Can You Keep a Secret?(29)
Author: Sophie Kinsella

‘Oh!’ I say, feeling a pang of guilt. ‘Er, yes. That was … such a shame.’ I swallow. ‘It was a lovely belt. I was really upset to lose it.’

‘Oh what the hell!’ Her eyes well up again. ‘I’ll make you a new belt, too.’

‘No!’ I say in alarm. ‘No, Katie, don’t do that.’

‘But I want to!’ She leans forward and gives me a hug. ‘That’s what friends are for!’

It’s another twenty minutes before we finish our second cappuccinos and head back for the office. As we approach the Panther building I glance at my watch and see with a lurch that we’ve been gone thirty-five minutes in all.

‘Isn’t it amazing we’re getting new coffee machines?’ says Katie as we hurry up the steps.

‘Oh … yes. It’s great.’

My stomach has started to churn at the thought of facing Jack Harper again. I haven’t felt so nervous since I took my grade one clarinet exam and when the examiner asked me what my name was I burst into tears.

‘Well, see you later,’ says Katie as we reach the first floor. ‘And thanks, Emma.’

‘No problem,’ I say. ‘See you later.’

As I start to walk along the corridor towards the marketing department, I’m aware that my legs aren’t moving quite as quickly as usual. In fact, as the door is nearing, they’re getting slower, and slower … and slower …

One of the secretaries from Accounts overtakes me, with a brisk high-heeled pace, and gives me an odd look.

Oh God. I can’t go in there.

Yes I can. It’ll be fine. I’ll just sit down very quietly and get on with my work. Maybe he won’t even notice me.

Come on. The longer I leave it, the worse it’ll be. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, take a few steps into the marketing department, and open them.

There’s a hubbub around Artemis’s desk, and no sign of Jack Harper.

‘I mean, maybe he’s going to rethink the whole company,’ someone’s saying.

‘I’ve heard this rumour he’s got a secret project …’

‘He can’t completely centralize the marketing function,’ Artemis is saying, trying to raise her voice above everyone else’s.

‘Where’s Jack Harper?’ I say, trying to sound casual.

‘He’s gone,’ says Nick, and I feel a whoosh of relief. Gone! He’s gone!

‘Is he coming back?’

‘Don’t think so. Emma, have you done those letters for me yet? Because I gave them to you three days ago—’

‘I’ll do them now,’ I say, and beam at Nick. As I sit down at my desk, I feel as light as a helium balloon. Cheerfully I kick off my shoes, reach for my Evian bottle — and stop.

There’s a folded piece of paper resting on my keyboard, with ‘Emma’ written on it in a handwriting I don’t recognize.

Puzzled, I look around the office. No-one’s looking at me, waiting for me to find it. In fact no-one seems to have noticed. They’re all too busy talking about Jack Harper.

Slowly I unfold it and stare at the message inside.

Hope your meeting was productive. I always find numbers give me a real buzz.

Jack Harper

It could have been worse. It could have read ‘Clear your desk’.

Even so, for the rest of the day, I’m completely on edge. Every time anyone walks into the department I feel a little spasm of panic. And when someone starts talking loudly outside our door about how ‘Jack says he may pop back into Marketing’, I seriously consider hiding in the loos until he’s gone.

On the dot of 5.30 I stop typing mid-sentence, close my computer down and grab my coat. I’m not waiting around for him to reappear. I all but run down the stairs, and only begin to relax when I’m safely on the other side of the big glass doors.

The tubes are miraculously quick for once, and I arrive home within twenty minutes. As I push open the front door of the flat I can hear a strange noise coming from Lissy’s room. A kind of thumping, bumping sound. Maybe she’s moving her furniture around.

‘Lissy,’ I call asl go into the kitchen. ‘You will not believe what happened today.’ I open the fridge, take out a bottle of Evian and hold it against my hot forehead. After a while I open the bottle and take a few swigs, then wander out into the hall again to see Lissy’s door opening.

‘Lissy!’ I begin. ‘What on earth were you—’

And then I halt, as out of the door comes not Lissy, but a man.

A man! A tall thin guy in trendy black trousers and steel spectacles.

‘Oh,’ I say, taken aback. ‘Er … hi.’

‘Emma!’ says Lissy, following him out. She’s wearing a T-shirt over some grey leggings I’ve never seen before, is drinking a glass of water and looks startled to see me. ‘You’re home early.’

‘I know. I was in a hurry.’

This is Jean-Paul,’ says Lissy. ‘Jean-Paul, my flatmate Emma.’

‘Hello, Jean-Paul,’ I say with a friendly smile.

‘Good to meet you, Emma,’ says Jean-Paul, in a French accent.

God, French accents are sexy. I mean, they just are.

‘Jean-Paul and I were just … um … going over some case notes,’ says Lissy.