For the next few minutes we're too busy serving Pimm's to talk. Then the queue melts away,
and we're left on our own again.
Connor isn't even looking at me, and he's clanking glasses around so ferociously I'm afraid he
might break one. Why is he in such a bad mood?
'Connor, look, I'm sorry I'm late.'
'That's all right,' he says stiffly, and starts chopping a bundle of mint as though he wants to
kill it. 'So, did you have a nice time the other evening?'
That's what this is all about.
'Yes, I did, thanks,' I say after a pause.
'With your new mystery man.'
'Yes,' I say, and surreptitiously scan the crowded lawn, searching for Jack.
'It's someone at work, isn't it?' Connor suddenly says, and my stomach gives a small plunge.
'Why do you say that?' I say lightly.
'That's why you won't tell me who it is.'
'It's not that! It's just… look, Connor, can't you just respect my privacy?'
'I think I have a right to know who I've been dumped for.' He shoots me a reproachful look.
'No you don't!' I retort, then realize that sounds a bit mean. 'I just don't think it's very helpful
to discuss it.'
'Well, I'll work it out.' His jaw sets grimly. 'It won't take me long.'
'Connor, please. I really don't think-'
'Emma, I'm not stupid.' He gives me an appraising look. 'I know you a lot better than you
think I do.'
I feel a flicker of uncertainty. Maybe I've und,erestimated Connor all this time. Maybe he
does know me. Oh God. What if he guesses?
I start to slice up a lemon, constantly scanning the crowd. Where is Jack, anyway?
'I've got it,' says Connor suddenly, and I look up to see him staring at me triumphantly. 'It's
Paul, isn't it?'
'What?' I gape back at him, wanting to laugh. 'No, it's not Paul! Why on earth should you
think it was Paul?'
'You keep looking at him.' He gestures to where Paul is standing nearby, moodily swigging a
bottle of beer. 'Every two minutes!'
'I'm not looking at him,' I say hurriedly. 'I'm just looking at… I'm just taking in the
atmosphere.'
'So why is he hanging around here?'
'He's not! Honestly, Connor, take it from me, I'm not going out with Paul.'
'You think I'm a fool, don't you?' says Connor with a flash of anger.
'I don't think you're a fool! I just… I think this is a pointless exercise. You're never going
to-'
'Is it Nick?' His eyes narrow. 'You and he have always had a bit of a spark going.'
'No!' I say impatiently. 'It's not Nick.'
Honestly. Clandestine affairs are hard enough as it is, without your ex-boyfriend subjecting
you to the third degree. I should never have agreed to do this stupid Pimm's stall.
'Oh my God,' Connor says in a lowered voice. 'Look.'
I look up, and my stomach gives an enormous lurch. Jack is walking over the grass towards us,
dressed as a cowboy, with leather chaps and a checked shirt and a proper cowboy hat.
He looks so completely and utterly sexy, I feel quite faint.
'He's coming this way!' hisses Connor. 'Quick! Tidy up that lemon peel. Hello, sir,' he says in
a louder voice. 'Would you like a glass of Pimm's?'
'Thank you very much, Connor,' says Jack with a smile. Then he looks at me. 'Hello, Emma.
Enjoying the day?'
'Hello,' I say, my voice about six notches higher than usual. 'Yes, it's… lovely!' With
trembling hands I pour out a glass of Pimm's and give it to him.
'Emma! You forgot the mint!' says Connor.
'It doesn't matter about the mint,' says Jack, his eyes fixed on mine.
'You can have some mint if you want it,' I say, gazing back.
'It looks fine just the way it is.' His eyes give a tiny flash, and he takes a deep gulp of Pimm's.
This is so unreal. We can't keep our eyes off each other. Surely it's completely obvious to
everyone else what's going on? Surely Connor must realize? Quickly I look away and pretend
to be busying myself with the ice.
'So, Emma,' says Jack casually. 'Just to talk work briefly. That extra typing assignment I asked
you about. The Leopold file.'
'Er yes?' I say, flusteredly dropping an ice-cube onto the counter.
'Perhaps we could have a quick word about it before I go?' He meets my eyes. 'I have a suite
of rooms up at the house.'
'Right,' I say, my heart pounding. 'OK.'
'Say… one o'clock?'
'One o'clock it is.'
He saunters off, holding his glass of Pimm's, and I stand staring after him, dripping an icecube
onto the grass.
A suite of rooms. That can only mean one thing.
Jack and I are going to have sex.
And suddenly, with no warning, I feel really, really nervous.
'I've been so stupid!' exclaims Connor, abruptly putting down his knife. 'I've been so
He turns to face me, his eyes burning blue. 'Emma, I know who your new man is.'
I feel a huge spasm of fear.
'No you don't,' I say quickly. 'Connor, you don't know who it is. Actually, it's not anyone from
work. I just made that up. It's this guy who lives over in west London, you've never met him,
his name is… um… Gary, he works as a postman.'
'Don't lie to me! I know exactly who it is.' He folds his arms and gives me a long, penetrating
look. 'It's Tristan from Design, isn't it?'
As soon as our stint on the stall is up, I escape from Connor and go and sit under a tree with a
glass of Pimm's, glancing at my watch every two minutes. I can't quite believe how nervous I
am about this. Maybe Jack knows loads of tricks. Maybe he'll expect me to be really
sophisticated. Maybe he'll expect all kinds of amazing manoeuvres that I've never even heard
of.
I mean… I don't think I'm
You know. Generally speaking. All things considered.
But what sort of standard are we talking about here? I feel like I've been competing in tiny
little local shows and suddenly I'm taking on the Olympics. Jack Harper is an international
multimillionaire. He must have dated models and… and gymnasts… women with enormous
perky breasts… kinky stuff involving muscles I don't even think I
How am I ever going to match up? How? I'm starting to feel sick. This was a bad, bad idea.
I'm never going to be as good as the president of Origin Software, am I? I can just imagine her,
with her long legs and $400 underwear and honed, tanned body… maybe a whip in her hand
… maybe her bisexual glamour model friend at the ready to spice things up…
