Can You Keep A Secret?

'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,' Co

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 Co

a louder voice. 'Would you like a glass of Pimm's?'

'Thank you very much, Co

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 Co

'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 Co

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 Co

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. 'Co

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 Co

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 bad at sex.

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 possess.

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, ta

… maybe her bisexual glamour model friend at the ready to spice things up…

OK, just stop. This is getting ridiculous. I'll be fine. I'm sure I'll be fine. It'll be like doing a

ballet exam — once you get into it, you forget to be nervous. My old ballet teacher always used

to say to us, 'As long as you keep your legs nicely turned out and a smile on your face, you'll

do splendidly.'

Which I guess kind of applies here, too.

I glance at my watch and feel a fresh spasm of fright. It's one o'clock. On the dot.

Time to go and have sex. I stand up, and do a few surreptitious limbering-up exercises, just in

case. Then I take a deep breath and, with a thumping heart, begin to walk towards the house.

I've just reached the edge of the lawn when a shrill voice hits my ears.

'There she is! Emma! Cooee!'

That sounded just like my mum. Weird. I stop briefly, and turn round, but I can't see anyone.

It must be a hallucination. It must be subconscious guilt trying to throw me, or something.

'Emma, turn round! Over here!'

Hang on. That sounded like Kerry.

I peer bewilderedly at the crowded scene, my eyes squinting in the sunshine. I can't see

anything. I'm looking all around, but I can't see-

And then suddenly, like a Magic Eye, they spring into view. Kerry, Nev, and my mum and

dad. Walking towards me. All in costume. Mum is wearing a Japanese kimono and holding a

picnic basket. Dad is dressed as Robin Hood and holding two fold-up chairs. Nev is in a

Superman costume and holding a bottle of wine. And Kerry is wearing an entire Marilyn

Monroe outfit, including platinum blond wig and high-heeled shoes, and complacently

soaking up the stares.

What's going on?

What are they doing here?

I didn't tell them about the Corporate Family Day. I know I didn't. I'm positive I didn't.

'Hi, Emma!' says Kerry as she gets near. 'Like the outfit?' She gives a little shimmy and pats

her blond wig.

'Who are you supposed to be, darling?' says Mum, looking in puzzlement at my nylon dress.

'Is it Heidi?'

'I…' I rub my face. 'Mum… What are you doing here? I never — I mean, I forgot to tell you.'

'I know you did,' says Kerry. 'But your friend Artemis told me all about it the other day, when

I phoned.'

I stare at her, unable to speak.

I will kill Artemis. I will murder her.

'So what time's the fancy dress contest?' says Kerry, winking at two teenage boys who are

gawping at her. 'We haven't missed it, have we?'

'There… there isn't a contest,' I say, finding my voice.

'Really?' Kerry looks put out.

I don't believe her. This is why she's come here, isn't it? To win a stupid competition.

'You came all this way just for a fancy dress contest?' I can't resist saying.

'Of course not!' Kerry quickly regains her usual scornful expression. 'Nev and I are taking

your mum and dad to Hanwood Manor. It's near here. So we thought we'd drop in.'

I feel a sparkle of relief. Thank God. We can have a little chat, then they can be on their way.

'We've brought a picnic,' says Mum. 'Now, let's find a nice spot.'

'Do you think you've got time for a picnic?' I say, trying to sound casual. 'You might get

caught in traffic. In fact, maybe you should head off now, just to be on the safe side…'

'The table's not booked until seven!' says Kerry, giving me an odd look. 'How about under that

tree?'

I watch dumbly as Mum shakes out a plaid picnic rug, and Dad sets up the two chairs. I

ca

do something, quick. Think.