Chapter Five
~~MARK~~
Since Sunday morning was dry and sunny, and the autumn colours at their best, I decided I’d walk to Randalls to have a look at the car.
Tamara opted for a lie-in, especially when she heard where I was going.
She’d been less than impressed by the Westons’ dinner party, dismissing Mary, Mrs Bates and Henry as ‘a bunch of old women, especially Henry’, Tom, Kate, John and Izzy as ‘too boring for words’, Philip as ‘a waste of space’ and Emma as ‘quite the surprise package’.
When I probed a little further into this last comment, she said she’d imagined Emma to be more like her nickname and refused to say more.
As I strode along the bridleway, I realised how good it felt to be on my own. With Tamara’s frequent demands, the last few days had been a bit of a strain . . .
Ahead of me, a twig snapped. A small boy came hurtling along the path and skidded into my legs. My nephew, Mark.
‘Up!’ he said, with the supreme confidence of a three-year-old.
I grinned down at him. ‘Hello to you, too. Who are you out with on such a beautiful morning?’
He pointed to a woman in red trousers some distance behind him; as she approached, I saw that it was Emma, with Emily in the backpack. Her trousers were tight-fitting, leaving little to the imagination. A bit like that skirt she’d worn to the Westons’ . . .
‘Up!’ Mark said again. ‘Please.’
I switched my thoughts firmly away from last night. ‘OK then, one — two — three.’ I swung him onto my shoulders and he clapped his hands in delight.
‘Aunty Emma, look, I’m the king of the castle!’
‘And who’s the dirty rascal?’ she said, as she reached us.
‘Uncle Mark.’
We all laughed; except Emily, who surveyed me gravely with her big hazel eyes, so like her aunt’s.
Mark whispered in my ear, ‘Are you coming to Grandpa’s to see us?’
‘No, I’m going to see my poorly car. I could call in on my way home, though.’
‘We’ll turn back now and walk as far as Hartfield with you,’ Emma said.
We set off side by side, falling easily into step with each other.
‘Izzy and I are taking the children to visit the Bateses as soon as they get back from the nine o’clock service,’ she went on.
‘But John and Dad will be in, if you decide to drop by. Or you could bring Tamara for lunch, we’re having roast pork and all the trimmings, there’s plenty to spare. You never know, she might enjoy it.’
‘Thank you, but I’ve booked a table at The Hare and Hounds.’
‘You could always cancel it.’
‘Best to leave the arrangements as they are, if you don’t mind.’
We walked in silence for a while, Mark crooning to himself and Emily tugging at Emma’s hair.
Despite the slightly awkward conversation about lunch, I felt at peace with the world.
And I had a strange, random thought: to anyone that didn’t know us, we would seem the perfect family, out for a Sunday morning stroll, happy as can be.
Or maybe not. When I glanced across at Emma, she was frowning and biting her lip. I had a silly urge to take her in my arms, but I didn’t; bit tricky with a child on my back.
Instead I asked, keeping my tone casual, ‘Did you get home all right last night?’
‘Obviously, why wouldn’t I?’
Her blush and the defensive note in her voice were a dead giveaway. So Elton had tried it on, the little shit.
I cleared my throat and went for a less direct approach. ‘You know, Emily, there’s no need for your aunt to overreact like that, I just had a feeling something embarrassing might have happened. Of course, it can’t have, because she prides herself on being able to read people like a book—’
‘I got a new book,’ Mark put in. ‘’Bout Mog.’
Emma sighed. ‘Yes, and guess how many times we’ve read it, Uncle Mark? At least ten, and that was just before breakfast. But don’t let me interrupt your lecture to Emily, I bet she’s finding it riveting.’
I was pleased to see that my tactics were working; she was already looking more relaxed. ‘As I was saying, Emily, your aunt thinks people can be judged by their covers, like books. I’m afraid she still has a lot to learn.’
Emma gave a rueful smile. ‘You see, Emily, Uncle Mark’s lived so long in the big bad world that he thinks he knows everything.
But he has a point, I do occasionally make the wrong call.
So, when you grow up, make sure you’re twice as clever and only half as conceited as your aunt and you’ll be fine. Isn’t that right, Uncle Mark?’
I reached across, tickled Emily under her chubby little chin and watched her rosy cheeks dimple. ‘For once, little one, your aunt’s talking sense,’ I said softly, ‘and I can’t argue with her.’
Then Mark yelled, ‘There’s Grandpa’s gate!’
He was right; we’d arrived at the arched wrought iron gate that led into the Hartfield garden. I lifted him down and he ran towards it, whooping loudly.
Emma turned to me. ‘See you tomorrow, then.’
I grinned. ‘That’s right, your big presentation. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘So was I, until last night . . . Still, that’s a problem of my own making and I’ll just have to sort it.’
And, with a defiant lift of her chin, she followed little Mark through the gate.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
To all intents and purposes, this would be a repeat of the last Board meeting: same place, same people, probably even sitting in the same seats.
Only Philip and I knew that something had changed.
It seemed that he couldn’t hide his animosity, however.
As soon as I entered the room, he turned his back on me and continued talking to Terry.
Even when Terry nodded and smiled in my direction, Philip refused to acknowledge me.
Harriet had struggled into work, looking washed out and smelling strongly of garlic.
We’d prepared the boardroom together and I’d set up my laptop and the new projector I’d ordered immediately after the last meeting.
Harriet had also put printouts of my slides, together with a selection of photos from the photo shoot, into smart information packs to accompany my PC presentation.
As I flicked through my copy one last time, I spotted that she’d spelt ‘Highbury’ as ‘Highbary’ on one of the slides.
‘Slide ten,’ — I waved the page in front of her — ‘just change the “a” to a “u” on the disk version, please, and reprint it for the packs, then bring everything along to the boardroom.’
And I’d left her to get on with it, otherwise I would have been late. After my little mishap at the last Board meeting and Mark’s reprimand about checking my work thoroughly, I was determined today would go perfectly. Or as perfectly as it could, given the bruised ego of the Finance Director.
At last Harriet came in and Dad started the meeting.
I contributed very little to the discussions around the directors’ reports and kept especially quiet during Philip’s.
Then it was my turn. I switched on the projector, took the disk from Harriet and inserted it into my laptop.
The information packs would keep until the end; I didn’t want any distractions from my pitch.
It started off well. The first nine slides were a summary of my research proposal for repositioning Betty’s Best as Harriet’s Secret Recipes.
I stressed the requirement for some early primary research, using a concept board approach with focus groups of customers and non-customers.
I explained that I wanted to do as much as possible in-house rather than use agencies, to minimise cost. I mentioned the need for an initial strapline, but didn’t refer to Philip’s suggestion.
Finally, I circulated a sample concept board, featuring a scenario of Harriet planning an informal lunch for her girlfriends, and showed how it would be used in the focus groups.
There were murmurs of approval round the table, with one exception.
Philip gave me a nasty look before turning to Dad. ‘As I’ve already said, Henry, we’re going to have to cut back on expenditure and this proposal’s the sort of amateurish initiative that we may have to drop completely.’
‘I take your point,’ Dad said mildly, ‘but at the moment Emma’s well within the outline budget you agreed with her.
If we have to cut back, there may be more obvious savings to be made in other areas.
’ His tone became sharp. ‘And the word “amateurish” seems rather harsh. Mark, do you think we need some professional agency input here?’
‘Not vital at this stage, and certainly not if you want to keep within such a modest research budget.’ Mark paused and fixed his gaze on Philip. ‘I think Emma’s practical, low-cost approach is ideal for the circumstances and I’m surprised the Finance Director isn’t being more supportive.’
Philip flushed and looked down at his papers. I decided to wrap up my presentation as quickly as possible.
‘OK, I just wanted to talk briefly about Christmas.’ I held up my hand as Jon started muttering about his production schedule.
‘Not this year’s, which I know we planned months ago, but next year’s.
This is a simple idea that our competitors are already doing and it doesn’t involve any major production changes.
’ I clicked onto slide ten. ‘Introducing—’
I broke off in dismay. Harriet had certainly changed the ‘a’ to a ‘u’; trouble was, she’d done it in the wrong word. Instead of ‘The Highbury Hamper’, the slide read ‘The Highbary Humper’.
My cheeks burned. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t shut out the howls of laughter from Jon and Terry, or Philip’s angry exclamations. Of course, he’d think this was a dig at his behaviour on Saturday night, even a deliberate attempt to expose him . . .
I opened my eyes and looked straight at Mark. His expression was blank, but I knew he was disappointed in me.
‘It was a last-minute change,’ I said in a small voice. ‘I know I should have checked it, but I didn’t.’
Harriet added, with a loud sniff, ‘It’s my fault really, I was in too much of a rush.’
‘What’s a humper?’ Batty asked brightly.