Can You Keep a Secret?
Page 20
Oh, God. My desk is completely covered with stuff. I open a drawer and sweep a whole load of papers inside, then in slight panic, begin to tidy the pens in my stationery pot. At the next desk, Artemis Harrison is redoing her lipstick.
'It'll be really inspirational to meet him,' she says, admiring herself in her hand mirror. 'You know, a lot of people think he single-handedly changed the face of marketing practice.' Her eyes fall on me. 'Is that a new top, Emma? Where's it from?'
'Er, French Connection,' I say after a pause.
'I was in French Connection at the weekend.' Her eyes are narrowing. 'I didn't see that design.'
'Well, they'd probably sold out.' I turn away and pretend to be reorganizing my top drawer.
'What do we call him?' Caroline is saying. 'Mr Harper or Jack?'
'Five minutes alone with him,' Nick, one of the marketing executives, is saying feverishly into his phone. 'That's all I need. Five minutes to pitch him the website idea. I mean, Jesus, if he went for it—'
God, the air of excitement is infectious. With a spurt of adrenalin, I find myself reaching for my comb and checking my lip-gloss. I mean, you never know. Maybe he'll somehow spot my potential. Maybe he'll pull me out of the crowd!
'OK, folks,' says Paul, striding into the department. 'He's on this floor. He's going into Admin first …'
'On with your everyday tasks!' exclaims Cyril. 'Now!'
Fuck. What's my everyday task?
I pick up my phone and press my voice-mail code. I can be listening to my messages.
I look around the department — and see that everyone else has done the same thing.
We can't all be on the phone. This is so stupid! OK, I'll just switch on my computer and wait for it to warm up.
As I watch the screen changing colour, Artemis starts talking in a loud voice.
'I think the whole essence of the concept is vitality,' she says, her eye constantly flicking towards the door. 'D'you see what I mean?'
'Er, yes,' says Nick. 'I mean, in a modern marketing environment, I think we need to be looking at a … um … fusion of strategy and forward-thinking vision …'
God, my computer's slow today. Jack Harper will arrive and I'll still be staring at it like a moron.
I know what I'll do. I'll be the person getting a coffee. I mean, what could be more natural than that?
'I think I'll get a coffee,' I say self-consciously, and get up from my seat.
'Could you get me one?' says Artemis, looking up briefly. 'So anyway, on my MBA course …'
The coffee machine is near the entrance to the department, in its own little alcove. As I'm waiting for the noxious liquid to fill my cup, I glance up, and see Graham Hillingdon walking out of the admin department, followed by a couple of others. Shit! He's coming!
OK. Keep cool. Just wait for the second cup to fill, nice and natural …
And there he is! With his blond hair and his expensive-looking suit, and his dark glasses. But to my slight surprise, he steps back, out of the way.
In fact, no-one's even looking at him. Everyone's attention is focused on some other guy. A guy in jeans and a black turtleneck who's walking out now.
As I stare in fascination, he turns. And as I see his face I feel an almighty thud, as though a bowling ball's landed hard in my chest.
Oh my God.
It's him.
The same dark eyes. The same lines etched around them. The stubble's gone, but it's definitely him.
It's the man from the plane.
What's he doing here?
And why is everyone's attention on him? He's speaking now, and they're lapping up every word he says.
He turns again, and I instinctively duck back out of sight, trying to keep calm. What's he doing here? He can't—
That can't be—
That can't possibly be—
With wobbly legs, I walk back to my desk, trying not to drop the coffee on the floor.
'Hey,' I say to Artemis, my voice pitched slightly too high. 'Erm … do you know what Jack Harper looks like?'
'No,' she says, and takes her coffee. 'Thanks.'
'Dark hair,' says someone.
'Dark?' I swallow. 'Not blond?'
'He's coming this way!' hisses someone. 'He's coming!'
With weak legs I sink into my chair and sip my coffee, not tasting it.
'… our head of marketing and promotion, Paul Fletcher,' I can hear Graham saying.
'Good to meet you, Paul,' comes the same dry, American voice.
It's him. It's definitely him.
OK, keep calm. Maybe he won't remember me. It was one short flight. He probably takes a lot of flights.
'Everyone.' Paul is leading him into the centre of the office. 'I'm delighted to introduce our founding father, the man who has influenced and inspired a generation of marketeers — Jack Harper!'
A round of applause breaks out, and Jack Harper shakes his head, smiling. 'Please,' he says. 'No fuss. Just do what you would normally do.'
'It'll be really inspirational to meet him,' she says, admiring herself in her hand mirror. 'You know, a lot of people think he single-handedly changed the face of marketing practice.' Her eyes fall on me. 'Is that a new top, Emma? Where's it from?'
'Er, French Connection,' I say after a pause.
'I was in French Connection at the weekend.' Her eyes are narrowing. 'I didn't see that design.'
'Well, they'd probably sold out.' I turn away and pretend to be reorganizing my top drawer.
'What do we call him?' Caroline is saying. 'Mr Harper or Jack?'
'Five minutes alone with him,' Nick, one of the marketing executives, is saying feverishly into his phone. 'That's all I need. Five minutes to pitch him the website idea. I mean, Jesus, if he went for it—'
God, the air of excitement is infectious. With a spurt of adrenalin, I find myself reaching for my comb and checking my lip-gloss. I mean, you never know. Maybe he'll somehow spot my potential. Maybe he'll pull me out of the crowd!
'OK, folks,' says Paul, striding into the department. 'He's on this floor. He's going into Admin first …'
'On with your everyday tasks!' exclaims Cyril. 'Now!'
Fuck. What's my everyday task?
I pick up my phone and press my voice-mail code. I can be listening to my messages.
I look around the department — and see that everyone else has done the same thing.
We can't all be on the phone. This is so stupid! OK, I'll just switch on my computer and wait for it to warm up.
As I watch the screen changing colour, Artemis starts talking in a loud voice.
'I think the whole essence of the concept is vitality,' she says, her eye constantly flicking towards the door. 'D'you see what I mean?'
'Er, yes,' says Nick. 'I mean, in a modern marketing environment, I think we need to be looking at a … um … fusion of strategy and forward-thinking vision …'
God, my computer's slow today. Jack Harper will arrive and I'll still be staring at it like a moron.
I know what I'll do. I'll be the person getting a coffee. I mean, what could be more natural than that?
'I think I'll get a coffee,' I say self-consciously, and get up from my seat.
'Could you get me one?' says Artemis, looking up briefly. 'So anyway, on my MBA course …'
The coffee machine is near the entrance to the department, in its own little alcove. As I'm waiting for the noxious liquid to fill my cup, I glance up, and see Graham Hillingdon walking out of the admin department, followed by a couple of others. Shit! He's coming!
OK. Keep cool. Just wait for the second cup to fill, nice and natural …
And there he is! With his blond hair and his expensive-looking suit, and his dark glasses. But to my slight surprise, he steps back, out of the way.
In fact, no-one's even looking at him. Everyone's attention is focused on some other guy. A guy in jeans and a black turtleneck who's walking out now.
As I stare in fascination, he turns. And as I see his face I feel an almighty thud, as though a bowling ball's landed hard in my chest.
Oh my God.
It's him.
The same dark eyes. The same lines etched around them. The stubble's gone, but it's definitely him.
It's the man from the plane.
What's he doing here?
And why is everyone's attention on him? He's speaking now, and they're lapping up every word he says.
He turns again, and I instinctively duck back out of sight, trying to keep calm. What's he doing here? He can't—
That can't be—
That can't possibly be—
With wobbly legs, I walk back to my desk, trying not to drop the coffee on the floor.
'Hey,' I say to Artemis, my voice pitched slightly too high. 'Erm … do you know what Jack Harper looks like?'
'No,' she says, and takes her coffee. 'Thanks.'
'Dark hair,' says someone.
'Dark?' I swallow. 'Not blond?'
'He's coming this way!' hisses someone. 'He's coming!'
With weak legs I sink into my chair and sip my coffee, not tasting it.
'… our head of marketing and promotion, Paul Fletcher,' I can hear Graham saying.
'Good to meet you, Paul,' comes the same dry, American voice.
It's him. It's definitely him.
OK, keep calm. Maybe he won't remember me. It was one short flight. He probably takes a lot of flights.
'Everyone.' Paul is leading him into the centre of the office. 'I'm delighted to introduce our founding father, the man who has influenced and inspired a generation of marketeers — Jack Harper!'
A round of applause breaks out, and Jack Harper shakes his head, smiling. 'Please,' he says. 'No fuss. Just do what you would normally do.'
