Can You Keep a Secret?

'It was Jemima who called that guy, not me!' I cry desperately, running after him. 'I was trying to stop her … Jack, you know me! You know I would never do this to you. Yes, I told Jemima about you being in Scotland. I was hurt, and I was angry, and it … came out. And that was a mistake. But … but you made a mistake too, and I forgave you.'

He's not even looking at me. He's not even giving me a chance. His silver car pulls up at the pavement, and he opens the passenger door.

I feel a stab of panic.

'Jack, this wasn't me,' I say frantically. 'It wasn't. You have to believe me. That's not why I asked about Scotland! I didn't want to … to sell your secret!' Tears are streaming down my face, and I brush them away roughly. 'I didn't even want to know such a big secret. I just wanted to know your little secrets! Your little stupid secrets! I just wanted to know you … like you know me.'

But he doesn't look round. The car door closes with a heavy clunk, and the car moves away down the road. And I'm left on the pavement, all alone.

TWENTY-SIX

For a while I can't move. I stand there, dazed, with the breeze blowing on my face, staring at the point at the end of the road where Jack's car disappeared. I can still hear his voice in my mind. I can still see his face. The way he looked at me as though he didn't know me, after all.

A spasm of pain runs through my body and I close my eyes, almost unable to bear it. If I could just turn back time … if I'd been more forceful … if I'd marched Jemima and her friend off the premises … if I'd spoken up more quickly when Jack appeared …

But I didn't. And it's too late.

A group of party guests comes out of the courtyard onto the pavement, laughing and discussing taxis.

'Are you all right?' says one curiously to me, and I give a start.

'Yes,' I say. 'Thanks.' I look one more time at where Jack's car disappeared, then force myself to turn around and make my way slowly back up to the party.

I find Lissy and Jemima still in the little office, Jemima cowering in terror as Lissy lays into her.

'… selfish immature little bitch! You make me sick, you know that?'

I once heard someone say Lissy was a Rottweiler in court, and I could never understand it. But now, as I watch her striding up and down, her eyes blazing in fury, I'm actually pretty scared myself.

'Emma, make her stop!' pleads Jemima. 'Make her stop shouting at me.'

'So … what happened?' Lissy looks at me, her face alight with hope. Mutely, I shake my head.

'Is he—'

'He's gone.' I swallow. 'I don't really want to talk about it.'

'Oh, Emma.' She bites her lip.

'Don't,' I say in a wobbly voice. 'I'll cry.' I lean against the wall and take a couple of deep breaths, trying to get back to normal. 'Where's her friend?' I say at last, and jerk my thumb at Jemima.

'He got thrown out,' says Lissy with satisfaction. 'He was trying to take a picture of Justice Hugh Morris in his tights, and a bunch of lawyers surrounded him and bundled him out.'

'Jemima, listen to me.' I force myself to meet her unrepentant blue gaze. 'You cannot let him find out any more. You cannot.'

'It's OK,' she says sulkily. 'I've already spoken to him. Lissy made me. He won't pursue it.'

'How do you know?'

'He won't do anything that would piss Mummy off. He has a pretty lucrative arrangement with her.'

I shoot Lissy a 'can we trust her?' look, and she gives a doubtful shrug.

'Jemima, this is a warning.' I walk to the door, then turn round with a stern face. 'If anything of this gets out — anything at all — I will make it public that you snore.'

'I don't snore!' says Jemima tartly.

'Yes you do,' says Lissy. 'When you've had too much to drink you snore really loudly. And we'll tell everyone you got your Donna Karan coat from a discount warehouse shop.'

Jemima gasps in horror.

'I didn't!' she says, colour suffusing her cheeks.

'You did. I saw the carrier bag,' I chime in. 'And we'll make it public that you once asked for a serviette, not a napkin.'

Jemima claps a hand over her mouth.

'… and your pearls are cultured, not real …'

'… and you never really cook the food at your dinner parties …'

'… and that photo of you meeting Prince William is faked …'

'… and we'll tell every single man you ever date from now on that all you're after is a rock on your finger!' I finish, and glance gratefully at Lissy.

'OK!' says Jemima, practically in tears. 'OK! I promise I'll forget all about it. I promise. Just please don't mention the discount warehouse shop. Please. Can I go now?' She looks imploringly at Lissy.

'Yes, you can go,' says Lissy contemptuously, and Jemima scuttles out of the room. As the door closes, I stare at Lissy.

'Is that photo of Jemima and Prince William really faked?' ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">