Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“Wow!” I say in surprise. “Good for you! Connor, I’m really pleased! What’s her name?”
“Her name’s Francesca.”
“And where did you—”
“I wanted to ask you about sex,” Connor says, cutting me off in a rush of embarrassment.
“Oh! Right.” I feel a twinge of dismay, which I conceal by taking a sip of wine. “Of course!”
“Were you honest with me in that…area?”
“Er, what do you mean?” I say, playing for time.
“Were you honest with me in bed?” His face is growing fire-engine red. “Or were you faking it?”
Oh, no. Is that what he thinks?
“Connor, I never, ever faked an orgasm with you,” I say, lowering my voice. “Hand on heart. I never did.”
“Well…OK.” He studies his glass, then looks up. “But did you fake anything else?”
I look at him uncertainly. “I…I’m not sure I know what you—”
“Were there any…” He clears his throat. “…any particular techniques I used that you only pretended to enjoy?”
Oh, God. Please don’t ask me that question.
“You know…I really…can’t remember!” I hedge. “Actually, I ought to be going.”
“Emma, tell me!” he says with sudden passion. “I’m starting a new relationship. It’s only fair that I should be able to…to learn from past mistakes.”
I gaze back at his shiny face and suddenly feel a huge pang of guilt. He’s right. I should be honest. I should finally be honest with him.
“OK,” I say at last, and move closer to him. “You remember that one thing you used to do with your tongue?” I lower my voice still further. “That…slidey thing? Well, sometimes that kind of made me want to…laugh. So if I had one tip with your new girlfriend, it would be don’t do…”
I trail off at his expression.
Fuck. He’s already done it.
“Francesca said…” Connor says in a voice as stiff as a board. “Francesca told me that really turned her on.”
“Well, I’m sure it did!” I backtrack. “Women are all different! Our bodies are all different…Everybody likes, um, different things.”
Connor is a picture of consternation. “She said she loved jazz, too.”
“Well, I expect she does! Loads of people do like jazz—”
“She said she loved the way I could quote Woody Allen line for line.” He rubs his flushed face. “Was she lying?”
“No! I’m sure she wasn’t—”
“Emma…” He stares at me in bewilderment. “Do all women have secrets?”
Oh, no. Have I ruined Connor’s trust in all of womankind forever?
“No!” I exclaim. “Of course they don’t! Honestly, Connor, I’m sure it’s only me…”
My words wither on my lips as I glimpse a flash of familiar-looking blond hair at the entrance to the hall. My heart stops.
That can’t be—
That’s not—
“Connor, I have to go,” I say, and start hurrying toward the entrance.
“She told me she’s size six!” Connor calls after me. “What does that mean? What size should I really buy?”
“Eight!” I shoot back over my shoulder.
It is. It’s Jemima. Here. Standing in the foyer. What’s she doing here?
Then the door opens again—and I feel faint. She’s got a guy with her. In jeans, with cropped hair and squirrelly eyes. He’s got a camera slung over his shoulder and is looking around with interest.
No.
She can’t have—
“Emma,” comes a voice in my ear, and I give a start of panic.
“Jack!” I swivel around to see him watching me with affection. How long has he been there?
“You OK?” he says, and gently touches my nose.
“Fine!” I say a little shrilly. “I’m great!”
I have to manage this situation. I have to. “Jack, um, could you get me some water?” I hear myself saying. “I’ll just…stay here. I’m feeling a bit dizzy.”
Jack looks alarmed. “You know, I thought there was something wrong. Let me take you home. I’ll call the car—”
“No. It’s…it’s fine. I want to stay! Just get me some water. Please,” I add as an afterthought.
As soon as he’s gone, I tear into the foyer, almost tripping up in my haste.
“Emma!” Jemima looks up brightly. “Excellent! I was just about to look for you. Now, this is Mick, and he wants to ask you some questions. We thought we’d use this little room here.” She heads into a small, empty office that leads off from the foyer.
“No!” I say, grabbing her arm. “Jemima, you have to go. Now. Go!”
“I’m not going anywhere!” Jemima jerks her arm out of my grasp and rolls her eyes at Mick, who’s closing the door of the office behind me. “I told you she was being all hissy about it.”
“Mick Collins.” Mick thrusts a business card into my hands.
“Delighted to meet you, Emma. Now, there’s no need to get worried, is there?
” He gives me a soothing smile, as though he’s completely used to dealing with hysterical women telling him to go.
Which he probably is. “Let’s just sit down quietly, have a nice chat… .”
He’s chewing gum as he speaks, and as I smell the spearmint wafting toward me, I almost want to throw up.
“Look, there’s been a misunderstanding,” I say, forcing myself to sound polite. “I’m afraid there’s no story.”
“Well, let’s see about that, shall we?” says Mick. “You tell me the facts.”
“No! I mean…there’s nothing….” I turn to Jemima. “I told you I didn’t want you to do anything! You promised me!”
“Emma, you are such a wimp. You’ll just let any man walk all over you and do nothing about it!” She gives Mick an exasperated look. “Do you see why I’ve been forced to take action? I told you what a bastard Jack Harper was to her. He needs to learn his lesson!”
“Absolutely right,” agrees Mick, and puts his head on one side as though measuring me up. “Very attractive,” he says to Jemima. “You know, we could think about an accompanying interview feature. ‘My Romp with Top Boss.’ “He adds to me, “You could make some serious money.”
“No!”
“Emma, stop being so coy!” snaps Jemima. “You want to do it, really. This could be a whole new career for you, you realize!”
“I don’t want a new career!”
“Well, then you should! Do you know how much Monica Lewinsky makes a year?”
“You’re sick!” I say in disbelief. “You’re a totally sick, warped—”
“Emma, I’m just acting in your best interests!”
“You’re not!” I cry, feeling my face flame red. “I…I might be getting back together with Jack!”
There’s a thirty-second silence. I’m holding my breath. Then it’s like the killer robot jerks into action again.
“Even more reason to do it!” says Jemima. “This’ll keep him on his toes! This’ll show him who’s boss! Go on, Mick.”
“Interview with Emma Corrigan. Friday, fifteenth July, nine-forty P.M.” I look up, and stiffen in fresh horror. Mick has produced a small tape recorder and is holding it toward me.
“You first met Jack Harper on a plane. Can you confirm where this was flying from and to? Just speak in a natural way, like you would to a mate on the phone—”
“Stop it!” I yell. “Just leave! Leave!”
“Emma, grow up!” says Jemima. “Mick’s going to find out what this secret is whether you help him or not, so you might as well be—” She stops abruptly as the door handle rattles, then turns.
The room seems to swim around me.
Please don’t say—Please—
As the door slowly opens, I can’t breathe. I can’t move.
I have never felt so frightened in my entire life.