Can You Keep A Secret?

'He wants to have a look round the UK operation, apparently.'

'I thought he wasn't active in the business any more,' says Jane from Accounts, who's come up

behind us in her coat and is listening, agog. 'I thought ever since Pete Laidler died he was all

grief-stricken and reclusive. On his ranch, or whatever it is.'

'That was three years ago,' points out Katie. 'Maybe he's feeling better.'

'Maybe he wants to sell us off, more like,' says Jane darkly.

'Why would he do that?'

'You never know.'

'My theory,' says Dave, and we all bend our heads to listen, 'is he wants to see if the plants are

shiny enough.' He nods his head towards Cyril, and we all giggle.

'Be careful,' Cyril is snapping. 'Don't damage the stems.' He glances up. 'What are you all still

doing there?'

'Just going!' says Katie, and we head towards the stairs, which I always use because it means I

don't have to bother with the gym. Plus luckily Marketing is on the first floor. We've just

reached the landing when Jane squeaks 'Look! Oh my God! It's him!'

A limousine has purred up the street and stopped right in front of the glass doors.

What is it about some cars? They look so gleaming and burnished, as if they're made out of a

completely different metal from normal cars.

As if by clockwork, the lift doors at the other end of the foyer open, and out strides Graham

Hillingdon, the chief executive, plus the managing director and about six others, all looking

immaculate in dark suits.

'That's enough!' Cyril is hissing at the poor cleaners in the foyer. 'Go! Leave it!'

The three of us stand, goggling like children, as the passenger door of the limousine opens. A

moment later, out gets a man with blond hair in a navy blue overcoat. He's wearing dark

glasses and is holding a very expensive-looking briefcase.

Wow. He looks like a million dollars.

Graham Hillingdon and the others are all outside by now, lined up on the steps. They shake

his hand in turn, then usher him inside, where Cyril is waiting.

'Welcome to the Panther Corporation UK,' Cyril says fulsomely. 'I hope your journey was

pleasant?'

'Not too bad, thanks,' says the man, in an American accent.

'As you can see, this is very much a normal working day…'

'Hey look,' murmurs Katie. 'Kenny's stuck outside the doors.'

Kenny Davey, one of the designers, is hovering uncertainly on the steps outside in his jeans

and baseball boots, not knowing whether to come in or not. He puts a hand to the door, then

retreats a little, then comes up to the door again and peers uncertainly inside.

'Come in, Kenny!' says Cyril, opening the door with a rather savage smile. 'One of our

designers, Kenny Davey. You should have been here ten minutes ago, Kenny. Still, never

mind!' He pushes a bewildered Kenny towards the lifts, then glances up and shoos us away in

irritation.

'Come on,' says Katie, 'we'd better go.' And, trying not to giggle, the three of us hurry up the

stairs.

The atmosphere in the marketing department is a bit like my bedroom used to be before we

had parties in the sixth form. People are brushing their hair, spraying perfume, shuffling

papers around and gossiping excitedly. As I walk past the office of Neil Gregg, who is in

charge of media strategy, I see him carefully lining up his Marketing Effectiveness awards on

his desk, while Fiona his assistant is polishing the framed photographs of him shaking hands

with famous people.

I'm just hanging up my coat on the rack when the head of our department, Paul, pulls me aside.

'What the fuck happened at Glen Oil? I had a very strange email from Doug Hamilton this

morning. You poured a drink over him?'

I stare at him in shock. Doug Hamilton told Paul? But he promised he wouldn't!

'It wasn't like that,' I say quickly. 'I was just trying to demonstrate the many fine qualities of

Panther Prime and I… I kind of spilled it.' Paul raises his eyebrows, not in a friendly way.

'All right. It was a lot to ask of you.'

'It wasn't,' I say quickly. 'I mean, it would have been fine, if… what I mean is, if you give me

another chance, I'll do better. I promise.'

'We'll see.' He looks at his watch. 'You'd better get on. Your desk is a fucking mess.'

'OK. Um, what time will my appraisal be?'

'Emma, in case you hadn't heard, Jack Harper's visiting us today,' says Paul, in his most

sarcastic voice. 'But of course, if you think your appraisal's more important than the guy who

founded the company-'

'I didn't mean… I just…'

'Go and tidy your desk,' says Paul in a bored voice. 'And if you spill fucking Panther Prime

over Harper, you're fired.'

As I scuttle to my desk, Cyril comes into the room, looking hassled.

'Attention!' he says, clapping his hands. 'Attention everyone! This is an informal visit, nothing

more. Mr Harper will come in, perhaps talk to one or two of you, observe what you do. So I

want you all just to act normally, but obviously, at your highest standards… What are these

papers?' he suddenly snaps, looking at a neat pile of proofs in the corner next to Fergus

Grady's desk.

'That's the… um… artwork for the new Panther Gum campaign,' says Fergus, who is very

shy and creative. 'I haven't quite got room on my desk.'

'Well, they can't stay here!' Cyril picks them up and shoves them at him. 'Get rid of them.

Now, if he asks any of you a question, just be pleasant and natural. When he arrives, I want

you all at work. Just doing typical tasks which you would naturally be doing in the course of a

normal day.' He looks around distractedly. 'Some of you could be on the phone, some could

be typing at your computers… a couple of you could be creatively brainstorming…

Remember, this department is the hub of the company. The Panther Corporation is renowned

for its marketing brilliance!'

He stops and we all stare dumbly at him.

'Get on!' He claps his hands again. 'Don't just stand there. You!' He points to me. 'Come on.

Move!'

Oh, God. My desk is completely covered with stuff. I open a drawer and sweep a whole load

of papers inside, then in slight panic, begin to tidy the pens in my stationery pot. At the next

desk, Artemis Harrison is redoing her lipstick.

'It'll be really inspirational to meet him,' she says, admiring herself in her hand mirror. 'You

know, a lot of people think he single-handedly changed the face of marketing practice.' Her

eyes fall on me. 'Is that a new top, Emma? Where's it from?'

'Er, French Connection,' I say after a pause.

'I was in French Connection at the weekend.' Her eyes are narrowing. 'I didn't see that design.'

'Well, they'd probably sold out.' I turn away and pretend to be reorganizing my top drawer.

'What do we call him?' Caroline is saying. 'Mr Harper or Jack?'

'Five minutes alone with him,' Nick, one of the marketing executives, is saying feverishly into

his phone. 'That's all I need. Five minutes to pitch him the website idea. I mean, Jesus, if he

went for it-'

God, the air of excitement is infectious. With a spurt of adrenalin, I find myself reaching for