The Importance of Being Emma (33 page)

I felt my voice rising in anger. ‘I hardly think so, since Donwell are all about dried goods, with completely different storage and distribution requirements.’

She favoured me with a particularly nasty stare. ‘Obviously, Emmurrr, you’re just starting in the food business whereas Marrrk and I – well, all I can say is it’s a true meeting of minds on the subject. On any subject, in fact. Gorrrgeous man, really gorrrgeous. If I wasn’t already spoken for, I’d be appreciating
his
assets, I can tell you.’

Her words triggered memories that I fought to suppress: that first glimpse of Mark naked, the taste of his skin, the feel of him, slow and controlled – and then suddenly no control at all …

I found myself gripping the edge of the table so hard that I wondered why my fingernails hadn’t gouged chunks out of it. ‘For the last frigging time, I’m telling you to leave!’

Her eyes narrowed; she got to her feet, though, and drawled, ‘I think I’ll call in on Henrrry for a few minutes. But send Jane to Philip’s office as soon as you see her, it’s terribly urgent. Opportunities like this don’t grow on trees.’

When she’d gone, I slammed the door shut, leaned back against it and let out a long shaky breath. ‘Please God, keep me from wringing that woman’s neck because I have no doubt she’d visit me in prison … Sorry, Harriet, did you want to get past?’

I managed a grim smile, however, as Harriet went off to the Ladies. Given the two previous men she’d fancied, who’d have thought she and I would ever be interested in the same person? Of course, that wasn’t a problem now that I’d decided Flynn wasn’t for me. Everything would work out beautifully, I was sure.

~~MARK~~

Izzy was not the sort of woman who took setbacks in her stride, especially if they involved her children. When I told her that her preferred babysitter wasn’t available for the night of the Donwell Organics Christmas party, she became almost hysterical on the other end of the phone.

‘
What do you mean, Sarah Perry’s sitting for another family? Why didn’t you get in first? You’ve known the date for weeks!’

‘
Sorry, it slipped my mind, I’ve had a lot to think about recently.’

Such as your younger sister …

Izzy gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I’ll just have to miss the party and look after the children myself and John will be furious.’

‘
Sarah did say she’d ask round her friends – ’

‘
Her friends? Good grief, Mark, you may as well just pluck someone off the streets! Or why don’t you advertise – only drug addicts and paedophiles need apply?’

‘
Calm down, for God’s sake.’ I paused, then went on, ‘Listen, why don’t you just ask Emma?’ I hadn’t thought of it until now, but it seemed the ideal solution.

‘
Don’t be ridiculous,’ she spluttered. ‘Emma won’t want to stay behind and babysit. She’s never been to your company do before, she’ll want to make a big impression. I bet she’s splashed out on some ludicrously expensive dress that’ll make me look a complete frump.’

‘
Oh, you never know, you might be pleasantly surprised,’ I said smoothly. ‘I don’t think she particularly enjoyed the Highbury Foods party, so she may be glad to give this one a miss.’

All I heard was a snort of derision before the line went dead.

The next day, however, John breezed into my office with a big grin on his face.

‘
Well done, Mark. Next time I need to find a win-win solution for something, I’ll come to you for ideas. Suggesting Emma as a babysitter was a stroke of genius.’ He laughed. ‘Henry’s a bit miffed that he’ll only have one doting daughter at his side, but everyone else is delighted. The kids, because they love it when Emma babysits. Izzy, because she can relax all evening – plus it removes the biggest competition in the dress stakes. And Emma, for reasons known only to herself.’

I was delighted too, wasn’t I? The next meeting avoided. No disturbing memories, no frustrated longing, no aching heart.

Except that it didn’t work like that. I didn’t need to see her in the flesh to feel the pain. It was my constant companion, whether she was there or not.

Chapter Eleven

~~EMMA~~

Missing the Donwell Organics Christmas party to look after my nephews and nieces was a no-brainer. I’d already decided that I would back out at the last minute, pleading illness; Izzy’s babysitting crisis merely gave me a more convincing excuse.

Even better, by the time Dad and I turned up at Donwell Abbey, Mark and John had already left; apparently Mark wanted to familiarise himself with the venue. As the party was at the exclusive golf club where his father had been a member for over twenty years and where the Knightleys held business functions with monotonous regularity, I saw this as a determined attempt to avoid me. Until I felt the tension ease from my body, however, I didn’t realise how much I’d been on edge in case our paths crossed.

There was no danger of that now and I could focus on the little problem of getting Izzy out of the door. Emily had a slight sniffle, which meant that my sister was even more reluctant than usual to leave her children. Up in the bedroom, she rocked her youngest expertly and fired off a barrage of instructions, finishing with, ‘She’s had some Calpol, so don’t you give her any – I’ll do the next lot when I get back, if she’s awake. Dad won’t want to be late, I’ll bring him at eleven then you can take him home. John and Mark will have to stay until the bitter end, of course. By the way, Mark managed to get someone to take your place – Jane Fairfax.’

What a surprise. Cinderella, you
shall
go to the ball.

I prised Emily from Izzy’s arms. ‘You’d better go, Dad’ll be getting twitchy. And don’t leave early on my account – you know I love babysitting the kids.’

She gave me a sharp look. ‘Harry and James have to be in bed by nine at the latest, don’t let them string you along.’ She straightened Emily’s sleepsuit, which I’d got slightly twisted, and went on, ‘Make sure Bella brushes her teeth, she’s playing up about it for some reason. And Mark still likes the Mog books at bedtime, so – ’

‘
For goodness’ sake, go! And try to enjoy yourself.’

I almost pushed her out of the room – no mean feat with a twenty-pound baby drowsing on my shoulder – then put Emily straight to bed. Bella was a great help, turning back the cot covers and showing me which toys went where. After we’d waited for Emily to settle, she led me along the landing and through a door at the end.

‘
Is this where you’re sleeping … ’ My voice trailed off as I flicked on the light. We were in a big room with an enormous bed and a distinctly masculine feel. ‘This isn’t your bedroom, is it?’

‘
It used to be, but it’s Uncle Mark’s now. When he came home, he asked me specially if he could have it. He says the sun comes in and makes it nice and warm in the mornings, like it is in India.’ She made a beeline for a large chest of drawers which held a group of rather faded photos in exquisitely carved frames: his mother and father, Izzy and John on their wedding day, me as a gawky bridesmaid, our nephews and nieces as babies.

‘
Look, here’s his favourite smell.’ She pointed to a small bottle next to one of the photos. ‘He let me put some on him tonight and I put it on his nose and he laughed, but he smelled really nice. Why does everyone want a different smell? Why don’t you and Mummy just use Uncle Mark’s?’

Dismissing the rationale for the entire perfume industry with this innocent question, she dived onto the bed and started bouncing up and down. I stared unseeingly at her, wondering how it would feel to wake up in this bed with the sun shining …

‘
In the morning,’ she gasped between bounces, ‘Marky and I – are going to come – and jump on him – like this!’ She landed squarely on one of the pillows, a fraction of an inch from the solid wooden headboard, and burst out laughing.

The near miss jolted me out of my reverie. ‘Bella! Stop that at once before you have a nasty accident.’

‘
But you like bouncing on beds too, Aunty Emma, I know you do. Why don’t you stay with me and Marky tonight, then you can help us wake Uncle Mark up?’ All of a sudden, her face was very close to mine. ‘You look sad, don’t you want to stay here?’

I forced a smile. ‘I’d love to, but I can’t. Anyway, it’s time for you and Mark to get ready for bed. Will you go and find a Mog book while I run the bath?’

After a long, noisy bath and several Mog books, Bella and Mark dropped off to sleep in seconds. That left Harry and James who, despite considering themselves very grown up, still liked a bedtime story.

‘
One of your made-up ones, please, Aunty Emma,’ James said eagerly.

‘
As bloodthirsty as possible,’ Harry added.

They hurled themselves onto the sofa in the TV room, while I settled myself more sedately between them and extracted all sorts of promises about going to bed at a sensible time and cleaning their teeth properly. Then I began my story.

‘
Once upon a time,’ I said softly, ‘in the Enchanted Kingdom of Highbury, Princess Harriet was on her way to see Queen Emma. Now Princess Harriet was very beautiful, with long golden hair and big blue – ’

Harry interrupted me, his voice full of scorn. ‘Is this a fairy tale?’

‘
Certainly not, just be patient.’ And I continued for a little longer in the same lyrical vein, to set the scene. Then I picked up the pace and related the story of Harriet and the Goths, suitably tailored to my audience with trans-galactic rocket-launchers, laser-phaser-blaster guns and a Flynn Churchill who was far more heroic than his real-life counterpart. Harry and James loved it and wanted to hear it over and over again – even the romantic bit, where Princess Harriet and Prince Flynn got married. I didn’t mind; anticipating Harriet’s and Flynn’s happy ending made me forget my own troubles for a while.

Later, when the boys were fast asleep, I returned to Mark’s room and tidied the bedclothes that Bella had disturbed. Then I picked up the bottle that she’d called his ‘favourite smell’. Armani, Eau Pour Homme. I opened it and inhaled. Fatal. At once, I was back in that tiny bathroom at Ashridge, then kissing him in the hall at home and, finally, lying on his bed at Forbury Manor, doing more kissing, doing more than kissing …

I replaced the cap and set the bottle down, but the scent and the memories lingered. So I slipped off my shoes. Lay on top of his duvet. Rested my cheek on his pillow. Breathed in his essence. Part Armani, something I could buy anywhere. And part Mark. Unique. Unattainable. And still under Tamara’s spell.

How long I lay there, I don’t know. Long enough to make his pillow damp with tears. But at last I got up, put on my shoes, smoothed his duvet, turned off his light.

And went downstairs to get on with my life.

~~MARK~~

In the days leading up to Christmas, my workload eased and I decided it was time to contact Emma. We were certain to meet over the holiday period; why not clear the air in advance? If part of me hoped for a full and passionate reconciliation, then I didn’t allow myself to dwell on it.

But I’d forgotten the disruption that an English winter could bring to the workplace. Donwell Organics was hit by a particularly virulent flu bug and most of our sales force – including Mitch, the Sales Director – went down with it. We were at a very delicate stage of negotiation with the new Parkinson contract and I had to drop everything to keep our chances of securing it alive.

So I worked all hours, right until the office closed on 24th December. I found the prospect of some time off strangely disconcerting. As I’d bought my presents well in advance, I didn’t have any last-minute shopping to do and my thoughts turned inevitably to Emma; but I knew she wouldn’t welcome a visit in the middle of her Christmas Eve preparations. It was the tradition for the Knightleys and Woodhouses, including John and family, to have Christmas lunch together. I’d missed out since going to India, preferring to visit England during warmer weather. This year, we were meeting at Hartfield and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get out of it unless I feigned Bubonic Plague or something equally drastic.

I kept away for as long as possible, arriving shortly before the meal was due to be served. Henry answered the door and seemed to accept my excuse about waiting for a phone call from Father. He showed me into the drawing room, where I was immediately set upon by an army of wildly excited children – four, at any rate – demanding their presents.

‘
Emily gets hers first, she’s better behaved than any of you lot,’ I said, laughing and looking about for the youngest Knightley.

She was on her aunt’s knee, surveying me gravely. In contrast, Emma avoided my gaze, pretending to be engrossed in something on the other side of the room.

I decided to treat them as a package. ‘Merry Christmas, both of you.’ I bent down and planted a light kiss on Emily’s chubby cheek, then made a similar gesture in the vicinity of Emma, managing to avoid any actual physical contact. So far, so good.

The older children hovered impatiently while I rummaged in my carrier bags and took out two presents.

‘
This one’s for Emily.’ I helped her to unwrap the cloth doll I’d bought her and she grabbed it with an appreciative gurgle.

‘
And for Emma,’ I said heartily, holding the other present out towards her. She couldn’t refuse to open it, surely?