Iclimb the stairs, bearing a tray. A half bottle of Krug champagne – after all, we’re pregnant – two crystal flutes and six stems of “Emma”, a dark pink, strongly fragranced rose, in Emma’s favourite vase.
I enter our bedroom. Emma reclines, reading. I place the tray next to the bed. “Gosh. What’s this all about?”
“We got the deal. Just heard this afternoon. Roderick’s delighted. And the roses, they’re named after you.”
“You’ve become quite the rose expert since Caroline Davidson’s barbeque.”
“Davison. Caroline Davison,” I reply, correcting her. Mistake. I should have thought. Davidson was intentional and I’ve taken the bait.
“Oh, sorry. My mistake. So you’ve been discussing roses with her have you?”
“Of course not.”
”Anyway, I can’t drink champagne. You know that,” says Emma dismissively.
“A sip? To celebrate. It’s a coup.”
“A coup?” she spits. “I’ve seen you on deals David. Or rather, I haven’t seen you on deals. You’re never around. And now…” She’s close to tears. “We’re about to have, well, I hope we’re about to have twins David.”
“I know that. But I can’t pick and choose. It’s my job. Pays for all this.”
“All this? You think this matters to me?”
“Look, I’ll try to ensure I don’t get sucked into the late nights on this one. I’m not having to cover for Sandy now. Someone else can do the leg work. Juliette and…”
“Juliette?” Emma flares.
“Team? I’m not hearing much about the team David.”
“Emma, what’s this all about?”
“Caroline Davison,” she says, stressing the central syllable and the absence of a ‘d’.
“And now Juliette. It all seems very cosy.”
“It’s work, not a dating agency.”
“Oh but that’s what’s on your mind is it?”
“No Emma. Of course not but…” I am lost for words.
City Dad will be continued next week. For previous episodes of City Dad, see www.cityam.com