'Connor, I never ever faked an orgasm with you,' I say, lowering my voice. 'Hand on heart. I

never did.'

'Well… OK.' He rubs his nose awkwardly. 'But did you fake anything else?'

I look at him uncertainly. 'I'm not sure I know what you-'

'Were there any -' he clears his throat

'— any particular techniques I used which you only pretended to enjoy?'.

Oh God. Please don't ask me that question.

'You know, I really… can't remember!' I hedge. 'Actually, I ought to be going…'

'Emma, tell me!' he says, with sudden passion. 'I'm starting a new relationship. It's only fair

that I should be able to… to learn from past mistakes.'

I gaze back at his shiny face and suddenly feel a huge pang of guilt. He's right. I should be

honest. I should finally be honest with him.

'OK,' I say at last, and move closer to him. 'You remember that one thing you used to do with

your tongue?' I lower my voice still further. 'That… slidey thing? Well, sometimes that kind

of made me want to… laugh. So if I had one tip with your new girlfriend, it would be don't

do…'

I tail off at his expression.

Fuck. He's already done.it.

'Francesca said…' Connor says in a voice as stiff as a board. 'Francesca told me that really

turned her on.'

'Well, I'm sure it did!' I backtrack madly. 'Women are all different. Our bodies are all different

… everybody likes… different things.'

Connor is staring me in consternation.

'She said she loved jazz, too.'

'Well, I expect she does! Loads of people do like jazz.'

'She said she loved the way I could quote Woody Allen line for line.' He rubs his flushed face.

'Was she lying?'

'No, I'm sure she wasn't…' I tail off helplessly.

'Emma…' He stares at me bewilderedly. 'Do all women have secrets?'

Oh no. Have I ruined Connor's trust in all of womankind for ever?

'No!' I exclaim. 'Of course they don't! Honestly, Connor, I'm sure it's only me.'

My words wither on my lips as I glimpse a flash of familiar-looking blond hair at the entrance

to the hall. My heart stops.

That can't be-

That's not-

'Connor, I have to go,' I say, and start hurrying towards the entrance.

'She told me she's size ten!' Connor calls helplessly after me. 'What does that mean? What size

should I really buy?'

'Twelve!' I shoot back over my shoulder.

It is. It's Jemima. Standing in the foyer. What's she doing here?

The door opens again and I experience such a shock, I feel faint. She's got a guy with her. In

jeans, with cropped hair and squirrelly eyes. He's got a camera slung over his shoulder and is

looking around interestedly.

No.

She can't have done.

'Emma,' comes a voice in my ear.

'Jack!' I wheel round, to see him smiling down at me, his dark eyes full of affection.

'You OK?' he says, and gently touches my nose.

'Fine!' I say a little shrilly. 'I'm great!'

I have to manage this situation. I have to.

'Jack — could you get me some water?' I hear myself saying. 'I'll just stay here. I'm feeling a

bit dizzy.' Jack looks alarmed.

'You know, I thought there was something wrong. Let me take you home. I'll call the car.'

'No. It's… it's fine. I want to stay. Just get me some water. Please,' I add as an afterthought.

As soon as he's gone I tear into the foyer, almost tripping up in my haste.

'Emma!' Jemima looks up brightly. 'Excellent! I was just about to look for you. Now, this is

Mick, and he wants to ask you some questions. We thought we'd use this little room here.' She

heads into a small, empty office which leads off from the foyer.

'No!' I say, grabbing her arm. 'Jemima, you have to go. Now. Go!'

'I'm not going anywhere!' Jemima jerks her arm out of my grasp and rolls her eyes at Mick,

who's closing the door of the office behind me. 'I told you she was being all hissy about it.'

'Mick Collins,' Mick thrusts a business card into my hand. 'Delighted to meet you, Emma.

Now, there's no need to get worried, is there?' He gives me a soothing smile, as though he's

completely used to dealing with hysterical women telling him to go. Which he probably is.

'Let's just sit down quietly, have a nice chat…'

He's chewing gum as he speaks, and as I smell the spearmint wafting towards me, I almost

want to throw up.

'Look, there's been a misunderstanding,' I say, forcing myself to sound polite. 'I'm afraid

there's no story.'

'Well, let's see about that, shall we?' says Mick with a friendly smile. 'You tell me the facts…'

'No! I mean, there's nothing.' I turn to Jemima. 'I told you I didn't want you to do anything.

You promised me!'

'Emma, you are such a wimp.' She gives Mick an exasperated look. 'Do you see why I've been

forced to take action? I told you what a bastard Jack Harper was to her. He needs to learn his

lesson.'

'Absolutely right,' agrees Mick and puts his head on one side as though measuring me up.

'Very attractive,' he says to Jemima. 'You know, we could think about an accompanying

interview feature. My romp with top boss. You could make some serious money,' he adds to

me.

'No!' I say in horror.

'Emma, stop being so coy!' snaps Jemima. 'You want to do it really. This could be a whole

new career for you, you realize.'

'I don't want a new career!'

'Well then you should! Do you know how much Monica Lewinsky makes a year?'

'You're sick,' I say in disbelief. 'You're a totally sick, warped-'

'Emma, I'm just acting in your best interests.'

'You're not!' I cry, feeling my face flame red. 'I… I might be getting back together with Jack!'

There's a thirty-second silence. I stare at her, holding my breath. Then it's as if the killer robot

jerks into action again, shooting yet more rays.

'Even more reason to do it!' says Jemima. 'This'll keep him on his toes. This'll show him who's

boss. Go on, Mick.'

'Interview with Emma Corrigan. Tuesday, 15th July, 9.40 p.m.' I look up, and stiffen in horror.

Mick has produced a small tape recorder and is holding it towards me.

'You first met Jack Harper on a plane. Can you confirm where this was flying from and to?'

He gives me a smile. 'Just speak naturally, like you would to a mate on the phone.'

'Stop it!' I yell. 'Just leave! Leave!'

'Emma, grow up,' says Jemima impatiently. 'Mick's going to find out what this secret is

whether you help him or not, so you might as well be-' She stops abruptly as the door handle

rattles, then turns.

The room seems to swim around me.

Please don't say — please-

As the door slowly opens, I can't breathe. I can't move.

I have never felt so frightened in my entire life.

'Emma?' says Jack, coming in, holding two glasses of water in one hand. 'Are you feeling

OK? I got you both still and sparkling, because I wasn't quite…'

He tails off, his eyes running confusedly over Jemima and Mick. With a flicker of

bewilderment, he takes in Mick's card, still in my hand. Then his gaze falls on the turning tape

recorder and something slides out of his face.

'I think I'll just make myself scarce,' murmurs Mick, raising his eyebrows at Jemima. He slips

the tape recording into his pocket, picks up his rucksack and sidles out of the room. Nobody

speaks for a few moments. All I can hear is the throbbing in my head.

'Who was that?' says Jack at last. 'A journalist?'

All the light has gone from his eyes. He looks as though someone just stamped on his garden.

'I… Jack…' I say huskily. 'It's not… it's not…'

'Why…' He rubs his brow, as though trying to make sense of the situation. 'Why were you