The Importance of Being Emma Page 9

  Something else. A closeness forged by shared memories, tempered by deep – affection.

  My hand dropped back to her hip and I let out a long breath. ‘Just making the hurt better, same as when you were little,’ I said in a hearty voice. Too hearty, perhaps.

  She stifled a sob, then frowned. ‘I don’t remember it ever being like that.’

  ‘Really? It should be me who doesn’t remember things. Thirty-five today, can’t you see all the grey hairs that have appeared overnight?’ To my relief, her frown became a smile. ‘Look,’ I went on, ‘the Rob and Harriet incident’s over. Let’s forget about it. Especially now you’ve come to apologise.’

  I felt her stiffen in my arms, saw her eyes flash. ‘I haven’t – I’ve come to let you apologise to me!’

  ‘What on earth have I – ?’ I stopped and let out another steadying breath. ‘As you said at the time, we’ll just have to agree to differ.’

  ‘I still don’t think there was any harm done, not on Harriet’s side anyway.’ She gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I don’t know about him, of course, but I can’t imagine he’s too upset.’

  After spending several evenings with Rob Martin in The Hare and Hounds, I knew exactly how upset he was; but I was also determined to avoid any more arguments with Emma. So I pulled a clean handkerchief from my pocket and handed it to her.

  ‘Here, dry your eyes.’ I walked over to the desk. ‘Now, what’s in this tin you’ve brought? Don’t tell me – Henry’s sent me a supply of garlic cloves to see me through the winter.’

  ‘Oh, Mark.’ She made a funny sound, a cross between a laugh and a hiccup, then dabbed distractedly at her cheek with the handkerchief. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Dad’s present is in the blue envelope there. He’s so worried about the effect India must have had on your, er, system that he was going to get you a voucher for colonic irrigation. But I persuaded him to go for Gentlemen’s Tonic instead, much more relaxing.’

  ‘Gentlemen’s Tonic?’ I said, doubtfully. It reminded me of Gentleman’s Relish and that photo …

  ‘It’s a posh male grooming place in Mayfair, you’ll love it. I’ve got you one of their vouchers as well.’

  There were two envelopes taped to the tin. I opened the blue one first and found a card and voucher from Henry. Then I opened the silver one; same voucher and a card with a corny joke about getting old. It was signed ‘Love, Mouse’, followed by three kisses.

  I immediately thought, ‘One down, two to go.’ Then, ‘But that first kiss hardly counts, it was more like first aid.’

  I cleared my throat. ‘You told me Mouse was gone for ever.’

  She blushed and looked down at the floor. ‘She popped back, just for your birthday.’

  The door opened and Cherry appeared with the coffee tray, which she placed on the little table at the other end of the room. When she’d gone, I prised the lid carefully off the tin.

  Emma watched me nervously. ‘I made you a coffee and walnut cake, your favourite. At least, it used to be your favourite.’

  ‘It still is. Thank you, let’s have some now.’

  We sat in the armchairs either side of the table. She poured the coffee while I cut two generous slices of cake with a plastic ruler, the most suitable implement I could lay my hands on, and used sheets of printer paper as plates.

  She giggled. ‘Not quite in keeping with the image of a high-powered business executive, is it?’

  ‘Your image or mine?’

  ‘Both. D’you know, as there’s no one watching, I might even lick my fingers.’

  I was watching, but obviously I was just part of the furniture. And I didn’t watch her for long. There was only so much a sex-starved man could stand.

  ‘That was delicious,’ I said, when we’d finished eating. ‘Another slice?’

  ‘No thanks, this skirt is tight enough as it is.’ She patted her stomach, the merest hint of a curve beneath smooth silver-grey suede. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot, Kate’s having people round for dinner this Saturday and she’d like you and Tamara to come. Seven for seven thirty. She’s asked her usual crowd – Izzy, John, Dad, me, Batty and her mother. And she’s also invited Harriet and, er, Philip.’ A pause, then a well-judged change of subject. ‘Is Tamara here yet?’

  ‘No, I’m going to pick her up from Gatwick this afternoon.’

  ‘I’ve never met her.’

  ‘I know.’

  She scooped up a few crumbs from her lap and dropped them into a nearby waste paper bin. ‘Izzy says she’s not interested in anyone but herself. And presumably you.’

  I frowned. ‘Izzy thinks that anyone who doesn’t instantly adore her kids is bizarre. Tamara did not appreciate having chocolate smeared in her hair by Bella last time she was over, she’d just spent a small fortune at the hairdresser’s.’

  ‘I can understand that, I suppose. Anyway, I’m dying to see her.’

  ‘So am I. And I’ve only got another four hours to wait, thank God, it’s been six weeks since – ’ I broke off. I’d never discussed my sex life with anyone and I certainly wasn’t about to start now. Maybe Father was right after all; it wasn’t natural for a man to be on his own.

  I got to my feet, crossed the room and busied myself with the in-tray on my desk. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Emma walking over to me.

  Her voice was cool. ‘I’m sure you’ve got lots to do, so I’ll be off now. Hope your birthday celebrations with Tamara don’t wear you out.’

  I turned and looked down at her sulky face. ‘Look, I really appreciate you coming to see me this morning. And thank you for that delicious cake, and the vouchers, so thoughtful. Tell Henry I’ll thank him in the next day or so.’

  ‘No rush, he’s not going anywhere. And it sounds like you’ll be very busy once Tamara’s here.’

  ‘Emma, you’re giving me the feeling I still owe you an apology – this time for something else, although I don’t know what.’

  She said nothing, just scowled at me.

  I sighed, placed my hands on her shoulders and did a really stupid thing; I bent my head and kissed her.

  Not properly of course, just brushing her lips – so full, so soft – with mine. I’d done it occasionally when she was younger, without a second thought. But this time it was different. This time, my casual platonic kiss was charged with the knowledge that, at any moment, I could deepen it. The knowledge that I wanted to deepen it, whatever the consequences.

  But my mouth disobeyed my thoughts and the kiss ended safely.

  I let go of her shoulders with a relieved smile. ‘Friends?’

  She stared at me in silence for several seconds. Then she said quietly, ‘Mark, I can’t imagine not being friends with you.’

  And she went out of the room without a backward glance, leaving me to mull over that last remark. Did she mean that she couldn’t envisage us ever being enemies? Or that she couldn’t picture us as more than friends – as lovers, in other words?

  Another disturbing thought came to mind: of the three kisses on her card, we were now two down.

  One to go.

  ~~EMMA~~

  I had it all planned out.

  I’d give Mark a chance to calm down after our quarrel and let him make the first move. If he hadn’t apologised by his birthday, I would take him a peace offering and see if that did the trick.

  But there was no apology; in fact, he was waiting for me to say sorry to him!

  Maybe, as he suggested, we should forget we’d ever quarrelled. But I couldn’t forget those kisses, however brief and insignificant. Insignificant? To him, perhaps. Not to me. I knew they were a sign of friendship, nothing deeper; but his friendship mattered more than almost anything else in my life. Funny, I’d only realised that over the past week or so, when I was afraid it might have gone for good.

  So – I didn’t want him as my mentor but I needed him as my friend. And I’d expect any long-term partner of mine to understand that.

  I just hoped Mark would expect the same of Tamara.


  ~~MARK~~

  I drove home from the airport in record time. Tamara felt chilled, so I went straight to the drawing room to light the fire while she had a shower and unpacked. By the time she came downstairs, in just a bathrobe, the room was warming nicely but the Krug was still ice cold.

  It was only late afternoon and the evening stretched out ahead of us. We sat on the sofa, drank champagne and chatted for a while about the people and places we had in common.

  It didn’t take long.

  In the silence that followed, I studied her. Black hair, dark eyes, white skin – despite living in India for years. Everything about Tamara was either black or white. No shades of grey; or woodmouse brown, come to that …

  ‘Like what you see?’ she said, with a provocative pout.

  ‘What do you think?’ I leaned forward, cupped her face and kissed her hard, over and over again. Blotting out memories of other lips, other kisses. Feeling, with relief, the familiar heat of physical response.

  She brought me expertly to heel, coolly detaching herself from my embrace. I watched as she slipped off her bathrobe and spread it out on the rug in front of the fire. Burnished by the glow of the flames, her body beckoned.

  ‘Come here, Mark. Show me just how much you’ve missed me.’

  And that’s exactly what I did.

  ~~EMMA~~

  On Saturday afternoon Izzy, John and their tribe came to Hartfield. From upstairs, I saw their Volkswagen people carrier arrive and rushed to the front door, just in time for the children to hurl themselves at me.

  I laughed. ‘What a noise, I thought the monkeys must have escaped from Chessington Zoo. Now, Grandpa’s asleep and you know how cross he gets if he wakes too soon. Go and hide quietly in the garden and I’ll come and find you.’

  The children stampeded off; over by the car, Izzy froze in the act of unfastening Emily from her safety seat.

  ‘But it’s almost dark,’ she said. ‘What if they trip and hurt themselves?’

  John appeared from the driver’s side. ‘Nonsense, it’s light enough and they need to use up some of their energy. Anyway, they know that garden like the back of their hand. Hi there, Emma.’ He made a quick detour to kiss my cheek on his way to unload the luggage.

  Izzy gave a heavy, long-suffering sigh and muttered to herself; I diplomatically bent down to fasten my outdoor shoes. When I straightened up, I found Emily watching me from her mother’s arms, her lovely little face still flushed with sleep. Izzy carried her the short distance from car to house and began to download her worries.

  ‘John has no idea about the dangers that lurk in gardens. And I wish he’d parked nearer the house, Emily’s probably caught a chill being out in the cold air after that warm car, it only takes a few seconds.’ A pause while we kissed, then an anxious look. ‘Who’s babysitting? John wouldn’t let me ring you to find out. I hope it’s not that girl with the motorbike, she promised Harry he could sit on it next time she saw him, I’ll be ill all evening just thinking about it.’

  ‘I’ve asked Sarah Perry,’ I said, letting Emily tug at my hair.

  ‘The doctor’s daughter, excellent, I hope she’ll contact her father if she’s got any concerns, any at all, I’ll check she’s got his mobile number. How’s Dad? Is that aloe vera cream I sent him doing any good?’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so,’ I said, ‘but it’ll do him good to discuss it at great length with you. Now I’d better go and find the kids before they fall into that pit the gardeners dug the other day.’

  Her face was a picture. I extracted my hair from Emily’s chubby grasp and set off after the children.

  ‘Only joking!’ I called over my shoulder. ‘And John, if you’re taking those bags upstairs, I’ve put everyone in the usual bedrooms.’

  It took all of the next two hours to get Izzy ready to go out, not so much physically as mentally. She grilled me about the babysitter’s IQ, fretted that James was sickening for something and generally convinced herself that she’d return from an evening of self-indulgence to find all her children hospitalised. She’d just resigned herself to abandoning them, when I happened to mention that Harriet had been off work with a sore throat and wasn’t able to go to Kate’s dinner. I might as well have announced the arrival in Highbury of the Black Death.

  Izzy took a hasty step away from me. ‘Harriet’s your PA, she’ll have infected you before she went off sick.’

  ‘I’m fine, actually, I never seem to get colds or sore throats.’

  ‘Keep right away from the children and go and gargle with TCP, just in case.’

  I glared at her. ‘I’m wearing Clive Christian No. 1, no way am I smothering one of the most expensive perfumes in the world with the smell of TCP!’

  It was very frustrating that Harriet was unwell. I’d had it all organised: Philip lived on Harriet’s side of Highbury, so I’d asked him to pick her up on his way to Randalls and, of course, take her home at the end of the evening. It would be the perfect opportunity for him to make a move. Yesterday, however, I had to tell him that the poor girl was ill. He made sympathetic noises but, when I asked him if I should give Kate his apologies too, he looked at me as though I had two heads. Then I remembered my theory that he was lonely and would no doubt enjoy the company, even if Harriet wasn’t there.

  So, with Izzy, Harriet and Philip all causing me grief in their different ways, I wasn’t in the best of moods on Saturday evening. And it got worse. I dressed in a hurry, then kept wondering if my long dark brown skirt was too tight and my gold strappy top too revealing. All the way to Randalls, Dad and Izzy vied with each other as to who would enjoy the evening least. Finally, although we weren’t late, we found Kate and Tom’s drive already occupied by a little blue two-seater sports car, which I recognised as Philip’s, and a sleek black Mercedes – George Knightley’s car, which Mark was using while he was away. John had to park the Volkswagen on the main road, which irritated him no end and consequently made Dad and Izzy more nervous than ever.

  Looks-wise, John was a typical Knightley – tall, dark and handsome – but he lacked the easy manner of Mark and his father. I didn’t mind that; I knew him well enough to see his reserve for what it was, the character of an introvert. No, what I minded was his behaviour towards Izzy and Dad; he often took Izzy for granted and lost his patience far too quickly with Dad, with the result that they never seemed to relax when he was around. In contrast, Mark brought out the best in them, but dealt firmly with their eccentric little ways.

  When it came to me, however, John and Mark were the same. They both treated me like a kid sister, to be fed a wholesome diet of what they called constructive criticism; a diet that didn’t seem as if it would ever vary.

  Tom was at the door to welcome us and take our coats, waiting with good humour while I helped Dad remove his many layers of outer clothing. I was very fond of Tom. He brought energy and enthusiasm to everything he did; and I’d never heard him say a cross word about anyone, a remarkable achievement in four years of insular village life.

  ‘By the way,’ he said to me as we went into the large open-plan living room, ‘I had an email from Flynn this morning and you’ll be thrilled to know he’s – ’

  At that moment, a squeal from the far corner diverted his attention. Batty, in some sort of fluster as usual.

  ‘Oh, Mother’s spectacles! Thank you, Mark, wherever did you find them?’ I didn’t hear his reply, but it made her titter. ‘Goodness, she must have dropped them when she … ’ Her voice rose to a crescendo. ‘Mother, here are your specs – no, they’re your spare pair, you’re wearing your other ones … No, it’s not George, it’s his son Mark, George is away on a … Yes, it was George’s car we came in, but Mark was driving it, so kind of him to give us a lift.’

  Mark and Tamara had their backs to me. In her high heels she was the same height as him, too tall to need protection from those broad shoulders of his. Her hair hung down to her non-existent hips in a heavy black curtain and, as I watched, he
lifted one hand and gently twisted the glossy ends through his fingers. A sensual, intimate gesture; I looked quickly away.

  Tom seemed to have completely forgotten the thrilling contents of Flynn’s email. ‘Come and meet Tamara.’ He waved Izzy and John on ahead, then shepherded Dad and me across the room after them.

  As Tamara greeted Izzy and John with a polite kiss, I stayed back and studied her face. Impossibly white skin, blood-red lips, dark almond-shaped eyes accentuated with dramatic make-up. A very attractive face, I had to admit; but marred by a ‘What the hell am I doing here?’ expression, which she made no effort to disguise. And she reminded me of someone, particularly in that slinky black low-cut dress; I just couldn’t think who.

  Mark introduced us. ‘Tamara, this is Henry Woodhouse, Izzy’s father. And her sister, Emma.’

  The shrewd dark eyes merely glanced at Dad, but sized me up from top to toe. ‘Delighted.’ She sounded anything but.

  ‘I’m just as delighted,’ I said, with a bright smile.

  Dad took Tamara’s arm. ‘Come nearer the fire, my dear, you must be finding England very cold after India.’

  She kept her eyes on me. ‘Mark.’ It could have been a question but she made it a command, as if he was a dog at obedience class.

  I noticed him flush slightly. ‘I’ll join you in a minute, darling, I just need a word with Emma.’

  She shrugged and allowed Dad to lead her over to the fireplace. I wondered what had kept Mark by her side for five whole years, apart from her obvious physical appeal; my first impressions were of a woman with no social finesse whatsoever.

  I turned to Mark. ‘What did you want a word about?’

  ‘Nothing, I just thought Tamara needed to mingle.’

  I almost laughed out loud. Watching her with Dad, who seemed to be struggling to make conversation, the word ‘mingle’ seemed utterly incongruous; she was like a panther toying with its prey. Then I realised who she reminded me of and, this time, I did laugh out loud.

  Mark raised one eyebrow. ‘What’s the joke?’