The Importance of Being Emma Read online

  ‘Because Stella has no one else but Flynn.’

  ‘Neither did Tom for years, until Kate came along.’

  ‘Men don’t need other people as much as women do.’

  ‘Absolute bollocks.’

  She didn’t reply, or maybe her words were drowned by a sudden battering of rain against the windscreen.

  I switched the wipers to top speed and said, ‘I didn’t mean to be rude, I just don’t agree with you.’

  ‘I understand.’ A pause; then, ‘You must be missing Tamara terribly.’

  ‘Actually, I’m not. We’ve both moved on.’

  ‘I don’t believe you move on from a five-year relationship as easily as that.’

  ‘True, but let’s just say it had stopped working a while ago. In the end, when I couldn’t promise her what she wanted, she wasn’t prepared to settle for less.’

  ‘Did she – did she want to marry you?’

  ‘Yes. At least, that’s what she implied. Asked me if I could see her living at Donwell Abbey. She knows I’ll inherit the place. Dad wants to keep it in the family and John prefers to live well away from the office.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘I hadn’t thought of you at Donwell Abbey with – with a wife! And I certainly couldn’t imagine Tamara as a sort of lady of the manor.’

  ‘Neither could I. So she left.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll ever get married?’

  It was a straightforward question, no strings attached, driven by friendly curiosity. Yet my heart missed a beat at the thought of Emma as my wife, my own perfect lady of the manor. The rain had eased and I switched the wipers to intermittent. In the top right-hand corner of the windscreen I noticed a smudge of bright blue sky.

  I took a deep breath. ‘I’d like to, one day. How about you?’ Shit, what if she thought that last bit had a double meaning?

  But she seemed oblivious to any undercurrents. ‘That’s just how I feel, with the emphasis very much on “one day”. I’ve got my career to think of. Maybe in ten years’ time I’ll think about marriage and children and all that.’

  Ten years? My hands tightened round the steering wheel. God, in ten years’ time I’d be forty-bloody-five years old! Stupid to think we could ever …

  I cleared my throat. ‘Steve said the other night that Forbury Manor’s just re-opened after that fire back in February. Doesn’t Henry usually have the Highbury Foods Christmas party there?’

  ‘Yes – Batty made a provisional booking ages ago, but perhaps someone had better go and make sure it’s still suitable. Where are you having the Donwell Organics Christmas do?’

  The conversation moved to safer ground and I could concentrate on the last stage of our journey. We’d left the motorway and were skirting round the small town of Berkhamsted, when the clouds parted and the sun shone down on us like a blessing. The narrow road sliced through a forest of stately beech trees, their wet leaves gleaming like burnished copper, a sanctuary to the fallow deer that roamed the estate. As we slowed down for the speed ramps, the forest gave way to a large grassy common on the left and Ashridge Business School on the right.

  Even though I’d been there many times, that first glimpse of the house always moved me. I loved the quiet elegance of its limestone façade, and the timeless simplicity of its large square towers and tall arched windows. In spite of my reluctance to bring Emma here, I felt my shoulders relax and my spirits lift.

  I turned my head; our eyes met. God knows what mine betrayed, but hers were wide with wonder.

  ‘Oh, Mark … ’ She sighed. ‘So this is where you did your MBA.’

  ‘You sound almost envious.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t be?’

  I parked the car and got our bags and coats out of the boot. ‘We’ve got to check in at Reception first. Then I thought we’d go to the Learning Resource Centre – that’s their name for the library – and get the Mintel reports out of the way. We should still have time for a look at the grounds before dark.’

  We walked towards the house; just before the entrance, I stopped.

  ‘Look up there.’ I pointed to a stone cross, clearly visible on the horizon through a cutting in the surrounding trees.

  ‘What’s it for?’

  ‘It’s a sad story. One of Ashridge’s previous owners, Earl Brownlow, had it built in 1917 as a memorial to his wife, Adelaide. She was said to be a great beauty, very kind-hearted and a wonderful hostess – which brought people like Disraeli here, and Oscar Wilde, and the Shah of Persia. After she died, the Earl was heartbroken and walked to that cross every day.’

  Emma let out a long breath. ‘It’s not a sad story, it’s beautiful. That’s what I call true love.’

  ‘They were lucky, then,’ I said. I hesitated for a moment, overcome by a strange feeling of melancholy, then squared my shoulders. ‘This way.’

  I swung open one of the two massive half-glazed doors and let her through. She took a few steps, then paused to gaze up at the richly decorated ceiling and sweeping stone staircase. I smiled to myself and went past her to the desk.

  The receptionist gave me a cheeky grin. ‘Hi there, stranger.’

  ‘Hi, Steph. How are you?’

  ‘Very well, thank you. Just sign in as usual, Mark, here’s your name badge and a visitor’s badge for your companion. The door code’s 315 today and you’re in room 210, that’s Greenborough building in case you’ve forgotten. Here’s the key.’

  I stared at her. ‘Didn’t I cancel the room booking?’

  ‘No – at least, there’s nothing in our records. So you booked a room originally, but now … ?’ Her voice trailed off as she looked over at Emma.

  I gave a nervous laugh. ‘My, er, plans have changed. I’ll pay for the room, of course, but we won’t be needing it.’

  Emma appeared at my side. ‘Yes, we will,’ she put in, smiling at a bemused Steph. ‘Since Mark’s paying for it anyway, we can use it to change for dinner.’

  Being alone in a bedroom with Emma, even for a little while, was a daunting prospect. But I heard myself saying heartily, ‘Yes, why not?’

  ~~EMMA~~

  Ashridge just blew my mind.

  The Learning Resource Centre was a revelation compared to your average library; some sort of barn conversion, a superb mix of modern technology and olde worlde ambience. We did what we’d come to do – found a couple of relevant Mintel reports and printed off tables of statistics on dining out and gourmet food sales – but mostly I just wandered about, spellbound. Then Mark took the bags to our room while I sat in a large conservatory, looking out into the walled garden beyond. He wasn’t gone for long, but I missed having him there to share my enthusiasm. Ten minutes later I was glad to see him striding towards me, relaxed and smiling, a different person from the last few days.

  We meandered through the gardens, enjoying the sun’s lingering warmth on our faces. Even at this time of year there was plenty of colour: red and gold Japanese maples, mauve Michaelmas daisies, yellow-green larch fronds. There were formal areas edged with regimented miniature box hedges, not a leaf out of place; and away from the house there was more of a wilderness, bushes spilling over grassy paths and vaults of trees arching across the darkening sky.

  I went as near to the boundary fence as the undergrowth – and my new Gucci boots – allowed, and stared at the rolling fields and woods beyond, wondering if the view had changed much in the last thousand years.

  I turned to find Mark looking at me.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ I said gently.

  He flushed. ‘They’re not even worth that.’ Then, glancing at his watch, ‘Time to go indoors, it’ll be pitch black soon.’

  I tucked my arm through his as we walked back in the direction of the house. ‘I’m going to soak in a lovely hot bath – our room does have one, doesn’t it? Or do you want to do some mentoring first?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Not at the moment. Not here.’

  I frowned; the break-up with Tamara was obviously having more i
mpact than he cared to admit. ‘OK, we can leave that for another day, it just needs to be soon. Philip’s started messing me about, and on top of that I’ve now got Saint Jane to contend with.’ I pulled a face. ‘If you don’t hurry up I’ll be needing psychiatric treatment, not mentoring.’

  His laugh sounded a little strained. ‘I’ll get Cherry to fix up a meeting for next week, if at all possible.’

  ‘Thanks. Oh, is this the way to our room?’ We’d left the main path and gone down a few steps to a modern two-storey building. I let go of his arm while he keyed in the door code, then followed him into a brightly carpeted entrance hall and along a corridor to the right. He unlocked room 210, switched on the light and stepped back.

  I breezed past him and had a quick look round. ‘Smallish, but it’s got everything we need. Double bed if you want a power nap, TV if you don’t. The bathroom’s tiny, no room to swing a cat, but at least there’s a bath as well as a shower. Do you mind if I go in there first?’

  I didn’t wait for his answer but took off my coat and hung it in the wardrobe. My dress carrier was already there, so I unzipped it and shook out my dress – a Wedgwood blue floaty thing I’d picked up in Selfridges. Since it was sleeveless, I’d brought a little silvery jacket for extra warmth.

  ‘No, go ahead,’ he said. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I think I’ll have that power nap you mentioned.’ He drew the curtains, then flung his coat and jacket over a chair.

  I picked up my toilet bag and turned to him. ‘You know, if you don’t fancy driving home tonight, we could always stay here. I’m sure Dad won’t mind when I explain how tired you are.’

  He gave me a long, serious look. ‘That’s out of the question.’

  ‘Why? It’s not as if we’ve never spent the night together before.’ I giggled. ‘It was the last time we all went camping, remember? In Darnley Woods – you, John, Izzy and me. Izzy wanted to share a tent with John instead of me and I couldn’t imagine why. Then you and John had a big row and we almost went home. But in the end you and I shared one tent, and they went in the other.’

  ‘That was entirely different. You were twelve, if that, and we were in sleeping bags – ’

  ‘Yes, of course it was different, but that doesn’t change the fact that we spent the night together!’ I laughed and went on, ‘I was really cross with Izzy, so you gave me a pep talk about her being old enough to know what she was doing and told me those awful ghost stories to distract me. I don’t know which was worse, being cross or terrified.’

  Silence; then he said, ‘If I have a nap now, I’ll be fine to drive home.’ He kicked off his shoes, stretched out on top of the bed covers and stared up at the ceiling.

  I shrugged. ‘See how you feel later.’ I went into the bathroom and started running my bath, wondering why he’d been so abrupt with me; defensive, almost. Then I twigged. Oh, shit! Did he think I was that desperate?

  I poked my head round the door and said haughtily, ‘You needn’t worry, I might have said I hadn’t kissed a man for over two months, but I’m not about to hit on you. If the thought of staying in the same room as me is so off-putting, you can bloody well forget it!’

  When he turned his back on me without a word, I knew I was right.

  Arrogant bastard!

  ~~MARK~~

  I stared moodily at the plain cream wall, remembering that last camping trip. I’d been as angry with John as Emma had been with Izzy. At twenty-three, I hadn’t exactly relished sharing a tent with a gawky twelve-year-old while my brother got his end away with her sister. The situation wasn’t helped by a poor night’s sleep; Emma had tossed and turned in her sleeping bag next to me, while I couldn’t avoid overhearing occasional noises from the other tent.

  Now, years later, the opportunity to spend the night with her aroused a very different reaction. The irony was that she believed I was worried about her hitting on me! Bloody good job she couldn’t mind-read.

  I sighed, rolled onto my front and closed my eyes. Maybe everything would seem better after a nap …

  I must have dozed off; I don’t know for how long. I woke slowly, silently, to a scene more seductive than any dream. The sound of someone humming under their breath. A delicious fragrance, like a summer garden after rain. In the lamplight, a girl with her back to me, dark brown hair curling damply over bare shoulders, skin glowing honey-gold against the white of a towel that enveloped her body but did little to disguise her shape.

  Emma; no longer a girl, but a woman.

  The humming stopped. She turned her head; checking up on me, no doubt. Instantly, my eyes flicked shut.

  A soft thud, as something hit the floor. Please God, let it be the towel.

  Casting caution to the wind, I opened my eyes again.

  Same view, only now with her full beauty revealed – and I drank in every detail. In my mind, I got up and crossed the room in a single stride; captured the narrow span of her waist between my hands, traced the smooth hollows of her back, reached down to cup the inviting curve of her hips. In my mind, she turned round with the sweetest of smiles, offering my urgent fingers other delights to explore, and raised heavy-lidded, lustrous eyes to mine before pressing herself against me. In my mind, we fell onto the bed, a hot fusion of mouths and limbs, and didn’t give dinner another thought …

  Pure fantasy. The real Emma pulled on a pair of white briefs, wriggled into something blue and all-concealing, and moved out of sight; but not, unfortunately, out of mind.

  Then, from the foot of the bed, ‘Mark.’

  I feigned sleep. What else could I do? Although I must have looked unconscious, inside I was only too self-aware; voyeuristic lust battling it out with intense shame. After all, she’d told her father she couldn’t be in safer hands …

  ‘Mark, wake up.’

  I gave what I hoped was a convincing start. ‘Whassat?’

  ‘Time to have your shower. We’ve got pre-dinner drinks in thirty-five minutes, according to the programme I saw at Reception.’

  And time to face facts; in her eyes, I was simply part of the furniture. But then I’d done nothing so far to encourage her to see me any differently.

  Maybe I should give her a taste of her own medicine.

  ~~EMMA~~

  While Mark took a shower, I sat on the bed and gave myself a quick manicure. I’d just started on my last nail when something blocked my light.

  I glanced up. Mark was standing in front of me, wearing nothing but an apology for a towel round his hips. I found my gaze fixed on his tanned, well-shaped thighs, each dark hair clearly visible at such close range.

  ‘D’you think I need to shave?’ he said. His voice was low, almost husky.

  I swallowed. ‘No. I think hairy legs can be very appealing – on a man.’

  There was a pause. ‘I meant my face.’

  My gaze travelled upwards, passing hurriedly over the skimpy towel to the taut muscles of his stomach and the broad expanse of his chest, where the hair was still damp …

  At last I looked at his face. His eyes widened in mock surprise and he gave a deep chuckle.

  I felt myself go bright red. ‘Just checking you over for signs of ageing. You’re not in bad shape – for thirty-five.’

  ‘It’s been a while since anyone checked me over that thoroughly,’ he said silkily.

  I scowled at him. ‘Yes, you do need to shave and you’d better get a move on. I want to use the mirror in the bathroom for my make-up.’ I bent my head and continued with my manicure.

  ‘Ah yes, you and your make-up.’ He sounded amused, as if I was a little girl playing at being grown up. ‘I’ll try not to keep you waiting too long.’

  As he went away, I thought of Tamara. He wouldn’t have kept her waiting at all; she’d have been in the bathroom with him the whole time, and no prizes for guessing what they’d have been up to in the shower.

  Five minutes later, the door opened and he emerged once more, dressed only in a pair of black boxers. I averted my eyes, dar
ted past him into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. But it was full of him – his cologne, his shaving gear, his clothes. And there, draped over the side of the bath, was the towel he’d been wearing, still warm …

  I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Without makeup I looked like an unsophisticated teenager, which was precisely how he’d thought of me for years. Well, I’d show him. I carefully applied lots of dark brown eye liner and lash-tripling mascara, followed by several layers of vamp-red lipstick.

  By the time I’d finished, I felt I could take on the world – and any dodgy feelings for Mark Knightley. I lifted my chin and stalked out of the bathroom. He was sitting on the bed; fresh shirt, different suit, nice tie. I put everything away in my dress carrier and looked round for my jacket. Only then did I notice that he was holding it.

  ‘Allow me,’ he murmured.

  He stood behind me, helped me slip it on and, on the pretext of straightening the sleeves, turned me slowly round to face him. His eyes met mine, briefly, then focused on my mouth. Seconds passed, God knows how many. For one wild, weird moment, I thought he was going to kiss me … He didn’t; but my relief was short-lived as he looked down at my neckline, studying every inch of bare skin. All in silence; no need for words, when his eyes spoke volumes.

  Then he said briskly, ‘Fasten that jacket, you’ll catch cold,’ and turned away.

  I pulled myself up short. Idiot! I’d imagined too much … I squared my shoulders, picked up my handbag and left the room. As I didn’t know where to go next, I stopped at the main door and waited, taking deep calming breaths and trying not to feel like an even bigger fool.

  At last he arrived, grinning broadly. ‘It’s not far to the house,’ he said, as we went outside. ‘Drinks are in Hoskins and dinner’s in the Lady Marian Alford room. That’ll make you fall in love with the place, if you haven’t already.’

  I gave a frosty smile and said nothing.