Chapter Twelve #4
‘I don’t mean her looks, I mean her personality.
Too reserved, secretive almost. I may as well be mentoring a block of wood.
I prefer a woman who’s much more spontaneous and in your face and—’ He stopped and cleared his throat.
‘Just believe me when I say that I don’t want to sleep with Jane and I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual.
Oh, and please make sure the rest of Highbury gets the message. ’
There was a pause while I digested this information.
I should have felt ecstatic that he didn’t fancy Saint Jane of Highbury, of all people.
But my mind was off at a tangent. Did that mean he fancied someone else?
If so, who? And if not, then maybe, just maybe .
. . Oh, what was the point of even thinking about it!
He’d told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t as good in bed as Tamara.
And yet . . . a little voice inside me begged for another chance.
Then, out of the blue, he said, ‘How long has Jane known Churchill?’
‘Why do you want to know?’ I was genuinely puzzled; he’d just denied being interested in her, hadn’t he?
He scowled. ‘Just answer the question, please.’
His abrupt tone got under my skin. ‘Work it out for yourself,’ I said sullenly. ‘They met in Weymouth shortly before she started at Highbury Foods.’
‘Three months, say. And how well do you think they know each other?’
I shrugged. ‘As Flynn said to me when I asked him that very same question, he knows her as well as he ever wants to.’ I added, with a frosty smile, ‘I think it’s safe to assume that means hardly at all.’
‘I think it’s safe to assume nothing of the sort,’ he said, frowning. ‘There was something funny about their behaviour tonight. With each other, I mean. Especially him, he was provoking her, making her upset.’
So that was it. Poor little Jane always managed to get the sympathy vote, didn’t she? My lips tightened.
He went on, ‘Somehow it made me think that they were—’ he hesitated, as though searching for the right words ‘—more intimate than they’ve led any of us to believe.’
That sounded uncomfortably like him and me. I shifted in my seat and forced a laugh. ‘Flynn and Saint Jane — intimate, as you so delicately put it? That’s absolute bollocks.’
‘How do you know?’
Funny, I could have sworn there was a catch in his voice. Typical Mark, he may not fancy the woman, but he was obviously concerned about her well-being. I looked him straight in the eye and smiled broadly, to give him all the reassurance I could.
‘Because Flynn’s in love with someone else. I can’t say who just yet, for various reasons, but it’s definitely not Jane Fairfax.’
He closed his eyes, as if in relief, and leaned back against the headrest. I took the opportunity to study his profile.
How many times over the years had I looked at him without really seeing him?
Except for that unfortunate teenage crush, I’d always taken his physical appeal completely for granted — the deep brow, the strong straight nose, the unbelievably sensual mouth and determined chin.
With a strange sort of hunger, my gaze returned to his mouth.
I watched his lips move, the words just audible above the noise of the heater.
‘By the way, I’m going back to India.’
‘I know, when your father gets home,’ I said, absently. That would be some time in February, which gave me at least a month, perhaps six weeks, to see if we could . . .
He opened his eyes and I hurriedly averted my gaze. ‘My father’s coming home in two days. John and I told the others tonight, before you arrived. And my flight’s on Sunday.’
I blinked rapidly at my reflection in the passenger window. ‘Wh-what did you say?’
‘I’m leaving on Sunday.’
‘So soon?’ I sounded amazingly calm, almost dismissive.
‘There’s nothing to keep me here,’ he said, and there was an air of finality in his tone. Thank God I hadn’t allowed myself to hope . . .
When his warm hand covered mine, I nearly jumped out of my skin; but I kept my face turned away.
‘Emma, if there’s ever anything troubling you, just call me.’ His voice was low and grave. ‘You know I’ve always been there for you, don’t you? And that won’t change, wherever you are, whoever you’re with.’
It was as if the words had been in my head for years, but jumbled up. Now, at last, they made perfect sense: ‘I want to be with you, wherever you are.’
I didn’t say them, of course. I couldn’t trust myself to speak. I had to get out of that car with some semblance of dignity before I gave everything away. So I took a deep breath, pulled my hand from under his and opened the door with as much composure as I could manage.
‘Goodnight, Mark.’
And I ran from the car without a backward glance. As I reached the porch, I heard his tyres crunching down the frosty drive.
In a week he’d be gone. The dream was over before it had even begun.
* * *
~~MARK~~
Thank God the holiday period was over. I’d gone to the office most days in an attempt to distract my thoughts; not easy when the place was empty.
But now, on the first working day of the new year, there was a welcome buzz of activity which I drew on to boost my own flagging energy levels.
I’d also made progress on the personal front; even though I couldn’t be happy myself, I’d decided that I could make someone else happy.
So I started to put my plans into action. At nine sharp, I called the Executive together and told them that my father would be home the next day and back at work by the end of the week. From then on, there would be no need for an acting MD and I would return to India.
Most of them had some experience of Saffron, so they fully understood the situation. ‘Surprised George stuck it out this long,’ one of them muttered as they left the room.
John stayed behind. To my relief, he didn’t raise the subject of Emma; instead, he asked me if I wanted a hand with the arrangements for tomorrow.
‘Tomorrow?’ I said, preoccupied with opening an urgent email about the Parkinson contract.
He chuckled. ‘That little informal surprise party Saffron’s expecting, remember?’
‘Oh, that.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Between us, Mrs Burn and I seem to have it all under control. Everyone should have got their invitation this morning. As it’s such short notice and the numbers are small, I didn’t bother with RSVP.
And I’ve said drinks and canapés, so that people feel they can drop in even if they’re already booked to go somewhere else for the evening. ’
‘Poor Father, a party’ll be the last thing he feels like.’
‘Do you think he had any choice in the matter?’
Another chuckle. ‘No, but we did.’
‘Sorry, I couldn’t be bothered to fight this particular battle,’ I said, with a hollow laugh. ‘I’d like my last few days in England to be relatively happy and healthy ones.’
‘Point taken. Have you heard what time they’re getting here?’
‘Mid-afternoon, Saffron’s stopping on the way for some emergency repair work. You know, hair, facelift, and so on. Oh, there is something you could do for me.’
‘What’s that?’
‘On your way into work, can you collect Tao from the kennels and take him to Donwell? Mrs Burn will be there from half past eight.’
He grimaced. ‘I get all the good jobs, don’t I?’
Just after he’d left, Cherry called out, ‘I’ve got someone on the phone for you. Wouldn’t give me her name, just said something about Mrs Burn.’
Shit, all I needed was for Mrs Burn to fall ill or something. ‘Better put her through, whoever she is.’
But as soon as I heard the voice, I knew I’d made a mistake.
‘Marrrk?’
‘’Morning, Gusty,’ I said coolly. ‘What’s this about Mrs Burn?’
‘Sheila’s come to do some extra cleaning for me and she says you’re organising a little soirée to celebrate the return of your father and stepmother.’
Good God, it hadn’t taken her long to extract that information out of poor Mrs Burn, it was barely twenty past nine.
I made an effort to remain civil. ‘I can’t see how that concerns you. It just means she’ll be working longer hours tomorrow, when she usually comes to Donwell anyway.’
‘Actually, Marrrk, there are one or two things that do concern me,’ she purred. ‘Firstly, Philip and I don’t seem to have received our invitation and Sheila assures me that they were all posted first class on Saturday. And secondly, I hate to be blunt, but it sounds like a rather low-key affair.’
She paused and I took the opportunity to deal with her first point. ‘You and Philip haven’t received your invitation because I haven’t sent you one.’
‘Oh, a little oversight, we can soon remedy that,’ she said airily. ‘But I have some very exciting ideas for livening up the party and there’s no time to lose. As soon as you give me the nod, I’ll get started. My sister once hired a very classy—’
I cut in before she could enlighten me further. ‘There’s only one woman I’d consult about this party.’
After a moment she snapped, ‘Not Kate Weston, surely.’
‘No.’
‘Who then?’
‘Mrs Knightley.’
‘Mrs—? Oh, your stepmother. But she’s thousands of miles away—’
‘I don’t mean her either, I mean Mrs Mark Knightley.’
‘ Who? ’
‘My wife. And since that person doesn’t exist, I’ll continue to organise everything myself. But thank you so much for offering. ’Bye.’ I slammed down the receiver and yelled, ‘Cherry!’
She came rushing into my room. ‘What is it?’
‘That woman who just rang, would you recognise her voice?’
‘Oh yes, quite a strong West Country accent.’ She pulled a face. ‘And a terribly bossy manner.’
‘Good. If she phones again, say I’m unavailable. Travelling to Mars, on my deathbed, anything.’ I stared out of the window, feeling indescribably weary.
‘You sound stressed out, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?’ she said, in a motherly tone. ‘I’ve got plenty to get on with — and you don’t seem to have had much time away from the office over the holidays.’