Can you keep a secret?

SIX

For the rest of the day there's a kind of festive atmosphere at work. But I just sit there, unable to believe what just happened. And as I travel home that evening, my heart is still pounding at the unlikeliness of it all. At the injustice of it all.

He was a stranger. He was supposed to be a stranger. The whole point about strangers is, they disappear into the ether, never to be seen again. Not turn up at the office. Not ask you what eight nines are. Not turn out to be your mega-boss employer.

Well, all I can say is, that's taught me. My parents always said never talk to strangers, and they were right. I'm never telling a stranger anything again. Ever.

I've arranged to go to Connor's flat in the evening, and when I arrive I feel my body expand in relief. Away from the office. Away from all the endless Jack Harper talk. And Connor's already cooking. I mean, how perfect is that? The kitchen is full of a wonderful garlicky-herby smell, and there's a glass of wine already waiting for me on the table.

'Hi!' I say, and give him a kiss.

'Hi, darling!' he says, looking up from the stove.

Shit. I totally forgot to say Darling. OK, how am I going to remember this?

I know. I'll write it on my hand.

'Have a look at those. I downloaded them from the Internet.' Connor gestures to a folder on the table with a wide smile. I open it, and find myself looking at a grainy black and white picture of a room with a sofa and a pot plant.

'Flat details!' I say, taken aback. 'Wow. That's quick. I haven't even given notice yet.'

'Well, we need to start looking,' says Connor. 'Look, that one's got a balcony. And there's one with a working fireplace!'

'Gosh!'

I sit down on a nearby chair and peer at the blurry photograph, trying to imagine me and Connor living in it together. Sitting on that sofa. Just the two of us, every single evening.

I wonder what we'll talk about.

Well! We'll talk about … whatever we always talk about.

Maybe we'll play Monopoly. Just if we get bored or anything.

I turn to another sheet and feel a pang of excitement.

This flat has wooden floors and shutters! I've always wanted wooden floors and shutters. And look at that cool kitchen, with all granite worktops …

Oh, this is going to be so great. I can't wait!

I take a happy slug of wine, and am just sinking comfortably back when Connor says, 'So! Isn't it exciting about Jack Harper coming over.'

Oh God. Please. Not more talk about bloody Jack Harper.

'Did you get to meet him?' he adds, coming over with a bowl of peanuts. 'I heard he went into Marketing.'

'Um, yes, I met him.'

'He came into Research this afternoon, but I was at a meeting.' Connor looks at me, agog. 'So what's he like?'

'He's … I don't know. Dark hair … American … So how did the meeting go?'

Connor totally ignores my attempt to change the subject.

'Isn't it exciting, though?' His face is glowing. 'Jack Harper!'

'I suppose so.' I shrug. 'Anyway—'

'Emma! Aren't you excited?' Connor looks astonished. 'We're talking about the founder of the company! We're talking about the man who came up with the concept of Panther Cola. Who took an unknown brand, repackaged it and sold it to the world! He turned a failing company into a huge, successful corporation. And now we're all getting to meet him. Don't you find that thrilling?'

'Yes,' I say at last. 'It's … thrilling.'

'This could be the opportunity of a lifetime for all of us. To learn from the genius himself! You know, he's never written a book, he's never shared his thoughts with anyone except Pete Laidler …' He reaches into the fridge for a can of Panther Cola and cracks it open. Connor has to be the most loyal employee in the world. I once bought a Pepsi when we were out on a picnic, and he nearly had a hernia.

'You know what I would love above anything?' he says, taking a gulp. 'A one-to-one with him.' He looks at me, his eyes shining. 'A one-to-one with Jack Harper! Wouldn't that be the most fantastic career boost?'

A one-to-one with Jack Harper.

Yup, that boosted my career great.

'I suppose,' I say reluctantly.

'Of course it would be! Just having the chance to listen to him. To hear what he has to say! I mean, the guy's been shut away for three years. What ideas must he have been generating all this time? He must have so many insights and theories, not just about marketing, but about business … about the way people work … about life itself.'

Connor's enthusiastic voice is like salt rubbing into my sore skin. So, let's just see quite how spectacularly I have played this wrong, shall we? I'm sitting on a plane next to the great Jack Harper, creative genius and source of all wisdom on business and marketing, not to mention the great mysteries of life itself.

And what do I do? Do I ask him insightful questions? Do I engage him in intelligent conversation? Do I learn anything from him at all?

No. I blabber on about what kind of underwear I prefer.

Great career move, Emma. One of the best.

The next day, Connor is off to a meeting first thing, but before he goes he digs out an old magazine article about Jack Harper.

'Read this,' he says, through a mouthful of toast. 'It's good background information.'

I don't want any background information! I feel like retorting, but Connor's already out of the door.

I'm tempted to leave it behind and not even bother looking at it, but it's quite a long journey from Connor's place to work, and I haven't got any magazines with me. So I take the article with me, and grudgingly start reading it on the tube, and I suppose it is quite an interesting story. How Harper and Pete Laidler were friends, and they decided to go into business, and Jack was the creative one and Pete was the extrovert playboy one, and they became multimillionaires together, and they were so close they were practically like brothers. And then Pete was killed in a car crash. And Jack was so devastated he shut himself away from the world and said he was giving it all up.

And of course now I read all this I'm starting to feel a bit stupid. I should have recognized Jack Harper. I mean, I certainly recognize Pete Laidler. For one thing he looks — looked — just like Robert Redford. And for another, he was all over the papers when he died. I can remember it vividly now, even though I had nothing to do with the Panther Corporation then. He crashed his Mercedes, and everyone said it was just like Princess Diana.

I'm so busy reading, I nearly miss my stop and have to make one of those stupid dashes for the doors, where everyone looks at you like: You complete moron, did you not know that your stop was coming up? And then, as the doors close, I realize I've left the article behind on the tube.

Oh well. I'd kind of got the gist of it.

It's a bright sunshiny morning, and I head towards the juice bar where I usually pop in before work. I've got into the habit of picking up a mango smoothie every morning, because it's healthy.

And also because there is a very cute New Zealand guy who works behind the counter, called Aidan. (In fact, I had a miniature crush on him, before I started going out with Connor.) When he isn't working in the smoothie bar he's doing a course on sports science, and he's always telling me stuff about essential minerals, and what your carb-ratio should be.

'Hiya,' he says as I come in. 'How's the kick-boxing going?'

'Oh!' I say, colouring slightly. 'It's great, thanks.'

'Did you try that new manoeuvre I told you about?'

'Yes! It really helped!'

'I thought it would,' he says, looking pleased, and goes off to make my mango smoothie.

OK. So the truth is, I don't really do kick-boxing. I did try it once, at our local leisure centre, and to be honest, I was shocked! I had no idea it would be so violent. But Aidan was so enthused about it, and kept saying how it would transform my life, I couldn't bring myself to admit I'd given up after only one session. It just seemed so lame. So I kind of … fibbed. And I mean, it's not like it matters. He'll never know. It's not as if I ever see him outside the smoothie bar.

'That's one mango smoothie,' says Aidan.

'And a chocolate brownie,' I say. 'For … my colleague.' Aidan picks up the brownie and pops it in a bag.

'You know, that colleague of yours needs to think about her refined sugar levels,' he says with a concerned frown. 'That must be — four brownies this week?'

'I know,' I say earnestly. 'I'll tell her. Thanks, Aidan.'

'No problem!' says Aidan. 'And remember: one-two-swivel!'

'One-two-swivel,' I repeat brightly. 'I'll remember!'

As I arrive at the office, Paul appears out of his room, snaps his fingers at me and says, 'Appraisal.'

My stomach gives an almighty lurch, and I nearly choke on my last bite of chocolate brownie'. Oh God. This is it. I'm not ready.

Yes I am. Come on. Exude confidence. I am a woman on her way somewhere.

Suddenly I remember Kerry and her 'I am a successful woman' walk. I know Kerry's an obnoxious cow, but she does have her own travel agency and make zillions of pounds a year. She must be doing something right. Maybe I should give it a go. Cautiously I stick out my bust, lift my head and start striding across the office with a fixed, alert expression on my face.

'Have you got period pain or something?' says Paul crudely as I reach his door.

'No!' I say in shock.

'Well you look very odd. Now sit down.' He shuts the door, sits down at his desk and opens a form marked Staff Appraisal Review. 'I'm sorry I couldn't see you yesterday. But what with Jack Harper's arrival, everything got buggered up.'

'That's OK.'

I try to smile but my mouth is suddenly dry. I can't believe how nervous I feel. This is worse than a school report.

'OK. So … Emma Corrigan.' He looks at the form and starts ticking boxes. 'Generally, you're doing fine. You're not generally late … you understand the tasks given to you … you're fairly efficient … you work OK with your colleagues … blah blah … blah … Any problems?' he says, looking up.

'Er … no.'

'Do you feel racially harassed?'

'Er … no.'

'Good.' He ticks another box. 'Well I think that's it. Well done. Can you send Nick in to see me?'

What? Has he forgotten?

'Um, what about my promotion?' I say, trying not to sound too anxious.

'Promotion?' He stares at me. 'What promotion?'

'To Marketing Executive.'

'What the fuck are you talking about?'

'It said. It said in the ad for my job …' I pull the crumpled ad out of my jeans pocket, where it's been since yesterday. '"Possible promotion after a year." It says it right there.' I push it across the desk, and he looks at it with a frown.

'Emma, that was only for exceptional candidates. You're not ready for a promotion. You'll have to prove yourself first.'

'But I'm doing everything as well as I can! If you just give me a chance—'

'You had the chance at Glen Oil.' Paul raises his eyebrows at me and I feel a twinge of humiliation. 'Emma, bottom line is, you're not ready for a higher position. In a year we'll see.'

'A year?'

'OK? Now hop it.'

My mind is whirling. I have to accept this in a calm, dignified way. I have to say something like 'I respect your decision, Paul', shake his hand and leave the room. This is what I have to do.

The only trouble is, I can't seem to get up out of my chair.

After a few moments Paul looks puzzledly at me. 'That's it, Emma.'

I can't move. Once I leave this room, it's over. '

'Emma?'

'Please promote me,' I say desperately. 'Please. I have to get a promotion to impress my family. It's the only thing I want in the whole world, and I'll work so hard, I promise, I'll come in at weekends, and I'll … I'll wear smart suits …'

'What?' Paul is staring at me as though I've turned into a goldfish.

'You don't have to pay me any more salary! I'll do all the same jobs as before. I'll even pay to have my new business cards printed! I mean, it won't make any difference to you. You won't even know I've been promoted!'

I break off, breathing hard.

'I think you'll find that's not quite the point of promotion, Emma,' says Paul sarcastically. 'I'm afraid the answer's no. Even more so.'

'But—'

'Emma, a word of advice. If you want to get ahead, you have to create your own chances. You have to carve out your own opportunities. Now seriously. Could you please fuck off out of my office and get Nick for me?'

As I leave I can see him raising his eyes to heaven and scribbling something else on my form.

Great. He's probably writing 'Deranged lunatic, seek medical help'.

As I walk dejectedly back to my desk, Artemis looks up with a beady expression. 'Oh, Emma,' she says, 'your cousin Kerry just called for you.'

'Really?' I say in surprise. Kerry never phones me at work. In fact she never phones me at all. 'Did she leave a message?'

'Yes, she did. She wanted to know, have you heard about your promotion yet?'

OK. This is now official. I hate Kerry.

'Oh right,' I say, trying to sound as though this is some boring, everyday enquiry. 'Thanks.'

'Are you being promoted, Emma? I didn't know that!' Her voice is high and piercing, and I see a couple of people raise their heads in interest. 'So, are you going to become a marketing executive?'

'No,' I mutter, my face hot with humiliation. 'I'm not.'

'Oh!' Artemis pulls a mock-confused face. 'So why did she—'

'Shut up, Artemis,' says Caroline. I give her a grateful look and slump into my chair.

Another whole year. Another whole year of being the crappy marketing assistant, and everyone thinking I'm useless. Another year of being in debt to Dad, and Kerry and Nev laughing at me, and feeling like a complete failure. I switch on my computer and dispiritedly type a couple of words. But suddenly all my energy's gone.

'I think I'll get a coffee,' I say. 'Does anyone want one?'

'You can't get a coffee,' says Artemis, giving me an odd look. 'Haven't you seen?'

'What?'

'They've taken the coffee machine away,' says Nick. 'While you were in with Paul.'

'Taken it away?' I look at him, puzzled. 'But why?'

'Dunno,' he says, walking off towards Paul's office. 'They just came and carted it away.'

'We're getting a new machine!' says Caroline, walking past with a bundle of proofs. 'That's what they were saying downstairs. A really nice one, with proper coffee. Ordered by Jack Harper, apparently.'

She moves off, and I stare after her.

Jack Harper ordered a new coffee machine?

'Emma!' Artemis is saying impatiently. 'Did you hear that? I want you to find the leaflet we did for the Tesco promotion two years ago. Sorry, Mummy,' she says into the phone. 'Just telling my assistant something.'

Her assistant. God, it pisses me off when she says that.

But to be honest, I'm feeling a bit too dazed to get annoyed.

It's nothing to do with me, I tell myself firmly as I root around at the bottom of the filing cabinet. It's ridiculous to think I had anything to do with it. He was probably planning to order new coffee anyway. He was probably—

I stand up with a pile of files in my arms and nearly drop them all on the floor.

There he is.

Standing right in front of me.

'Hello again.' His eyes crinkle in a smile. 'How are you doing?'

'Er … good, thanks.' I swallow hard. 'I just heard about the coffee machine. Um … thanks.'

'No problem.'

'Now everyone!' Paul comes striding up behind him. 'Mr Harper is going to be sitting in on the department this morning.'

'Please.' Jack Harper smiles. 'Call me Jack.'

'Right you are. Jack is going to be sitting in this morning. He's going to observe what you do, find out how we operate as a team. Just behave normally, don't do anything special.' Paul's eyes alight on me and he gives me an ingratiating smile. 'Hi there, Emma! How are you doing? Everything OK?'

'Er, yes thanks, Paul,' I mutter. 'Everything's great.'

'Good! A happy staff, that's what we like. And, while I've got your attention,' he coughs a little selfconsciously, 'let me just remind you that our Corporate Family Day is coming up, a week on Saturday. A chance for us all to let our hair down, enjoy meeting each other's families, and have some fun!'

We all stare at him a bit blankly. Until this moment, Paul has always referred to this as the Corporate Fuckwit Day and said he'd rather have his balls torn off than bring any member of his family to it.

'Anyway, back to work, everyone! Jack, let me get you a chair.'

'Just ignore me,' says Jack Harper pleasantly, as he sits down in the corner. 'Behave normally.'

Behave normally. Right. Of course.

So that would be sit down, take my shoes off, check my emails, put some hand cream on, eat a few Smarties, read my horoscope on iVillage, read Connor's horoscope, write 'Emma Corrigan, Managing Director' several times in swirly letters on my notepad, add a border of flowers, send an email to Connor, wait a few minutes to see if he replies, take a swig of mineral water and then finally get round to finding the Tesco leaflet for Artemis.

I don't think so.

As I sit back down at my desk, my mind is working quickly. Create your own chances. Carve out your own opportunities. That's what Paul said.

And what is this if not an opportunity?

Jack Harper himself is sitting here, watching me work. The great Jack Harper. Boss of the entire corporation. Surely I can impress him somehow?

OK, perhaps I haven't got off to the most brilliant start with him. But maybe this is my chance to redeem myself! If I can just somehow show that I'm really bright and motivated …

As I sit, leafing through the file of promotional literature, I'm aware that I'm holding my head slightly higher than usual, as though I'm in a posture class. And as I glance around the office, everyone else seems to be in a posture class, too. Before Jack Harper arrived, Artemis was on the phone to her mum, but now she's put on her horn-rimmed glasses and is typing briskly, occasionally pausing to smile at what she's written in a 'what a genius I am' way. Nick was reading the sports section of the Telegraph, but now I can see him studying some documents with graphs in them, with a deep frown.

'Emma?' says Artemis in a falsely sweet voice. 'Have you found that leaflet I was asking you for? Not that there's any hurry—'

'Yes, I have!' I say. I push back my chair, stand up, and walk over to her desk. I'm trying to look as natural as possible. But God, this is like being on telly or something. My legs aren't working properly and my smile is pasted onto my face and I have a horrible conviction I might suddenly shout 'Pants!' or something.

'Here you are, Artemis,' I say, and carefully lay the leaflet on her desk.

'Bless you!' says Artemis. Her eyes meet mine brightly and I realize she's acting, too. She puts her hand on mine, and gives me a twinkly smile. 'I don't know what we'd do without you, Emma!'

'That's quite all right!' I say, matching her tone. 'Any time!'

Shit, I think as I walk back to my desk. I should have said something cleverer. I should have said, 'Teamwork is what keeps this operation together.'

OK, never mind. I can still impress him.

Trying to act as normally as possible I open a document and start to type as quickly and efficiently as I can, my back ramrod straight. I've never known the office this quiet. Everyone's tapping away, no-one's chatting. It's like being in an exam. My foot's itching, but I don't dare scratch it.

How on earth do people do those fly-on-the-wall documentaries? I feel completely exhausted, and it's only been about five minutes.

'It's very quiet in here,' says Jack Harper, sounding puzzled. 'Is it normally this quiet?'

'Er …' We all look around uncertainly at each other.

'Please, don't mind me. Talk away like you normally would. You must have office discussions.' He gives a friendly smile. 'When I worked in an office, we talked about everything under the sun. Politics, books … For instance, what have you all been reading recently?'

'Actually, I've been reading the new biography of Mao Tse Tung,' says Artemis at once. 'Fascinating stuff.'

'I'm in the middle of a history of fourteenth-century Europe,' says Nick.

'I'm just re-reading Proust,' says Caroline, with a modest shrug. 'In the original French.'

'Ah.' Jack Harper nods, his face unreadable. 'And … Emma, is it? What are you reading?'

'Um, actually …' I swallow, playing for time.

I cannot say Celebrity Doodles — What Do They Mean? Even though it is actually very good. Quick. What's a serious book?

'You were reading Great Expectations, weren't you, Emma?' says Artemis. 'For your book club.'

'Yes!' I say in relief. 'Yes, that's right—'

And then I stop abruptly as I meet Jack Harper's gaze.

Fuck.

Inside my head, my own voice from the plane is babbling away innocently.

'… just skimmed the back cover and pretended I'd read it …'

'Great Expectations,' says Jack Harper thoughtfully. 'What did you think of it, Emma?'

I don't believe he asked me that.

For a few moments I can't speak.

'Well!' I clear my throat at last. 'I thought it … it was really … extremely …'

'It's a wonderful book,' says Artemis earnestly. 'Once you fully understand the symbolism.'

Shut up, you stupid show-off. Oh God. What am I going to say?

'I thought it really … resonated,' I say at last.

'What resonated?' says Nick.

'The … um …' I clear my throat. 'The resonances.'

There's a puzzled silence.

'The resonances … resonated?' says Artemis.

'Yes,' I say defiantly. 'They did. Anyway, I've got to get on with my work.' I turn away with a roll of my eyes and start typing feverishly.

OK. So the book discussion didn't go that well. But that was just sheer bad luck. Think positive. I can still do this. I can still impress him—

'I just don't know what's wrong with it!' Artemis is saying in a girly voice. 'I water it every day.'

She pokes her spider plant and gazes at Jack Harper winsomely. 'Do you know anything about plants, Jack?'

'I don't, I'm afraid,' says Jack, and looks over at me, his face deadpan. 'What do you think could be wrong with it, Emma?'

'… sometimes, when I'm pissed off with Artemis …'

'I … I have no idea,' I say at last, and carry on typing, my face flaming.

OK. Never mind. It doesn't matter. So I watered one little plant with orange juice. So what?

'Has anyone seen my World Cup mug?' says Paul, walking into the office with a frown. 'I can't seem to find it anywhere.'

'… I broke my boss's mug last week and hid the pieces in my handbag …'

Shit.

OK. Never mind. So I broke one tiny mug, too. It doesn't matter. Just keep typing.

'Hey Jack,' says Nick, in a matey, lads-together voice. 'Just in case you don't think we have any fun, look up there!' He nods towards the picture of a photocopied, G-stringed bottom which has been up on the noticeboard since Christmas. 'We still don't know who it is …'

'… I had a few too many drinks at the last Christmas party …'

OK, now I want to die. Someone please kill me.

'Hi, Emma!' comes Katie's voice, and I look up to see her hurrying into the office, her face pink with excitement. When she sees Jack Harper, she stops dead. 'Oh!'

'It's all right. I'm simply a fly on the wall.' He waves a friendly hand at her. 'Go ahead. Say whatever you were going to say.'

'Hi Katie!' I manage. 'What is it?'

As soon as I say her name, Jack Harper looks up again, a riveted expression on his face.

I do not like the look of that riveted expression.

What did I tell him about Katie? What? My mind spools furiously back. What did I say? What did I—

I feel an internal lurch. Oh God.

'… we have this secret code where she comes in and says, "Can I go through some numbers with you, Emma?" and it really means "Shall we nip out to Starbucks …"'

I told him our skiving code.

I stare desperately at Katie's eager face, trying somehow to convey the message to her.

Do not say it. Do not say you want to go over some numbers with me.

But she's completely oblivious.

'I just … erm …' She clears her throat in a businesslike way and glances selfconsciously at Jack Harper. 'Could I possibly go over some numbers with you, Emma?'

Fuck.

My face floods with colour. My whole body is prickling.

'You know,' I say, in a bright, artificial voice, 'I'm not sure that'll be possible today.'

Katie stares at me in surprise.

'But I have to … I really need you to go over some numbers with me.' She nods in excitement.

'I'm quite tied up here with my work, Katie!' I force a smile, simultaneously trying to telegraph 'Shut up!'

'It won't take long! Just quickly.'

'I really don't think so.'

Katie is practically hopping from foot to foot.

'But Emma, they're very … important numbers. I really need to … to tell you about them …'

'Emma.' At Jack Harper's voice I jump as though I've been stung. He leans towards me confidentially. 'Maybe you should go over the numbers.'

I stare back at him for a few moments, unable to speak, blood pounding in my ears.

'Right,' I manage after a long pause. 'OK. I'll do that.'