Can You Keep a Secret?

by Sophie Kinsella

  By the time I reach the building, Paul is groveling on the floor as I sit nonchalantly on his desk, holding one knee (I also seem to be wearing a new suit and Prada shoes) and saying, “You know, Paul, all you had to do was treat me with a little respect—”

  Shit. My eyes suddenly focus and I stop in my tracks, hand on the glass doors. There’s a blond head in the foyer.

  Connor. I can’t go in there. I can’t do it. I can’t—

  Then the head moves, and it’s not Connor at all; it’s Andrea from Accounts. I push the door open, feeling like a complete flake. God, I’m a mess. I have to get a grip on myself, because I will run into Connor before too long, and I’m just going to have to handle it.

  At least no one at work knows yet, I think as I walk up the stairs. That would make things a million times harder. To have people coming up to me and saying—

  “Emma, I’m so sorry to hear about you and Connor!”

  “What?” I stop still in shock and see a girl called Nancy coming toward me.

  “It was such a bolt from the blue! Of all the couples to split up, I would never have said you two. But it just shows, you never can tell …”

  “How … how do you know?”

  “Oh, everyone knows!” says Nancy. “You know there was a little drinks do on Friday night? Well, Connor came to it, and he got quite drunk. And he told everyone. In fact, he made a little speech!”

  “He … he did what?”

  “It was quite touching, really. It was all about how the Panther Corporation felt like his family and how he knew we would all support him through this difficult time. And you, of course,” she adds as an afterthought. “Although since you were the one who broke it off, Connor’s really the wounded party.” She leans forward confidentially. “I have to say, a lot of the girls were saying you must have a screw loose!”

  I cannot believe this. Connor gave a speech about our breakup. After promising to keep it quiet. And now everyone’s on his side.

  “Right,” I say at last. “Well, I’d better get on—”

  “It just seems such a shame!” Nancy’s inquisitive eyes run over me. “You two seemed so perfect!”

  “I know we did.” I force a smile. “Anyway. See you later.”

  I head for the new coffee machine, trying to get my head around this, when a tremulous voice interrupts me. “Emma?”

  I look up in apprehension. It’s Katie, peering at me as though I’ve suddenly grown three heads.

  “Oh, hi!” I say, trying to sound breezy.

  “Is it true?” she whispers. “Is it true? Because I won’t believe it’s true until I hear you say it with your own lips.”

  “Yes,” I say reluctantly. “It’s true. Connor and I have broken up.”

  “Oh, God.” Katie’s breathing becomes quicker and quicker. “Oh, my God. It’s true. Oh my God, oh my God, I really can’t cope with this …”

  Shit. She’s hyperventilating. I grab an empty sugar bag and shove it over her mouth.

  “Katie, calm down!” I say helplessly. “Breathe in … and out …”

  “I’ve been having panic attacks all weekend,” she manages between breaths. “I woke up last night in a cold sweat and I just thought to myself, If this is true, the world doesn’t make sense anymore. It simply makes no sense.”

  “Katie, we broke up! That’s all! People break up all the time.”

  “But you and Connor weren’t just people! You were the couple.” She removes the bag from her face. “I mean, if you can’t make it, why should any of the rest of us bother even trying?”

  “Katie, we weren’t the couple!” I say, trying to keep my temper. “We were a couple. And it went wrong, and … and these things happen!”

  “But—”

  “And to be honest, I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Oh, God, of course. Sorry, Emma. I didn’t … I just … You know, it was such a shock.”

  “Come on—you haven’t told me how your date with Philip went yet,” I say firmly. “Cheer me up with some good news.”

  The kettle switches off, and I reach for the coffee grounds. Katie’s breathing has gradually calmed.

  “Actually … it went really well,” she says. “We’re going to see each other again!”

  “Well, there you go!”

  “He’s so charming. And gentle. And we have the same sense of humor, and we like the same things …” A bashful smile spreads across Katie’s face. “Actually, he’s lovely!”

  “He sounds wonderful! You see?” I squeeze her arm. “You and Philip will probably be a far better couple than Connor and I ever were. Do you want a coffee?”

  “No, thanks, I’ve got to go. We’ve got a meeting with Jack Harper about personnel. See you.”

  “OK, see you,” I say absently.

  About five seconds later, my brain clicks into gear. “Wait a second.” I hurry down the corridor and grab her shoulder. “Did you just say … Jack Harper?”

  “Yes.”

  “But … but he’s gone. He left on Friday.”

  “No, he didn’t. He changed his mind.”

  “So …” I swallow. “So … he’s here?”

  “Of course he’s here!” says Katie with a laugh. “He’s upstairs!”

  Suddenly my legs won’t work properly. “Why …” I clear my throat, which has gone a little grainy. “Why did he change his mind?”

  “Who knows?” Katie shrugs. “He’s the boss. He can do what he likes, can’t he? Mind you, I’ve always thought he seems very down-to-earth.” She reaches into her pocket for a packet of gum and offers it to me. “He was really nice to Connor after he gave his little speech …”

  I feel a fresh jolt. “Jack Harper heard Connor’s speech? About our breaking up?”

  “Yes! He was standing right next to him.” Katie unwraps her gum. “And afterward he said something really nice like he could just imagine how Connor was feeling. Wasn’t that sweet?”

  I need to sit down. I need to think. I need to …

  “Emma, are you OK?” says Katie in dismay. “God, I’m so insensitive—”

  “No. It’s fine,” I say in a daze. “I’m fine. I’ll see you later.”

  This is not the way it was supposed to happen. Jack Harper was supposed to be back in America. He was supposed to have no idea that I went straight home from our conversation and chucked Connor.

  I feel humiliated. He’ll think I chucked Connor because of what he said to me in the lift, won’t he? He’ll think it was all because of him. Which it so wasn’t.

  At least … not completely …

  Maybe that’s why—

  No. It’s ridiculous to think that his staying has anything to do with me. Ridiculous.

  As I near my desk, Artemis looks up from a copy of Marketing Week. “Oh, Emma. I was sorry to hear about you and Connor.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “But I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s OK—”

  “Fine,” says Artemis. “Whatever. I was just being polite.” She looks at a Post-it on her desk. “There’s a message for you from Jack Harper, by the way.”

  “What?” I start.

  “Could you please take the …” She squints at the paper. “… the Leopold file to his office. He said you’d know what it was. But if you can’t find it, it doesn’t matter.”

  The Leopold file.

  It was just an excuse to get away from our desks …

  It’s a secret code. He wants to see me.

  Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

  I have never been more thrilled and petrified. Both at once.

  I sit down and stare at my blank screen for a minute. Then, with trembling fingers, I take out a blank file. I wait until Artemis has turned away, then write “Leopold” on the side of it, trying to disguise my handwriting.

  Suddenly I stop. Am I being really, really stupid here? Is there a real Leopold file?

  Hastily I go into the company database and do a quick search for “Leop
old.” But nothing comes up.

  OK. I was right the first time.

  I’m about to push my chair back when I suddenly have a paranoid thought. What if someone stops me and asks what the Leopold file is? Or what if I drop it on the floor and everyone sees it’s empty?

  Quickly, I open a new document, invent a fancy letterhead, and type a letter from a Mr. Ernest P. Leopold to the Panther Corporation. I send it over to print, stroll over to the printer, and whisk it out before anyone else can see what it is. Not that anyone else is remotely interested.

  “Right,” I say casually, tucking it into the cardboard folder. “Well, I’ll just take that file up, then …”

  Artemis doesn’t even raise her head.

  As I walk through the corridors, I’m pulsing with nerves. I feel as though everyone in the building must know what I’m doing.

  Why does Jack Harper want to see me? Because if it’s just to tell me he was right all along about Connor, then he can just … he can just bloody well … Suddenly I have a flashback to that that awful atmosphere in the lift. What if it’s really awkward?

  I don’t have to go, I remind myself. He did give me an out. I could easily phone his secretary and say, “Sorry, I couldn’t find the Leopold file,” and that would be the end.

  For an instant I hesitate, my fingers tightly clutching the cardboard. And then I carry on walking.

  The door of Jack’s office is being guarded not by one of the secretaries but by Sven. As he hears me coming, he looks up and his pale eyes give a flicker, like a lizard’s. He doesn’t smile.

  Oh, God. I know Jack has said he’s his oldest friend, but I can’t help it. I do find this guy creepy. “Hi,” I say. “Er, Mr. Harper asked me to bring up the Leopold file.”

  Sven looks at me, and for an instant it’s like a little silent communication is passing between us. He knows, doesn’t he? He probably uses the Leopold file code himself. He picks up his phone and after a moment says, “Jack, Emma Corrigan is here with the Leopold file.” Then he puts down the phone and says, “Go straight in.”

  I walk in, feeling all prickly with self-consciousness. Jack’s sitting behind a big wooden desk, wearing the black turtleneck he wore on the first day. As he looks up, his eyes are warm, and I feel myself relax just a bit.

  “Hello,” he says.

  “Hello,” I reply. “So, um, here’s the Leopold file.” I hand him the cardboard folder.

  “The Leopold file.” He laughs. “Very good.” Then he opens it and looks at the sheet of paper in surprise. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a … it’s a letter from Mr. Leopold of Leopold and Company.”

  “You composed a letter from Mr. Leopold?” He seems astonished. Suddenly I feel really stupid.

  “Just in case I dropped the file on the floor and someone saw,” I mumble. “I thought I’d just quickly make something up. It’s not important …” I try to take it back, but Jack moves it out of my reach.

  “ ‘From the office of Ernest P. Leopold,’ ” he reads aloud. “I see he wishes to order six thousand cases of Panther Cola. Quite a customer, this Leopold.”

  “It’s for a corporate event,” I explain. “He normally uses Pepsi, but recently one of his employees tasted Panther Cola, and it was so good …”

  “He simply had to switch,” finishes Jack. “ ‘May I add that I am delighted with all aspects of your company, and have taken to wearing a Panther jogging suit, which is quite the most comfortable sportswear I have ever known.’ ” He’s silent for a moment, then looks up with a smile. To my surprise, his eyes are shining. “You know, Pete would have adored this.”

  “Pete Laidler?” I say hesitantly.

  “Yup. It was Pete who came up with the whole Leopold file maneuver. This was the kind of stuff he did all the time.” He taps the letter. “Can I keep it?”

  “Of course,” I say, touched. He folds it up and puts it in his pocket, and for a few moments there’s silence.

  “So,” says Jack at last. He raises his head and gives me a long, searching look. “You broke up with Connor.”

  Wow. So we’re straight to the point.

  “So,” I reply defiantly. “You decided to stay.”

  “Yes, well …” He stretches out his fingers and studies them briefly. “I thought I might take a closer look at some of the European subsidiaries.” He looks up. “How about you?”

  He wants me to say I chucked Connor because of him, doesn’t he? Well, I’m not going to. No way.

  “Same reason.” I nod. “European subsidiaries.”

  There’s a flash of amusement in Jack’s eyes. “I see. And are you … OK?”

  “I’m fine. Actually, I’m enjoying the freedom of being single again.” I gesture widely with my arms. “You know, the liberation, the flexibility …”

  “That’s great. Well, then, maybe this isn’t a good time to …” He stops.

  “To what?” I say a little too quickly.

  “I know you must be hurting right now,” he says carefully. “But I was wondering.” He pauses for what seems like forever. My throat gradually tightens, but I don’t dare swallow. “Would you like to have dinner sometime?”

  He’s asked me out. He’s asked me out.

  I almost can’t move my mouth.

  “Yes,” I say at last. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

  “Great!” He pauses. “The only thing is, my life is kind of complicated right now. And what with our office situation … It might be an idea to keep this to ourselves.”

  “Oh, I completely agree,” I say quickly. “We should be discreet.”

  “So, shall we say … how about tomorrow night? Would that suit you?”

  “Tomorrow night would be perfect.”

  “I’ll come and pick you up. If you e-mail me your address. Eight o’clock?”

  “Eight it is!”

  As I leave Jack’s office, Sven glances up questioningly, but I don’t say anything. I head back to the marketing department, trying as hard as I can to keep my face dispassionate and calm. But excitement is bubbling away inside, and a huge smile keeps breaking through.

  Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I’m going out to dinner with Jack Harper. I just … I can’t believe—

  Oh, who am I kidding? I knew this was going to happen. As soon as I heard he hadn’t gone to America. I knew.

  Twelve

  I have never seen Jemima look so appalled.

  “He knows all your secrets?” She’s looking at me as though I’ve just told her I’m going out with a mass murderer. “What on earth do you mean?”

  “I sat next to him on a plane, and I told him everything about myself.”

  I frown at my reflection in my mirror and tweak out another eyebrow hair. It’s seven o’clock, I’ve had my bath, and now I’m sitting in my robe, putting on my makeup.

  “And now he’s asked her out,” says Lissy, reaching for my new mascara and studying it. “Isn’t it romantic?”

  “You are joking, aren’t you?” says Jemima. “Tell me this is a joke.” She’s standing at the door of my room, wearing a new, dark green dress. Tonight she’s got a date with the guy who bought the seventy-thousand-pound painting. Apparently he loves green.

  “Of course I’m not joking! What’s the problem?”

  “You’re going out with a man who knows everything about you.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re asking me what’s the problem?” she says incredulously. “Are you crazy?”

  “Of course I’m not crazy!”

  “I knew you fancied him,” says Lissy for about the millionth time. “I knew it. Right from the moment you started talking about him.” She looks at my reflection. “I’d leave that right eyebrow alone now.”

  “Really?” I peer at my face.

  “Emma, you don’t tell men all about yourself! You have to keep something back! Mummy always says you should never let a man see your feelings or the contents of your handbag.”

  “Well, too late. He
’s seen it all.”

  “Then it’s never going to work,” says Jemima. “He’ll never respect you.”

  “Yes, he will!”

  “Emma,” says Jemima in a pitying voice. “Don’t you understand? You’ve already lost.”

  “I haven’t lost!”

  Sometimes I think Jemima sees men as alien robots who must be conquered by any means possible.

  “You’re not being very helpful, Jemima,” puts in Lissy. “Come on. You’ve been on loads of dates with rich businessmen. You must have some good advice!”

  “All right.” Jemima sighs and puts her bag down. “It’s a hopeless cause, but I’ll do my best.” She starts ticking off on her fingers. “The first thing is to look as well groomed as possible.”

  “Why do you think I’m plucking my eyebrows?” I say with a grimace.

  “Fine. OK, the next thing is, you can show an interest in his hobbies. What does he like?”

  “Er … dunno. Cars, I think. He has all these vintage cars on his ranch, apparently.”

  “Well, then!” Jemima brightens. “That’s good. Pretend you like cars. Suggest visiting a car show.… You could flick through a car magazine on the way there …”

  “I can’t,” I say, taking a sip from my pre-date relaxer glass of Harveys Bristol Cream. “I told him on the plane that I hate vintage cars.”

  “You did what?” Jemima looks like she wants to hit me. “You told the man you’re dating that you hate his favorite hobby?”

  “I didn’t know I would be going on a date with him then, did I?” I say defensively, reaching for my foundation. “And anyway, it’s the truth! I hate vintage cars! The people in them always look so pleased with themselves …”

  “What’s the truth got to do with anything?” Jemima’s voice rises in agitation. “Emma, I’m sorry; I can’t help you. This is a disaster. You’re completely vulnerable. It’s like going into battle in a nightie.”

  “Jemima, this is not a battle!” I retort. “And it’s not a chess game! It’s dinner with a nice man!”

  “You’re so cynical, Jemima!” chimes in Lissy. “I think it’s really romantic! They’re going to have the perfect date, because there won’t be any of that awkwardness. He knows what Emma likes. He knows what she’s interested in. They’re already compatible!”