Well, not exactly French Connection. To be honest, I bought it at Oxfam. But the label says French Connection. And while I'm still paying off Dad I don't have much choice about where I shop. I mean, a new top from French Connection costs about fifty quid, whereas this one cost £7.50. And it's practically new!
As I skip up the tube steps, the sun's shining and I'm full of optimism. Imagine if I do get promoted. Imagine telling everybody. Mum will say, 'How was your week?' and I'll say, 'Well, actually …'
No, what I'll do is wait until I go home, and then just nonchalantly hand over my new business card.
Or maybe I'll just drive up in my company car I think in excitement! I mean, I'm not sure any of the other marketing executives have cars – but you never know, do you? They might introduce it as a new thing. Or they might say, 'Emma, we've chosen you specially—'
'Emma!'
I look round to see Katie, my friend from Personnel, climbing the tube steps behind me, panting slightly. Her curly red hair is all tousled, and she's holding one shoe in her hand.
'What on earth happened?' I say as she reaches the top.
'My stupid shoe,' says Katie disconsolately. 'I only had it mended the other day, and the heel's just come off.' She flaps it at me. 'I paid six quid for that heel! God, this day is such a disaster. The milkman forgot to bring me any milk, and I had a terrible weekend …'
'I thought you were spending it with Charlie,' I say in surprise. 'What happened?'
Charlie is Katie's latest man. They've been seeing each other for a few weeks and she was supposed to be visiting his country cottage, which he's doing up at the weekends.
'It was awful! As soon as we arrived, he said he was going off to play golf.'
'Oh right.' I try to find a positive angle. 'Well, at least he's comfortable with you. He can just act normally.'
'Maybe.' She looks at me doubtfully. 'So 'then he said, how did I feel about helping out a bit while he was gone? So I said of course – and then he gave me this paintbrush, and three pots of paint and said I should get the sitting room done if I worked fast.'
'What?'
'And then he came back at six o'clock – and said my brushwork was careless!' Her voice rises woefully. 'It wasn't careless! I only smudged one bit, and that's because the stupid ladder wasn't long enough.'
I stare at her.
'Katie, you're not telling me you actually painted the room.'
'Well … yes.' She looks at me with huge blue eyes. 'You know, to help out. But now I'm starting to think … is he just using me?'
I'm almost speechless with disbelief.
'Katie, of course he's using you,' I manage at last. 'He wants a free painter-decorator! You have to chuck him. Immediately. Now!'
Katie is silent for a few seconds, and I eye her a bit nervously. Her face is blank, but I can tell lots of things are going on beneath the surface. It's a bit like when Jaws disappears underneath the rippling water, and you just know that any minute—
'Oh God, you're right!' she suddenly bursts out. 'You're right. He's been using me! It's my own fault. I should have realized when he asked me if I had any experience in plumbing or roofing.'
'When did he ask you that?' I say incredulously.
'On our first date! I thought he was just, you know, making conversation.'
'Katie, it's not your fault.' I squeeze her arm. 'You weren't to know.'
'But what is it about me?' Katie stops still in the street. 'Why do I only attract complete shits?'
'You don't!'
'I do! Look at the men I've been out with.' She starts counting off on her fingers. 'Daniel borrowed all that money off me and disappeared to Mexico. Gary chucked me as soon as I found him a job. David was two-timing me. Do you see a pattern emerging?'
'I … um …' I say helplessly. 'Possibly …'
'I just think I should give up.' Her face falls. 'I'm never going to find anyone nice.'
'No,' I say at once. 'Don't give up! Katie, I just know your life is going to turn around. You're going to find some lovely, kind, wonderful man—'
'But where?' she says hopelessly.
'I … don't know.' I cross my fingers behind my back. 'But I know it'll happen. I've got a really strong feeling about it.'
'Really?' She stares at me. 'You do?'
'Absolutely!' I think quickly for a moment. 'Look, here's an idea. Why don't you try … going to have lunch at a different place today. Somewhere completely different. And maybe you'll meet someone there.'
'You think?' She gazes at me. 'OK. I'll try it.'
She gives a gusty sigh, and we start walking along the pavement again. 'The only good thing about the weekend,' she adds as we reach the corner, 'is I finished making my new top. What do you think?'
She proudly takes off her jacket and does a twirl, and I stare at her for a few seconds, not quite sure what to say.
It's not that I don't like crochet …
OK. It is that I don't like crochet.
Especially pink scoop-neck open-weave crochet tops. You can actually see glimpses of her bra through it.
'It's … amazing,' I manage at last. 'Absolutely fantastic!'
'Isn't it great?' She gives me a pleased smile. 'And it was so quick to do! I'm going to make the matching skirt next.'
'That's great,' I say faintly. 'You're so clever.'
'Oh, it's nothing! I just enjoy it.'
She smiles modestly, and puts her jacket back on. 'So anyway, how about you?' she adds as we start to cross the road. 'Did you have a nice weekend? I bet you did. I bet Connor was completely wonderful and romantic. I bet he took you out for dinner or something.'
'Actually, he asked me to move in with him,' I say awkwardly.
'Really?' Katie gazes wistfully at me. 'God, Emma, you two make the perfect couple. You give me faith that it can happen. It all seems so easy for you.'
I can't help feeling a little flicker of pleasure inside. Me and Connor. The perfect couple. Role models for other people.
'It's not that easy,' I say with a modest little laugh. 'I mean, we argue, like anyone else.'
'Do you?' Katie looks surprised. 'I've never seen you argue.'
'Of course we do!'
I rack my brain for a moment, trying to remember the last time Connor and I had a fight. I mean, obviously we do have arguments. Loads of them. All couples do. It's only healthy.
Come on, this is silly. We must have—
Yes. There was that time by the river when I thought those big white birds were geese and Connor thought they were swans. Exactly. We're normal. I knew it.
Well, obviously I'll be completely frank and honest. Without actually telling him the truth—
'Hey, look.' Katie's voice interrupts me and I follow her gaze. Through the glass front of the building I can see a commotion in the foyer. This isn't normal. What's going on?
God, has there been a fire, or something?
As Katie and I push our way through the heavy revolving glass doors, we look at each other in bewilderment. The whole place is in turmoil. People are scurrying about, someone's polishing the brass banister, someone else is polishing the fake plants, and Cyril, the senior office manager, is shooing people into lifts.
'Could you please go to your offices! We don't want you hanging around the reception area. You should all be at your desks by now.' He sounds completely stressed out. 'There's nothing to see down here! Please go to your desks.'
'What's happening?' I say to Dave the security guard, who's lounging against the wall with a cup of tea as usual. He takes a sip, swills it around his mouth and gives us a grin.
'Jack Harper's visiting.
'What?' We both gawp at him.
'Today?'
'Are you serious?'
In the world of the Panther Corporation, this is like saying the Pope's visiting. Or Father Christmas. Jack Harper is the joint founder of the Panther Corporation. He invented Panther Cola. I know this because I've typed out blurbs about him approximately a million times. 'It was 1987 when young, dynamic business partners Jack Harper and Pete Laidler bought up the ailing Zoot soft-drinks company, repackaged Zootacola as Panther Cola, invented the slogan "Don't Pause", and thus made marketing history.'
No wonder Cyril's in a tizz.
'In about five minutes.' Dave consults his watch. 'Give or take.'
'But … but how come?' says Katie. 'I mean, just out of the blue like this.'
Dave's eyes twinkle. He's obviously been telling people the news all morning and is thoroughly enjoying himself.
'He wants to have a look round the UK operation, apparently.'
'I thought he wasn't active in the business any more,' says Jane from Accounts, who's come up behind us in her coat and is listening, agog. 'I thought ever since Pete Laidler died he was all grief-stricken and reclusive. On his ranch, or whatever it is.'
'That was three years ago,' points out Katie. 'Maybe he's feeling better.'
'Maybe he wants to sell us off, more like,' says Jane darkly.
'Why would he do that?'
'You never know.'
'My theory,' says Dave, and we all bend our heads to listen, 'is he wants to see if the plants are shiny enough.' He nods his head towards Cyril, and we all giggle.
'Be careful,' Cyril is snapping. 'Don't damage the stems.' He glances up. 'What are you all still doing there?'
'Just going!' says Katie, and we head towards the stairs, which I always use because it means I don't have to bother with the gym. Plus luckily Marketing is on the first floor. We've just reached the landing when Jane squeaks 'Look! Oh my God! It's him!'
A limousine has purred up the street and stopped right in front of the glass doors.
What is it about some cars? They look so gleaming and burnished, as if they're made out of a completely different metal from normal cars.
As if by clockwork, the lift doors at the other end of the foyer open, and out strides Graham Hillingdon, the chief executive, plus the managing director and about six others, all looking immaculate in dark suits.
'That's enough!' Cyril is hissing at the poor cleaners in the foyer. 'Go! Leave it!'
The three of us stand, goggling like children, as the passenger door of the limousine opens. A moment later, out gets a man with blond hair in a navy blue overcoat. He's wearing dark glasses and is holding a very expensive-looking briefcase.
Wow. He looks like a million dollars.
Graham Hillingdon and the others are all outside by now, lined up on the steps. They shake his hand in turn, then usher him inside, where Cyril is waiting.
'Welcome to the Panther Corporation UK,' Cyril says fulsomely. 'I hope your journey was pleasant?'
'Not too bad, thanks,' says the man, in an American accent.
'As you can see, this is very much a normal working day …'
'Hey look,' murmurs Katie. 'Kenny's stuck outside the doors.'
Kenny Davey, one of the designers, is hovering uncertainly on the steps outside in his jeans and baseball boots, not knowing whether to come in or not. He puts a hand to the door, then retreats a little, then comes up to the door again and peers uncertainly inside.
'Come in, Kenny!' says Cyril, opening the door with a rather savage smile. 'One of our designers, Kenny Davey. You should have been here ten minutes ago, Kenny. Still, never mind!' He pushes a bewildered Kenny towards the lifts, then glances up and shoos us away in irritation.
'Come on,' says Katie, 'we'd better go.' And, trying not to giggle, the three of us hurry up the stairs.
'What the fuck happened at Glen Oil? I had a very strange email from Doug Hamilton this morning. You poured a drink over him?'
I stare at him in shock. Doug Hamilton told Paul? But he promised he wouldn't!
'It wasn't like that,' I say quickly. 'I was just trying to demonstrate the many fine qualities of Panther Prime and I … I kind of spilled it.' Paul raises his eyebrows, not in a friendly way.
'All right. It was a lot to ask of you.'
'It wasn't,' I say quickly. 'I mean, it would have been fine, if … what I mean is, if you give me another chance, I'll do better. I promise.'
'We'll see.' He looks at his watch. 'You'd better get on. Your desk is a fucking mess.'
'OK. Um, what time will my appraisal be?'
'Emma, in case you hadn't heard, Jack Harper's visiting us today,' says Paul, in his most sarcastic voice. 'But of course, if you think your appraisal's more important than the guy who founded the company—'
'I didn't mean … I just …'
'Go and tidy your desk,' says Paul in a bored voice. 'And if you spill fucking Panther Prime over Harper, you're fired.'
As I scuttle to my desk, Cyril comes into the room, looking hassled.
'Attention!' he says, clapping his hands. 'Attention everyone! This is an informal visit, nothing more. Mr Harper will come in, perhaps talk to one or two of you, observe what you do. So I want you all just to act normally, but obviously, at your highest standards … What are these papers?' he suddenly snaps, looking at a neat pile of proofs in the corner next to Fergus Grady's desk.
'That's the … um … artwork for the new Panther Gum campaign,' says Fergus, who is very shy and creative. 'I haven't quite got room on my desk.'
'Well, they can't stay here!' Cyril picks them up and shoves them at him. 'Get rid of them. Now, if he asks any of you a question, just be pleasant and natural. When he arrives, I want you all at work. Just doing typical tasks which you would naturally be doing in the course of a normal day.' He looks around distractedly. 'Some of you could be on the phone, some could be typing at your computers … a couple of you could be creatively brainstorming … Remember, this department is the hub of the company. The Panther Corporation is renowned for its marketing brilliance!'
He stops and we all stare dumbly at him.
'Get on!' He claps his hands again. 'Don't just stand there. You!' He points to me. 'Come on. Move!'
Oh, God. My desk is completely covered with stuff. I open a drawer and sweep a whole load of papers inside, then in slight panic, begin to tidy the pens in my stationery pot. At the next desk, Artemis Harrison is redoing her lipstick.
'It'll be really inspirational to meet him,' she says, admiring herself in her hand mirror. 'You know, a lot of people think he single-handedly changed the face of marketing practice.' Her eyes fall on me. 'Is that a new top, Emma? Where's it from?'
'Er, French Connection,' I say after a pause.
'I was in French Connection at the weekend.' Her eyes are narrowing. 'I didn't see that design.'
'Well, they'd probably sold out.' I turn away and pretend to be reorganizing my top drawer.
'What do we call him?' Caroline is saying. 'Mr Harper or Jack?'
'Five minutes alone with him,' Nick, one of the marketing executives, is saying feverishly into his phone. 'That's all I need. Five minutes to pitch him the website idea. I mean, Jesus, if he went for it—'
God, the air of excitement is infectious. With a spurt of adrenalin, I find myself reaching for my comb and checking my lip-gloss. I mean, you never know. Maybe he'll somehow spot my potential. Maybe he'll pull me out of the crowd!
'OK, folks,' says Paul, striding into the department. 'He's on this floor. He's going into Admin first …'
'On with your everyday tasks!' exclaims Cyril. 'Now!'
Fuck. What's my everyday task?
I pick up my phone and press my voice-mail code. I can be listening to my messages.
I look around the department – and see that everyone else has done the same thing.
We can't all be on the phone. This is so stupid! OK, I'll just switch on my computer and wait for it to warm up.
As I watch the screen changing colour, Artemis starts talking in a loud voice.
'I think the whole essence of the concept is vitality,' she says, her eye constantly flicking towards the door. 'D'you see what I mean?'
'Er, yes,' says Nick. 'I mean, in a modern marketing environment, I think we need to be looking at a … um … fusion of strategy and forward-thinking vision …'
God, my computer's slow today. Jack Harper will arrive and I'll still be staring at it like a moron.
I know what I'll do. I'll be the person getting a coffee. I mean, what could be more natural than that?
'I think I'll get a coffee,' I say self-consciously, and get up from my seat.
'Could you get me one?' says Artemis, looking up briefly. 'So anyway, on my MBA course …'
The coffee machine is near the entrance to the department, in its own little alcove. As I'm waiting for the noxious liquid to fill my cup, I glance up, and see Graham Hillingdon walking out of the admin department, followed by a couple of others. Shit! He's coming!
OK. Keep cool. Just wait for the second cup to fill, nice and natural …
And there he is! With his blond hair and his expensive-looking suit, and his dark glasses. But to my slight surprise, he steps back, out of the way.
In fact, no-one's even looking at him. Everyone's attention is focused on some other guy. A guy in jeans and a black turtleneck who's walking out now.
As I stare in fascination, he turns. And as I see his face I feel an almighty thud, as though a bowling ball's landed hard in my chest.
Oh my God.
It's him.
The same dark eyes. The same lines etched around them. The stubble's gone, but it's definitely him.
It's the man from the plane.
What's he doing here?
And why is everyone's attention on him? He's speaking now, and they're lapping up every word he says.
He turns again, and I instinctively duck back out of sight, trying to keep calm. What's he doing here? He can't—
That can't be—
That can't possibly be—
With wobbly legs, I walk back to my desk, trying not to drop the coffee on the floor.
'Hey,' I say to Artemis, my voice pitched slightly too high. 'Erm … do you know what Jack Harper looks like?'
'No,' she says, and takes her coffee. 'Thanks.'
'Dark hair,' says someone.
'Dark?' I swallow. 'Not blond?'
'He's coming this way!' hisses someone. 'He's coming!'
With weak legs I sink into my chair and sip my coffee, not tasting it.
'… our head of marketing and promotion, Paul Fletcher,' I can hear Graham saying.
'Good to meet you, Paul,' comes the same dry, American voice.
It's him. It's definitely him.
OK, keep calm. Maybe he won't remember me. It was one short flight. He probably takes a lot of flights.
'Everyone.' Paul is leading him into the centre of the office. 'I'm delighted to introduce our founding father, the man who has influenced and inspired a generation of marketeers – Jack Harper!'
A round of applause breaks out, and Jack Harper shakes his head, smiling. 'Please,' he says. 'No fuss. Just do what you would normally do.'
He starts to walk around the office, pausing now and then to talk to people. Paul is leading the way, making all the introductions, and following them silently everywhere is the blond man.
'Here he comes!' Artemis hisses, and everyone at our end of the office stiffens.
My heart starts to thump, and I shrink into my chair, trying to hide behind my computer. Maybe he won't recognize me. Maybe he won't remember. Maybe he won't—
Fuck. He's looking at me. I see the flash of surprise in his eyes, and he raises his eyebrows.
He recognizes me.
Please don't come over, I silently pray. Please don't come over.
'And who's this?' he says to Paul.
'This is Emma Corrigan, one of our junior marketing assistants.'
He's walking towards me. Artemis has stopped talking. Everyone's staring. I'm hot with embarrassment.
'Hello,' he says pleasantly.
'Hello,' I manage. 'Mr Harper.'
OK, so he recognizes me. But that doesn't necessarily mean he remembers anything I said. A few random comments thrown out by a person in the next-door seat. Who's going to remember that? Maybe he wasn't even listening.
'And what do you do?'
'I, um, assist the marketing department and I help with setting up promotional initiatives,' I mumble.
'Emma was in Glasgow only last week on business,' puts in Paul, giving me a completely phoney smile. 'We believe in giving our junior staff responsibility as early as possible.'
'Very wise,' says Jack Harper, nodding. His gaze runs over my desk and alights with sudden interest on my polystyrene cup. He looks up and meets my eye. 'How's the coffee?' he asks pleasantly. 'Tasty?'
Like a tape recording in my head, I suddenly hear my own stupid voice, prattling on.
'The coffee at work is the most disgusting stuff you've ever drunk, absolute poison …'
'It's great!' I say. 'Really … delicious!'
'I'm very glad to hear it.' There's a spark of amusement in his eyes, and I feel myself redden.
He remembers. Fuck. He remembers.
'And this is Artemis Harrison,' says Paul. 'One of our brightest young marketing executives.'
'Artemis,' says Jack Harper thoughtfully. He takes a few steps towards her work station. 'That's a nice big desk you've got there, Artemis.' He smiles at her. 'Is it new?'
'… this new desk arrived the other day, and she just took it …'
He remembers everything, doesn't he? Everything.
Oh God. What the fuck else did I say?
I'm sitting perfectly still, while Artemis makes some showy-off reply, with my pleasant, good-employee expression. But my mind is frantically spooling back, trying to remember, trying to piece together what I said. I mean, God, I told this man everything about myself. Everything. I told him what sort of knickers I wear, and what flavour ice-cream I like, and how I lost my virginity, and—
My blood runs cold.
I'm remembering something I should not have told him.
Something I should not have told anyone.
'… I know I shouldn't have done it, but I so wanted to get the job …'
I told him about faking the A grade on my CV.
Well, that's it. I'm dead.
He'll fire me. I'll get a record for being dishonest and no-one will ever employ me again, and I'll end up on a 'Britain's Worst Jobs' documentary, clearing up cow poo, saying brightly 'It's not too bad, really.'
OK. Don't panic. There must be something I can do. I'll apologize. Yes. I'll say it was an error of judgement which I now deeply regret, and I never meant to mislead the company, and—
No. I'll say, 'Actually, I did get an A grade, haha, silly me I forgot!' And then I'll forge a GCSE certificate with one of those calligraphy kits. I mean, he's American. He'll never know.
No. He's bound to find out. Oh God. Oh God.
OK, maybe I'm over-reacting here. Let's just get things in proportion. Jack Harper is a huge important guy. Look at him! He's got limos and flunkies, and a huge great company which makes millions every year. He doesn't care if one of his employees got a poxy A grade or not. I mean, honestly!
I laugh out loud in my nerves, and Artemis gives me an odd look.
'I'd just like to say that I'm very glad to meet you all,' says Jack Harper, looking around the silent office. 'And also introduce my assistant Sven Petersen.' He gestures to the guy with blond hair. 'I'll be staying here for a few days so I hope I'll get to know a few of you better. As you're aware, Pete Laidler, who founded the Panther Corporation with me, was British. For that reason, among many others, this country has always been immensely important to me.'
A sympathetic murmur goes around the office. He lifts a hand, nods, and walks away, followed by Sven and all the executives. There's silence until he's gone, then an excited babble breaks out.
I feel my whole body sag in relief. Thank God. Thank God.
Honestly, I'm such a moron. Fancy thinking even for a moment that Jack Harper would remember what I said. Let alone care about it! Fancy thinking he would take time out of his busy, important schedule, for something as tiny and insignificant as whether I faked my CV or not! As I reach for my mouse and click on a new document, I'm actually smiling.
'Emma.' I look up to see Paul standing over my desk. 'Jack Harper would like to see you,' he says curtly.
'What?' My smile fades away. 'Me?'
'The meeting room in five minutes.'
'Did he say why?'
'No.'
Paul strides off, and I gaze unseeingly at my computer screen, feeling sick.
I was right first time.
I'm going to lose my job.
I'm going to lose my job because of one stupid comment on one stupid plane ride.
Why did I have to get upgraded? Why did I have to open my stupid mouth? I'm just a stupid, stupid blabbermouth.
'Why does Jack Harper want to see you?' says Artemis, sounding put out.
'I don't know,' I say.
'Is he seeing anyone else?'
'I don't know!' I say distractedly.
To stop her asking any more questions, I start typing drivel into my computer, my mind whirring round and round.
I can't lose this job. I can't ruin yet another career.
He can't fire me. He just can't. It's not fair. I didn't know who he was. I mean, obviously, if he'd told me he was my employer, I would never have mentioned my CV. Or … any of it.
And anyway, it's not as if I faked my degree, is it? It's not as if I've got a criminal record or something. I'm a good employee. I try really hard and I don't skive off that often, and I put in all that overtime with the sportswear promotion, and I organized the Christmas raffle …
I'm typing harder and harder, and my face is growing red with agitation.
'Emma.' Paul is looking meaningfully at his watch.
'Right.' I take a deep breath and stand up.
I'm not going to let him fire me. I'm just not going to let it happen.
I stride across the office and down the corridor to the meeting room, knock on the door and push it open.
Jack Harper is sitting on a chair at the conference table, scribbling something in a notebook. As I come in, he looks up, and the grave expression on his face makes my stomach turn over.
But I have to defend myself. I have to keep this job.
'Hi,' he says. 'Can you close the door?' He waits until I've done so, then looks up. 'Emma, we need to talk about something.'
'I'm aware that we do,' I say, trying to keep my voice steady. 'But I'd like to say my part first, if I may.'
For a moment Jack Harper looks taken aback – then he raises his eyebrows.
'Sure. Go ahead.'
I walk into the room, take a deep breath and look him straight in the eye.
'Mr Harper, I know what you want to see me about. I know it was wrong. It was an error of judgement which I deeply regret. I'm extremely sorry, and it will never happen again. But in my defence …' I can hear my voice rising in emotion. 'In my defence, I had no idea who you were on that plane ride. And I don't believe I should be penalized for what was an honest genuine mistake.'
There's a pause.
'You think I'm penalizing you?' says Jack Harper at last, with a frown.
How can he be so callous?
'Yes! You must realize I would never have mentioned my CV if I'd known who you were! It was like a … a honeytrap! You know, if this was a court the judge would throw it out. They wouldn't even let you—'
'Your CV?' Jack Harper's brow clears. 'Ah! The A grade on your résumé.' He gives me a penetrating look. 'The falsified A grade, I should say.'
Hearing it out loud like that silences me. I can feel my face growing hotter and hotter.
'You know, a lot of people would call that fraud,' says Jack Harper, leaning back in his chair.
'I know they would. I know it was wrong. I shouldn't have … But it doesn't affect the way I do my job. It doesn't mean anything.'
'You think?' He shakes his head thoughtfully. 'I don't know. Going from a C grade to an A grade … that's quite a jump. What if we need you to do some math?'
'I can do maths,' I say desperately. 'Ask me a maths question. Go on, ask me anything.'
'OK.' His mouth is twitching. 'Eight nines.'
I stare at him, my heart racing, my mind blank. Eight nines. I've got no idea. Fuck. OK, once nine is nine. Two nines are—
No. I've got it. Eight tens are 80. So eight nines must be—
'Seventy-two!' I cry, and flinch as he gives a tiny half-smile. 'It's seventy-two,' I add more calmly.
'Very good.' He gestures politely to a chair. 'Now. Have you finished what you wanted to say or is there more?'
I rub my face confusedly. 'You're … not going to fire me?'
'No,' says Jack Harper patiently. 'I'm not going to fire you. Now can we talk?'
As I sit down, a horrible suspicion starts growing in my mind.
'Was …' I clear my throat. 'Was my CV what you wanted to see me about?'
'No,' he says mildly. 'That wasn't what I wanted to see you about.'
I want to die.
I want to die right here, right now.
'Right.' I smooth back my hair, trying to compose myself; trying to look businesslike. 'Right. Well. So er, what did you … what …'
'I have a small favour to ask you.'
'Right!' I feel a thud of anticipation. 'Anything! I mean … what is it?'
'For various reasons,' says Jack Harper slowly, 'I would prefer it that nobody knows I was in Scotland last week.' He meets my eyes. 'So I would like it very much if we could keep our little meeting between ourselves.'
'Right!' I say after a pause. 'Of course! Absolutely. I can do that.'
'You haven't told anyone?'
'No. No-one. Not even my … I mean, no-one. I haven't told anyone.'
'Good. Thank you very much, I appreciate it.' He smiles, and gets up from his chair. 'Nice to meet you again, Emma. I'm sure I'll see you again.'
'That's it?' I say, taken aback.
'That's it. Unless you had anything else you wanted to discuss.'
'No!' I get to my feet hurriedly, banging my ankle on the table leg.
I mean, what did I think? That he was going to ask me to head up his exciting new international project?
Jack Harper opens the door, and holds it politely for me. And I'm halfway out when I stop. 'Wait.'
'What is it?'
'What shall I say you wanted to talk to me about?' I say awkwardly. 'Everyone's going to ask me.'
'Why not say we were discussing logistics?' He raises his eyebrows and closes the door.