Chapter Two #3
‘No!’ I turned on the ignition. ‘I’d better go, you know how Dad worries.’
‘Goodnight, then.’ He got out of the car, bent his head against the rain and dashed to the front door. I revved the engine, swung the car round in a careless arc and drove off with a lot less consideration for the Knightleys than when I’d arrived.
All the way home I thought about that look on his face when he woke up. It was weird. No, not weird, ridiculous.
Mark Knightley wouldn’t want to kiss me like that.
Ever.
* * *
~~MARK~~
I was shattered, but I didn’t go straight to bed. Instead I went to the family room, now seldom used, and switched on the PC. I waited impatiently while the machine wheezed into life, then logged into my personal email account.
Nothing from Tamara, but that was no surprise. We weren’t ones to correspond cosily over the Internet, or chat on the phone. As Tamara said, we communicated best between the sheets.
Tonight, though, I wanted desperately to be in touch.
Tam,
Missing you.
Any chance of you coming here before October?
Love M.
I sent the email and waited a few minutes, hoping she was online; but there was no reply.
Then I glanced down at the top drawer of the desk beside me. It was slightly open, revealing a glimpse of thigh, that photo of Emma. I closed my eyes and allowed my thoughts to drift.
Soft skin against my lips, the heat of her, the taste . . .
I rammed the drawer shut and headed upstairs for a shower. A cold one, to numb my mind — and everything else.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
During that first week, I found out everything I needed to know about Harriet Smith.
My first impressions were accurate. Clothes-wise, she was a walking disaster, lots of fake leather and cheap gold jewellery.
And as soon as she forgot to talk properly, her speech became unintelligible.
‘Me farva’s got a tan ass’ apparently meant ‘my father lives in a town house’; ‘that geezer’s roofless’ was not a reference to a homeless person, but her term for a man without compassion.
I had to face facts. Harriet was a chav, a phenomenon I’d heard about but never actually experienced. The nearest I’d come to it was trailer trash in the States. Giving her a touch of class would be more of a challenge than I’d anticipated; but, in my book, nothing was impossible.
Her curriculum vitae was uninspiring. She’d been born and bred in Basildon, Essex, where her parents and younger brothers still lived.
At sixteen she’d left school, done the basic secretarial qualifications and worked ever since.
I wasn’t yet sure if it was her typing skills that guaranteed her constant employment, or simply her looks.
Now twenty-two, she was renting an old house on the far side of Highbury, with three girls of a similar age.
When she told me that her father had been a professional and now earned his living as a bookkeeper, I felt a sudden surge of interest, visualising Philip’s spellbound face as Mr Smith held forth on the latest Statement of Standard Accounting Practice.
Unfortunately, I’d misheard. Her father was a book maker ; and he’d previously been a professional footballer with a team called Saffend United, before being injured in an off-pitch incident involving large amounts of alcohol.
And she had the most deplorable taste in men. One morning, I asked to see her temping contract. As we sat down to go through Batty’s Temp Tation file, the first thing I saw was a letter from Abbey Mill Haulage. It began like a reference, but ended on a surprising note.
To whom it may concern:
Harriet-Smith worked at Abbey Mill Haulage from 6th June to 26th August inclusive assisting our senior secretary Mrs Wagstaff. She was polite and punctual. Harriet brightened up the office every day. I’ll miss her terribly.
Robert Martin
Managing Director.
We used Abbey Mill Haulage for most of our transportation and I knew Martin by sight.
A large, lumbering man, rather like a carthorse, he reminded me of an intellectually challenged quarterback I’d dated briefly in the States.
I tried not to let this prejudice me, just as I refused to be influenced by Harriet hovering excitedly at my shoulder, waiting for my reaction.
I gave a short laugh. ‘“Brightened up the office . . . miss her terribly” . . . Most unprofessional, you should never say anything personal in a reference, you could be sued.’
Harriet’s face fell. ‘He said it was only the troof.’
‘ Truth , Harriet. It’s quite over the top, for someone like him.’
‘D’you know Rob Martin?’ she said eagerly.
‘I’ve seen him around,’ I said. ‘Tradesmen are always touting for Highbury Foods’ business.’
‘He says he’s going to expand Abbey Mill now his farva’s retired.’
‘ Father . How old is Robert?’
‘He was twenty-eight on 8th June, and my birthday was 23rd June, Rob says there’s only fifteen days’ difference. Or is it sixteen? Anyway, Rob says we’re both Gemini, I thought I was Cancer, but he says I’m definitely Gemini like him.’
‘Let’s hope he doesn’t use astrology to run his company,’ I said drily. ‘Is he married, or living with anyone?’
She blushed. ‘No, he’s still living at home, his mum says he’s ready to settle down, but she doesn’t know who’s good enough for him.’
‘In other words, she can’t wait to get rid of him. How did you meet her?’
‘She works at Abbey Mill, only two days a week since Rob’s dad retired. And she doesn’t want to get rid of Rob, she says she couldn’t have a better son.’
‘Really, Harriet, every other sentence is “Rob says” or “Rob’s mum says”. Do you fancy him or something?’
Another blush. ‘I didn’t at first, Trace says he’s a bit of an ug.’
‘A what?’
‘Ugly geezer. But we get on really well. And on my last day he took me to The Ploughman after work. You know, that pub in Little Bassington that’s just been done up.’
‘I don’t know actually, I never go to pubs.’
‘You’re joking, aren’t you? Anyway, we’ve been out twice since then and I fancy him rotten now.’
This was the last thing I wanted to hear. ‘But Harriet, with your looks you could do so much better. You just need a classier image and that’s why—’
‘Hello, ladies.’ With perfect timing, Philip poked his head round the door.
‘Come in, Philip.’ I gave him a dazzling smile, then continued, ‘And that’s why you’re going to be the face of Harriet’s Secret Recipes.’
‘Me?’ she squealed. ‘What about Victoria?’
‘Harriet sounds just as upmarket as Victoria. And I want to get away from any association with that US lingerie company, I still can’t understand how I had their name in my presentation.’ My lips tightened as I recalled the humiliation of the Board meeting.
Philip placed a hand on my arm. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, it was probably subliminal, I bet you’ve got drawers full of the stuff at home.’
I gave him a frosty look. I didn’t mind him speculating about Harriet’s choice of underwear, but there was no need for him to do the same for me.
He went red and hurriedly removed his hand.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to embarrass you. I came to see if you needed a hand with the photo shoot, you did say you were doing it yourself to save the expense of hiring an agency.
’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘You certainly know the way to a Finance Director’s heart. ’
I thawed a little. Here was another flimsy pretext for his daily pilgrimage to Harriet’s desk. I had to give the man top marks for effort.
‘How kind, maybe you could help with editing and printing the photos.’ And I bet one or two find their way onto your bedroom wall, I added to myself.
‘Delighted to, I’ve got some very good software on my computer at home. Why don’t you come over one evening and we’ll work on it together?’ His gaze flickered rather uncertainly across to Harriet and I guessed he was afraid she might refuse.
‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ I said. ‘We’ll be taking the photos in the kitchen at Hartfield, but Harriet and I could come over to your place straight after.’
He looked a little put out. Perhaps he’d hoped to have the photos taken at his house; Harriet draped over his Ikea worktops, a symbol of future domestic bliss.
Shame I couldn’t indulge his little fantasy, but the kitchens of my target audience were more likely to be at the Bulthaup end of the range.
I gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll all work out to everyone’s satisfaction. Was there anything else?’
The doggy expression came into his eyes. ‘Yes, I’d like to go over the Marketing budget with you, we’re nearly at the end of the financial year and things are a bit tight, but I’m sure we can find some extra funding for an important project like Harriet’s Secret Recipes. How about later this week?’
‘Fine, just check my diary with Harriet.’ I escaped to my room, leaving the door open so that I could hear them. It sounded as though things were progressing nicely; he was droning on about something and she was giggling.
After a few minutes, Harriet came in. ‘Amazing, Philip lives in Little Bassington and we both think The Ploughman’s much better since it’s been done out, it was minging before.’
‘So when’s he taking you there?’
‘Philip, taking me ? Get real.’ She looked at me as if I had two heads.
‘But you were discussing the pub, he might have been going to ask you out.’
‘No, he was fixing up that meeting with you—’
‘Tell me about that later.’ I leaned across my desk towards her and made my tone as persuasive as possible.
‘You see, Harriet, as I was saying before Philip came in, I think you can do far better than Robert Martin. He’s working class, poorly educated, and you said yourself he’s downright ugly.
Just compare him to some of the men you’ve met at Highbury Foods. ’
She cocked her head on one side. ‘You’re right, I really like Rob, but even I can see that he’s different from someone like Mark.’
‘Mark?’
‘Yeah, Trace would say he’s well shaggable.’