'Gosh,' she says slowly, and screws up her brow. 'Now you mention it, I suppose everyone is kind of quite … mature. But honestly Emma, you should come along.' Her face brightens. 'We have a real laugh!'
'You're still going there?' I stare at her.
'I go every day,' she says in surprise. I'm on the social committee.'
'Hello again!' says Phillip cheerily, reappearing with three glasses. He beams at Katie and gives her a kiss on the cheek, and she beams back. And suddenly I feel quite heart-warmed. OK, it's weird. But they do seem to make a really sweet couple.
'The man behind the stall seemed rather stressed out, poor chap,' says Phillip, as I take my first delicious sip of Pimm's, closing my eyes to savour it.
Mmm. There is absolutely nothing nicer on a summer's day than a nice cold glass of—
Hang on a minute. My eyes open. Pimm's.
Shit. I promised to do the Pimm's stall with Connor, didn't I? I glance at my watch and realize I'm already ten minutes late. Oh, bloody hell. No wonder he's stressed out.
I hastily apologize to Phillip and Katie, then hurry as fast as I can to the stall, which is in the corner of the garden. There I find Connor manfully coping with a huge queue all on his own. He's dressed as Henry VIII, with puffy sleeves and breeches, and has a huge red beard stuck to his face. He must be absolutely boiling.
'Sorry,' I mutter, sliding in beside him. 'I had to get into my costume. What do I have to do?'
'Pour out glasses of Pimm's,' says Connor curtly. 'One pound fifty each. Do you think you can manage?'
'Yes!' I say, a bit nettled. 'Of course I can manage!'
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.'