Chapter Eight #3
After an hour and a half, the phone rang; it was Flynn, full of apologies.
‘Made the mistake of asking Mary if there was anything she wanted, as she’s without a car,’ he said.
‘So here I am at Asda, in Kingston, with a list as long as my arm and Jane lecturing me about my expensive tastes.’ He broke off and murmured something, presumably to Saint Jane.
He went on, ‘Apparently Mary’s idea of a nice joint of beef is the opposite of mine — she means something you Poms call brisket, whereas I’d rather have a piece of rump any day.
And I’ve bought her the biggest one I could find, just to show her the difference. ’
I frowned. ‘How thoughtful. Although I’m surprised Batty asked you to go shopping for her, she’s always been dead against Sunday trading.’
‘Ah, but this is an exception, because she couldn’t do any yesterday.’ He sounded more amused than upset by my lack of sympathy. ‘Anyway, Em, what if I come round this afternoon — say two o’clock?’
‘I’m afraid not, Dad and I are going over to my sister’s,’ I said, trying to hide my disappointment; I added quickly, ‘How about tonight?’
He hesitated. ‘Sorry, Mary’s invited me to dinner. You can imagine how it went — “It’s the least I can do, so kind of you to take dear Jane shopping” and the rest. God knows I’d get out of it if I could—’
‘Not to worry, let’s have lunch tomorrow instead.’
‘That would be great, I’ll give you a ring at work in the morning.’
As I put the phone down, I realised how much I’d been looking forward to seeing him. Now I’d have to wait another twenty-four dreary hours.
It must be love, mustn’t it?
* * *
~~MARK~~
On Monday, I drew up outside the Bateses’ house at half past eight on the dot. Instantly, Jane appeared at the front door, walked sedately down the path to the car, opened the nearside rear door and settled herself in the back.
‘Good morning,’ she said quietly, ‘and thank you for going to all this trouble.’
I was just reassuring her that it was no trouble at all, when a flustered Mary arrived, tried to get in at Jane’s side, realised her mistake with a shrill squeal and scuttled round to the front passenger seat.
‘Oh, Mark,’ she gasped as she scrambled inside, ‘I thought you’d have put Jane in the front, you don’t want an old chatterbox like me distracting you—’
‘Just shut the door, please, before that van takes it clean off,’ I said, more brusquely than I intended.
She gave another squeal and yanked the door shut. Then, ‘Oh dear, I seem to have got my coat caught in the . . . Just a minute and I’ll . . . There, all set and ready to go. We’re so grateful, Mark, really we are, I was saying to Mother only this morning . . . ’
I tried to ignore her and concentrate on negotiating the traffic, but it was more of a challenge than I’d expected.
Although we reached Highbury Foods in ten minutes, it felt like thirty, with Jane never saying a word and Mary hardly pausing for breath.
Later, as I drew into my parking space at Donwell Organics, I calculated that three weeks — Dave Ford’s estimate for repairing Mary’s car — would mean twenty-nine more journeys like this morning’s.
In the office, things went from bad to worse. I found that one of my best employees in India had resigned and Cherry was off sick. Just as I was switching my phone through to Sue, the Finance Director’s PA, it rang with an external call.
I answered it, in the absurd hope that it might be Emma. ‘Knightley.’
‘Is that Marrrk Knightley?’ A woman’s voice, but definitely not Emma’s.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Who is this?’
‘Augusta Hawkins, strategic financial consultant at The Maple Grrrove Consultancy, for businesses that can afforrrd the best. Now, Marrrk, I’ve been reading up on the orrrganic food industry and I just know I can save your company lots of money.
I need to come and tell you all about it, how about tomorrow at two thirrrty? ’
‘I’ve never heard of you or your company, Augusta, so—’
‘Call me Gusty,’ she purred.
Gusty? Ah yes . . . ‘Are you Philip Elton’s, er, friend?’
‘I am, and he’s putting in a good word for me at Highburrry Foods even as we speak, so you’d better get in quick, Marrrk, because my services will be in grrreat demand.’ Her tone hardened. ‘Tomorrow at two thirrrty, have you put it in your diary yet?’
‘Hold on, I’m not putting anything in my diary,’ I said, testily. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer to help out, Gusty, but I’m going to have to say no. Now I’m sure you’ve got lots of other phone calls to make, so I’ll let you get on.’
‘You have such a charrrming way of saying no that I’m even more determined to make you say yes.
’ She gave a husky laugh. ‘But I can hold off until we get to know each other. Mind, I’ve heard a lot about you already from our mutual cleaning lady, Mrs Burrrn.
And, once you’ve got to know me — we’ll be moving in the same cirrrcles, of course, professionally and socially — you’ll be begging to join my elite clientele, as we say at Maple Grrrove. ’
I did my best to remain civil. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?
And now I’m due at a meeting. Goodbye.’ I slammed the receiver down and switched my phone through to Sue without further delay.
Gusty sounded like the sort of person I’d go to great lengths to avoid; I was sure she and Elton were made for each other.
There was no meeting to go to, but my flimsy excuse to get rid of Gusty prompted thoughts of another meeting — the one that I’d expected to have on Saturday morning and that now looked less and less likely to happen.
On impulse, I decided to give it one last shot and dialled Emma’s mobile.
No answer, so I tried her direct line at Highbury Foods.
‘Emma Woodhouse’s phone, can-ay-yelp-yoo-oo.’
‘Hello, Harriet, it’s Mark Knightley.’
She gave a nervous giggle. ‘Hiya, Mark.’
‘Listen, I need to fix up my next mentoring meeting with Emma. I know it’s short notice but I wondered if she was free for lunch today?’ A full and frank discussion, over a slap-up meal — somewhere classy, where she would think twice about storming off — and who knew what might happen?
‘Seems OK, nothing in the diary — oh, hang on, she’s looking cross and she’s sort of waving at me.’
Trust Harriet to let that one out of the bag; I heard furtive whispers and steeled myself for rejection.
Harriet went on, as if reading from a script, ‘Sorry, I forgot, Emma already has a lunch appointment today.’
‘Oh? I thought you said there was nothing in her diary?’
This put her immediately on the defensive and ensured I got all the details. ‘Well, you see, she’s expecting it to happen but Flynn hasn’t actually rung yet to confirm it. And she only fixed it up yesterday, but I couldn’t put it in her diary then because the office is closed on Sundays, innit?’
Churchill — I might have known; my hand tightened round the receiver. ‘Any other lunch times free this week?’
There was a scuffling sound and I guessed Harriet had put her hand over the mouthpiece; not very effectively as it turned out, because I could still hear her clearly. ‘He says, have you got any other lunch times free this week?’
Although I didn’t catch Emma’s reply, I had no doubt that Harriet’s next words to me repeated it parrot-fashion. ‘Only Thursday, but she thinks that’s when you usually have your Board meeting, so it looks as though this week’s no good, which is such a shame.’
‘Actually,’ I said silkily, ‘I may be able to get away on Thursday for an hour or so. I’ll check the agenda for my Board meeting and let you know.’
In Cherry’s absence, it took a little while to track down the agenda. As soon as I found it, I rang Harriet back.
‘It’s Mark again—’
She interrupted me with, ‘That’s so-o-o spooky, I was going to ask Emma if I should ring you. Guess what? Flynn’s just phoned her and cancelled lunch, he’s got to go into London. Some emergency grooming, Emma said.’
So he’d stood her up, the toe rag! ‘Needs his chest waxing, does he?’
My sarcasm completely passed her by. ‘Ooh, I don’t know about that, she only mentioned a haircut.’
‘All the way to London — for a haircut? . . . Bloody pansy,’ I added, under my breath.
‘Yeah, Emma tried to persuade him to go to Antonio’s in Kingston, so they could still have lunch together. But he said he’d already made an appointment at this posh salon in the West End. Anyway, what time do you want to meet her today?’
‘Unfortunately, since we last spoke I’ve been invited out to lunch myself.’ A downright lie, but I needed to get down to some work. And I certainly wasn’t going to play second fiddle to the toe rag. ‘So it’ll have to be Thursday after all, I’ll pick her up at Highbury Foods at one.’
‘I’ll tell her.’ She giggled. ‘I’m dying to see this Flynn geezer, he sounds amazing, but Emma says I’m not allowed to fancy him because she saw him first. Life’s a bitch, innit?’
I could only agree and hang up, before I said something I really regretted.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
As I came into Harriet’s room, I couldn’t help overhearing the last part of her phone conversation.
‘Why on earth did you tell him about Flynn going to London for a haircut?’ I said sharply, knowing that Mark would waste no time in throwing that back in my face.
She flushed. ‘I thought maybe you could see him today after all.’
I let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Please tell me you haven’t arranged anything.’
‘I haven’t, he can’t do today any more. But he says he can do Thursday and he’ll pick you up from here at one o’clock.’
Huh, I’d been so confident that my suggestion to meet on Thursday would be a non-starter. I screwed up the letter I was holding, a glossy invitation to learn ‘intuitive influencing skills’, and hurled it at the waste paper basket. It missed.
‘Shit.’ I gave Harriet a tight-lipped smile. ‘Sorry, must have got up on the wrong side of bed.’