TWELVE

I have never seen Jemima look quite so appalled.

'He knows all your secrets?' She's looking at me as though I've just proudly informed her I'm

going out with a mass-murderer. 'What on earth do you mean?'

'I sat next to him on a plane, and I told him everything about myself.'

I frown at my reflection in the mirror and tweak out another eyebrow hair. It's seven o'clock,

I've had my bath, I've blow-dried my hair and now I'm on my makeup.

'And now he's asked her out,' says Lissy, hugging her knees. 'Isn't it romantic?'

'You are joking, aren't you?' says Jemima, looking aghast. 'Tell me this is a joke.'

'Of course I'm not joking! What's the problem?'

'You're going out with a man who knows everything about you.'

'Yes.'

'And you're asking me what's the problem?' Her voice rises incredulously. 'Are you crazy?'

'Of course I'm not crazy!'

'I knew you fancied him,' says Lissy for about the millionth time. 'I knew it. Right from the

moment you started talking about him.' She looks at my reflection. 'I'd leave that right

eyebrow alone now.'

'Really?' I peer at my face.

'Emma, you don't tell men all about yourself! You have to keep something back! Mummy

always told me, you should never let a man see your feelings or the contents of your handbag.'

'Well, too late,' I say, slightly defiantly. 'He's seen it all.'

'Then it's never going to work,' says Jemima. 'He'll never respect you.'

'Yes he will.'

'Emma,' says Jemima, almost pityingly. 'Don't you understand? You've already lost.'

'I haven't lost!'

Sometimes I think Jemima sees men not as people, but as alien robots, who must be

conquered by any means possible.

'You're not being very helpful, Jemima,' puts in Lissy. 'Come on. You've been on loads of

dates with rich businessmen. You must have some good advice!'

'All right.' Jemima sighs, and puts her bag down. 'It's a hopeless cause, but I'll do my best.'

She starts ticking off on her fingers. 'The first thing is to look as well groomed as possible.'

'Why do you think I'm plucking my eyebrows?' I say with a grimace.

'Fine. OK, the next thing is, you can show an interest in his hobbies. What does he like?'

'Dunno. Cars, I think. He has all these vintage cars on his ranch, apparently.'

'Well then!' Jemima brightens. 'That's good. Pretend you like cars, suggest visiting a car show.

You could flick through a car magazine on the way there.'

'I can't,' I say, taking a glug from my pre-date relaxer glass of Harvey's Bristol Cream. 'I told

him on the plane that I hate vintage cars.'

'You did what?' Jemima looks as if she wants to hit me. 'You told the man you're dating that

you hate his favourite hobby?'

'I didn't know I would be going on a date with him then, did I?' I say defensively, reaching for

my foundation. 'And anyway, it's the truth. I hate vintage cars. The people in them always

look so smug and pleased with themselves.'

'What's the truth got to do with anything?' Jemima's voice rises in agitation. 'Emma, I'm sorry,

I can't help you. This is a disaster. You're completely vulnerable. It's like going into battle in a

nightie.'

'Jemima, this is not a battle,' I retort, rolling my eyes. 'And it's not a chess game. It's dinner

with a nice man!'

'You're so cynical, Jemima,' chimes in Lissy. 'I think it's really romantic! They're going to

have the perfect date, because there won't be any of that awkwardness. He knows what Emma

likes. He knows what she's interested in. They're obviously already completely compatible.'

'Well, I wash my hands of it,' says Jemima, still shaking her head. 'What are you going to

wear?' Her eyes narrow. 'Where's your outfit?'

'My black dress,' I say innocently. 'And my strappy sandals.' I gesture to the back of the door,

where my black dress is hanging up.

Jemima's eyes narrow even further. She would have made a really good SS officer, I often

think.

'You're not going to borrow anything of mine.'

'No!' I say indignantly. 'Honestly Jemima, I do have my own clothes, you know.'

'Fine. Well. Have a good time.'

Lissy and I wait until her footsteps have tapped down the corridor and the front door has

slammed.

'Right!' I say excitedly, but Lissy lifts a hand.

'Wait.'

We both sit completely still for a couple of minutes. Then we hear the sound of the front door

being opened very quietly.

'She's trying to catch us out,' hisses Lissy. 'Hi!' she says, raising her voice. 'Is anyone there?'

'Oh hi,' says Jemima, appearing at the door of the room. 'I forgot my lip-gloss.' Her eyes do a

quick sweep of the room.

'I don't think you'll find it in here,' says Lissy innocently.

'No. Well.' Her eyes travel suspiciously round the room again. 'OK. Have a nice evening.'

Again her footsteps tap down the corridor, and again the front door slams.

'Right!' says Lissy. 'Let's go.'

We unpeel the Sellotape from Jemima's door, and Lissy makes a little mark where it was.

'Wait!' she says, as I'm about to push the door open. 'There's another one at the bottom.'

'You should have been a spy,' I say, watching her carefully peel it off.

'OK,' she says, her brow furrowed in concentration. 'There have to be some more booby traps.'

'There's Sellotape on the wardrobe, too,' I say. 'And… Oh my God!' I point up. A glass of

water is balanced on top of the wardrobe, ready to drench us if we open the door.

'That cow!' says Lissy as I reach up for it. 'You know, I had to spend all evening fielding calls

for her the other night, and she wasn't even grateful.'

She waits until I've put the water down safely, then reaches for the door. 'Ready?'

'Ready.'

Lissy takes a deep breath, then opens the wardrobe door. Immediately, a loud, piercing siren

begins to wail. 'Wee-oo wee-oo wee-oo…'

'Shit!' she says, banging the door shut. 'Shit! How did she do that?'

'It's still going!' I say agitatedly. 'Make it stop. Make it stop!'

'I don't know how to! You probably need a special code!'

We're both jabbing frantically at the wardrobe, patting it, searching for an off-switch.

'I can't see a button, or a switch or anything…'

Abruptly the noise stops, and we stare at each other, panting slightly.

'Actually,' says Lissy after a long pause. 'Actually, I think that might have been a car alarm

outside.'

'Oh,' I say. 'Oh right. Yes, maybe it was.'

Looking a bit sheepish, Lissy reaches for the door again, and this time it's silent. 'OK,' she

says. 'Here goes.'

'Wow,' we breathe as one as she swings the door open.

Jemima's wardrobe is like a treasure chest. It's like a Christmas stocking. It's new, shiny,

gorgeous clothes, one after another, all neatly folded and hung on scented hangers, like in a

shop. All the shoes in shoe-boxes with Polaroids on the front. All the belts hanging neatly

from hooks. All the bags are neatly lined up on a shelf. It's a while since I borrowed anything

from Jemima, and every single item seems to have changed since then.

'She must spend about an hour a day keeping this tidy,' I say with a slight sigh, thinking of the

jumble of my own wardrobe.

'She does,' says Lissy. 'I've seen her.'

Mind you, Lissy's wardrobe is even worse. It consists of a chair in her room, on which

everything is heaped in a great big pile. She says putting stuff away makes her brain ache, and

as long as it's clean, what does it matter?

'So!' says Lissy with a grin, and reaches for a white sparkly dress. 'What look would Madam

like this evening?'

I don't wear the white sparkly dress. But I do try it on. In fact, we both try on quite a lot of

stuff, and then have to put it all back, very carefully. At one point another car alarm goes off

outside, and we both jump in terror, then immediately pretend we weren't fazed.

In the end, I go for this amazing new red top of Jemima's with slashed shoulders, over my

own black DKNY chiffon trousers (?25 from the Notting Hill Housing Trust shop) and

Jemima's silver high heels from Prada. And then, although I wasn't intending to, at the last

minute I grab a little black Gucci bag.

'You look amazing!' says Lissy as I do a twirl. 'Completely fab!'

'Do I look too smart?'

'Of course not! Come on, you're going out to dinner with a multimillionaire.'

'Don't say that!' I exclaim, feeling nerves clutch my stomach. I look at my watch. It's almost

eight o'clock.

Oh God. Now I really am starting to feel nervous. In the fun of getting ready, I'd almost

forgotten what it was all for.

Keep calm, I tell myself. It's just dinner. That's all it is. Nothing special. Nothing out of the-'

'Fuck!' Lissy's looking out of the window in the sitting room. 'Fuck! There's a great big car

outside!'

'What? Where?' I hurry to join her, my heart galloping. As I follow her gaze, I almost can't

breathe.

An enormous posh car is waiting outside our house. I mean, enormous. It's silver and shiny,

and looks incredibly conspicuous in our tiny little street. In fact I can see some people looking

curiously out of the house opposite.

And all at once I'm really scared. What am I doing? This is a world I know nothing about.

When we were sitting on those plane seats, Jack and I were just two people on an equal level.

But look at us now. Look at the world he lives in — and look at the world I live in.

'Lissy,' I say in a tiny voice. 'I don't want to go.'

'Yes you do!' says Lissy — but I can see, she's just as freaked out as me.

The buzzer goes, and we jump.

I feel like I might throw up.

OK. OK. Here I go.

'Hi,' I say into the intercom. 'I'll… I'll be right down.' I put the phone down and look at Lissy.

'Well,' I say in a trembling voice. 'This is it!'

'Emma.' Lissy grabs my hands. 'Before you go. Don't take any notice of what Jemima said.

Just have a lovely time.' She hugs me tightly. 'Call me if you get a chance.'

'I will.'

I take one last look at myself in the mirror, then open the door and make my way down the

stairs.

I open the door, and Jack's standing there, wearing a jacket and tie. He smiles at me, and all

my fears fly away like butterflies. Jemima's wrong. This isn't me against him. This is me with

him.

'Hi,' he says, smiling warmly. 'You look very nice.'

'Thanks.'

I reach for the door handle, but a man in a peaked cap rushes forward to open it for me.

'Silly me!' I say nervously.

I can't quite believe I'm getting into this car. Me. Emma Corrigan. I feel like a princess. I feel

like a movie star.

I sit down on the plushy seat, trying not to think how different this is from any car I've ever

been in, ever.

'Are you OK?' says Jack.

'Yes! I'm fine!' My voice is a nervous squeak.

'Emma,' says Jack. 'We're going to have fun. I promise. Did you have your pre-date sweet

sherry?'

How did he know-

Oh yes. I told him on the plane.

'Yes, I did actually,' I admit.

'Would you like some more?' He opens the bar and I see a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream

sitting on a silver platter.

'Did you get that especially for me?' I say in disbelief.

'No, it's my favourite tipple.' His expression is so deadpan, I can't help laughing. 'I'll join you,'

he says, as he hands me a glass. 'I've never tasted this before.' He pours himself a deep

measure, takes a sip, and splutters. 'Are you serious?'

'It's yummy! It tastes like Christmas!'

'It tastes like…' He shakes his head. 'I don't even want to tell you what it tastes like. I'll stick

to whisky if you don't mind.'

'OK,' I say with a shrug. 'But you're missing out.' I take another sip and grin happily at him.

I'm completely relaxed already.

This is going to be the perfect date.

THIRTEEN

We arrive at a restaurant in Mayfair which I've never been to before. In fact I'm not even sure

I've been to Mayfair before. It's so completely posh, why ever would I?

'It's a kind of private place,' Jack murmurs as we walk through a pillared courtyard. 'Not many

people know about it.'

'Mr Harper. Miss Corrigan,' says a man in a Nehru suit, appearing out of nowhere. 'Please

come this way.'

Wow! They know my name!

We glide past more pillars into an ornate room in which about three other couples are seated.

There's a couple to our right, and as we walk past, a middle-aged woman with platinum hair

and a gold jacket catches my eye.

'Well, hello!' she says. 'Rachel!'

'What?' I look around, bewildered. Is she looking at me?

She gets up from her seat and, lurching slightly, comes and gives me a kiss. 'How are you,

darling? We haven't seen you for ages!'

OK, you can smell the alcohol from five yards away. And as I glance over at her dinner

partner, he looks just as bad.

'I think you've made a mistake,' I say politely. 'I'm not Rachel.'

'Oh!' The woman stares at me for a moment. Then she glances at Jack and her face snaps in

understanding. 'Oh! Oh, I see. Of course you're not.' She gives me a little wink.

'No!' I say in horror. 'You don't understand. I'm really not Rachel. I'm Emma.'

'Emma. Of course!' She nods conspiratorially. 'Well, have a wonderful dinner! And call me

some time.'

As she stumbles back to her chair, Jack gives me a quizzical look.

'Is there something you want to tell me?'

'Yes,' I say. 'That woman is extremely drunk.' As I meet his gaze, I can't help giving a tiny

giggle, and his mouth twitches.

'So, shall we sit down? Or do you have any more long-lost friends you'd like to greet?'

I look around the room consideringly.

'No, I think that's probably it.'

'If you're sure. Take your time. You're sure that elderly gentleman over there isn't your

grandfather?'

'I don't think so…'

'Also, you should know that pseudonyms are fine by me,' Jack adds. 'I myself often go by the

name of Egbert.'

I give a snort of laughter and hastily stifle it. This is a posh restaurant. People are already

looking at us.

We're shown to a table in the corner, by the fire. A waiter helps me into my chair and fluffs a

napkin over my knee, while another pours out some water, and yet another offers me a bread

roll. Exactly the same is happening on Jack's side of the table. We have six people dancing

attendance on us! I want to catch Jack's eye and laugh, but he looks unconcerned, as if this is

perfectly normal.

Perhaps it is normal for him, it strikes me. Oh God. Perhaps he has a butler who makes him

tea and irons his newspaper every day.

But what if he does? I mustn't let any of this faze me.

'So,' I say, as all the waiting staff melt away. 'What shall we have to drink?' I've already eyed

up the drink which that woman in gold has got. It's pink and has slices of watermelon

decorating the glass, and looks absolutely delicious.

'Already taken care of,' says Jack with a smile, as one of the waiters brings over a bottle of

champagne, pops it open and starts pouring. 'I remember you telling me on the plane, your