The Importance of Being Emma

by Juliet Archer

  To whom it may concern:

  Harriet-Smith worked at Abbey Mill Haulage from 6 June to 26 August inclusive assisting our senior secretary Mrs Wagstaff. She was polite and punctual. Harriet brightened up the office every day. I’ll miss her terribly.

  Robert Martin

  Managing Director.

  We used Abbey Mill Haulage for most of our transportation and I knew Martin by sight. A large, lumbering man, rather like a carthorse, he reminded me of an intellectually challenged quarterback I’d dated briefly in the States. I tried not to let this prejudice me, just as I refused to be influenced by Harriet hovering excitedly at my shoulder, waiting for my reaction.

  I gave a short laugh. ‘“Brightened up the office … miss her terribly” … Most unprofessional, you should never say anything personal in a reference, you could be sued.’

  Harriet’s face fell. ‘He said it was only the troof.’

  ‘Truth, Harriet. It’s quite over the top, for someone like him.’

  ‘D’you know Rob Martin?’ she said eagerly.

  ‘I’ve seen him around,’ I said. ‘Tradesmen are always touting for Highbury Foods’ business.’

  ‘He says he’s going to expand Abbey Mill now his farva’s retired.’

  ‘Father. How old is Robert?’

  ‘He was twenty-eight on 8th June, and my birthday was 23rd June, Rob says there’s only fifteen days’ difference. Or is it sixteen? Anyway, Rob says we’re both Gemini, I thought I was Cancer, but he says I’m definitely Gemini like him.’

  ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t use astrology to run his company,’ I said drily. ‘Is he married, or living with anyone?’

  She blushed. ‘No, he’s still living at home, his mum says he’s ready to settle down, but she doesn’t know who’s good enough for him.’

  ‘In other words, she can’t wait to get rid of him. How did you meet her?’

  ‘She works at Abbey Mill, only two days a week since Rob’s dad retired. And she doesn’t want to get rid of Rob, she says she couldn’t have a better son.’

  ‘Really, Harriet, every other sentence is “Rob says” or “Rob’s mum says”. Do you fancy him or something?’

  Another blush. ‘I didn’t at first, Trace says he’s a bit of an ug.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Ugly geezer. But we get on really well. And on my last day he took me to The Ploughman after work. You know, that pub in Little Bassington that’s just been done up.’

  ‘I don’t know actually, I never go to pubs.’

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? Anyway, we’ve been out twice since then and I fancy him rotten now.’

  This was the last thing I wanted to hear. ‘But Harriet, with your looks you could do so much better. You just need a classier image and that’s why – ’

  ‘Hello, ladies.’ With perfect timing, Philip poked his head round the door.

  ‘Come in, Philip.’ I gave him a dazzling smile, then continued, ‘And that’s why you’re going to be the face of Harriet’s Secret Recipes.’

  ‘Me?’ she squealed. ‘What about Victoria?’

  ‘Harriet sounds just as upmarket as Victoria. And I want to get away from any association with that US lingerie company, I still can’t understand how I had their name in my presentation.’ My lips tightened as I recalled the humiliation of the Board meeting.

  Philip placed a hand on my arm. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, it was probably subliminal, I bet you’ve got drawers full of the stuff at home.’

  I gave him a frosty look. I didn’t mind him speculating about Harriet’s choice of underwear, but there was no need for him to do the same for me.

  He went red and hurriedly removed his hand. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to embarrass you. I came to see if you needed a hand with the photo shoot, you did say you were doing it yourself to save the expense of hiring an agency.’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘You certainly know the way to a Finance Director’s heart.’

  I thawed a little. Here was another flimsy pretext for his daily pilgrimage to Harriet’s desk. I had to give the man top marks for effort.

  ‘How kind, maybe you could help with editing and printing the photos.’ And I bet one or two find their way onto your bedroom wall, I added to myself.

  ‘Delighted to, I’ve got some very good software on my computer at home. Why don’t you come over one evening and we’ll work on it together?’ His gaze flickered rather uncertainly across to Harriet and I guessed he was afraid she might refuse.

  ‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ I said. ‘We’ll be taking the photos in the kitchen at Hartfield, but Harriet and I could come over to your place straight after.’

  He looked a little put out. Perhaps he’d hoped to have the photos taken at his house; Harriet draped over his Ikea worktops, a symbol of future domestic bliss. Shame I couldn’t indulge his little fantasy, but the kitchens of my target audience were more likely to be at the Bulthaup end of the range.

  I gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll all work out to everyone’s satisfaction. Was there anything else?’

  The doggy expression came into his eyes. ‘Yes, I’d like to go over the Marketing budget with you, we’re nearly at the end of the financial year and things are a bit tight, but I’m sure we can find some extra funding for an important project like Harriet’s Secret Recipes. How about later this week?’

  ‘Fine, just check my diary with Harriet.’ I escaped to my room, leaving the door open so that I could hear them. It sounded as though things were progressing nicely; he was droning on about something and she was giggling.

  After a few minutes, Harriet came in. ‘Amazing, Philip lives in Little Bassington and we both think The Ploughman’s much better since it’s been done out, it was minging before.’

  ‘So when’s he taking you there?’

  ‘Philip, taking me? Get real.’ She looked at me as if I had two heads.

  ‘But you were discussing the pub, he might have been going to ask you out.’

  ‘No, he was fixing up that meeting with you – ’

  ‘Tell me about that later.’ I leaned across my desk towards her and made my tone as persuasive as possible. ‘You see, Harriet, as I was saying before Philip came in, I think you can do far better than Robert Martin. He’s working class, poorly educated, and you said yourself he’s downright ugly. Just compare him to some of the men you’ve met at Highbury Foods.’

  She cocked her head on one side. ‘You’re right, I really like Rob, but even I can see that he’s different from someone like Mark.’

  ‘Mark?’

  ‘Yeah, Trace would say he’s well shaggable.’

  Nine years ago I would have agreed with Trace’s opinion, although not her way of expressing it. Now, with practised ease, I sidestepped memories of my teenage crush and merely said, ‘I was thinking more of Terry, or Philip. They dress smartly, talk intelligently, behave impeccably. So does Mark, except – ’

  I was going to say ‘he’s out of your league’, when she cut in with, ‘Yeah, but Terry’s so old, forty-five at least.’ She pulled a face.

  ‘Well then, what about Philip? He’s young, handsome, attentive – look how often he’s in here, offering to assist a pair of helpless little females.’ I lowered my voice to a yearning whisper. ‘And there’s a sort of gentleness about him that women find very appealing. He’s not overbearing, like Mark.’

  Her face lit up. ‘Oh, Mark isn’t like that with me. On my first day, he came to find me after the Board meeting and he looked at me with those sexy blue eyes, same colour as mine, spooky!’ She smiled dreamily. ‘He said he hoped I’d enjoy working here and Mary was the ideal person to help me settle in. Isn’t that a nice thing for someone like him to say?’

  ‘If you think that’s nice, just listen to this. After the very same Board meeting, when Jon Marshall was so rude about your Victoria Beckham suggestion, Philip told me he would have rushed to your defence if I hadn’t got there first.’ I shook my head knowingly.
‘You have no idea how much that man fancies you. The other day, when I said how lovely your hair looked – remember you tied it back, as I told you? – he went into ecstasies, I couldn’t shut him up for about ten minutes.’

  ‘Did he really?’ She paused. ‘Are you going out with anyone?’

  I laughed. ‘No, thank God. My last boyfriend became a real pain in the butt so I’ve given men up for the time being.’

  ‘Don’t you fancy anyone?’

  ‘No.’ I hesitated. ‘At least, no one round here. So, when’s my meeting with Philip?’

  ‘Thursday lunchtime, at The Ploughman. That’s why we were talking about it, he thought it would be – ’

  ‘The Ploughman? You must’ve got the wrong end of the stick, Harriet, you’re the only person he wants to take to The Ploughman. We’ll have the meeting here, then you can sit in as well. And tell him not to worry about lunch, I’ll order some sandwiches.’

  ~~MARK~~

  With Father and Saffron off on their cruise and Tao in kennels, I had Donwell Abbey to myself. Mrs Burn came in most weekdays, but our paths rarely crossed. And it looked as though my solitude would continue for several weeks; Tamara emailed me to say she couldn’t come any earlier than the date we’d already arranged, 19th October, my birthday.

  I felt I owed it to Henry to kick off the mentoring as soon as possible. It proved easier said than done; whenever I phoned to speak to Emma I was told, usually by a giggling Harriet, that she was in a meeting.

  Three days after my first call, she rang me back. ‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch until now, I’m having a busy week.’

  ‘Glad to hear it, we’ll have lots to discuss at our first mentoring meeting.’

  ‘Can’t wait. Things should calm down in a fortnight or so, what about week commencing – ’

  ‘If you’re so busy at work,’ I put in, sensing stalling tactics, ‘why don’t I come over to Hartfield this weekend? Your father’s very keen for us to get started.’

  There was a pause. Then she said coolly, ‘If you must. Saturday afternoon, about four?’

  ‘Perfect. I’m meeting Steve Chapman – my mate from school, remember? – at six thirty, so our meeting will have to finish by six, but that should give us enough time. No need to bring anything from the office, it’ll just be an informal chat.’

  At twenty to four on Saturday afternoon, I set off for Hartfield along the bridle path. Small white clouds scudded across an azure sky, the air was crisp and invigorating and the leaves were starting to turn. I was in no mood to appreciate the beauty of an English autumn, however. As I walked, I rehearsed how the meeting would go. I would be business-like, objective, professional. In short, I would pretend I was dealing with anyone except Emma Woodhouse.

  I reached Hartfield at four o’clock prompt. An elderly and unfamiliar Vauxhall Nova was parked on the drive, but I was absorbed in my thoughts and didn’t pay much attention.

  Emma came to the front door, in a green V-necked jumper that brought out the colour of her eyes. ‘Hi there, would you believe I’ve got some unexpected visitors.’ She grinned like a Cheshire cat. ‘I’ll get rid of them as quickly as I can, then we can get on with the mentoring. I know you need to get away by six.’

  To my surprise, I found Harriet in the drawing room. Apparently she was the model for Emma’s marketing campaign and had dropped by to find a suitable outfit. Kate was there too, just returned from honeymoon. Somehow I knew that neither visit was unexpected; everything had been planned with military precision.

  ‘Harriet and I’ll be upstairs looking at clothes,’ Emma said airily. ‘I’m sure you two have plenty of catching up to do, help yourselves to tea.’ As they went out of the room, I turned to Kate with a smile.

  ‘Do you mind if I make a quick phone call?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  I sat down and called Steve to put our meeting back an hour. It was just a local pub crawl with some of our crowd; it didn’t really matter if I was delayed, as long as I knew where to find them later in the evening.

  When I’d finished, Kate handed me a cup of tea. ‘It’s great to see you.’

  ‘And you. I don’t need to ask if you’ve had a good honeymoon, it’s obvious. Congratulations, by the way. I’m sure you and Tom will be very happy.’

  ‘We should be, we’ve had four whole years to get to know each other.’

  Her words made me think. How well did I know Tamara? In theory we’d had the time, but maybe not the inclination.

  I changed the subject. ‘What do you think about Emma’s latest fixation? By that I mean Harriet.’

  ‘It’s good for her to see someone her own age, she’s lost touch with most of her old friends from round here.’

  This namby-pamby reply was only to be expected from Kate Weston; in her eyes, Emma was perfect. And since Emma went through a pretence of consulting Kate before doing exactly as she liked, they were always in complete harmony.

  ‘Sorry, I have to disagree with you, as usual where Emma’s concerned. I don’t think it’s good for her, it’s a very unequal relationship. She’s treating Harriet like some sort of giant doll – for God’s sake, she’s even dressing her up as we speak!’ I glared at Kate, but she just smiled and carried on drinking her tea. I took a gulp of mine, then added, ‘The trouble with Emma is that she thinks she’s got nothing to learn.’

  Kate laughed. ‘Actually, Emma’s learnt an awful lot over the last few years. About economics and business administration, for a start. And men.’

  I nearly choked on my next mouthful of tea. ‘Men? She knows as much about men as I do about leg waxing. Know what? She needs a man who won’t let her wind him round her little finger, that might waken her ideas up a bit.’

  ‘She doesn’t seem to go for men like that. Have you ever met any of her boyfriends?’

  ‘No,’ I said shortly. ‘I get the occasional update from John and Izzy, I seem to remember she’s had two serious relationships to date and isn’t seeing anyone at the moment.’

  ‘That’s right, and both those boys were much keener than she was. She met Piers in her first year at LSE, he was heartbroken when she went to the States. Then for most of her time at Harvard she lived with Scott and he even followed her back here. But she wasn’t that interested. Just as well, I didn’t rate either of them as good enough. Neither did Tom, he thinks the world of her of course, she’s like a daughter to him.’ Another little smile.

  I put my cup carefully down on its saucer. ‘Got plans in that direction, have you?’

  She went pink. ‘You mean Emma and Flynn? Not plans exactly, Tom and I just think they’ll hit it off extremely well. They were due to meet at our wedding of course, then Stella wangled Flynn a TV chat show appearance and he had to drop everything and stay in Australia.’

  ‘I see.’

  And I did; the man I believed Churchill to be would always choose fame over family. He’d never yet been to England to see his father and it wasn’t for lack of funds. When his mother died giving birth to him, her sister Stella, a Sydney-based property tycoon with more money than sense, adopted him and brought him up. Tom was obliged to go along with this arrangement; he had never married Flynn’s mother and his career in the Merchant Navy wasn’t conducive to childrearing. He visited Flynn whenever Stella allowed, which wasn’t often, and kept in contact by phone and email; which meant he’d been able to give detailed and regular updates about his son to everyone in Highbury for the last twenty odd years. I’d always suspected these glowing accounts were wildly exaggerated, but I seemed to be in the minority.

  Kate seemed to think I needed convincing. ‘He’s quite a celebrity over there, you know. Has his own TV series, Flynn’s Cook-in.’

  ‘I didn’t realise cooking was one of his many talents.’

  ‘Neither did I, but apparently he’s amazing at it. And anyway, being a TV chef is as much about personality as skill, isn’t it? Each week he has to turn up unexpectedly at someone’s house, with the TV crew obviously,
and make a three-course meal out of whatever they’ve got in their kitchen. Can you imagine what it takes to do that?’ She paused to sip her tea.

  ‘Sheer balls or crass stupidity,’ I thought. ‘If not both.’

  She went on, ‘And it’s been such a huge success that he’s hoping he can repeat the same formula over here. He was due to have a meeting about it at the BBC last week. He’s talking of re-arranging it for next month, but Tom and I daren’t get our hopes up.’

  As I had little interest in Flynn Churchill, and even less patience with his cavalier attitude towards his father, I steered the conversation back to Emma.

  ‘But you know Emma and her obsessions. When something – or someone – new comes along, she’ll drop Harriet like a hot brick. Except it’ll be problematic, because the poor girl works for her.’

  ‘I think you’re being a bit harsh.’

  ‘Really?’ I raised one eyebrow. ‘Remember when she was thirteen, she was going to read all the classics? She made a list, and a work of art it was too, I got it framed for her as a joke. How many did she read?’

  ‘She started three, but – ’

  ‘ – didn’t finish any of them,’ I put in. ‘She just won’t stick at anything that requires discipline. And what about that bloody piano? She pestered Henry for lessons until he gave in, then never practised from one week to the next.’

  ‘All right, I give up,’ Kate said, laughing. ‘But, according to Emma, Harriet isn’t very clever, so maybe she won’t notice if she’s dropped.’

  ‘Whereas Emma’s too clever for her own good,’ I said, with a frown. ‘She’s been running rings round Henry and Izzy ever since Sophia died. She’s an expert at making everyone do what she wants, usually without them even realising it.’

  ‘Except for you, you never used to let her get away with anything.’

  ‘Someone needed to keep her under control. But I’ve been away a long time … ’ I gave a rueful smile. ‘Henry obviously still has faith in me, he’s asked me to mentor her. That’s why I’m here, it’s our first meeting.’ Kate eyed me over the rim of her teacup. ‘You might have a battle on your hands, she’s not a little girl any more.’