Can You Keep A Secret?

'I'm glad to hear it,' says Jack, looking amused.

God, why does Connor have to be such a goody-goody?

The lift pings, and I feel relief drain over me. Thank God, at last I can escape-

'Looks like we're all going to the same place,' says Jack Harper with a grin. 'Connor, why

don't you lead the way?'

I can't cope with this. I just can't cope. As I pour out cups of tea and coffee for members of the

marketing department, I'm outwardly calm, smiling at everyone and even chatting pleasantly.

But inside I'm all unsettled and confused. I don't want to admit it to myself, but seeing Connor

through Jack Harper's eyes has thrown me.

I love Connor, I tell myself over and over. I didn't mean any of what I said on the plane. I love

him. I run my eyes over his face, trying to reassure myself. There's no doubt about it. Connor

is good-looking by any standards. He glows with good health. His hair is shiny and his eyes

are blue and he's got a gorgeous dimple when he smiles.

Jack Harper, on the other hand, looks kind of weary and dishevelled. He's got shadows under

his eyes and his hair is all over the place. And there's a hole in his jeans.

But even so. It's as if he's some kind of magnet. I'm sitting here, my attention firmly on the tea

trolley, and yet somehow I can't keep my eyes off him.

It's because of the plane, I keep telling myself. It's just because we were in a traumatic

situation together; that's why. No other reason.

'We need more lateral thinking, people,' Paul is saying. The Panther Bar is simply not

performing as it should. Connor, you have the latest research statistics?'

Connor stands up, and I feel a flip of apprehension on his behalf. I can tell he's really nervous

from the way he keeps fiddling with his cuffs.

'That's right, Paul.' He picks up a clipboard and clears his throat. 'In our latest survey, 1,000

teenagers were questioned on aspects of the Panther Bar. Unfortunately, the results were

inconclusive.'

He presses his remote control. A graph appears on the screen behind him, and we all stare at it

obediently.

'Seventy-four per cent of 10-14-year-olds felt the texture could be more chewy,' says Connor

earnestly. 'However, 67 per cent of 15-18-year-olds felt the texture could be more crunchy,

while 22 per cent felt it could be less crunchy…'

I glance over Artemis's shoulder and see she's written 'Chewy/crunchy??' on her notepad.

Connor presses the remote control again, and another graph appears.

'Now, 46 per cent of 10-14-year-olds felt the flavour was too tangy. However, 33 per cent of

15-18-year-olds felt it was not tangy enough, while…'

Oh God. I know it's Connor. And I love him and everything. But can't he make this sound a

bit more interesting?

I glance over to see how Jack Harper is taking it and he raises his eyebrows at me.

Immediately I flush, feeling disloyal.

He'll think I was laughing at Connor. Which I wasn't. I wasn't.

'And 90 per cent of female teenagers would prefer the calorie content to be reduced,' Connor

concludes. 'But the same proportion would also like to see a thicker chocolate coating.' He

gives a helpless shrug.

'They don't know what the hell they want,' says someone.

'We polled a broad cross-section of teenagers,' says Connor, 'including Caucasians, Afro-

Caribbeans, Asians, and… er…' he peers at the paper. 'Jedi knights.'

'Teenagers!' says Artemis, rolling her eyes.

'Briefly remind us of our target market, Connor,' says Paul with a frown.

'Our target market…' Connor consults another clipboard, 'is aged 10— 18, in full or part time

education. He/she drinks Panther Cola four times a week, eats burgers three times a week,

visits the cinema twice a week, reads magazines and comics but not books, is most likely to

agree with the lifestyle statement 'It's more important to be cool than rich'…' he looks up.

'Shall I go on?'

'Does he/she eat toast for breakfast?' says somebody thoughtfully. 'Or cereal?'

'I… I'm not sure,' says Connor, riffling quickly through his pages. 'We could do some more

research…'

'I think we get the picture,' says Paul. 'Does anyone have any thoughts on this?'

All this time, I've been plucking up courage to speak, and now I take a deep breath.

'You know, my grandpa really likes Panther Bars!' I say. Everyone swivels in their chairs to

look at me, and I feel my face grow hot.

'What relevance does that have?' says Paul with a frown.

'I just thought I could…' I swallow. 'I could maybe ask him what he thinks…'

'With all due respect, Emma,' says Connor, with a smile which verges on patronizing, 'your

grandfather is hardly in our target demographic!'

'Unless he started very young,' quips Artemis.

I flush, feeling stupid, and pretend to be reorganizing the teabags.

To be honest, I feel a bit hurt. Why did Connor have to say that? I know he wants to be all

professional and proper when we're at work. But that's not the same as being mean, is it? I'd

always stick up for him.

'My own view,' Artemis is saying, 'is that if the Panther Bar isn't performing, we should axe it.

It's quite obviously a problem child.'

I look up in slight dismay. They can't axe the Panther Bar! What will Grandpa take to his

bowling tournaments?

'Surely a fully cost-based, customer-oriented re-branding-' begins somebody.

'I disagree.' Artemis leans forward. 'If we're going to maximise our concept innovation in a

functional and logistical way, then surely we need to focus on our strategic competencies-'

'Excuse me,' says Jack Harper, lifting a hand. It's the first time he's spoken, and everyone

turns to look. There's a prickle of anticipation in the air, and Artemis glows smugly. 'Yes, Mr

Harper?' she says.

'I have no idea what you're talking about,' he says.

The whole room reverberates in shock, and I give a snort of laughter without quite meaning to.

'As you know, I've been out of the business arena for a while.' He smiles. 'Could you please

translate what you just said into standard English?'

'Oh,' says Artemis, looking discomfited. 'Well, I was simply saying, that from a strategic point

of view, notwithstanding our corporate vision…' she tails off at his expression.

'Try again,' he says kindly. 'Without using the word strategic.'

'Oh,' says Artemis again, and rubs her nose. 'Well, I was just saying that… we should…

concentrate on… on what we do well.'

'Ah!' Jack Harper's eyes gleam. 'Now I understand. Please, carry on.'

He glances at me, rolls his eyes and grins, and I can't help giving a tiny grin back.

After the meeting, people trickle out of the room, still talking, and I go round the table,

picking up coffee cups.

'It was very good to meet you, Mr Harper,' I can hear Connor saying eagerly. 'If you'd like a

transcript of my presentation…'

'You know, I don't think that will be necessary,' Jack says in that dry, quizzical voice. 'I think

I more or less got the gist.'

Oh God. Doesn't Connor realize he's trying too hard?

I balance all the cups in precarious piles on the trolley, then start collecting up the biscuit

wrappers.