Can You Keep a Secret?

by Sophie Kinsella

  On the dot of five-thirty, 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 our flat, I can hear a strange noise coming from Lissy’s room. A kind of thumping, bumping sound. She’s probably moving her furniture around. Which would make sense.

  Lissy had a big victory in court yesterday—and every time she finishes a case, it’s the same thing. She gathers all her bits of paper together and puts them in a file box. She tidies her room and puts all her clothes away. And then she invites me in to admire, and says, “This is how I’m going to live from now on.”

  Sure.

  “Lissy,” I call as I go into the kitchen. “You will not believe what happened today.” I grab a bottle of Evian from the fridge and hold it against my hot forehead. Then I wander out into the hall again, to see Lissy’s door opening.

  “Lissy!” I begin. “What on earth were you—”

  And then out of the door comes not Lissy but a man.

  A man! A tall, thin guy in trendy black trousers and steel spectacles. He’s got jutting cheekbones and a pretty good physique, I can’t help noticing, and as he sees me, he inclines his head politely.

  “Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Er, hi.”

  “Emma!” says Lissy, following him out. She’s wearing a T-shirt over some gray 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, clearly flustered. “Jean-Paul, my flatmate Emma.”

  “Hello, Jean-Paul,” I say, as though this were all perfectly normal.

  “Good to meet you, Emma,” says Jean-Paul in a French accent.

  God, French accents are sexy.

  “Jean-Paul and I were just, um, going over some case notes,” says Lissy.

  “Oh, right,” I say. “Lovely!”

  Case notes. That would really make a whole load of thumping noises.

  Lissy is such a dark horse!

  “I must be going …” says Jean-Paul, looking at Lissy.

  “I’ll just see you out.”

  She disappears through the front door, and I can hear the two of them murmuring on the landing.

  I walk into the sitting room and slump down on the sofa. My whole body aches from tension. This is seriously bad for my health. How am I going to survive a whole week of Jack Harper?

  “So!” I demand as Lissy returns. “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You and Jean-Paul! How long have you two been …”

  “We’re not …” starts Lissy, turning red. “It’s not … We were going over case notes. That’s all.”

  “Sure you were.”

  “We were! That’s all it was!”

  “OK.” I raise my eyebrows. “If you say so.”

  Lissy sometimes gets like this, all shy and abashed. I’ll just have to get her pissed one night, and she’ll admit it.

  “So, how was your day?” she asks, sitting down on the floor and reaching for a magazine.

  I don’t even know where to start.

  “My day,” I say at last. “My day was a bit of a nightmare.”

  “Really?” says Lissy, looking up in surprise.

  “No, take that back. It was a complete nightmare.”

  “What happened? Tell me!”

  “OK.” I take a deep breath and smooth my hair back, wondering where on earth to start. “OK, remember I had that awful flight back from Scotland last week?”

  “Yes!” Lissy’s face lights up. “And Connor came to meet you and it was all really romantic.…”

  “Yes. Well.” I clear my throat. “Before that. On the flight. There was this … this man sitting next to me. And the plane got really turbulent.” I bite my lip. “And the thing is, I honestly thought we were all going to die and this was the last person I would ever see, and … I …”

  “Oh, my God!” Lissy claps her hand over her mouth. “You didn’t have sex with him.”

  “Worse. I told him all my secrets!”

  I’m expecting Lissy to gasp, or say something sympathetic like “Oh, no!” but her face is blank.

  “What secrets?”

  “My secrets. You know.”

  Lissy looks as if I’ve suddenly told her I’ve got an artificial leg.

  “You have secrets?”

  “Of course I have secrets!” I say. “Everyone has a few secrets.”

  “I don’t!” she says at once, looking offended. “I don’t have any secrets.”

  “Yes, you do!”

  “Like what?”

  “Like … like … OK.” I start counting off on my fingers. “You never told your dad it was you who lost the garage key that time.”

  “That was ages ago!”

  “… You never told Simon you were hoping he might propose to you.”

  “I wasn’t!” says Lissy, coloring. “Well, OK, maybe I was …”

  “… You think that sad guy next door fancies you.”

  “That’s not a secret!” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “Oh, right. Shall I tell him, then?” I lean back toward the open window. “Hey, Mike,” I call. “Guess what? Lissy thinks you—”

  “Stop!” says Lissy frantically.

  “You see? You have got secrets. Everyone has secrets. The Pope probably has a few secrets—”

  “OK,” says Lissy. “OK. You’ve made your point. But I don’t understand what the problem is. So you told some guy on a plane your secrets—”

  “And now he’s turned up at work.”

  “What?” Lissy goggles at me. “Are you serious? Who is he?”

  “He’s …” I’m about to say Jack Harper’s name when I remember the promise I made. “He’s just this … this guy who’s come in to observe.”

  “Is he senior?”

  “He’s … yes. You could say he’s pretty senior.”

  “Blimey.” Lissy frowns, thinking for a few moments. “Well … does it really matter? If he knows a few things about you …”

  “Lissy, it wasn’t just a few things.” I feel myself flush. “It was everything. I told him I faked a grade on my CV …”

  “You faked a grade on your CV?” echoes Lissy in shock. “Are you serious?”

  “… I told him about feeding Artemis’s spider plant orange juice. I told him I find G-strings uncomfortable …”

  I trail off to see Lissy’s aghast expression.

  “Emma,” she says at last. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘too much information’?”

  “I didn’t mean to say any of it!” I know I sound defensive. “It just kind of came out! I’d had three vodkas and champagne, and I thought we were about to die. Honestly, Lissy, you would have been the same. Everyone was screaming, people were praying, the plane was bouncing around …”

  “So you blab all your secrets to your boss!”

  “But he wasn’t my boss on the plane!” I cry in frustration. “He was just some stranger! I was never supposed to see him again!”

  There’s silence as Lissy takes this all in.

  “You know, this is like what happened to my cousin,” she says at last. “She went to a party, and there, right in front of her, was the doctor who’d delivered her baby two months before.”

  “Ooh.” I pull a face.

  “Exactly! She said she was so embarrassed, she had to leave. I mean, he’d seen everything! She said somehow it didn’t matter when she was in a hospital room, but when she saw him standing there, holding a glass of wine and chatting about house prices, it was a different matter—”

  “Well, this is the same! He knows all my most intimate, personal details! But the difference is, I can’t just leave! I
have to sit there and pretend to be a good employee! And he knows I’m not—”

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know! I suppose all I can do is try to avoid him!”

  “How long is he over for?”

  “The rest of the week,” I say in despair. “The whole week.”

  I pick up the zapper and turn on the television, and for a few moments we both silently watch a load of dancing models in Gap jeans.

  The ad finishes, and I raise my head. Lissy has a curious look on her face.

  “What?” I say. “What is it?”

  “Emma …” She clears her throat awkwardly. “You don’t have any secrets from me, do you?”

  “From you?” I say, slightly thrown. “Er …”

  A series of images flashes rapidly through my mind. That weird dream I once had about Lissy and me being lesbians. Those times I’ve bought supermarket carrots and sworn to her they were organic. The time when we were fifteen and she went to France and I got off with Gary Appleton, whom she had a complete crush on, and never told her.

  “Er, no! Of course not!” I say, and quickly take a sip of water. “Why? Have you got any from me?”

  Two dots of pink appear on Lissy’s cheeks. “No! Of course I haven’t!” she says in a stilted voice. “I was just … wondering.” She reaches for the TV guide and starts to flip through it, avoiding my gaze. “You know. Just out of interest.”

  “Yes, well.” I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. “So was I.”

  Wow. Lissy’s got a secret. I wonder what it—

  Of course. Like she was really going over case notes with that guy. Does she think I’m a complete idiot?

  Eight

  I arrive at work the next morning with exactly one aim: Avoid Jack Harper.

  It should be easy enough. The Panther Corporation is a huge company in a huge building. He’ll be busy in other departments today. He’ll probably be tied up in loads of meetings. He’ll probably spend all day on the eleventh floor or something.

  Even so, as I approach the big glass doors, my pace slows down, and I find myself peering inside to see if he’s about.

  “All right, Emma?” says Dave the security guard, coming to open the door for me. “You look lost.”

  “No! I’m great! Thanks!” I give a relaxed little laugh, my eyes darting about the foyer.

  I can’t see him anywhere. This is going to be fine. He probably isn’t in yet. He probably isn’t even coming in today! I throw my hair back, walk briskly across the marble floor, and start to head up the stairs.

  “Jack!” I suddenly hear as I’m nearing the first floor. “Have you got a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  It’s his voice. Where on earth—

  Bewildered, I look around and suddenly spot him on the landing above, talking to Graham Hillingdon.

  Shit. If he looked down now, he’d see me.

  Why does he have to stand right there? Doesn’t he have some big, important office he can go to?

  Anyway. I’ll just … take a different route. Very slowly I tiptoe back down the stairs, trying not to click my heels on the marble.

  As soon as I’m out of his view, I feel myself relax, and walk more quickly back down to the foyer. I’ll go by lift instead. No problem. I step confidently across the floor, and I’m right in the middle of the huge expanse of marble when I freeze.

  “That’s right.” It’s his voice again. And it seems to be getting nearer. Or am I just paranoid?

  “… think I’ll take a good look at …”

  My head is swiveling around bewilderedly. Where is he now? Which direction is he going in?

  “… really think that …”

  Shit. He’s coming down the stairs. There’s nowhere to hide!

  Without thinking twice, I fly to the glass doors, push them open, and hurry out of the building. I scuttle down the steps, run about a hundred yards down the road, and stop, panting.

  This is not going well.

  OK, I can’t stay out here on the street all day. Come on, think. There must be a way around this. There must be—

  Yes! I have a totally brilliant idea. This will definitely work.

  Three minutes and a trip to the newsstand later, I once more approach the doors of the Panther building, totally engrossed in an article in The Times. I can’t see anything around me. And no one can see my face. This is the perfect disguise!

  I push the door open with my shoulder and walk across the foyer and up the stairs, all without looking up. As I stride along the corridor toward the marketing department, I feel all cocooned and safe, buried in my Times. I should do this more often. No one can get me in here. It’s a really reassuring feeling, almost as though I’m invisible, or—

  “Ow! Sorry!”

  I’ve crashed into someone. Shit. I lower my paper, to see Paul staring at me, rubbing his head.

  “Emma, what the fuck are you doing?”

  “I was just … reading The Times. I’m really sorry.…”

  “All right. Anyway, where the hell have you been? I want you to do tea and coffee at the departmental meeting. Ten o’clock.”

  “What tea and coffee?” I say, puzzled. They don’t usually have any refreshments at the departmental meeting. In fact, usually about six people turn up, if that.

  “We’re having tea and coffee today. And biscuits. All right?”

  I automatically start to reply, “Yes, of course.”

  Then I stop. Now that I think about it, this isn’t all right.

  “Paul, when are you going to replace Gloria? I mean, this is the kind of thing she used to do.”

  There’s silence.

  “We’re in the process of recruitment,” Paul says at last.

  He’s not quite meeting my eye.

  All of a sudden I remember a conversation I overheard in the lifts a few weeks ago. Two women from Personnel were talking about staff budgets and the word “trimming” came up.

  Like trimming a tree? Or like trimming split ends?

  “You are going to get a new departmental secretary, aren’t you?” I try to sound lighthearted—but inside I can feel twinges of alarm. If they don’t replace Gloria, guess who’ll end up as the general dogsbody.

  “Of course!” Paul pauses. “Probably.”

  “Probably?”

  “Emma, I really don’t have time for this!” says Paul impatiently. “Jack Harper’s coming to the meeting. I’ve got a lot to do—”

  “What?” I feel a new consternation, sweeping all thoughts of trimming from my head.

  “Jack Harper’s coming to the meeting. So hurry up.”

  “Do I have to go?” I say before I can stop myself.

  “What?”

  “I was just wondering if I … have to go, or whether …” I trail off.

  “Emma, if you can serve tea and coffee by telepathy,” says Paul sarcastically, “then you’re more than welcome to stay at your desk. If not, would you most kindly get your arse in gear and up to the conference room. You know, for someone who wants to advance their career …” He shakes his head and stalks off.

  How can this day have gone so wrong already and I haven’t even sat down yet?

  I dump my bag and jacket at my desk, hurry back down the corridors to the lifts, and press the Up button. A moment later the doors open.

  No. No.

  This is a bad dream.

  Jack Harper is standing alone in the lift, in old jeans and a brown cashmere sweater, with a mobile phone in his hand.

  Before I can stop myself, I take a startled step backward. Jack Harper puts his mobile away, tilts his head to one side, and gives me a quizzical look. He looks disheveled and there are shadows under his eyes.

  “Are you getting into the elevator?”

  “Um …”

  I’m stuffed. I can’t say, “No, I just pressed the button for fun, ha-ha!”

  “Yes,” I say at last, and walk into the lift with stiff legs. “Yes, I am.”


  The doors close, and we begin to travel upward in silence. I’ve got a knot of tension in my stomach.

  “Erm, Mr. Harper,” I begin, and he looks up. “I just wanted to apologize for my … for the, um, shirking episode the other day. It won’t happen again.”

  “You have drinkable coffee now,” says Jack Harper. “So you shouldn’t need to go to Starbucks, at any rate …”

  “I know. I’m really sorry.” My face is hot. “And may I assure you, that was the very last time I ever do such a thing.” I clear my throat. “I am fully committed to the Panther Corporation, and I look forward to serving this company as best I can, giving one hundred percent, every day, now and in the future.”

  I almost want to add “Amen.”

  “Really.” Jack nods, looking serious. “That’s great.” He thinks for a moment. “Emma, can you keep a secret?”

  “Er, yes!” I say apprehensively. “What is it?”

  Jack leans close and whispers, “I used to play hooky, too.”

  “What?” I say in astonishment.

  “In my first job. I had a friend I used to hang out with. We had a code, too. One of us would ask the other to bring him the Leopold file.”

  “What was the Leopold file?”

  “It didn’t exist.” He grins. “It was just an excuse to get away from our desks.”

  “Oh. Oh, right!”

  Suddenly I feel a bit better. Jack Harper used to skive? I would have thought he was too busy being brilliant.

  The lift stops at floor three and the doors open, but no one gets in.

  “So, your colleagues seemed a very agreeable lot,” says Jack as we start traveling up again. “A very friendly, industrious team. Are they like that all the time?”

  “Absolutely!” I say at once. “We enjoy cooperating with one another, in an integrated, team-based, um, operational …” I’m trying to think of another long word when I make the mistake of catching his eye.

  He knows this is bullshit, doesn’t he?

  Oh, God. What’s the point?

  “OK.” I lean against the lift wall. “In real life, we don’t behave anything like that. Paul usually shouts at me six times a day, and Nick and Artemis hate each other, and we don’t usually sit around discussing literature. We were all faking it.”