million times funnier.
Oh God. I really am laughing now. I'm giving tiny little snorts, and my ribs hurt, and every
time I look at him I give another gurgle. My nose is running, and I haven't got a tissue… I'll
have to blow my nose on the picture of the ovaries…
'Emma, why are you with that guy?'
'What?' I look up, still laughing, until I realize that Jack's stopped. He's looking at me, with an
unreadable expression on his face.
'Why are you with that guy?' he repeats.
My gurgles peter out, and I push my hair back off my face.
'What do you mean?' I say, playing for time.
'Connor Martin. He's not going to make you happy. He's not going to fulfil you.'
I stare at him, feeling wrong-footed.
'Who says?'
'I've got to know Connor. I've sat in meetings with him. I've seen how his mind works. He's a
nice guy — but you need more than a nice guy.' Jack gives me a long, shrewd look. 'My guess
is, you don't really want to move in with him. But you're afraid of ducking out.'
I feel a swell of indignation. How dare he read my mind and get it so… so wrong. Of course I
want to move in with Connor.
'Actually, you're quite mistaken,' I say cuttingly. 'I'm looking forward to moving in with him.
In fact… in fact, I was just sitting at my desk, thinking how I can't wait!'
So there.
Jack's shaking his head.
'You need someone with a spark. Who excites you.'
'I told you, I didn't mean what I said on the plane. Connor does excite me!' I give him a
defiant look. 'I mean… when you saw us last, we were pretty passionate, weren't we?'
'Oh, that.' Jack shrugs. 'I assumed that was a desperate attempt to spice up your love life.'
I stare at him in fury.
'That was not a desperate attempt to spice up my love life!' I almost spit at him. 'That was
simply a… a spontaneous act of passion.'
'Sorry,' says Jack mildly. 'My mistake.'
'Anyway, why do you care?' I fold my arms. 'What does it matter to you whether I'm happy or
not?'
There's a sharp silence, and I find I'm breathing rather quickly. I meet his dark eyes, and
quickly look away again.
'I've asked myself that same question,' says Jack. He shrugs. 'Maybe it's because we
experienced that extraordinary plane ride together. Maybe it's because you're the only person
in this whole company who hasn't put on some kind of phoney act for me.'
I would have put on an act! I feel like retorting. If I'd had a choice!
'I guess what I'm saying is… I feel as if you're a friend,' he says. 'And I care what happens to
my friends.'
'Oh,' I say, and rub my nose.
I'm about to say politely that he feels like a friend, too, when he adds, 'Plus anyone who
recites Woody Allen films line for line has to be a loser.'
I feel a surge of outrage on Connor's behalf.
'You don't know anything about it!' I exclaim. 'You know, I wish I'd never sat next to you on
that stupid plane! You go around, saying all these things to wind me up, behaving as though
you know me better than anyone else-'
'Maybe I do,' he says, his eyes glinting.
'What?'
'Maybe I do know you better than anyone else.'
I stare back at him, feeling a breathless mixture of anger and exhilaration. I suddenly feel like
we're playing tennis. Or dancing.
'You do not know me better than anyone else!' I retort, in the most scathing tones I can muster.
'I know you won't end up with Connor Martin.'
'You don't know that.'
'Yes I do.'
'No you don't.'
'I do.'
He's starting to laugh.
'No you don't! If you want to know, I'll probably end up marrying Connor.'
'Marry Connor?' says Jack, as though this is the funniest joke he's ever heard.
'Yes! Why not? He's tall, and he's handsome, and he's kind and he's very… he's…' I'm
floundering slightly. 'And anyway, this is my personal life. You're my boss, and you only met
me last week, and frankly, this is none of your business!'
Jack's laughter vanishes, and he looks as though I've slapped him. For a few moments he
stares at me, saying nothing. Then he takes a step back and releases the lift button.
'You're right,' he says in a completely different voice. 'Your personal life is none of my
business. I overstepped the mark, and I apologize.'
I feel a spasm of dismay.
'I… I didn't mean-'
'No. You're right.' He stares at the floor for a few moments, then looks up. 'So, I leave for the
States tomorrow. It's been a very pleasant stay, and I'd like to thank you for all your help. Will
I see you at the drinks party tonight?'
'I… I don't know,' I say.
The atmosphere has disintegrated.
This is awful. It's horrible. I want to say something, I want to put it back to the way it was
before, all easy and joking. But I can't find the words.
We reach the ninth floor, and the doors open.
'I think I can manage these from here,' Jack says. 'I really only asked you along for the
company.'
Awkwardly, I transfer the folders to his arms.
'Well, Emma,' he says in the same formal voice. 'In case I don't see you later on… it was nice
knowing you.' He meets my eyes and a glimmer of his old, warm expression returns. 'I really
mean that.'
'You too,' I say, my throat tight.
I don't want him to go. I don't want this to be the end. I feel like suggesting a quick drink. I
feel like clinging to his hand and saying: Don't leave.
God, what's wrong with me?
'Have a good journey,' I manage as he shakes my hand. Then he turns on his heel and walks
off down the corridor.
I open my mouth a couple of times to call after him — but what would I say? There's nothing
to say. By tomorrow morning he'll be on a plane back to his life. And I'll be left here in mine.
I feel leaden for the rest of the day. Everyone else is talking about Jack Harper's leaving party,
but I leave work half an hour early. I go straight home and make myself some hot chocolate,
and I'm sitting on the sofa, staring into space when Connor lets himself into the flat.
I look up as he walks into the room, and immediately I know something's different. Not with
him. He hasn't changed a bit.
But I have. I've changed.
'Hi,' he says, and kisses me lightly on the head. 'Shall we go?'
'Go?'
'To look at the flat on Edith Road. We'll have to hurry if we're going to make it to the party.
Oh, and my mother's given us a house-warming present. It was delivered to work.'
He hands me a cardboard box, I pull out a glass teapot and look at it blankly.
'You can keep the tea-leaves separate from the water. Mum says it really does make a better
cup of tea-'
'Connor,' I hear myself saying. 'I can't do this.'
'It's quite easy. You just have to lift the-'
'No.' I shut my eyes, trying to gather some courage, then open them again. 'I can't do this. I
can't move in with you.'
'What?' Connor stares at me. 'Has something happened?'
'Yes. No.' I swallow. 'I've been having doubts for a while. About us. And recently they've…
they've been confirmed. If we carry on, I'll be a hypocrite. It's not fair to either of us.'
'What?' Connor rubs his face. 'Emma, are you saying you want to… to…'
'I want to break up,' I say, staring at the carpet.
'You're joking.'
'I'm not joking!' I say in sudden anguish. 'I'm not joking, OK?'
'But… this is ridiculous! It's ridiculous!' Connor's pacing around the room like a rattled lion.
Suddenly he looks at me.
'It's that plane journey.'
'What?' I jump as though I've been scalded. 'What do you mean?'
'You've been different ever since that plane ride down from Scotland.'
'No I haven't!'
'You have! You've been edgy, you've been tense…' Connor squats down in front of me and
takes my hands. 'Emma, I think maybe you're still suffering some kind of trauma. You could
have counselling.'
'Connor, I don't need counselling!' I jerk my hands away. 'But maybe you're right. Maybe that
plane ride did…' I swallow. 'Affect me. Maybe it brought my life into perspective and make
me realize a few things. And one of the things I've realized is, we aren't right for each other.'
Slowly Connor sinks down onto the carpet, his face bewildered.
'But things have been great! We've been having lots of sex-'
'I know.'
'Is there someone else?'
'No!' I say sharply. 'Of course there's no-one else!' I rub my finger roughly up and down the
cover of the sofa.
'This isn't you talking,' says Connor suddenly. 'It's just the mood you're in. I'll run you a nice
hot bath, light some scented candles…'
'Connor, please!' I cry. 'No more scented candles! You have to listen to me. And you have to
believe me.' I look straight into his eyes. 'I want to break up.'
'I don't believe you!' he says, shaking his head. 'I know you, Emma! You're not that kind of
person. You wouldn't just throw away something like that. You wouldn't-'
He stops in shock as, with no warning, I hurl the glass teapot to the floor.
We both stare at it, stunned.
'It was supposed to break,' I explain after a pause. 'And that was going to signify that yes, I
would throw something away. If I knew it wasn't right for me.'
'I think it has broken,' says Connor, picking it up and examining it. 'At least, there's a hairline
crack.'
'There you go.'
'We could still use it-'
'No. We couldn't.'
'We could get some Sellotape.'
'But it would never work properly.' I clench my fists by my sides. 'It just… wouldn't work.'
'I see,' says Connor after a pause.
And I think, finally, he does.
'Well… I'll be off then,' he says at last. 'I'll phone the flat people and tell them that we're…'
He stops, and roughly wipes his nose.
'OK,' I say, in a voice which doesn't sound like mine. 'Can we keep it quiet from everyone at
work?' I add. 'Just for the moment.'
'Of course,' he says gruffly. 'I won't say anything.'
He's halfway out of the door when abruptly he turns back, reaching in his pocket. 'Emma, here
are the tickets for the jazz festival,' he says, his voice cracking a little. 'You have them.'
'What?' I stare at them in horror. 'No! Connor, you have them! They're yours!'
'You have them. I know how much you've been looking forward to hearing the Dennisson
Quartet.' He pushes the brightly coloured tickets roughly into my hand and closes my fingers
over them.
'I… I…' I swallow. 'Connor… I just… I don't know what to say.'
'We'll always have jazz,' says Connor in a choked-up voice, and closes the door behind him.
ELEVEN
TWELVE
Oh God. I really am laughing now. I'm giving tiny little snorts, and my ribs hurt, and every
time I look at him I give another gurgle. My nose is running, and I haven't got a tissue… I'll
have to blow my nose on the picture of the ovaries…
'Emma, why are you with that guy?'
'What?' I look up, still laughing, until I realize that Jack's stopped. He's looking at me, with an
unreadable expression on his face.
'Why are you with that guy?' he repeats.
My gurgles peter out, and I push my hair back off my face.
'What do you mean?' I say, playing for time.
'Connor Martin. He's not going to make you happy. He's not going to fulfil you.'
I stare at him, feeling wrong-footed.
'Who says?'
'I've got to know Connor. I've sat in meetings with him. I've seen how his mind works. He's a
nice guy — but you need more than a nice guy.' Jack gives me a long, shrewd look. 'My guess
is, you don't really want to move in with him. But you're afraid of ducking out.'
I feel a swell of indignation. How dare he read my mind and get it so… so wrong. Of course I
want to move in with Connor.
'Actually, you're quite mistaken,' I say cuttingly. 'I'm looking forward to moving in with him.
In fact… in fact, I was just sitting at my desk, thinking how I can't wait!'
So there.
Jack's shaking his head.
'You need someone with a spark. Who excites you.'
'I told you, I didn't mean what I said on the plane. Connor does excite me!' I give him a
defiant look. 'I mean… when you saw us last, we were pretty passionate, weren't we?'
'Oh, that.' Jack shrugs. 'I assumed that was a desperate attempt to spice up your love life.'
I stare at him in fury.
'That was not a desperate attempt to spice up my love life!' I almost spit at him. 'That was
simply a… a spontaneous act of passion.'
'Sorry,' says Jack mildly. 'My mistake.'
'Anyway, why do you care?' I fold my arms. 'What does it matter to you whether I'm happy or
not?'
There's a sharp silence, and I find I'm breathing rather quickly. I meet his dark eyes, and
quickly look away again.
'I've asked myself that same question,' says Jack. He shrugs. 'Maybe it's because we
experienced that extraordinary plane ride together. Maybe it's because you're the only person
in this whole company who hasn't put on some kind of phoney act for me.'
I would have put on an act! I feel like retorting. If I'd had a choice!
'I guess what I'm saying is… I feel as if you're a friend,' he says. 'And I care what happens to
my friends.'
'Oh,' I say, and rub my nose.
I'm about to say politely that he feels like a friend, too, when he adds, 'Plus anyone who
recites Woody Allen films line for line has to be a loser.'
I feel a surge of outrage on Connor's behalf.
'You don't know anything about it!' I exclaim. 'You know, I wish I'd never sat next to you on
that stupid plane! You go around, saying all these things to wind me up, behaving as though
you know me better than anyone else-'
'Maybe I do,' he says, his eyes glinting.
'What?'
'Maybe I do know you better than anyone else.'
I stare back at him, feeling a breathless mixture of anger and exhilaration. I suddenly feel like
we're playing tennis. Or dancing.
'You do not know me better than anyone else!' I retort, in the most scathing tones I can muster.
'I know you won't end up with Connor Martin.'
'You don't know that.'
'Yes I do.'
'No you don't.'
'I do.'
He's starting to laugh.
'No you don't! If you want to know, I'll probably end up marrying Connor.'
'Marry Connor?' says Jack, as though this is the funniest joke he's ever heard.
'Yes! Why not? He's tall, and he's handsome, and he's kind and he's very… he's…' I'm
floundering slightly. 'And anyway, this is my personal life. You're my boss, and you only met
me last week, and frankly, this is none of your business!'
Jack's laughter vanishes, and he looks as though I've slapped him. For a few moments he
stares at me, saying nothing. Then he takes a step back and releases the lift button.
'You're right,' he says in a completely different voice. 'Your personal life is none of my
business. I overstepped the mark, and I apologize.'
I feel a spasm of dismay.
'I… I didn't mean-'
'No. You're right.' He stares at the floor for a few moments, then looks up. 'So, I leave for the
States tomorrow. It's been a very pleasant stay, and I'd like to thank you for all your help. Will
I see you at the drinks party tonight?'
'I… I don't know,' I say.
The atmosphere has disintegrated.
This is awful. It's horrible. I want to say something, I want to put it back to the way it was
before, all easy and joking. But I can't find the words.
We reach the ninth floor, and the doors open.
'I think I can manage these from here,' Jack says. 'I really only asked you along for the
company.'
Awkwardly, I transfer the folders to his arms.
'Well, Emma,' he says in the same formal voice. 'In case I don't see you later on… it was nice
knowing you.' He meets my eyes and a glimmer of his old, warm expression returns. 'I really
mean that.'
'You too,' I say, my throat tight.
I don't want him to go. I don't want this to be the end. I feel like suggesting a quick drink. I
feel like clinging to his hand and saying: Don't leave.
God, what's wrong with me?
'Have a good journey,' I manage as he shakes my hand. Then he turns on his heel and walks
off down the corridor.
I open my mouth a couple of times to call after him — but what would I say? There's nothing
to say. By tomorrow morning he'll be on a plane back to his life. And I'll be left here in mine.
I feel leaden for the rest of the day. Everyone else is talking about Jack Harper's leaving party,
but I leave work half an hour early. I go straight home and make myself some hot chocolate,
and I'm sitting on the sofa, staring into space when Connor lets himself into the flat.
I look up as he walks into the room, and immediately I know something's different. Not with
him. He hasn't changed a bit.
But I have. I've changed.
'Hi,' he says, and kisses me lightly on the head. 'Shall we go?'
'Go?'
'To look at the flat on Edith Road. We'll have to hurry if we're going to make it to the party.
Oh, and my mother's given us a house-warming present. It was delivered to work.'
He hands me a cardboard box, I pull out a glass teapot and look at it blankly.
'You can keep the tea-leaves separate from the water. Mum says it really does make a better
cup of tea-'
'Connor,' I hear myself saying. 'I can't do this.'
'It's quite easy. You just have to lift the-'
'No.' I shut my eyes, trying to gather some courage, then open them again. 'I can't do this. I
can't move in with you.'
'What?' Connor stares at me. 'Has something happened?'
'Yes. No.' I swallow. 'I've been having doubts for a while. About us. And recently they've…
they've been confirmed. If we carry on, I'll be a hypocrite. It's not fair to either of us.'
'What?' Connor rubs his face. 'Emma, are you saying you want to… to…'
'I want to break up,' I say, staring at the carpet.
'You're joking.'
'I'm not joking!' I say in sudden anguish. 'I'm not joking, OK?'
'But… this is ridiculous! It's ridiculous!' Connor's pacing around the room like a rattled lion.
Suddenly he looks at me.
'It's that plane journey.'
'What?' I jump as though I've been scalded. 'What do you mean?'
'You've been different ever since that plane ride down from Scotland.'
'No I haven't!'
'You have! You've been edgy, you've been tense…' Connor squats down in front of me and
takes my hands. 'Emma, I think maybe you're still suffering some kind of trauma. You could
have counselling.'
'Connor, I don't need counselling!' I jerk my hands away. 'But maybe you're right. Maybe that
plane ride did…' I swallow. 'Affect me. Maybe it brought my life into perspective and make
me realize a few things. And one of the things I've realized is, we aren't right for each other.'
Slowly Connor sinks down onto the carpet, his face bewildered.
'But things have been great! We've been having lots of sex-'
'I know.'
'Is there someone else?'
'No!' I say sharply. 'Of course there's no-one else!' I rub my finger roughly up and down the
cover of the sofa.
'This isn't you talking,' says Connor suddenly. 'It's just the mood you're in. I'll run you a nice
hot bath, light some scented candles…'
'Connor, please!' I cry. 'No more scented candles! You have to listen to me. And you have to
believe me.' I look straight into his eyes. 'I want to break up.'
'I don't believe you!' he says, shaking his head. 'I know you, Emma! You're not that kind of
person. You wouldn't just throw away something like that. You wouldn't-'
He stops in shock as, with no warning, I hurl the glass teapot to the floor.
We both stare at it, stunned.
'It was supposed to break,' I explain after a pause. 'And that was going to signify that yes, I
would throw something away. If I knew it wasn't right for me.'
'I think it has broken,' says Connor, picking it up and examining it. 'At least, there's a hairline
crack.'
'There you go.'
'We could still use it-'
'No. We couldn't.'
'We could get some Sellotape.'
'But it would never work properly.' I clench my fists by my sides. 'It just… wouldn't work.'
'I see,' says Connor after a pause.
And I think, finally, he does.
'Well… I'll be off then,' he says at last. 'I'll phone the flat people and tell them that we're…'
He stops, and roughly wipes his nose.
'OK,' I say, in a voice which doesn't sound like mine. 'Can we keep it quiet from everyone at
work?' I add. 'Just for the moment.'
'Of course,' he says gruffly. 'I won't say anything.'
He's halfway out of the door when abruptly he turns back, reaching in his pocket. 'Emma, here
are the tickets for the jazz festival,' he says, his voice cracking a little. 'You have them.'
'What?' I stare at them in horror. 'No! Connor, you have them! They're yours!'
'You have them. I know how much you've been looking forward to hearing the Dennisson
Quartet.' He pushes the brightly coloured tickets roughly into my hand and closes my fingers
over them.
'I… I…' I swallow. 'Connor… I just… I don't know what to say.'
'We'll always have jazz,' says Connor in a choked-up voice, and closes the door behind him.
ELEVEN
So now I have no promotion and no boyfriend. And puffy eyes from crying. And everyone
thinks I'm mad.
'You're mad,' Jemima says, approximately every ten minutes. It's Saturday morning, and we're
in our usual routine of dressing gowns, coffee, and nursing hangovers. Or in my case, breakups.
'You do realize you had him?' She frowns at her toenail, which she's painting baby pink.
'I would have predicted a rock on your finger within six months.'
'I thought you said I'd ruined all my chances by agreeing to move in with him,' I retort sulkily.
'Well, in Connor's case I think you would have been safe and dry.' She shakes her head.
'You're crazy.'
'Do you think I'm crazy?' I say, turning to Lissy, who's sitting in the rocking chair with her
arm round her knees, eating a piece of raisin toast. 'Be honest.'
'Er… no,' says Lissy unconvincingly. 'Of course not!'
'You do!'
'It's just… you seemed like such a great couple.'
'I know we did. I know we looked great on the outside.' I pause, trying to explain. 'But the
truth is, I never felt I was being myself. It was always a bit like we were acting. You know. It
didn't seem real, somehow.'
'That's it?' interrupts Jemima, staring at me as though I'm talking gibberish. 'That's the reason
you broke up?'
'It's a pretty good reason, don't you think?' says Lissy loyally.
Jemima stares at us both blankly.
'Of course not! Emma, if you'd just stuck it out and acted being the perfect couple for long
enough, you would have become the perfect couple.'
'But… but we wouldn't have been happy!'
'You would have been the perfect couple,' says Jemima, as though explaining something to a
very stupid child.' Obviously you would have been happy.' She cautiously stands up, her toes
splayed by bits of pink foam, and starts making her way towards the door. 'And anyway.
Everyone pretends in a relationship.'
'No they don't! Or at least, they shouldn't.'
'Of course they should! All this being honest with each other is totally overrated.' She gives us
a knowing look. 'My mother's been married to my father for thirty years, and he still has no
idea she isn't a natural blonde.'
She disappears out of the room and I exchange glances with Lissy.
'Do you think she's right?' I say.
'No,' says Lissy uncertainly. 'Of course not! Relationships should be built on… on trust…
and truth…' She pauses, and looks at me anxiously. 'Emma, you never told me you felt that
way about Connor.'
'I… didn't tell anyone.'
This isn't quite true, I immediately realize. But I'm hardly going to tell my best friend that I
told more to a complete stranger than to her, am I?
'Well, I really wish you'd confided in me more,' says Lissy earnestly. 'Emma, let's make a new
resolution. We'll tell each other everything from now on. We shouldn't have secrets from one
another, anyway. We're best friends!'
'It's a deal!' I say, with a sudden warm burst of emotion. Impulsively I lean forward and give
her a hug.
Lissy's so right. We should confide in each other. We shouldn't keep things from each other. I
mean, we've known each other for over twenty years, for God's sake.
'So, if we're telling each other everything…' Lissy takes a bite of raisin toast and gives me a
sidelong look. 'Did your chucking Connor have anything to do with that man? The man from
the plane?'
I feel a tiny pang inside which I ignore by taking a sip of coffee.
Did it have anything to do with him? No. No, it didn't.
'No,' I say without looking up. 'Nothing.'
We both watch the television screen for a few moments, where Kylie Minogue is being
interviewed.
'Oh, OK!' I say, suddenly remembering. 'So if we're asking each other questions… what were
you really doing with that guy Jean-Paul in your room?'
Lissy takes a breath.
'And don't tell me you were looking at case notes,' I add. 'Because that wouldn't make all that
thumping bumping noise.'
'Oh!' says Lissy, looking cornered. 'OK. Well… we were…' She takes a gulp of coffee and
avoids my gaze. 'We were… um… having sex.'
'What?' I stare at her, disconcerted.
'Yes. We were having sex. That's why I didn't want to tell you. I was embarrassed.'
'You and Jean-Paul were having sex?'
'Yes!' She clears her throat. 'We were having passionate… raunchy… animalistic sex.'
There's something wrong here.
'I don't believe you,' I say, giving her a long look. 'You weren't having sex.'
The pink dots on Lissy's cheeks deepen in colour.
'Yes we were!'
'No you weren't! Lissy, what were you really doing?'
'We were having sex, OK?' says Lissy agitatedly. 'He's my new boyfriend and… that's what
we were doing! Now just leave me alone.' She gets up flusteredly, scattering raisin toast
crumbs, and heads out of the room, tripping slightly on the rug.
I stare after her, completely agog.
Why is she lying? What on earth was she doing in there? What's more embarrassing than sex,
for God's sake? I'm so intrigued I almost feel cheered up.
To be honest, it's not the greatest weekend of my life. It's made even less great when the post
arrives and I get a postcard from Mum and Dad from Le Spa Meridien, telling me what a
fantastic time they're having. And even less great when I read my horoscope in the Mail, and
it tells me I may just have made a big mistake.
But by Monday morning, I'm feeling better. I haven't made a mistake. My new life starts
today. I'm going to forget all about love and romance and concentrate on my career. Maybe
I'll even look for a new job.
As I come out of the tube station, I start to like this idea a lot. I'll apply for a job as Marketing
Executive at Coca-Cola or somewhere. And I'll get it. And Paul will suddenly realize what a
terrible mistake he made, not promoting me. And he'll ask me to stay, but I'll say, 'It's too late.
You had your chance.' And then he'll beg, 'Emma, is there anything I can do to change your
mind?' And then I'll say-
By the time I reach the office, Paul is grovelling on the floor as I sit nonchalantly on his desk,
holding one knee (I also seem to be wearing a new trouser suit and Prada shoes) saying, 'You
know, Paul, all you had to do was treat me with a little respect-'
Shit, My eyes focus and I stop in my tracks, hand on the glass doors. There's a blond head in
the foyer.
Connor. A wave of panic overcomes me. I can't go in there. I can't do it. I can't-
Then the head moves, and it's not Connor at all, it's Andrea from Accounts. I push the door
open, feeling like a complete moron. God, I'm a mess. I have to get a grip of myself, because I
will run into Connor before too long, and I'm just going to have to handle it.
At least no-one at work knows yet, I think as I walk up the stairs. That would make things a
million times harder. To have people coming up to me and saying-
'Emma, I'm so sorry to hear about you and Connor!'
'What?' My head jerks up in shock and I see a girl called Nancy coming towards me.
'It was such a bolt from the blue! Of all the couples to split up, I would never have said you
two. But it just shows, you never can tell…'
I stare at her dazedly.
'How… how do you know?'
'Oh, everyone knows!' says Nancy. 'You know there was a little drinks do on Friday night?
Well, Connor came to it, and he got quite drunk. And he told everyone. In fact, he made a
little speech!'
'He… he did what?'
'It was quite touching, really. It was all about how the Panther Corporation felt like his family,
and how he knew we would all support him through this difficult time. And you, of course,'
she adds as an afterthought. 'Although since you were the one who broke it off, Connor's
really the wounded party.' She leans forward confidentially. 'I have to say, a lot of the girls
were saying you must have a screw loose!'
I cannot believe this. Connor gave a speech about our break-up. After promising to keep it
quiet. And now everyone's on his side.
'Right,' I say at last. 'Well, I'd better get on-'
'It just seems such a shame.' Nancy eyes me inquisitively. 'You two seemed so perfect!'
'I know we did.' I force a smile. 'Anyway. See you later.'
I head for the new coffee machine and am staring into space, trying to get my head round this,
when a tremulous voice interrupts me.
'Emma?' I look up and my heart sinks. It's Katie, staring at me as though I've grown three
heads.
'Oh hi!' I say, trying to sound breezy.
'Is it true?' she whispers. 'Is it true? Because I won't believe it's true until I hear you say it with
your own lips.'
'Yes,' I say reluctantly. 'It's true. Connor and I have broken up.'
'Oh God.' Katie's breathing becomes quicker and quicker. 'Oh my God. It's true. Oh my God,
oh my God, I really can't cope with this…'
Shit. She's hyperventilating. I grab an empty sugar bag and shove it over her mouth.
'Katie, calm down!' I say helplessly. 'Breathe in… and out…'
'I've been having panic attacks all weekend,' she manages, between breaths. 'I woke up last
night in a cold sweat and I just thought to myself, if this is true, the world doesn't make sense
any more. It simply makes no sense.'
'Katie, we broke up! That's all. People break up all the time.'
'But you and Connor weren't just people! You were the couple. I mean, if you can't make it,
why should any of the rest of us bother even trying?'
'Katie, we weren't the couple!' I say, trying to keep my temper. 'We were a couple. And it
went wrong, and… and these things happen.'
'But-'
'And to be honest, I'd rather not talk about it.'
'Oh,' she says, and stares at me over the bag. 'Oh God, of course. Sorry, Emma. I didn't… I
just… you know, it was such a shock!'
'Come on, you haven't told me how your date with Phillip went yet,' I say firmly. 'Cheer me
up with some good news.'
Katie's breathing has gradually calmed, and she removes the bag from her face.
'Actually, it went really well,' she says. 'We're going to see each other again!'
'Well there you go,' I say encouragingly.
'He's so charming. And gentle. And we have the same sense of humour, and we like the same
things.' A bashful smile spreads across Katie's face. 'In fact, he's lovely!'
'He sounds wonderful! You see?' I squeeze her arm. 'You and Phillip will probably be a far
better couple than Connor and I ever were. Do you want a coffee?'
'No thanks, I've got to go. We've got a meeting with Jack Harper about personnel. See you.'
'OK, see you,' I say absently.
About five seconds later, my brain clicks into gear.
'Wait a second.' I hurry down the corridor and grab her shoulder. 'Did you just say Jack
Harper?'
'Yes.'
'But… but he's gone. He left on Friday.'
'No he didn't. He changed his mind.'
I stare at her in disbelief.
'He changed his mind?'
'Yes.'
'So…' I swallow. 'So he's here?'
'Of course he's here!' says Katie with a laugh. 'He's upstairs.'
Suddenly my legs won't work properly.
'Why…' I clear my throat, which has gone a little husky. 'Why did he change his mind?'
'Who knows?' Katie shrugs. 'He's the boss. He can do what he likes, can't he? Mind you, he
seems very down to earth.' She reaches into her pocket for a packet of gum, and offers it to
me. 'He was really nice to Connor after he gave his little speech…'
I feel a fresh jolt.
'Jack Harper heard Connor's speech? About us breaking up?'
'Yes! He was standing right next to him.' Katie unwraps her gum. 'And afterwards he said
something really nice like he could just imagine how Connor was feeling. Wasn't that sweet?'
I need to sit down. I need to think. I need to…
'Emma, are you OK?' says Katie in dismay. 'God, I'm so insensitive-'
'No. It's fine,' I say dazedly. 'I'm fine. I'll see you later.'
My mind is whirling as I walk into the marketing department.
This is not the way it was supposed to happen. Jack Harper was supposed to be back in
America. He was supposed to have no idea that I went straight home from our conversation
and chucked Connor.
I feel a smart of humiliation. He'll think I chucked Connor because of what he said to me in
the lift, won't he? He'll think it was all because of him. Which it wasn't. It so wasn't.
At least, not completely…
Maybe that's why…
No. It's ridiculous to think that his staying has anything to do with me. Ridiculous. I don't
know why I'm so jumpy.
As I near my desk, Artemis looks up from a copy of Marketing Week.
'Oh Emma. I was sorry to hear about you and Connor.'
'Thanks,' I say. 'But I don't really want to talk about it if that's OK.'
'Fine,' says Artemis. 'Whatever. I was just being polite.' She looks at a Post-It on her desk.
'There's a message for you from Jack Harper, by the way.'
'What?' I start.
Shit. I didn't mean to sound so rattled. 'I mean, what is it?' I add more calmly.
'Could you please take the -' She squints at the paper. '— the Leopold file to his office. He said
you'd know what it was. But if you can't find it, it doesn't matter.'
I stare at her, my heart hammering in my chest.
The Leopold file.
It was just an excuse to get away from our desks…
It's a secret code. He wants to see me.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
I have never been more excited and thrilled and petrified. All at once.
I sit down and stare at my blank screen for a minute. Then with trembling fingers I take out a
blank file. I wait until Artemis has turned away, then write 'Leopold' on the side of it, trying to
disguise my handwriting.
Now what do I do?
Well, it's obvious. I take it upstairs to his office.
Unless… Oh fuck. Am I being really, really stupid here? Is there a real Leopold file?
Hastily I go into the company database and do a quick search for 'Leopold'. But nothing
comes up.
OK. I was right first time.
I'm about to push my chair back when I suddenly have a paranoid thought. What if someone
stops me and asks what the Leopold file is? Or what if I drop it on the floor and everyone sees
it's empty?
Quickly, I open a new document, invent a fancy letterhead and type a letter from a Mr Ernest
P. Leopold to the Panther Corporation. I send it over to print, stroll over to the printer and
whisk it out before anyone else can see what it is. Not that anyone else is remotely interested.
'Right,' I say casually, tucking it into the cardboard folder. 'Well, I'll just take that file up, then
…'
Artemis doesn't even raise her head.
As I walk along the corridors my stomach is churning, and I feel all prickly and self-conscious,
as though everyone in the building must know what I'm doing. There's a lift waiting to go up,
but I head for the stairs, firstly so I won't have to talk to anyone and secondly because my
heart's beating so fast, I feel like I need to use up a bit of nervous energy.
Why does Jack Harper want to see me? Because if it's to tell me he was right all along about
Connor, then he can just… he can just bloody well… Suddenly I have a flashback to that
awful atmosphere in the lift, and my stomach turns over. What if it's really awkward? What if
he's angry with me?
I don't have to go, I remind myself. He did give me an out. I could easily phone his secretary
and say, 'Sorry, I couldn't find the Leopold file,' and that would be the end.
For an instant I hesitate on the marble stairs, my fingers tightly clutching the cardboard. And
then I carry on walking.
As I near the door of Jack's office I see that it's being guarded not by one of the secretaries,
but by Sven.
Oh God. I know Jack has said he's his oldest friend, but I can't help it. I do find this guy
creepy.
'Hi,' I say. 'Er… Mr Harper asked me to bring up the Leopold file.'
Sven looks at me, and for an instant it's as if a little silent communication is passing between
us. He knows, doesn't he? He probably uses the Leopold file code himself. He picks up his
phone and after a moment says, 'Jack, Emma Corrigan here with the Leopold file.' Then he
puts down the phone, and without smiling, says, 'Go straight in.'
I walk in, feeling prickly with self-consciousness. The room is huge and panelled, and Jack's
sitting behind a big wooden desk. When he looks up, his eyes are warm and friendly, and I
feel myself relax just the teeniest bit.
'Hello,' he says'.
'Hello,' I reply, and there's a short silence.
'So, um, here's the Leopold file,' I say, and hand him the cardboard folder.
'The Leopold file.' He laughs. 'Very good.' Then he opens it and looks at the sheet of paper in
surprise. 'What's this?'
'It's a… it's a letter from Mr Leopold of Leopold and Company.'
'You composed a letter from Mr Leopold?' He sounds astonished, and suddenly I feel really
stupid.
'Just in case I dropped the file on the floor and someone saw,' I mumble. 'I thought I'd just
quickly make something up. It's not important.' I try to take it back, but Jack moves it out of
my reach.
'"From the office of Ernest P. Leopold",' he reads aloud, and his face crinkles in delight. 'I see
he wishes to order 6,000 cases of Panther Cola. Quite a customer, this Leopold.'
'It's for a corporate event,' I explain. 'They normally use Pepsi, but recently one of their
employees tasted Panther Cola, and it was so good…'
'They simply had to switch,' finishes Jack. '"May I add that I am delighted with all aspects of
your company, and have taken to wearing a Panther jogging suit, which is quite the most
comfortable sportswear I have ever known."' He stares at the letter, then looks up with a smile.
To my surprise, his eyes are shining slightly. 'You know, Pete would have adored this.'
'Pete Laidler?' I say hesitantly.
'Yup. It was Pete who came up with the whole Leopold file manoeuvre. This was the kind of
stuff he did all the time.' He taps the letter. 'Can I keep it?'
'Of course,' I say, a little taken aback.
He folds it up and puts it in his pocket, and for a few moments there's silence.
'So,' says Jack at last. He raises his head and looks at me with an unreadable expression. 'You
broke up with Connor.'
My stomach gives a flip. I don't know what to say.
'So.' I lift my chin defiantly. 'You decided to stay.'
'Yes, well…' He stretches out his fingers and studies them briefly. 'I thought I might take a
closer look at some of the European subsidiaries.' He looks up. 'How about you?'
He wants me to say I chucked Connor because of him, doesn't he? Well, I'm not going to. No
way.
'Same reason.' I nod. 'European subsidiaries.'
Jack's mouth twitches reluctantly into a smile.
'I see. And are you… OK?'
'I'm fine. Actually, I'm enjoying the freedom of being single again.' I gesture widely with my
arms. 'You know, the liberation, the flexibility…'
'That's great. Well then, maybe this isn't a good time to…' He stops.
'To what?' I say, a little too quickly.
'I know you must be hurting right now,' he says carefully. 'But I was wondering.' He pauses
for what seems like for ever, and I can feel my heart thumping hard against my ribs. 'Would
you like to have dinner some time?'
He's asked me out. He's asked me out.
I almost can't move my mouth.
'Yes,' I say at last. 'Yes, that would be lovely.'
'Great!' He pauses. 'The only thing is, my life is kind of complicated right now. And what
with our office situation…' He spreads his hands. 'It might be an idea to keep this to
ourselves.'
'Oh, I completely agree,' I say quickly. 'We should be discreet.'
'So shall we say… how about tomorrow night? Would that suit you?'
'Tomorrow night would be perfect.'
'I'll come and pick you up. If you email me your address. Eight o'clock?'
'Eight it is!'
As I leave Jack's office, Sven glances up and raises his eyebrows, but I don't say anything. I
head back to the marketing department, trying as hard as I can to keep my face dispassionate
and calm. But excitement is bubbling away in my stomach, and a huge smile keeps licking
over my face.
Oh my God. Oh my God. I'm going out to dinner with Jack Harper. I just… I can't believe-
Oh, who am I kidding? I knew this was going to happen. As soon as I heard he hadn't gone to
America. I knew.
thinks I'm mad.
'You're mad,' Jemima says, approximately every ten minutes. It's Saturday morning, and we're
in our usual routine of dressing gowns, coffee, and nursing hangovers. Or in my case, breakups.
'You do realize you had him?' She frowns at her toenail, which she's painting baby pink.
'I would have predicted a rock on your finger within six months.'
'I thought you said I'd ruined all my chances by agreeing to move in with him,' I retort sulkily.
'Well, in Connor's case I think you would have been safe and dry.' She shakes her head.
'You're crazy.'
'Do you think I'm crazy?' I say, turning to Lissy, who's sitting in the rocking chair with her
arm round her knees, eating a piece of raisin toast. 'Be honest.'
'Er… no,' says Lissy unconvincingly. 'Of course not!'
'You do!'
'It's just… you seemed like such a great couple.'
'I know we did. I know we looked great on the outside.' I pause, trying to explain. 'But the
truth is, I never felt I was being myself. It was always a bit like we were acting. You know. It
didn't seem real, somehow.'
'That's it?' interrupts Jemima, staring at me as though I'm talking gibberish. 'That's the reason
you broke up?'
'It's a pretty good reason, don't you think?' says Lissy loyally.
Jemima stares at us both blankly.
'Of course not! Emma, if you'd just stuck it out and acted being the perfect couple for long
enough, you would have become the perfect couple.'
'But… but we wouldn't have been happy!'
'You would have been the perfect couple,' says Jemima, as though explaining something to a
very stupid child.' Obviously you would have been happy.' She cautiously stands up, her toes
splayed by bits of pink foam, and starts making her way towards the door. 'And anyway.
Everyone pretends in a relationship.'
'No they don't! Or at least, they shouldn't.'
'Of course they should! All this being honest with each other is totally overrated.' She gives us
a knowing look. 'My mother's been married to my father for thirty years, and he still has no
idea she isn't a natural blonde.'
She disappears out of the room and I exchange glances with Lissy.
'Do you think she's right?' I say.
'No,' says Lissy uncertainly. 'Of course not! Relationships should be built on… on trust…
and truth…' She pauses, and looks at me anxiously. 'Emma, you never told me you felt that
way about Connor.'
'I… didn't tell anyone.'
This isn't quite true, I immediately realize. But I'm hardly going to tell my best friend that I
told more to a complete stranger than to her, am I?
'Well, I really wish you'd confided in me more,' says Lissy earnestly. 'Emma, let's make a new
resolution. We'll tell each other everything from now on. We shouldn't have secrets from one
another, anyway. We're best friends!'
'It's a deal!' I say, with a sudden warm burst of emotion. Impulsively I lean forward and give
her a hug.
Lissy's so right. We should confide in each other. We shouldn't keep things from each other. I
mean, we've known each other for over twenty years, for God's sake.
'So, if we're telling each other everything…' Lissy takes a bite of raisin toast and gives me a
sidelong look. 'Did your chucking Connor have anything to do with that man? The man from
the plane?'
I feel a tiny pang inside which I ignore by taking a sip of coffee.
Did it have anything to do with him? No. No, it didn't.
'No,' I say without looking up. 'Nothing.'
We both watch the television screen for a few moments, where Kylie Minogue is being
interviewed.
'Oh, OK!' I say, suddenly remembering. 'So if we're asking each other questions… what were
you really doing with that guy Jean-Paul in your room?'
Lissy takes a breath.
'And don't tell me you were looking at case notes,' I add. 'Because that wouldn't make all that
thumping bumping noise.'
'Oh!' says Lissy, looking cornered. 'OK. Well… we were…' She takes a gulp of coffee and
avoids my gaze. 'We were… um… having sex.'
'What?' I stare at her, disconcerted.
'Yes. We were having sex. That's why I didn't want to tell you. I was embarrassed.'
'You and Jean-Paul were having sex?'
'Yes!' She clears her throat. 'We were having passionate… raunchy… animalistic sex.'
There's something wrong here.
'I don't believe you,' I say, giving her a long look. 'You weren't having sex.'
The pink dots on Lissy's cheeks deepen in colour.
'Yes we were!'
'No you weren't! Lissy, what were you really doing?'
'We were having sex, OK?' says Lissy agitatedly. 'He's my new boyfriend and… that's what
we were doing! Now just leave me alone.' She gets up flusteredly, scattering raisin toast
crumbs, and heads out of the room, tripping slightly on the rug.
I stare after her, completely agog.
Why is she lying? What on earth was she doing in there? What's more embarrassing than sex,
for God's sake? I'm so intrigued I almost feel cheered up.
To be honest, it's not the greatest weekend of my life. It's made even less great when the post
arrives and I get a postcard from Mum and Dad from Le Spa Meridien, telling me what a
fantastic time they're having. And even less great when I read my horoscope in the Mail, and
it tells me I may just have made a big mistake.
But by Monday morning, I'm feeling better. I haven't made a mistake. My new life starts
today. I'm going to forget all about love and romance and concentrate on my career. Maybe
I'll even look for a new job.
As I come out of the tube station, I start to like this idea a lot. I'll apply for a job as Marketing
Executive at Coca-Cola or somewhere. And I'll get it. And Paul will suddenly realize what a
terrible mistake he made, not promoting me. And he'll ask me to stay, but I'll say, 'It's too late.
You had your chance.' And then he'll beg, 'Emma, is there anything I can do to change your
mind?' And then I'll say-
By the time I reach the office, Paul is grovelling on the floor as I sit nonchalantly on his desk,
holding one knee (I also seem to be wearing a new trouser suit and Prada shoes) saying, 'You
know, Paul, all you had to do was treat me with a little respect-'
Shit, My eyes focus and I stop in my tracks, hand on the glass doors. There's a blond head in
the foyer.
Connor. A wave of panic overcomes me. I can't go in there. I can't do it. I can't-
Then the head moves, and it's not Connor at all, it's Andrea from Accounts. I push the door
open, feeling like a complete moron. God, I'm a mess. I have to get a grip of myself, because I
will run into Connor before too long, and I'm just going to have to handle it.
At least no-one at work knows yet, I think as I walk up the stairs. That would make things a
million times harder. To have people coming up to me and saying-
'Emma, I'm so sorry to hear about you and Connor!'
'What?' My head jerks up in shock and I see a girl called Nancy coming towards me.
'It was such a bolt from the blue! Of all the couples to split up, I would never have said you
two. But it just shows, you never can tell…'
I stare at her dazedly.
'How… how do you know?'
'Oh, everyone knows!' says Nancy. 'You know there was a little drinks do on Friday night?
Well, Connor came to it, and he got quite drunk. And he told everyone. In fact, he made a
little speech!'
'He… he did what?'
'It was quite touching, really. It was all about how the Panther Corporation felt like his family,
and how he knew we would all support him through this difficult time. And you, of course,'
she adds as an afterthought. 'Although since you were the one who broke it off, Connor's
really the wounded party.' She leans forward confidentially. 'I have to say, a lot of the girls
were saying you must have a screw loose!'
I cannot believe this. Connor gave a speech about our break-up. After promising to keep it
quiet. And now everyone's on his side.
'Right,' I say at last. 'Well, I'd better get on-'
'It just seems such a shame.' Nancy eyes me inquisitively. 'You two seemed so perfect!'
'I know we did.' I force a smile. 'Anyway. See you later.'
I head for the new coffee machine and am staring into space, trying to get my head round this,
when a tremulous voice interrupts me.
'Emma?' I look up and my heart sinks. It's Katie, staring at me as though I've grown three
heads.
'Oh hi!' I say, trying to sound breezy.
'Is it true?' she whispers. 'Is it true? Because I won't believe it's true until I hear you say it with
your own lips.'
'Yes,' I say reluctantly. 'It's true. Connor and I have broken up.'
'Oh God.' Katie's breathing becomes quicker and quicker. 'Oh my God. It's true. Oh my God,
oh my God, I really can't cope with this…'
Shit. She's hyperventilating. I grab an empty sugar bag and shove it over her mouth.
'Katie, calm down!' I say helplessly. 'Breathe in… and out…'
'I've been having panic attacks all weekend,' she manages, between breaths. 'I woke up last
night in a cold sweat and I just thought to myself, if this is true, the world doesn't make sense
any more. It simply makes no sense.'
'Katie, we broke up! That's all. People break up all the time.'
'But you and Connor weren't just people! You were the couple. I mean, if you can't make it,
why should any of the rest of us bother even trying?'
'Katie, we weren't the couple!' I say, trying to keep my temper. 'We were a couple. And it
went wrong, and… and these things happen.'
'But-'
'And to be honest, I'd rather not talk about it.'
'Oh,' she says, and stares at me over the bag. 'Oh God, of course. Sorry, Emma. I didn't… I
just… you know, it was such a shock!'
'Come on, you haven't told me how your date with Phillip went yet,' I say firmly. 'Cheer me
up with some good news.'
Katie's breathing has gradually calmed, and she removes the bag from her face.
'Actually, it went really well,' she says. 'We're going to see each other again!'
'Well there you go,' I say encouragingly.
'He's so charming. And gentle. And we have the same sense of humour, and we like the same
things.' A bashful smile spreads across Katie's face. 'In fact, he's lovely!'
'He sounds wonderful! You see?' I squeeze her arm. 'You and Phillip will probably be a far
better couple than Connor and I ever were. Do you want a coffee?'
'No thanks, I've got to go. We've got a meeting with Jack Harper about personnel. See you.'
'OK, see you,' I say absently.
About five seconds later, my brain clicks into gear.
'Wait a second.' I hurry down the corridor and grab her shoulder. 'Did you just say Jack
Harper?'
'Yes.'
'But… but he's gone. He left on Friday.'
'No he didn't. He changed his mind.'
I stare at her in disbelief.
'He changed his mind?'
'Yes.'
'So…' I swallow. 'So he's here?'
'Of course he's here!' says Katie with a laugh. 'He's upstairs.'
Suddenly my legs won't work properly.
'Why…' I clear my throat, which has gone a little husky. 'Why did he change his mind?'
'Who knows?' Katie shrugs. 'He's the boss. He can do what he likes, can't he? Mind you, he
seems very down to earth.' She reaches into her pocket for a packet of gum, and offers it to
me. 'He was really nice to Connor after he gave his little speech…'
I feel a fresh jolt.
'Jack Harper heard Connor's speech? About us breaking up?'
'Yes! He was standing right next to him.' Katie unwraps her gum. 'And afterwards he said
something really nice like he could just imagine how Connor was feeling. Wasn't that sweet?'
I need to sit down. I need to think. I need to…
'Emma, are you OK?' says Katie in dismay. 'God, I'm so insensitive-'
'No. It's fine,' I say dazedly. 'I'm fine. I'll see you later.'
My mind is whirling as I walk into the marketing department.
This is not the way it was supposed to happen. Jack Harper was supposed to be back in
America. He was supposed to have no idea that I went straight home from our conversation
and chucked Connor.
I feel a smart of humiliation. He'll think I chucked Connor because of what he said to me in
the lift, won't he? He'll think it was all because of him. Which it wasn't. It so wasn't.
At least, not completely…
Maybe that's why…
No. It's ridiculous to think that his staying has anything to do with me. Ridiculous. I don't
know why I'm so jumpy.
As I near my desk, Artemis looks up from a copy of Marketing Week.
'Oh Emma. I was sorry to hear about you and Connor.'
'Thanks,' I say. 'But I don't really want to talk about it if that's OK.'
'Fine,' says Artemis. 'Whatever. I was just being polite.' She looks at a Post-It on her desk.
'There's a message for you from Jack Harper, by the way.'
'What?' I start.
Shit. I didn't mean to sound so rattled. 'I mean, what is it?' I add more calmly.
'Could you please take the -' She squints at the paper. '— the Leopold file to his office. He said
you'd know what it was. But if you can't find it, it doesn't matter.'
I stare at her, my heart hammering in my chest.
The Leopold file.
It was just an excuse to get away from our desks…
It's a secret code. He wants to see me.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
I have never been more excited and thrilled and petrified. All at once.
I sit down and stare at my blank screen for a minute. Then with trembling fingers I take out a
blank file. I wait until Artemis has turned away, then write 'Leopold' on the side of it, trying to
disguise my handwriting.
Now what do I do?
Well, it's obvious. I take it upstairs to his office.
Unless… Oh fuck. Am I being really, really stupid here? Is there a real Leopold file?
Hastily I go into the company database and do a quick search for 'Leopold'. But nothing
comes up.
OK. I was right first time.
I'm about to push my chair back when I suddenly have a paranoid thought. What if someone
stops me and asks what the Leopold file is? Or what if I drop it on the floor and everyone sees
it's empty?
Quickly, I open a new document, invent a fancy letterhead and type a letter from a Mr Ernest
P. Leopold to the Panther Corporation. I send it over to print, stroll over to the printer and
whisk it out before anyone else can see what it is. Not that anyone else is remotely interested.
'Right,' I say casually, tucking it into the cardboard folder. 'Well, I'll just take that file up, then
…'
Artemis doesn't even raise her head.
As I walk along the corridors my stomach is churning, and I feel all prickly and self-conscious,
as though everyone in the building must know what I'm doing. There's a lift waiting to go up,
but I head for the stairs, firstly so I won't have to talk to anyone and secondly because my
heart's beating so fast, I feel like I need to use up a bit of nervous energy.
Why does Jack Harper want to see me? Because if it's to tell me he was right all along about
Connor, then he can just… he can just bloody well… Suddenly I have a flashback to that
awful atmosphere in the lift, and my stomach turns over. What if it's really awkward? What if
he's angry with me?
I don't have to go, I remind myself. He did give me an out. I could easily phone his secretary
and say, 'Sorry, I couldn't find the Leopold file,' and that would be the end.
For an instant I hesitate on the marble stairs, my fingers tightly clutching the cardboard. And
then I carry on walking.
* * *
As I near the door of Jack's office I see that it's being guarded not by one of the secretaries,
but by Sven.
Oh God. I know Jack has said he's his oldest friend, but I can't help it. I do find this guy
creepy.
'Hi,' I say. 'Er… Mr Harper asked me to bring up the Leopold file.'
Sven looks at me, and for an instant it's as if a little silent communication is passing between
us. He knows, doesn't he? He probably uses the Leopold file code himself. He picks up his
phone and after a moment says, 'Jack, Emma Corrigan here with the Leopold file.' Then he
puts down the phone, and without smiling, says, 'Go straight in.'
I walk in, feeling prickly with self-consciousness. The room is huge and panelled, and Jack's
sitting behind a big wooden desk. When he looks up, his eyes are warm and friendly, and I
feel myself relax just the teeniest bit.
'Hello,' he says'.
'Hello,' I reply, and there's a short silence.
'So, um, here's the Leopold file,' I say, and hand him the cardboard folder.
'The Leopold file.' He laughs. 'Very good.' Then he opens it and looks at the sheet of paper in
surprise. 'What's this?'
'It's a… it's a letter from Mr Leopold of Leopold and Company.'
'You composed a letter from Mr Leopold?' He sounds astonished, and suddenly I feel really
stupid.
'Just in case I dropped the file on the floor and someone saw,' I mumble. 'I thought I'd just
quickly make something up. It's not important.' I try to take it back, but Jack moves it out of
my reach.
'"From the office of Ernest P. Leopold",' he reads aloud, and his face crinkles in delight. 'I see
he wishes to order 6,000 cases of Panther Cola. Quite a customer, this Leopold.'
'It's for a corporate event,' I explain. 'They normally use Pepsi, but recently one of their
employees tasted Panther Cola, and it was so good…'
'They simply had to switch,' finishes Jack. '"May I add that I am delighted with all aspects of
your company, and have taken to wearing a Panther jogging suit, which is quite the most
comfortable sportswear I have ever known."' He stares at the letter, then looks up with a smile.
To my surprise, his eyes are shining slightly. 'You know, Pete would have adored this.'
'Pete Laidler?' I say hesitantly.
'Yup. It was Pete who came up with the whole Leopold file manoeuvre. This was the kind of
stuff he did all the time.' He taps the letter. 'Can I keep it?'
'Of course,' I say, a little taken aback.
He folds it up and puts it in his pocket, and for a few moments there's silence.
'So,' says Jack at last. He raises his head and looks at me with an unreadable expression. 'You
broke up with Connor.'
My stomach gives a flip. I don't know what to say.
'So.' I lift my chin defiantly. 'You decided to stay.'
'Yes, well…' He stretches out his fingers and studies them briefly. 'I thought I might take a
closer look at some of the European subsidiaries.' He looks up. 'How about you?'
He wants me to say I chucked Connor because of him, doesn't he? Well, I'm not going to. No
way.
'Same reason.' I nod. 'European subsidiaries.'
Jack's mouth twitches reluctantly into a smile.
'I see. And are you… OK?'
'I'm fine. Actually, I'm enjoying the freedom of being single again.' I gesture widely with my
arms. 'You know, the liberation, the flexibility…'
'That's great. Well then, maybe this isn't a good time to…' He stops.
'To what?' I say, a little too quickly.
'I know you must be hurting right now,' he says carefully. 'But I was wondering.' He pauses
for what seems like for ever, and I can feel my heart thumping hard against my ribs. 'Would
you like to have dinner some time?'
He's asked me out. He's asked me out.
I almost can't move my mouth.
'Yes,' I say at last. 'Yes, that would be lovely.'
'Great!' He pauses. 'The only thing is, my life is kind of complicated right now. And what
with our office situation…' He spreads his hands. 'It might be an idea to keep this to
ourselves.'
'Oh, I completely agree,' I say quickly. 'We should be discreet.'
'So shall we say… how about tomorrow night? Would that suit you?'
'Tomorrow night would be perfect.'
'I'll come and pick you up. If you email me your address. Eight o'clock?'
'Eight it is!'
As I leave Jack's office, Sven glances up and raises his eyebrows, but I don't say anything. I
head back to the marketing department, trying as hard as I can to keep my face dispassionate
and calm. But excitement is bubbling away in my stomach, and a huge smile keeps licking
over my face.
Oh my God. Oh my God. I'm going out to dinner with Jack Harper. I just… I can't believe-
Oh, who am I kidding? I knew this was going to happen. As soon as I heard he hadn't gone to
America. I knew.
TWELVE
I have never seen Jemima look quite so appalled.
'He knows all your secrets?' She's looking at me as though I've just proudly informed her I'm
going out with a mass-murderer. 'What on earth do you mean?'
'I sat next to him on a plane, and I told him everything about myself.'
I frown at my reflection in the mirror and tweak out another eyebrow hair. It's seven o'clock,
I've had my bath, I've blow-dried my hair and now I'm on my makeup.
'And now he's asked her out,' says Lissy, hugging her knees. 'Isn't it romantic?'
'You are joking, aren't you?' says Jemima, looking aghast. 'Tell me this is a joke.'
'Of course I'm not joking! What's the problem?'
'You're going out with a man who knows everything about you.'
'Yes.'
'And you're asking me what's the problem?' Her voice rises incredulously. 'Are you crazy?'
'Of course I'm not crazy!'
'I knew you fancied him,' says Lissy for about the millionth time. 'I knew it. Right from the
moment you started talking about him.' She looks at my reflection. 'I'd leave that right
eyebrow alone now.'
'Really?' I peer at my face.
'Emma, you don't tell men all about yourself! You have to keep something back! Mummy
always told me, you should never let a man see your feelings or the contents of your handbag.'
'Well, too late,' I say, slightly defiantly. 'He's seen it all.'
'Then it's never going to work,' says Jemima. 'He'll never respect you.'
'Yes he will.'
'Emma,' says Jemima, almost pityingly. 'Don't you understand? You've already lost.'
'I haven't lost!'
Sometimes I think Jemima sees men not as people, but as alien robots, who must be
conquered by any means possible.
'You're not being very helpful, Jemima,' puts in Lissy. 'Come on. You've been on loads of
dates with rich businessmen. You must have some good advice!'
'All right.' Jemima sighs, and puts her bag down. 'It's a hopeless cause, but I'll do my best.'
She starts ticking off on her fingers. 'The first thing is to look as well groomed as possible.'
'Why do you think I'm plucking my eyebrows?' I say with a grimace.
'Fine. OK, the next thing is, you can show an interest in his hobbies. What does he like?'
'Dunno. Cars, I think. He has all these vintage cars on his ranch, apparently.'
'Well then!' Jemima brightens. 'That's good. Pretend you like cars, suggest visiting a car show.
You could flick through a car magazine on the way there.'
'I can't,' I say, taking a glug from my pre-date relaxer glass of Harvey's Bristol Cream. 'I told
him on the plane that I hate vintage cars.'
'You did what?' Jemima looks as if she wants to hit me. 'You told the man you're dating that
you hate his favourite hobby?'
'I didn't know I would be going on a date with him then, did I?' I say defensively, reaching for
my foundation. 'And anyway, it's the truth. I hate vintage cars. The people in them always
look so smug and pleased with themselves.'
'What's the truth got to do with anything?' Jemima's voice rises in agitation. 'Emma, I'm sorry,
I can't help you. This is a disaster. You're completely vulnerable. It's like going into battle in a
nightie.'
'Jemima, this is not a battle,' I retort, rolling my eyes. 'And it's not a chess game. It's dinner
with a nice man!'
'You're so cynical, Jemima,' chimes in Lissy. 'I think it's really romantic! They're going to
have the perfect date, because there won't be any of that awkwardness. He knows what Emma
likes. He knows what she's interested in. They're obviously already completely compatible.'
'Well, I wash my hands of it,' says Jemima, still shaking her head. 'What are you going to
wear?' Her eyes narrow. 'Where's your outfit?'
'My black dress,' I say innocently. 'And my strappy sandals.' I gesture to the back of the door,
where my black dress is hanging up.
Jemima's eyes narrow even further. She would have made a really good SS officer, I often
think.
'You're not going to borrow anything of mine.'
'No!' I say indignantly. 'Honestly Jemima, I do have my own clothes, you know.'
'Fine. Well. Have a good time.'
Lissy and I wait until her footsteps have tapped down the corridor and the front door has
slammed.
'Right!' I say excitedly, but Lissy lifts a hand.
'Wait.'
We both sit completely still for a couple of minutes. Then we hear the sound of the front door
being opened very quietly.
'She's trying to catch us out,' hisses Lissy. 'Hi!' she says, raising her voice. 'Is anyone there?'
'Oh hi,' says Jemima, appearing at the door of the room. 'I forgot my lip-gloss.' Her eyes do a
quick sweep of the room.
'I don't think you'll find it in here,' says Lissy innocently.
'No. Well.' Her eyes travel suspiciously round the room again. 'OK. Have a nice evening.'
Again her footsteps tap down the corridor, and again the front door slams.
'Right!' says Lissy. 'Let's go.'
We unpeel the Sellotape from Jemima's door, and Lissy makes a little mark where it was.
'Wait!' she says, as I'm about to push the door open. 'There's another one at the bottom.'
'You should have been a spy,' I say, watching her carefully peel it off.
'OK,' she says, her brow furrowed in concentration. 'There have to be some more booby traps.'
'There's Sellotape on the wardrobe, too,' I say. 'And… Oh my God!' I point up. A glass of
water is balanced on top of the wardrobe, ready to drench us if we open the door.
'That cow!' says Lissy as I reach up for it. 'You know, I had to spend all evening fielding calls
for her the other night, and she wasn't even grateful.'
She waits until I've put the water down safely, then reaches for the door. 'Ready?'
'Ready.'
Lissy takes a deep breath, then opens the wardrobe door. Immediately, a loud, piercing siren
begins to wail. 'Wee-oo wee-oo wee-oo…'
'Shit!' she says, banging the door shut. 'Shit! How did she do that?'
'It's still going!' I say agitatedly. 'Make it stop. Make it stop!'
'I don't know how to! You probably need a special code!'
We're both jabbing frantically at the wardrobe, patting it, searching for an off-switch.
'I can't see a button, or a switch or anything…'
Abruptly the noise stops, and we stare at each other, panting slightly.
'Actually,' says Lissy after a long pause. 'Actually, I think that might have been a car alarm
outside.'
'Oh,' I say. 'Oh right. Yes, maybe it was.'
Looking a bit sheepish, Lissy reaches for the door again, and this time it's silent. 'OK,' she
says. 'Here goes.'
'Wow,' we breathe as one as she swings the door open.
Jemima's wardrobe is like a treasure chest. It's like a Christmas stocking. It's new, shiny,
gorgeous clothes, one after another, all neatly folded and hung on scented hangers, like in a
shop. All the shoes in shoe-boxes with Polaroids on the front. All the belts hanging neatly
from hooks. All the bags are neatly lined up on a shelf. It's a while since I borrowed anything
from Jemima, and every single item seems to have changed since then.
'She must spend about an hour a day keeping this tidy,' I say with a slight sigh, thinking of the
jumble of my own wardrobe.
'She does,' says Lissy. 'I've seen her.'
Mind you, Lissy's wardrobe is even worse. It consists of a chair in her room, on which
everything is heaped in a great big pile. She says putting stuff away makes her brain ache, and
as long as it's clean, what does it matter?
'So!' says Lissy with a grin, and reaches for a white sparkly dress. 'What look would Madam
like this evening?'
I don't wear the white sparkly dress. But I do try it on. In fact, we both try on quite a lot of
stuff, and then have to put it all back, very carefully. At one point another car alarm goes off
outside, and we both jump in terror, then immediately pretend we weren't fazed.
In the end, I go for this amazing new red top of Jemima's with slashed shoulders, over my
own black DKNY chiffon trousers (?25 from the Notting Hill Housing Trust shop) and
Jemima's silver high heels from Prada. And then, although I wasn't intending to, at the last
minute I grab a little black Gucci bag.
'You look amazing!' says Lissy as I do a twirl. 'Completely fab!'
'Do I look too smart?'
'Of course not! Come on, you're going out to dinner with a multimillionaire.'
'Don't say that!' I exclaim, feeling nerves clutch my stomach. I look at my watch. It's almost
eight o'clock.
Oh God. Now I really am starting to feel nervous. In the fun of getting ready, I'd almost
forgotten what it was all for.
Keep calm, I tell myself. It's just dinner. That's all it is. Nothing special. Nothing out of the-'
'Fuck!' Lissy's looking out of the window in the sitting room. 'Fuck! There's a great big car
outside!'
'What? Where?' I hurry to join her, my heart galloping. As I follow her gaze, I almost can't
breathe.
An enormous posh car is waiting outside our house. I mean, enormous. It's silver and shiny,
and looks incredibly conspicuous in our tiny little street. In fact I can see some people looking
curiously out of the house opposite.
And all at once I'm really scared. What am I doing? This is a world I know nothing about.
When we were sitting on those plane seats, Jack and I were just two people on an equal level.
But look at us now. Look at the world he lives in — and look at the world I live in.
'Lissy,' I say in a tiny voice. 'I don't want to go.'
'Yes you do!' says Lissy — but I can see, she's just as freaked out as me.
The buzzer goes, and we jump.
I feel like I might throw up.
OK. OK. Here I go.
'Hi,' I say into the intercom. 'I'll… I'll be right down.' I put the phone down and look at Lissy.
'Well,' I say in a trembling voice. 'This is it!'
'Emma.' Lissy grabs my hands. 'Before you go. Don't take any notice of what Jemima said.
Just have a lovely time.' She hugs me tightly. 'Call me if you get a chance.'
'I will.'
I take one last look at myself in the mirror, then open the door and make my way down the
stairs.
I open the door, and Jack's standing there, wearing a jacket and tie. He smiles at me, and all
my fears fly away like butterflies. Jemima's wrong. This isn't me against him. This is me with
him.
'Hi,' he says, smiling warmly. 'You look very nice.'
'Thanks.'
I reach for the door handle, but a man in a peaked cap rushes forward to open it for me.
'Silly me!' I say nervously.
'He knows all your secrets?' She's looking at me as though I've just proudly informed her I'm
going out with a mass-murderer. 'What on earth do you mean?'
'I sat next to him on a plane, and I told him everything about myself.'
I frown at my reflection in the mirror and tweak out another eyebrow hair. It's seven o'clock,
I've had my bath, I've blow-dried my hair and now I'm on my makeup.
'And now he's asked her out,' says Lissy, hugging her knees. 'Isn't it romantic?'
'You are joking, aren't you?' says Jemima, looking aghast. 'Tell me this is a joke.'
'Of course I'm not joking! What's the problem?'
'You're going out with a man who knows everything about you.'
'Yes.'
'And you're asking me what's the problem?' Her voice rises incredulously. 'Are you crazy?'
'Of course I'm not crazy!'
'I knew you fancied him,' says Lissy for about the millionth time. 'I knew it. Right from the
moment you started talking about him.' She looks at my reflection. 'I'd leave that right
eyebrow alone now.'
'Really?' I peer at my face.
'Emma, you don't tell men all about yourself! You have to keep something back! Mummy
always told me, you should never let a man see your feelings or the contents of your handbag.'
'Well, too late,' I say, slightly defiantly. 'He's seen it all.'
'Then it's never going to work,' says Jemima. 'He'll never respect you.'
'Yes he will.'
'Emma,' says Jemima, almost pityingly. 'Don't you understand? You've already lost.'
'I haven't lost!'
Sometimes I think Jemima sees men not as people, but as alien robots, who must be
conquered by any means possible.
'You're not being very helpful, Jemima,' puts in Lissy. 'Come on. You've been on loads of
dates with rich businessmen. You must have some good advice!'
'All right.' Jemima sighs, and puts her bag down. 'It's a hopeless cause, but I'll do my best.'
She starts ticking off on her fingers. 'The first thing is to look as well groomed as possible.'
'Why do you think I'm plucking my eyebrows?' I say with a grimace.
'Fine. OK, the next thing is, you can show an interest in his hobbies. What does he like?'
'Dunno. Cars, I think. He has all these vintage cars on his ranch, apparently.'
'Well then!' Jemima brightens. 'That's good. Pretend you like cars, suggest visiting a car show.
You could flick through a car magazine on the way there.'
'I can't,' I say, taking a glug from my pre-date relaxer glass of Harvey's Bristol Cream. 'I told
him on the plane that I hate vintage cars.'
'You did what?' Jemima looks as if she wants to hit me. 'You told the man you're dating that
you hate his favourite hobby?'
'I didn't know I would be going on a date with him then, did I?' I say defensively, reaching for
my foundation. 'And anyway, it's the truth. I hate vintage cars. The people in them always
look so smug and pleased with themselves.'
'What's the truth got to do with anything?' Jemima's voice rises in agitation. 'Emma, I'm sorry,
I can't help you. This is a disaster. You're completely vulnerable. It's like going into battle in a
nightie.'
'Jemima, this is not a battle,' I retort, rolling my eyes. 'And it's not a chess game. It's dinner
with a nice man!'
'You're so cynical, Jemima,' chimes in Lissy. 'I think it's really romantic! They're going to
have the perfect date, because there won't be any of that awkwardness. He knows what Emma
likes. He knows what she's interested in. They're obviously already completely compatible.'
'Well, I wash my hands of it,' says Jemima, still shaking her head. 'What are you going to
wear?' Her eyes narrow. 'Where's your outfit?'
'My black dress,' I say innocently. 'And my strappy sandals.' I gesture to the back of the door,
where my black dress is hanging up.
Jemima's eyes narrow even further. She would have made a really good SS officer, I often
think.
'You're not going to borrow anything of mine.'
'No!' I say indignantly. 'Honestly Jemima, I do have my own clothes, you know.'
'Fine. Well. Have a good time.'
Lissy and I wait until her footsteps have tapped down the corridor and the front door has
slammed.
'Right!' I say excitedly, but Lissy lifts a hand.
'Wait.'
We both sit completely still for a couple of minutes. Then we hear the sound of the front door
being opened very quietly.
'She's trying to catch us out,' hisses Lissy. 'Hi!' she says, raising her voice. 'Is anyone there?'
'Oh hi,' says Jemima, appearing at the door of the room. 'I forgot my lip-gloss.' Her eyes do a
quick sweep of the room.
'I don't think you'll find it in here,' says Lissy innocently.
'No. Well.' Her eyes travel suspiciously round the room again. 'OK. Have a nice evening.'
Again her footsteps tap down the corridor, and again the front door slams.
'Right!' says Lissy. 'Let's go.'
We unpeel the Sellotape from Jemima's door, and Lissy makes a little mark where it was.
'Wait!' she says, as I'm about to push the door open. 'There's another one at the bottom.'
'You should have been a spy,' I say, watching her carefully peel it off.
'OK,' she says, her brow furrowed in concentration. 'There have to be some more booby traps.'
'There's Sellotape on the wardrobe, too,' I say. 'And… Oh my God!' I point up. A glass of
water is balanced on top of the wardrobe, ready to drench us if we open the door.
'That cow!' says Lissy as I reach up for it. 'You know, I had to spend all evening fielding calls
for her the other night, and she wasn't even grateful.'
She waits until I've put the water down safely, then reaches for the door. 'Ready?'
'Ready.'
Lissy takes a deep breath, then opens the wardrobe door. Immediately, a loud, piercing siren
begins to wail. 'Wee-oo wee-oo wee-oo…'
'Shit!' she says, banging the door shut. 'Shit! How did she do that?'
'It's still going!' I say agitatedly. 'Make it stop. Make it stop!'
'I don't know how to! You probably need a special code!'
We're both jabbing frantically at the wardrobe, patting it, searching for an off-switch.
'I can't see a button, or a switch or anything…'
Abruptly the noise stops, and we stare at each other, panting slightly.
'Actually,' says Lissy after a long pause. 'Actually, I think that might have been a car alarm
outside.'
'Oh,' I say. 'Oh right. Yes, maybe it was.'
Looking a bit sheepish, Lissy reaches for the door again, and this time it's silent. 'OK,' she
says. 'Here goes.'
'Wow,' we breathe as one as she swings the door open.
Jemima's wardrobe is like a treasure chest. It's like a Christmas stocking. It's new, shiny,
gorgeous clothes, one after another, all neatly folded and hung on scented hangers, like in a
shop. All the shoes in shoe-boxes with Polaroids on the front. All the belts hanging neatly
from hooks. All the bags are neatly lined up on a shelf. It's a while since I borrowed anything
from Jemima, and every single item seems to have changed since then.
'She must spend about an hour a day keeping this tidy,' I say with a slight sigh, thinking of the
jumble of my own wardrobe.
'She does,' says Lissy. 'I've seen her.'
Mind you, Lissy's wardrobe is even worse. It consists of a chair in her room, on which
everything is heaped in a great big pile. She says putting stuff away makes her brain ache, and
as long as it's clean, what does it matter?
'So!' says Lissy with a grin, and reaches for a white sparkly dress. 'What look would Madam
like this evening?'
I don't wear the white sparkly dress. But I do try it on. In fact, we both try on quite a lot of
stuff, and then have to put it all back, very carefully. At one point another car alarm goes off
outside, and we both jump in terror, then immediately pretend we weren't fazed.
In the end, I go for this amazing new red top of Jemima's with slashed shoulders, over my
own black DKNY chiffon trousers (?25 from the Notting Hill Housing Trust shop) and
Jemima's silver high heels from Prada. And then, although I wasn't intending to, at the last
minute I grab a little black Gucci bag.
'You look amazing!' says Lissy as I do a twirl. 'Completely fab!'
'Do I look too smart?'
'Of course not! Come on, you're going out to dinner with a multimillionaire.'
'Don't say that!' I exclaim, feeling nerves clutch my stomach. I look at my watch. It's almost
eight o'clock.
Oh God. Now I really am starting to feel nervous. In the fun of getting ready, I'd almost
forgotten what it was all for.
Keep calm, I tell myself. It's just dinner. That's all it is. Nothing special. Nothing out of the-'
'Fuck!' Lissy's looking out of the window in the sitting room. 'Fuck! There's a great big car
outside!'
'What? Where?' I hurry to join her, my heart galloping. As I follow her gaze, I almost can't
breathe.
An enormous posh car is waiting outside our house. I mean, enormous. It's silver and shiny,
and looks incredibly conspicuous in our tiny little street. In fact I can see some people looking
curiously out of the house opposite.
And all at once I'm really scared. What am I doing? This is a world I know nothing about.
When we were sitting on those plane seats, Jack and I were just two people on an equal level.
But look at us now. Look at the world he lives in — and look at the world I live in.
'Lissy,' I say in a tiny voice. 'I don't want to go.'
'Yes you do!' says Lissy — but I can see, she's just as freaked out as me.
The buzzer goes, and we jump.
I feel like I might throw up.
OK. OK. Here I go.
'Hi,' I say into the intercom. 'I'll… I'll be right down.' I put the phone down and look at Lissy.
'Well,' I say in a trembling voice. 'This is it!'
'Emma.' Lissy grabs my hands. 'Before you go. Don't take any notice of what Jemima said.
Just have a lovely time.' She hugs me tightly. 'Call me if you get a chance.'
'I will.'
I take one last look at myself in the mirror, then open the door and make my way down the
stairs.
I open the door, and Jack's standing there, wearing a jacket and tie. He smiles at me, and all
my fears fly away like butterflies. Jemima's wrong. This isn't me against him. This is me with
him.
'Hi,' he says, smiling warmly. 'You look very nice.'
'Thanks.'
I reach for the door handle, but a man in a peaked cap rushes forward to open it for me.
'Silly me!' I say nervously.