'It's a pleasure to meet you, Connor,' says Jack kindly. 'Research is vital for a company like ours.'

'You're so right!' says Connor, looking thrilled. 'In fact, I'm looking forward to discussing with you the latest research findings on Panther Sportswear. We've come up with some very fascinating results involving customer preferences on fabric thickness. You'll be amazed!'

'I'm … sure I will,' says Jack. 'I look forward to it.'

Connor gives me an excited grin.

'You've already met Emma Corrigan from our marketing department?' he says.

'Yes, we've met.' Jack's eyes gleam at me.

We travel for a few seconds in an awkward silence.

This is weird.

No. It's not weird. It's fine.

'How are we doing for time?' says Connor. He glances at his watch and in slight horror, I see Jack's eyes falling on it.

Oh God.

'… I gave him a really nice watch, but he insists on wearing this orange digital thing …'

'Wait a minute!' says Jack, dawn breaking over his face. He stares at Connor as through seeing him for the first time. 'Wait a minute. You're Ken.'

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh—

'It's Connor,' says Connor puzzledly. 'Connor Martin.'

'I'm sorry!' Jack hits his head with his fist. 'Connor. Of course. And you two —' he gestures to me '— are an item?'

Connor looks uncomfortable.

'I can assure you, sir, that at work our relationship is strictly professional. However, in a private context, Emma and I are … yes, having a personal relationship.'

'That's wonderful!' says Jack encouragingly, and Connor beams, like a flower blossoming in the sun.

'In fact,' he adds proudly, 'Emma and I have just decided to move in together.'

'Is that so?' Jack shoots me a look of genuine surprise. 'That's … great news. When did you make that decision?'

'Just a couple of days ago,' says Connor. 'At the airport.'

'At the airport,' echoes Jack Harper after a short silence. 'Very interesting.'

I can't look at Jack Harper. I'm staring desperately at the floor. Why can't this bloody lift go quicker?

'Well, I'm sure you'll be very happy together,' Jack Harper says to Connor. 'You seem very compatible.'

'Oh we are!' says Connor at once. 'We both love jazz, for a start.'

'Is that so?' says Jack thoughtfully. 'You know, I can't think of anything nicer in the world than a shared love of jazz.'

He's taking the piss. This is unbearable.

'Really?' says Connor eagerly.

'Absolutely.' Jack nods. 'I'd say jazz, and … Woody Allen films.'

'We love Woody Allen films!' says Connor in amazed delight. 'Don't we, Emma!'

'Yes,' I say a little hoarsely. 'Yes, we do.'

'Now Connor, tell me,' says Jack in confidential tones. 'Did you ever find Emma's …'

If he says 'G spot' I will die. I will die. I will die.

'… presence here distracting? Because I can imagine I would!' Jack gives Connor a friendly smile, but Connor doesn't smile back.

'As I said, sir,' he says, a little stiffly, 'Emma and I operate on a strictly professional basis whilst at work. We would never dream of abusing the company's time for our own … ends.' He flushes. 'I mean, by ends, I don't mean … I meant …'

'I'm glad to hear it,' says Jack, looking amused.

God, why does Connor have to be such a goody-goody?

The lift pings, and I feel relief drain over me. Thank God, at last I can escape—

'Looks like we're all going to the same place,' says Jack Harper with a grin. 'Connor, why don't you lead the way?'

I can't cope with this. I just can't cope. As I pour out cups of tea and coffee for members of the marketing department, I'm outwardly calm, smiling at everyone and even chatting pleasantly. But inside I'm all unsettled and confused. I don't want to admit it to myself, but seeing Connor through Jack Harper's eyes has thrown me.

I love Connor, I tell myself over and over. I didn't mean any of what I said on the plane. I love him. I run my eyes over his face, trying to reassure myself. There's no doubt about it. Connor is good-looking by any standards. He glows with good health. His hair is shiny and his eyes are blue and he's got a gorgeous dimple when he smiles.

Jack Harper, on the other hand, looks kind of weary and dishevelled. He's got shadows under his eyes and his hair is all over the place. And there's a hole in his jeans.

But even so. It's as if he's some kind of magnet. I'm sitting here, my attention firmly on the tea trolley, and yet somehow I can't keep my eyes off him.

It's because of the plane, I keep telling myself. It's just because we were in a traumatic situation together; that's why. No other reason.

'We need more lateral thinking, people,' Paul is saying. The Panther Bar is simply not performing as it should. Connor, you have the latest research statistics?'

Connor stands up, and I feel a flip of apprehension on his behalf. I can tell he's really nervous from the way he keeps fiddling with his cuffs.

'That's right, Paul.' He picks up a clipboard and clears his throat. 'In our latest survey, 1,000 teenagers were questioned on aspects of the Panther Bar. Unfortunately, the results were inconclusive.'

He presses his remote control. A graph appears on the screen behind him, and we all stare at it obediently.

'Seventy-four per cent of 10-14-year-olds felt the texture could be more chewy,' says Connor earnestly. 'However, 67 per cent of 15-18-year-olds felt the texture could be more crunchy, while 22 per cent felt it could be less crunchy …'

I glance over Artemis's shoulder and see she's written 'Chewy/crunchy??' on her notepad.

Connor presses the remote control again, and another graph appears.

'Now, 46 per cent of 10-14-year-olds felt the flavour was too tangy. However, 33 per cent of 15—18-year-olds felt it was not tangy enough, while …'

Oh God. I know it's Connor. And I love him and everything. But can't he make this sound a bit more interesting?

I glance over to see how Jack Harper is taking it and he raises his eyebrows at me. Immediately I flush, feeling disloyal.

He'll think I was laughing at Connor. Which I wasn't. I wasn't.

'And 90 per cent of female teenagers would prefer the calorie content to be reduced,' Connor concludes. 'But the same proportion would also like to see a thicker chocolate coating.' He gives a helpless shrug.

'They don't know what the hell they want,' says someone.

'We polled a broad cross-section of teenagers,' says Connor, 'including Caucasians, Afro-Caribbeans, Asians, and … er …' he peers at the paper. 'Jedi knights.'

'Teenagers!' says Artemis, rolling her eyes.

'Briefly remind us of our target market, Connor,' says Paul with a frown.

'Our target market …' Connor consults another clipboard, 'is aged 10–18, in full or part time education. He/she drinks Panther Cola four times a week, eats burgers three times a week, visits the cinema twice a week, reads magazines and comics but not books, is most likely to agree with the lifestyle statement "It's more important to be cool than rich" …' he looks up. 'Shall I go on?'

'Does he/she eat toast for breakfast?' says somebody thoughtfully. 'Or cereal?'

'I … I'm not sure,' says Connor, riffling quickly through his pages. 'We could do some more research …'

'I think we get the picture,' says Paul. 'Does anyone have any thoughts on this?'

All this time, I've been plucking up courage to speak, and now I take a deep breath.

'You know, my grandpa really likes Panther Bars!' I say. Everyone swivels in their chairs to look at me, and I feel my face grow hot.

'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!'