SIXTEEN

We'll take it from there. That could mean…

Or it could mean…

Oh God. Every time I think about it, my stomach gives an excited little fizz. I can't

concentrate at work. I can't think about anything else.

The Corporate Family Day is a company event, I keep reminding myself. Not a date. It'll be a

strictly work occasion, and there probably won't be any opportunity at all for Jack and me to

do more than say hello in a formal, boss-employee manner. Possibly shake hands. Nothing

more.

But… you never know what might happen next.

We'll take it from there.

Oh God. Oh God.

On Saturday morning I get up extra early, exfoliate all over, Immac under my arms, rub in my

most expensive body cream and paint my toenails.

Just because it's always a good thing to be well groomed. No other reason.

I choose my Gossard lacy bra and matching knickers, and my most flattering bias cut summer

dress.

Then, with a slight blush, I pop some condoms into my bag. Simply because it's always good

to be prepared. This is a lesson I learned when I was eleven years old at Brownies, and it's

always stayed with me. OK, maybe Brown Owl was talking about spare hankies and sewing

kits rather than condoms, but the principle is the same, surely?

I look in the mirror, give my lips a final coat of gloss and spray Allure all over me. OK.

Ready for sex.

I mean, for Jack.

I mean… Oh God. Whatever.

The family day is happening at Panther House, which is the Panther Corporation's country

house in Hertfordshire. They use it for training and conferences and creative brainstorming

days, none of which I ever get invited to. So I've never been here before, and as I get out of

the taxi, I have to admit I'm pretty impressed. It's a really nice big old mansion, with lots of

windows and pillars at the front. Probably dating from the… older period.

'Fabulous Georgian architecture,' says someone as they crunch past on the gravel drive.

Georgian. That's what I meant.

I follow the sounds of music and walk round the house to find the event in full swing on the

vast lawn. Brightly coloured bunting is festooning the back of the house, tents are dotting the

grass, a band is playing on a little bandstand and children are shrieking on a bouncy castle.

'Emma!' I look up to see Cyril advancing towards me, dressed as a joker with a red and yellow

pointy hat. 'Where's your costume?'

'Costume!' I try to look surprised. 'Gosh! Um… I didn't realize we had to have one.'

This is not entirely true. Yesterday evening at about five o'clock, Cyril sent round an urgent

email to everyone in the company, reading: A REMINDER: AT THE CFD, COSTUMES ARE

But honestly. How are you supposed to produce a costume with five minutes' warning? And

no way was I going to come here today in some hideous nylon outfit from the party shop.

Plus let's face it, what can they do about it now?

'Sorry,' I say vaguely, looking around for Jack. 'Still, never mind…'

'You people! It was on the memo, it was in the newsletter…' He takes hold of my shoulder as

I try to walk away. 'Well, you'll have to take one of the spare ones.'

'What?' I look at him blankly. 'What spare ones?'

'I had a feeling this might happen,' says Cyril with a slight note of triumph, 'so I made

advance provisions.'

A cold feeling starts to creep over me. He can't mean-

He can't possibly mean-

'We've got plenty to choose from,' he's saying.

No. No way. I have to escape. Now.

I give a desperate wriggle, but his hand is like a clamp on my shoulder. He chivvies me into a

tent, where two middle-aged ladies are standing beside a rack of… oh my God. The most

revolting, lurid man-made-fibre costumes I've ever seen. Worse than the party shop. Where

did he get these from?

'No,' I say in panic. 'Really. I'd rather stay as I am.'

'Everybody has to wear a costume,' says Cyril firmly. 'It was in the memo!'

'But… but this is a costume!' I quickly gesture to my dress. 'I forgot to say. It's um… a

twenties summer garden-party costume, very authentic…'

'Emma, this is a fun day,' snaps Cyril. 'And part of that fun derives from seeing our fellow

employees and family in amusing outfits. Which reminds me, where is your family?'

'Oh.' I pull the regretful face I've been practising all week. 'They… actually, they couldn't

make it.'

Which could be because I didn't tell them anything about it.

'You did tell them about it?' He eyes me suspiciously. 'You sent them the leaflet?'

'Yes!' I cross my fingers behind my back. 'Of course I told them. They would have loved to be

here!'

'Well. You'll have to mingle with other families and colleagues. Here we are. Snow White.'

He shoves a horrendous nylon dress with puffy sleeves towards me.

'I don't want to be Snow White-' I begin, then break off as I see Moira from Accounts

miserably being pushed into a big shaggy gorilla costume. 'OK.' I grab the dress. 'I'll be Snow

White.'

I almost want to cry. My beautiful flattering dress is lying in a calico bag, ready for collection

at the end of the day. And I am wearing an outfit which makes me look like a six-year-old. A

six-year-old with zero taste and colour-blindness.

As I emerge disconsolately from the tent, the band is briskly playing the 'Oom-pa-pa' song

from Oliver, and someone is making an incomprehensible, crackly announcement over the

loudspeaker. I look around, squinting against the sun, trying to work out who everyone is

behind their disguises. I spot Paul walking along on the grass, dressed as a pirate, with three

small children hanging off his legs.

'Uncle Paul! Uncle Paul!' one is shrieking. 'Do your scary face again!'

'I want a lolly!' yells another. 'Uncle Paul, I want a lolleeee!'

'Hi, Paul,' I say miserably. 'Are you having a good time?'

'Whoever invented Corporate Family Days should be shot,' he says without a flicker of

humour. 'Get the hell off my foot!' he snaps at one of the children, and they all shriek with

delighted laughter.

'Mummy, I don't need to spend a penny,' mutters Artemis, as she walks by dressed as a

mermaid, in the company of a commanding woman in a huge hat.

'Artemis, there's no need to be so touchy!' booms the woman.

This is so weird. People with their families are completely different. Thank God mine aren't

here.

I wonder where Jack is. Maybe he's in the house. Maybe I should-

'Emma!' I look up, and see Katie heading towards me. She's dressed in a totally bizarre carrot

costume, holding the arm of an elderly man with grey hair. Who must be her father, I suppose.

Which is a bit weird, because I thought she said she was coming with-

'Emma, this is Phillip!' she says radiantly. 'Phillip, meet my friend Emma. She's the one who

brought us together!'

Wh— what?

No. I don't believe it.

This is her new man? This is Phillip? But he has to be at least seventy!

In a total blur, I shake his hand, which is dry and papery, just like Grandpa's, and manage to

make a bit of small talk about the weather. But all the time, I'm in total shock.

Don't get me wrong. I am not ageist. I am not anything-ist. I think people are all the same,

whether they're black or white, male or female, young or-

But he's an old man! He's old!

'Isn't he lovely?' says Katie fondly, as he goes off to get some drinks. 'He's so thoughtful.

Nothing's too much trouble. I've never been out with a man like him before!'

'I can believe that,' I say, my voice a little strangled. 'What exactly is the age gap between you

two?'

'I'm not sure,' says Katie in surprise. 'I've never asked. Why?'

Her face is shiny and happy and totally oblivious. Has she not noticed how old he is?

'No reason!' I clear my throat. 'So… er… remind me. Where exactly did you meet Phillip

again?'

'You know, silly!' says Katie, mock-chidingly. 'You suggested I should try somewhere

different for lunch, remember? Well, I found this really unusual place, tucked away in a little

street. In fact, I really recommend it.'

'Is it… a restaurant? A cafe?'

'Not exactly,' she says thoughtfully. 'I've never been anywhere like it before. You go in and

someone gives you a tray, and you collect your lunch and then eat it, sitting at all these tables.

And it only costs two pounds! And afterwards they have free entertainment! Like sometimes

it's bingo or whist… sometimes it's a singsong round the piano. One time they had this

brilliant tea dance! I've made loads of new friends.'

I stare at her for a few silent seconds.

'Katie,' I say at last. 'This place. It couldn't possibly be — a day care centre for the elderly?'

'Oh!' she says, looking taken aback. 'Erm…'

'Try and think. Is everyone who goes there on the… old side?'

'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.'

'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 Connor, abruptly putting down his knife. 'I've been so blind.'

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. 'Connor, you don't know who it is. Actually, it's not anyone from

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 Connor and go and sit under a tree with a

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, tanned body… maybe a whip in her hand

… 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

cannot sit down and have a family picnic when Jack is waiting to have sex with me. I have to

do something, quick. Think.

'Um, the thing is,' I say in sudden inspiration, 'the thing is, actually, I won't be able to stay.

We've all got duties to do.'

'Don't tell me they can't give you half an hour off,' says Dad.

'Emma's the linchpin of the whole organization!' says Kerry with a sarky giggle. 'Can't you

tell?'

'Emma!' Cyril is approaching the picnic rug. 'Your family came after all! And in costume.

Jolly good!' He beams around, his joker's hat tinkling in the breeze. 'Now make sure you all

buy a raffle ticket…'

'Oh, we will,' says Mum. 'And we were wondering…' She smiles at him. 'Could Emma

possibly have some time off her duties to have a picnic with us?'

'Absolutely!' says Cyril. 'You've done your stint on the Pimm's stall, haven't you, Emma? You

can relax now.'

'Lovely!' says Mum. 'Isn't that good news, Emma?'

'That's great!' I manage at last with a fixed smile.

I have no choice. I have no way out of this. With stiff knees I sink down onto the rug and

accept a glass of wine.

'So, is Connor here?' asks Mum, decanting chicken drumsticks onto a plate.

'Ssh! Don't Mention Connor!' says Dad in his Basil Fawlty voice.

'I thought you were supposed to be moving in with him,' says Kerry, taking a swig of

champagne. 'What happened there?'

'She made him breakfast,' quips Nev, and Kerry giggles.

I try to smile, but my face won't quite do it. It's ten past one. Jack will be waiting. What can I

do?

As Dad passes me a plate, I see Sven passing by.

'Sven,' I say quickly. 'Um, Mr Harper was kindly asking earlier on about my family. And

whether they were here or not. Could you possibly tell him that they've… they've

unexpectedly turned up?' I look up at him desperately and his face flickers in comprehension.

'I'll pass on the message,' he says.

And that's the end of that.

SEVENTEEN

I once read an article called 'Make Things Go Your Way' which said if a day doesn't turn out

as you intended, you should go back, charting the differences between your Goals and your

Results, and this will help you learn from your mistakes.

OK. Let's just chart exactly how much this day has diverged from the original plan I had this

morning.

Goal: Look like sexy and sophisticated woman in beautiful, flattering dress.

Result: Look like Heidi/Munchkin extra in lurid puffy nylon sleeves.

Goal: Make secret assignation with Jack.

Result: Make secret assignation with Jack then fail to turn up.

Goal: Have fantastic sex with Jack in romantic location.

Result: Have peanut-barbecued chicken drumstick on picnic rug.

Overall Goal: Euphoria.

Overall Result: Complete misery.

All I can do is stare dumbly down at my plate, telling myself this can't last for ever. Dad and

Nev have made about a million jokes about Don't Mention Connor. Kerry has shown me her

new Swiss watch which cost ?4,000 and boasted about how her company is expanding yet

again. And now she's telling us how she played golf with the chief executive of British

Airways last week and he tried to head-hunt her.

'They all try it on,' she says, taking a huge bite of chicken drumstick. 'But I say to them, if I

needed a job…' She tails off. 'Did you want something?'

'Hi there,' comes a dry, familiar voice from above my head.

Very slowly I raise my head, blinking in the light.

It's Jack. Standing there against the blue sky in his cowboy outfit. He gives me a tiny, almost

imperceptible smile, and I feel my heart lift. He's come to get me. I should have known he

would.

'Hi!' I say, half-dazedly. 'Everyone, this is-'

'My name's Jack,' he cuts across me pleasantly. 'I'm a friend of Emma's. Emma…' He looks at

me, his face deliberately blank. 'I'm afraid you're needed.'

'Oh dear!' I say with a whoosh of relief. 'Oh well, never mind, these things happen.'

'That's a shame!' says Mum. 'Can't you at least stay for a quick drink? Jack, you're welcome to

join us, have a chicken drumstick or some quiche.'

'We have to go,' I say hurriedly. 'Don't we, Jack?'

'I'm afraid we do,' he says, and holds out a hand to pull me up.

'Sorry, everyone,' I say.

'We don't mind!' says Kerry with the same sarky laugh. 'I'm sure you've some vital job to do,

Emma. In fact, I expect the whole event would collapse without you!'

Jack stops. Very slowly, he turns round.

'Let me guess,' he says pleasantly. 'You must be Kerry.'

'Yes!' she says in surprise. 'That's right.'

'And Mum… Dad…' He surveys the faces. 'And you have to be… Nev?'

'Spot on!' says Nev with a chortle.

'Very good!' says Mum with a laugh. 'Emma must have told you a bit about us.'

'Oh… she has,' agrees Jack, looking around the picnic rug again with a kind of odd

fascination on his face. 'You know, there might be time for that drink after all.'

What? What did he say?

'Good,' says Mum. 'It's always nice to meet friends of Emma's!'

I watch in total disbelief as Jack settles comfortably down on the rug. He was supposed to be

rescuing me from all this. Not joining in. Slowly I sink down beside him.

'So, you work for this company, Jack?' says Dad, pouring him a glass of wine.

'In a way,' says Jack after a pause. 'You could say… I used to.'

'Are you between jobs?' says Mum tactfully.

'You could put it like that, I guess.' His face crinkles in a little smile'.

'Oh dear!' says Mum sympathetically. 'What a shame. Still, I'm sure something will come up.'

Oh God. She has absolutely no idea who he is. None of my family has any idea who Jack is.

I'm really not at all sure I like this.

'I saw Danny Nussbaum the other day in the post office, Emma,' adds Mum, briskly slicing

some tomatoes. 'He asked after you.'

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Jack's eyes brightening.

'Gosh!' I say, my cheeks growing hot. 'Danny Nussbaum! I haven't thought about him for

ages.'

'Danny and Emma used to step out together,' Mum explains to Jack with a fond smile. 'Such a

nice boy. Very bookish. He and Emma used to study together in her bedroom, all afternoon.'

I cannot look at Jack. I cannot.

'You know… Ben Hur's a fine film,' Jack suddenly says in thoughtful tones. 'A very fine

film.' He smiles at Mum. 'Don't you think?'

I am going to kill him.

'Er… yes!' says Mum, a bit confused. 'Yes, I've always liked Ben Hur.' She cuts Jack a huge

chunk of quiche and adds a slice of tomato. 'So, Jack,' she says sympathetically as she hands

him a paper plate. 'Are you getting by financially?'

'I'm doing OK,' Jack replies gravely.

Mum looks at him for a moment. Then she rummages in the picnic basket and produces

another Sainsbury's quiche, still in its box.

'Take this,' she says, pressing it on him. 'And some tomatoes. They'll tide you over.'

'Oh no,' says Jack at once. 'Really, I couldn't-'

'I won't take no for an answer. I insist!'

'Well, that's truly kind.' Jack gives her a warm smile.