'What relevance does that have?' says Paul with a frown.
'I just thought I could …' I swallow. 'I could maybe ask him what he thinks …'
'With all due respect, Emma,' says Connor, with a smile which verges on patronizing, 'your grandfather is hardly in our target demographic!'
'Unless he started very young,' quips Artemis.
I flush, feeling stupid, and pretend to be reorganizing the teabags.
To be honest, I feel a bit hurt. Why did Connor have to say that? I know he wants to be all professional and proper when we're at work. But that's not the same as being mean, is it? I'd always stick up for him.
'My own view,' Artemis is saying, 'is that if the Panther Bar isn't performing, we should axe it. It's quite obviously a problem child.'
I look up in slight dismay. They can't axe the Panther Bar! What will Grandpa take to his bowling tournaments?
'Surely a fully cost-based, customer-oriented re-branding—' begins somebody.
'I disagree.' Artemis leans forward. 'If we're going to maximise our concept innovation in a functional and logistical way, then surely we need to focus on our strategic competencies—'
'Excuse me,' says Jack Harper, lifting a hand. It's the first time he's spoken, and everyone turns to look. There's a prickle of anticipation in the air, and Artemis glows smugly. 'Yes, Mr Harper?' she says.
'I have no idea what you're talking about,' he says.
The whole room reverberates in shock, and I give a snort of laughter without quite meaning to.
'As you know, I've been out of the business arena for a while.' He smiles. 'Could you please translate what you just said into standard English?'
'Oh,' says Artemis, looking discomfited. 'Well, I was simply saying, that from a strategic point of view, notwithstanding our corporate vision …' she tails off at his expression.
'Try again,' he says kindly. 'Without using the word strategic.'
'Oh,' says Artemis again, and rubs her nose. 'Well, I was just saying that … we should … concentrate on … on what we do well.'
'Ah!' Jack Harper's eyes gleam. 'Now I understand. Please, carry on.'
He glances at me, rolls his eyes and grins, and I can't help giving a tiny grin back.
After the meeting, people trickle out of the room, still talking, and I go round the table, picking up coffee cups.
'It was very good to meet you, Mr Harper,' I can hear Connor saying eagerly. 'If you'd like a transcript of my presentation …'
'You know, I don't think that will be necessary,' Jack says in that dry, quizzical voice. 'I think I more or less got the gist.'
Oh God. Doesn't Connor realize he's trying too hard?
I balance all the cups in precarious piles on the trolley, then start collecting up the biscuit wrappers.
'Now, I'm due in the design studio right about now,' Jack Harper's saying, 'but I don't quite remember where it is …'
'Emma!' says Paul sharply. 'Can you please show Jack to the design studio? You can clear up the rest of the coffee later.'
I freeze, clutching an orange cream wrapper.
Please, no more.
'Of course,' I manage at last. 'It would be a … pleasure. This way.'
Awkwardly, I usher Jack Harper out of the meeting room and we begin to walk down the corridor, side by side. My face is tingling slightly as people try not to stare at us, and I'm aware of everyone else in the corridor turning into self-conscious robots as soon as they see him. People in adjacent offices are nudging each other excitedly, and I hear at least one person hissing 'He's coming!'
Is it like this everywhere Jack Harper goes?
'So,' he says conversationally after a while. 'You're moving in with Ken.'
'It's Connor,' I say. 'And yes.'
'Looking forward to it?'
'Yes. Yes, lam.'
We've reached the lifts and I press the button. I can feel his quizzical eyes on me. I can feel them.
'What?' I say defensively, turning to look at him.
'Did I say anything?' He raises his eyebrows. As I see the expression on his face I feel stung. What does he know about it?
'I know what you're thinking,' I say, lifting my chin defiantly. 'But you're quite wrong.'
'I'm wrong?'
'Yes! You're … misapprehended.'
'Misapprehended?'
He looks as if he wants to laugh, and a small voice inside my head is telling me to stop. But I can't. I have to explain to him how it is.
'Look. I know I might have made certain … comments to you on the plane,' I begin, clenching my fists tightly at my side. 'But what you have to know is that that conversation took place under duress, in extreme circumstances, and I said a lot of things I didn't really mean. A lot of things, actually!'
There! That tells him.
'I see,' says Jack thoughtfully. 'So … you don't like double chocolate chip Häagen-Dazs ice-cream.'
I gaze at him, discomfited.