'I know you must be hurting right now,' he says carefully. 'But I was wondering.' He pauses for what seems like for ever, and I can feel my heart thumping hard against my ribs. 'Would you like to have dinner some time?'
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 …' He spreads his hands. '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 email me your address. Eight o'clock?'
'Eight it is!'
As I leave Jack's office, Sven glances up and raises his eyebrows, 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 in my stomach, and a huge smile keeps licking over my face.
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 quite so appalled.
'He knows all your secrets?' She's looking at me as though I've just proudly informed 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 the mirror and tweak out another eyebrow hair. It's seven o'clock, I've had my bath, I've blow-dried my hair and now I'm on my makeup.
'And now he's asked her out,' says Lissy, hugging her knees. 'Isn't it romantic?'
'You are joking, aren't you?' says Jemima, looking aghast. 'Tell me this is a joke.'
'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?' Her voice rises 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 told me, you should never let a man see your feelings or the contents of your handbag.'
'Well, too late,' I say, slightly defiantly. '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, almost pityingly. 'Don't you understand? You've already lost.'
'I haven't lost!'
Sometimes I think Jemima sees men not as people, but 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?'
'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 glug from my pre-date relaxer glass of Harvey's Bristol Cream. 'I told him on the plane that I hate vintage cars.'
'You did what?' Jemima looks as if she wants to hit me. 'You told the man you're dating that you hate his favourite 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 smug and 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, rolling my eyes. '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 obviously already completely compatible.'