Can You Keep A Secret?

We all stare at him a bit blankly. Until this moment, Paul has always referred to this as the

Corporate Fuckwit Day and said he'd rather have his balls torn off than bring any member of

his family to it.

'Anyway, back to work, everyone! Jack, let me get you a chair.'

'Just ignore me,' says Jack Harper pleasantly, as he sits down in the corner. 'Behave normally.'

Behave normally. Right. Of course.

So that would be sit down, take my shoes off, check my emails, put some hand cream on, eat

a few Smarties, read my horoscope on iVillage, read Connor's horoscope, write 'Emma

Corrigan, Managing Director' several times in swirly letters on my notepad, add a border of

flowers, send an email to Connor, wait a few minutes to see if he replies, take a swig of

mineral water and then finally get round to finding the Tesco leaflet for Artemis.

I don't think so.

As I sit back down at my desk, my mind is working quickly. Create your own chances. Carve

out your own opportunities. That's what Paul said.

And what is this if not an opportunity?

Jack Harper himself is sitting here, watching me work. The great Jack Harper. Boss of the

entire corporation. Surely I can impress him somehow?

OK, perhaps I haven't got off to the most brilliant start with him. But maybe this is my chance

to redeem myself! If I can just somehow show that I'm really bright and motivated…

As I sit, leafing through the file of promotional literature, I'm aware that I'm holding my head

slightly higher than usual, as though I'm in a posture class. And as I glance around the office,

everyone else seems to be in a posture class, too. Before Jack Harper arrived, Artemis was on

the phone to her mum, but now she's put on her horn-rimmed glasses and is typing briskly,

occasionally pausing to smile at what she's written in a 'what a genius I am' way. Nick was

reading the sports section of the Telegraph, but now I can see him studying some documents

with graphs in them, with a deep frown.

'Emma?' says Artemis in a falsely sweet voice. 'Have you found that leaflet I was asking you

for? Not that there's any hurry-'

'Yes, I have!' I say. I push back my chair, stand up, and walk over to her desk. I'm trying to

look as natural as possible. But God, this is like being on telly or something. My legs aren't

working properly and my smile is pasted onto my face and I have a horrible conviction I

might suddenly shout 'Pants!' or something.

'Here you are, Artemis,' I say, and carefully lay the leaflet on her desk.

'Bless you!' says Artemis. Her eyes meet mine brightly and I realize she's acting, too. She puts

her hand on mine, and gives me a twinkly smile. 'I don't know what we'd do without you,

Emma!'

'That's quite all right!' I say, matching her tone. 'Any time!'

Shit, I think as I walk back to my desk. I should have said something cleverer. I should have

said, 'Teamwork is what keeps this operation together.'

OK, never mind. I can still impress him.

Trying to act as normally as possible I open a document and start to type as quickly and

efficiently as I can, my back ramrod straight. I've never known the office this quiet.

Everyone's tapping away, no-one's chatting. It's like being in an exam. My foot's itching, but I

don't dare scratch it.

How on earth do people do those fly-on-the-wall documentaries? I feel completely exhausted,

and it's only been about five minutes.

'It's very quiet in here,' says Jack Harper, sounding puzzled. 'Is it normally this quiet?'

'Er…' We all look around uncertainly at each other.

'Please, don't mind me. Talk away like you normally would. You must have office

discussions.' He gives a friendly smile. 'When I worked in an office, we talked about

everything under the sun. Politics, books… For instance, what have you all been reading

recently?'

'Actually, I've been reading the new biography of Mao Tse Tung,' says Artemis at once.

'Fascinating stuff.'

'I'm in the middle of a history of fourteenth-century Europe,' says Nick.

'I'm just re-reading Proust,' says Caroline, with a modest shrug. 'In the original French.'

'Ah.' Jack Harper nods, his face unreadable. 'And… Emma, is it? What are you reading?'

'Um, actually…' I swallow, playing for time.

I cannot say Celebrity Doodles — What Do They Mean? Even though it is actually very good.

Quick. What's a serious book?

'You were reading Great Expectations, weren't you, Emma?' says Artemis. 'For your book

club.'

'Yes!' I say in relief. 'Yes, that's right-'

And then I stop abruptly as I meet Jack Harper's gaze.

Fuck.

Inside my head, my own voice from the plane is babbling away innocently.

'… just skimmed the back cover and pretended I'd read it …'

'Great Expectations,' says Jack Harper thoughtfully. 'What did you think of it, Emma?'

I don't believe he asked me that.

For a few moments I can't speak.

'Well!' I clear my throat at last. 'I thought it… it was really… extremely…'

'It's a wonderful book,' says Artemis earnestly. 'Once you fully understand the symbolism.'

Shut up, you stupid show-off. Oh God. What am I going to say?

'I thought it really… resonated,' I say at last.

'What resonated?' says Nick.

'The… um…' I clear my throat. 'The resonances.'

There's a puzzled silence.

'The resonances… resonated?' says Artemis.

'Yes,' I say defiantly. 'They did. Anyway, I've got to get on with my work.' I turn away with a

roll of my eyes and start typing feverishly.

OK. So the book discussion didn't go that well. But that was just sheer bad luck. Think

positive. I can still do this. I can still impress him-

'I just don't know what's wrong with it!' Artemis is saying in a girly voice. 'I water it every

day.'

She pokes her spider plant and gazes at Jack Harper winsomely. 'Do you know anything about

plants, Jack?'

'I don't, I'm afraid,' says Jack, and looks over at me, his face deadpan. 'What do you think

could be wrong with it, Emma?'

'… sometimes, when I'm pissed off with Artemis …'

'I… I have no idea,' I say at last, and carry on typing, my face flaming.

OK. Never mind. It doesn't matter. So I watered one little plant with orange juice. So what?

'Has anyone seen my World Cup mug?' says Paul, walking into the office with a frown. 'I

can't seem to find it anywhere.'

'… I broke my boss's mug last week and hid the pieces in my handbag …'

Shit.