'Well, surprise, surprise, let me just faint with shock,' says Jemima tartly. 'I could have told you that was going to happen. I did tell you! Never tell a man all about yourself, it's bound to lead to trouble. Did I not warn you?'
'You said she wouldn't get a rock on her finger!' exclaims Lissy. 'You didn't say, he will pitch up on television, telling the nation all her private secrets. You know, Jemima, you could be a bit more sympathetic.'
'No, Lissy, she's right,' I say miserably. 'She was completely right all along. If I'd just kept my stupid mouth shut, then none of this would have happened.' I reach for the schnapps bottle and morosely pour myself another glass. 'Relationships are a battle. They are a chess game. And what did I do? I just threw all my chess pieces down on the board at once, and said, "Here! Have them all!"' I take a gulp of my drink. 'The truth is, men and women should tell each other nothing. Nothing.'
'I couldn't agree more,' says Jemima. 'I'm planning to tell my future husband as little as possible—' She breaks off as the cordless phone in her hand gives a shrill ring.
'Hi!' she says, switching it on. 'Camilla? Oh. Er … OK. Just hang on a moment.'
She puts her hand over the receiver and looks at me, wide-eyed. 'It's Jack!' she mouths.
I stare back in utter shock.
Somehow I'd almost forgotten Jack existed in real life. All I can see is that face on the television screen, smiling and nodding and slowly leading me to my humiliation.
'Tell him Emma doesn't want to speak to him!' hisses Lissy.
'No! She should speak to him,' hisses back Jemima. 'Otherwise he'll think he's won.'
'But surely—'
'Give it to me!' I say, and grab the phone out of Jemima's hand, my heart thumping. 'Hi,' I say, in as curt a tone as I can muster.
'Emma, it's me,' comes Jack's familiar voice, and with no warning, I feel a rush of emotion which almost overwhelms me. I want to cry. I want to hit him, hurt him …
But somehow, I keep control of myself.
'I never want to speak to you again,' I say. I switch off the phone, breathing rather hard.
'Well done!' says Lissy.
An instant later the phone rings again.
'Please, Emma,' says Jack, 'just listen for a moment. I know you must be very upset. But if you just give me a second to explain—'
'Didn't you hear me?' I exclaim, my face flushing. 'You used me and you humiliated me and I never want to speak to you again, or see you, or hear you or … or …'
'Taste you,' hisses Jemima, nodding urgently.
'… or touch you again. Never ever. Ever.' I switch off the phone, march inside and yank the line out of the wall. Then, with trembling hands, I get my mobile out of my bag and, just as it begins to ring, switch it off.
As I emerge on the balcony again, I'm still half shaking with shock. I can't quite believe it's all ended like this. In one day, my entire perfect romance has crumbled into nothing.
'Are you OK?' says Lissy anxiously.
'I'm fine. I think.' I sink onto a chair. 'A bit shaky.'
'Now, Emma,' says Jemima, examining one of her cuticles. 'I don't want to rush you. But you know what you have to do, don't you?'
'What?'
'You have to get your revenge!' She looks up and fixes me with a determined gaze. 'You have to make him pay.'
'Oh no.' Lissy pulls a face. 'Isn't revenge really undignified? Isn't it better just to walk away?'
'What good is walking away?' retorts Jemima. 'Will walking away teach him a lesson? Will walking away make him wish he'd never crossed you?'
'Emma and I have always agreed we'd rather keep the moral high ground,' says Lissy determinedly. '"Living well is the best revenge." George Herbert.'
Jemima stares at her blankly for a few seconds.
'So anyway,' she says at last, turning back to me. 'I'd be delighted to help. Revenge is actually quite a speciality of mine, though I say it myself …'
I avoid Lissy's eyes.
'What did you have in mind?'
'Scrape his car, shred his suits, sew fish inside his curtains and wait for them to rot …' Jemima reels off instantly, as though reciting poetry.
'Did you learn that at finishing school?' says Lissy, rolling her eyes.
'I'm being a feminist, actually,' retorts Jemima. 'We women have to stand up for our rights. You know, before she married my father, Mummy went out with this scientist chap who practically jilted her. He changed his mind three weeks before the wedding, can you believe it? So one night she crept into his lab and pulled out all the plugs of his stupid machines. His whole research was ruined! She always says, that taught Emerson!'
'Emerson?' says Lissy, staring at her in disbelief. 'As in … Emerson Davies?'
'That's right! Davies.'
'Emerson Davies who nearly discovered a cure for smallpox?'
'Well, he shouldn't have messed Mummy about, should he?' says Jemima, lifting her chin mutinously. She turns to me. 'Another of Mummy's tips is chilli oil. You somehow arrange to have sex with the chap again, and then you say. "How about a little massage oil?" And you rub it into his … you know.' Her eyes sparkle. 'That'll hurt him where it counts!'
'Your mother told you this?' says Lissy.
'Yes,' says Jemima. 'It was rather sweet, actually. On my eighteenth birthday she sat me down and said we should have a little chat about men and women—'
Lissy is staring at her incredulously.
'In which she instructed you to rub chilli oil into men's genitals?'
'Only if they treat you badly,' says Jemima in annoyance. 'What is your problem, Lissy? Do you think you should just let men walk all over you and get away with it? Great blow for feminism.'
'I'm not saying that,' says Lissy. 'I just wouldn't get my revenge with … chilli oil!'
'Well, what would you do then, clever clogs?' says Jemima, putting her hands on her hips.