‘You’re right but you know me. Anything for a quiet life.’
Kate tutted loudly. ‘What am I going to do with you?’
I grinned at her and giving her a last hug, set off down the street.
When she went back to Australia, I’d miss her desperately.
* * *
It was a relief to find that Emily wasn’t in when I got home. Taking full advantage of her absence, I ran a deep bath, draining the hot water tank and helped myself to a generous measure of her Chanel No 5 bath gel.
There’s nothing quite like the guilty pleasure of ill-gotten bubbles. Served her right. It wasn’t as bad as pinching other peoples’ ideas and taking all the credit, though. I shook my head, the ends of my ponytail dipping into the water.
Well, good luck to her. Thank God I wasn’t the one that had to make it all happen. Imagine having to deal with Miranda, a dress designer, the film people and everything else involved.
If only I’d known.
* * *
It wasn’t until the next day at work that I discovered what Emily had done. I was on my way to make a well-deserved cup of tea when she waylaid me in the kitchen.
Now what? I was still being cool with her. Glancing up, I could see her freckles standing out in stark relief against her pale skin. Her lips devoid of lipstick looked bloodless as she gnawed them anxiously.
‘Are you all right?’
Tears welled up in her eyes. She shook her head but still didn’t say a word.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Come see this.’ She inclined her head. Clutching my tea mug, I followed her back to her desk.
‘There,’ she said.
Running across her computer screen in large red capital letters was the word BITCH. It was on a continuous loop and as soon as the B disappeared on the right-hand side of the screen, the word began to reappear on the left-hand side.
I looked at her sharply. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Just now. I went out for lunch. When I got back it was here.’
Tentatively I leaned over to move the mouse and as I did the words disappeared immediately, leaving an innocent word document.
‘It’s just the screensaver,’ I said, slightly relieved. As far as I knew — not much admittedly — an easy fix.
‘I think it might be Peter,’ said Emily in a low voice.
‘Why?’
She paused avoiding my eye, fiddling with the seam of her pale blue miniskirt. ‘He sent me another email yesterday.’ Her fingers plucked at the linen fabric.
‘Another one?’ I asked. ‘He’s a glutton for punishment.’ I looked closely at her.
She was still picking at her skirt, her eyes down.
‘What did you do?’ I asked. I had a really bad feeling about this.
She flushed slightly before blurting it out. ‘Well... he wasn’t nice this time. Had a go at me about leading him on. Said I was just like all the rest.’
‘And . . .’
