Can You Keep a Secret?

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

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

  “I’ve got it,” says Connor triumphantly. “It’s Paul, isn’t it?”

  “What?” I gape at him, wanting to laugh. “No, it’s not Paul! Why on earth would 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 was just looking for …” I take a sip of Pimm’s. “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.

  “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! 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.

  “Look,” Connor suddenly says in a lowered voice.

  I raise my head, and feel as though someone’s squeezed the air out of my lungs. Jack is walking over the grass toward us, dressed in leather chaps and a checked shirt. 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. 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.” He takes a deep gulp.

  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’m so flustered I upend a cup of ice all over the counter.

  “Perhaps we could have a quick word about it before I go? 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, and I stand staring after him, dripping an ice cube onto the grass.

  “I’ve been so stupid!” exclaims Connor, suddenly 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.”

  My legs go wobbly.

  “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. “It’s Tristan from Design, isn’t it?”

  As soon as our stint on the stall is up, I escape from Connor and go sit under a tree with a glass of Pimm’s, checking my watch every two minutes. A suite of rooms. That can only mean one thing. Jack and I are going to have sex.

  I can’t 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 maneuvers that I’ve never even heard of.

  I mean … I don’t think I’m bad at sex. You know.

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

  How am I ever going to match up? 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 four-hundred-dollar underwear and honed, tanned body.…

  OK, just … stop. This is getting ridiculous. I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll be fine. It’ll be the same as doing a ballet exam—once you get into it, you forget to be nervous. Like my old ballet teacher always used to say, “As long as you keep your legs nicely turned out and a smile on your face, you’ll do splendidly.”

  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 begin to walk toward the house. I’ve just reached the edge of the lawn when I hear a shrill voice.

  “There she is! Emma! Yoo-hoo!”

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

  “Emma, turn around! Over here!”

  Hang on. That sounded like … Kerry.

  I peer 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, like a Magic Eye, they spring into view. Kerry, Nev, and my mum and dad. Walking toward 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 attention.

  What are they doing here? I didn’t tell them about the corporate family day. 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 … 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 will kill Artemis. I will murder her.

  “So, what time’s the fancy dress contest?” says Kerry, winking at two teenage boys who are gawking 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?”

  “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.”

  They’re on their way somewhere! 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 …”

  “Th
e table’s not booked until seven!” says Kerry. “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 sarcastic snigger. “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, 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.

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

  “So, is Connor here?” asks Mum, unpacking chicken drumsticks onto a plate.

  “Shh! 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 titters.

  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 hands me a plate, I see Sven passing by. He’s wearing dark glasses and has made no attempt at a costume. “Sven!” I call, and he stops. “Um, Mr. Harper was 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 in desperation and he nods. He’s understood.

  “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” that said if a day doesn’t turn out as you intended, you should go back and chart the differences between your goals and your results, and this will help you learn from your mistakes.

  So … 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.

  Result: Look like Heidi/Munchkin extra in lurid puffy nylon sleeves.

  Goal: Make secret assignation with Jack.

  Result: Make secret assignation with Jack, then fail to turn up.

  Goal: Have fantastic sex with Jack in romantic location.

  Result: Have peanut-barbecued chicken drumstick on picnic rug.

  Overall Goal: Euphoria.

  Overall Result: Complete misery.

  All I can do is dumbly push my food around my plate, telling myself this can’t last forever. Dad and Nev have made about a million jokes about Don’t Mention Connor. Kerry has shown me her new Swiss watch, which cost four thousand pounds, and boasted about how her company is expanding yet again. And now she’s telling us how she played golf with the chief executive of some huge furniture conglomerate last week and he tried to head-hunt her.

  “They all try it on,” she says, taking a huge bite of chicken drumstick. “But I say to them, if I needed a job …” She trails off. “Did you want something?”

  “Hi there,” comes a dry, familiar voice.

  I raise my head, blinking in the light.

  It’s Jack. Standing there against the blue sky in his cowboy outfit. He smiles in an almost imperceptible way, and I feel my heart lift. He’s come to get me. I should have known he would. “Hi!” I say, half dazedly. “Everyone, this is—”

  “My name’s Jack,” he cuts across me. “I’m a friend of Emma’s. Emma …” He looks at me, his face giving nothing away. “I’m afraid you’re needed.”

  “Oh, dear!” I say with a whoosh of relief. “Oh, well, never mind. These things happen …”

  “That’s a shame!” says Mum. “Can’t you at least stay for a quick drink? Jack, you’re welcome to join us, have a chicken drumstick or some quiche …”

  “We have to go,” I say hurriedly. “Don’t we, Jack?”

  “I’m afraid we do,” he says, and holds out a hand to pull me up.

  “Sorry, everyone,” I say.

  “We don’t mind!” says Kerry with the same sarcastic laugh. “I’m sure you’ve some vital job to do, Emma. In fact, I expect the whole event would collapse without you!”

  Jack stops. Very slowly, he turns around. “Let me guess,” he says. “You must be … Kerry.”

  “Yes!” she says in surprise. “That’s right!”

  “And Mum … Dad …” He surveys the faces. “And you have to be … Nev?”

  “Spot on!” says Nev with a chortle.

  “Very good!” says Mum with a laugh. “Emma must have told you a bit about us!”

  “Oh … she has,” agrees Jack, looking around the picnic rug again in fascination. “You know … there might be time for that drink after all.”

  What? What did he say?

  “Good!” says Mum. “It’s always nice to meet friends of Emma’s!”

  I watch in total disbelief as Jack settles down on the rug. He was supposed to be rescuing me from all this. Not joining in. I sit down beside him, trying to think of a plan to get him away.

  “So, you work for this company, Jack?” says Dad, pouring him a glass of wine.

  “In a way,” says Jack after a pause. “I’ve recently taken what you might call … a career break.”

  I can see Kerry and Nev exchanging looks.

  “So you’re … between jobs?” says Mum tactfully. “What a shame. Still, I’m sure something will come up …”

  Oh, God. She has no idea who he is. None of my family has any idea who Jack is.

  I’m not at all sure I like this. “Er, the grounds are really beautiful!” I exclaim. “Shall we have a little walk? Mum?”

  We can walk around the gardens … and Jack and I can get “lost.” Perfect.

  “We’re about to eat, Emma!” says Mum in surprise. “By the way, I saw Danny Nussbaum the other day in the post office,” she adds, slicing some tomatoes. “He asked after you.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jack’s eyes brightening.

  “Gosh!” I say, my cheeks growing hot. “Danny Nussbaum! I haven’t thought about him for … ages.”

  “Danny and Emma used to step out together,” Mum explains to Jack with a fond smile. “Such a nice boy. Very bookish. He and Emma used to study together in her bedroom, all afternoon!”

  I cannot look at Jack. I cannot.

  “You know … Ben-Hur’s a fine film,” Jack suddenly says. “A very fine film.” He looks at Mum. “Don’t you think?”

  I am going to kill him.

  “Er, yes!” says Mum in puzzlement. “Yes, I’ve always liked Ben-Hur …” She cuts Jack a huge chunk of quiche and adds a slice of tomato. “So, Jack,” she says sympathetically as she hands him a paper plate. “Are you getting by financially?”

  “I’m … doing OK,” Jack replies gravely.

  Mum looks at him for a moment, then she rummages in the picnic basket and produces another Sainsbury’s quiche, still in its box.

  “Take this,” she says, pressing it on him. “And some tomatoes. They’ll tide you over.”

  “Oh, no,” says Jack at once. “Really, I couldn’t—”

  “I won’t take no for an answer! I insist!”

  “Well, that’s … truly kind.” Jack puts the quiche down b
eside him, looking touched.

  “You want some free career advice, Jack?” says Kerry, munching a piece of chicken.

  I feel a sudden dread. If she starts demonstrating the successful woman walk, that’s it. I’m leaving.

  “Now, you want to listen to Kerry!” puts in Dad with pride. “She’s our star! She has her own company!”

  “Is that so?” says Jack politely.

  “So!” I chime in, trying to steer the conversation. “Nev! How much did you say you paid for your new car again?”

  But Nev isn’t even listening. He’s pouring himself another drink.

  “Office furniture supply,” says Kerry with a complacent smile. “Started from scratch. Now we have forty staff and a turnover of just over two million. And you know what my secret is?”

  “I … have no idea,” says Jack.

  Kerry leans forward and fixes him with her blue eyes. “Golf.”

  “Golf!” says Jack after a pause.

  “Business is all about networking,” says Kerry. “It’s all about contacts. I’m telling you, Jack, I’ve met most of the top businesspeople in the country on the golf course. Take any company. Take this company.” She spreads her arm around the scene. “I know the top guy here. I could call him up tomorrow if I wanted to!”

  I’m frozen in horror.

  “Really?” says Jack, sounding riveted. “Is that so?”

  “Oh, yes.” She leans forward confidentially. “And I mean, the top guy.”

  “The top guy,” echoes Jack. “I’m … impressed.”

  “Perhaps Kerry could put in a good word for you, Jack!” exclaims Mum in sudden inspiration. “You’d do that, wouldn’t you, Kerry love?”

  I would burst into hysterical laughter if the situation weren’t so completely and utterly hideous.

  “I guess I’ll have to take up golf without delay,” says Jack. “Meet the right people.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “What do you think, Emma?”

  “I … I …” I can barely talk. I am beyond embarrassment. I just want to disappear into the rug and never be seen again.

  “Mr. Harper?” A voice suddenly interrupts and I breathe a sigh of relief. We all look up to see Cyril bending awkwardly down to Jack.