicker of uncertainty. Maybe I've und,erestimated Connor all this time. Maybe he does know me. Oh God. What if he guesses?

I start to slice up a lemon, constantly scanning the crowd. Where is Jack, anyway?

'I've got it,' says Connor suddenly, and I look up to see him staring at me triumphantly. 'It's Paul, isn't it?'

'What?' I gape back at him, wanting to laugh. 'No, it's not Paul! Why on earth should you think it was Paul?'

'You keep looking at him.' He gestures to where Paul is standing nearby, moodily swigging a bottle of beer. 'Every two minutes!'

'I'm not looking at him,' I say hurriedly. 'I'm just looking at … I'm just taking in the atmosphere.'

'So why is he hanging around here?'

'He's not! Honestly, Connor, take it from me, I'm not going out with Paul.'

'You think I'm a fool, don't you?' says Connor with a flash of anger.

'I don't think you're a fool! I just … I think this is a pointless exercise. You're never going to—'

'Is it Nick?' His eyes narrow. 'You and he have always had a bit of a spark going.'

'No!' I say impatiently. 'It's not Nick.'

Honestly. Clandestine affairs are hard enough as it is, without your ex-boyfriend subjecting you to the third degree. I should never have agreed to do this stupid Pimm's stall.

'Oh my God,' Connor says in a lowered voice. 'Look.'

I look up, and my stomach gives an enormous lurch. Jack is walking over the grass towards us, dressed as a cowboy, with leather chaps and a checked shirt and a proper cowboy hat.

He looks so completely and utterly sexy, I feel quite faint.

'He's coming this way!' hisses Connor. 'Quick! Tidy up that lemon peel. Hello, sir,' he says in a louder voice. 'Would you like a glass of Pimm's?'

'Thank you very much, Connor,' says Jack with a smile. Then he looks at me. 'Hello, Emma. Enjoying the day?'

'Hello,' I say, my voice about six notches higher than usual. 'Yes, it's … lovely!' With trembling hands I pour out a glass of Pimm's and give it to him.

'Emma! You forgot the mint!' says Connor.

'It doesn't matter about the mint,' says Jack, his eyes fixed on mine.

'You can have some mint if you want it,' I say, gazing back.

'It looks fine just the way it is.' His eyes give a tiny flash, and he takes a deep gulp of Pimm's.

This is so unreal. We can't keep our eyes off each other. Surely it's completely obvious to everyone else what's going on? Surely Connor must realize? Quickly I look away and pretend to be busying myself with the ice.

'So, Emma,' says Jack casually. 'Just to talk work briefly. That extra typing assignment I asked you about. The Leopold file.'

'Er yes?' I say, flusteredly dropping an ice-cube onto the counter.

'Perhaps we could have a quick word about it before I go?' He meets my eyes. 'I have a suite of rooms up at the house.'

'Right,' I say, my heart pounding. 'OK.'

'Say … one o'clock?'

'One o'clock it is.'

He saunters off, holding his glass of Pimm's, and I stand staring after him, dripping an ice-cube onto the grass.

A suite of rooms. That can only mean one thing.

Jack and I are going to have sex.

And suddenly, with no warning, I feel really, really nervous.

'I've been so stupid!' exclaims Connor, abruptly putting down his knife. 'I've been so
blind
.' He turns to face me, his eyes burning blue. 'Emma, I know who your new man is.'

I feel a huge spasm of fear.

'No you don't,' I say quickly. 'Connor, you don't know who it is. Actually, it's not anyone from work. I just made that up. It's this guy who lives over in west London, you've never met him, his name is … um … Gary, he works as a postman.'

'Don't lie to me! I know exactly who it is.' He folds his arms and gives me a long, penetrating look. 'It's Tristan from Design, isn't it?'

*   *   *

As soon as our stint on the stall is up, I escape from Connor and go and sit under a tree with a glass of Pimm's, glancing at my watch every two minutes. I can't quite believe how nervous I am about this. Maybe Jack knows loads of tricks. Maybe he'll expect me to be really sophisticated. Maybe he'll expect all kinds of amazing manoeuvres that I've never even heard of.

I mean … I don't think I'm
bad
at sex.

You know. Generally speaking. All things considered.

But what sort of standard are we talking about here? I feel like I've been competing in tiny little local shows and suddenly I'm taking on the Olympics. Jack Harper is an international multimillionaire. He must have dated models and … and gymnasts … women with enormous perky breasts … kinky stuff involving muscles I don't even think I
possess
.

How am I ever going to match up? How? I'm starting to feel sick. This was a bad, bad idea. I'm never going to be as good as the president of Origin Software, am I? I can just imagine her, with her long legs and $400 underwear and honed, tanned body … maybe a whip in her hand … maybe her bisexual glamour model friend at the ready to spice things up …

OK, just stop. This is getting ridiculous. I'll be fine. I'm
sure
I'll be fine. It'll be like doing a ballet exam – once you get into it, you forget to be nervous. My old ballet teacher always used to say to us, 'As long as you keep your legs nicely turned out and a smile on your face, you'll do splendidly.'

Which I guess kind of applies here, too.

I glance at my watch and feel a fresh spasm of fright. It's one o'clock. On the dot.

Time to go and have sex. I stand up, and do a few surreptitious limbering-up exercises, just in case. Then I take a deep breath and, with a thumping heart, begin to walk towards the house. I've just reached the edge of the lawn when a shrill voice hits my ears.

'There she is! Emma! Cooee!'

That sounded just like my mum. Weird. I stop briefly, and turn round, but I can't see anyone. It must be a hallucination. It must be subconscious guilt trying to throw me, or something.

'Emma, turn round! Over here!'

Hang on. That sounded like Kerry.

I peer bewilderedly at the crowded scene, my eyes squinting in the sunshine. I can't see anything. I'm looking all around, but I can't see—

And then suddenly, like a Magic Eye, they spring into view. Kerry, Nev, and my mum and dad. Walking towards me. All in costume. Mum is wearing a Japanese kimono and holding a picnic basket. Dad is dressed as Robin Hood and holding two fold-up chairs. Nev is in a Superman costume and holding a bottle of wine. And Kerry is wearing an entire Marilyn Monroe outfit, including platinum blond wig and high-heeled shoes, and complacently soaking up the stares.

What's going on?

What are they
doing
here?

I didn't tell them about the Corporate Family Day. I know I didn't. I'm
positive
I didn't.

'Hi, Emma!' says Kerry as she gets near. 'Like the outfit?' She gives a little shimmy and pats her blond wig.

'Who are you supposed to be, darling?' says Mum, looking in puzzlement at my nylon dress. 'Is it Heidi?'

'I …' I rub my face. 'Mum … What are you doing here? I never – I mean, I forgot to tell you.'

'I know you did,' says Kerry. 'But your friend Artemis told me all about it the other day, when I phoned.'

I stare at her, unable to speak.

I will kill Artemis. I will murder her.

'So what time's the fancy dress contest?' says Kerry, winking at two teenage boys who are gawping at her. 'We haven't missed it, have we?'

'There … there isn't a contest,' I say, finding my voice.

'Really?' Kerry looks put out.

I don't believe her. This is why she's come here, isn't it? To win a stupid competition.

'You came all this way just for a fancy dress contest?' I can't resist saying.

'Of course not!' Kerry quickly regains her usual scornful expression. 'Nev and I are taking your mum and dad to Hanwood Manor. It's near here. So we thought we'd drop in.'

I feel a sparkle of relief. Thank God. We can have a little chat, then they can be on their way.

'We've brought a picnic,' says Mum. 'Now, let's find a nice spot.'

'Do you think you've got time for a picnic?' I say, trying to sound casual. 'You might get caught in traffic. In fact, maybe you should head off now, just to be on the safe side …'

'The table's not booked until seven!' says Kerry, giving me an odd look. 'How about under that tree?'

I watch dumbly as Mum shakes out a plaid picnic rug, and Dad sets up the two chairs. I cannot sit down and have a family picnic when Jack is waiting to have sex with me. I have to do something, quick.
Think
.

'Um, the thing is,' I say in sudden inspiration, 'the thing is, actually, I won't be able to stay. We've all got duties to do.'

'Don't tell me they can't give you half an hour off,' says Dad.

'Emma's the linchpin of the whole organization!' says Kerry with a sarky giggle. 'Can't you tell?'

'Emma!' Cyril is approaching the picnic rug. 'Your family came after all! And in costume. Jolly good!' He beams around, his joker's hat tinkling in the breeze. 'Now make sure you all buy a raffle ticket …'

'Oh, we will,' says Mum. 'And we were wondering …' She smiles at him. 'Could Emma possibly have some time off her duties to have a picnic with us?'

'Absolutely!' says Cyril. 'You've done your stint on the Pimm's stall, haven't you, Emma? You can relax now.'

'Lovely!' says Mum. 'Isn't that good news, Emma?'

'That's great!' I manage at last with a fixed smile.

I have no choice. I have no way out of this. With stiff knees I sink down onto the rug and accept a glass of wine.

'So, is Connor here?' asks Mum, decanting chicken drumsticks onto a plate.

'Ssh! Don't Mention Connor!' says Dad in his Basil Fawlty voice.

'I thought you were supposed to be moving in with him,' says Kerry, taking a swig of champagne. 'What happened there?'

'She made him breakfast,' quips Nev, and Kerry giggles.

I try to smile, but my face won't quite do it. It's ten past one. Jack will be waiting. What can I do?

As Dad passes me a plate, I see Sven passing by.

'Sven,' I say quickly. 'Um, Mr Harper was kindly asking earlier on about my family. And whether they were here or not. Could you possibly tell him that they've … they've unexpectedly turned up?' I look up at him desperately and his face flickers in comprehension.

'I'll pass on the message,' he says.

And that's the end of that.

SEVENTEEN

I once read an article called 'Make Things Go Your Way' which said if a day doesn't turn out as you intended, you should go back, charting the differences between your Goals and your Results, and this will help you learn from your mistakes.

OK. Let's just chart exactly how much this day has diverged from the original plan I had this morning.

Goal: Look like sexy and sophisticated woman in beautiful, flattering dress.