Sophie Kinsella: Can you keep a secret?

'You can't go home!' I say in horror, and try to grab the clothes out of her hands. 'Lissy, you'll be fine! I mean, think about it. How many times have you had to stand up in a big court and make some really long speech in front of loads of people, and if you get it wrong an innocent man might go to jail?'

Lissy stares at me as though I'm crazy.

'Yes, but that's easy!'

'Well …' I cast around desperately. 'Well, if you pull out now, you'll always regret it. You'll always look back and wish you'd gone through with it.'

There's silence. I can practically see Lissy's brain working underneath all the feathers and stuff.

'You're right,' she says at last, and relinquishes her hold of the clothes. 'OK. I'll do it. But I don't want you to watch. Just … meet me afterwards. No, don't even do that. Just stay away. Stay right away.'

'OK,' I say hesitantly. 'I'll go if you really want me to—'

'No!' She swivels round. 'You can't go! I've changed my mind. I need you there!'

'OK,' I say, even more hesitantly, just as a Tannoy in the wall blares out 'This is your fifteen minute call!'

'I'll go then,' I say. 'Let you warm up.'

'Emma.' Lissy grabs hold of my arm and fixes me with an intense gaze. She's holding me so tight, she's hurting my flesh. 'Emma, if I ever say I want to do anything like this again, you have to stop me. Whatever I say. Promise you'll stop me.'

'I promise,' I say hastily. 'I promise.'

Bloody hell. I have never seen Lissy like that before in my life. As I walk back out into the courtyard, which is now swarming with even more well-dressed people, I'm thudding with nerves myself. She didn't look capable of standing up, let alone dancing.

Please don't let her mess up. Please.

A horrible image comes to me of Lissy standing like a startled rabbit, unable to remember her steps. And the audience just staring at her. The thought of it makes my stomach curdle.

OK. I am not going to let that happen. If anything goes wrong I'll cause a distraction. I'll pretend to have a heart attack. Yes. I'll collapse on the floor, and everyone will look at me for a few seconds, but the performance won't stop or anything because we're British, and by the time everyone turns back to the stage again, Lissy will have remembered her steps.

And if they rush me to hospital or anything, I'll just say, 'I had these terrible chest pains!' No-one will be able to prove that I didn't.

And even if they can prove it, with some special machine, I'll just say—

'Emma.'

'What?' I say absently. And then my heart stops.

Jack is standing ten feet away. He's dressed in his usual uniform of jeans and jersey, and he stands out a mile amongst all the corporate suited lawyers. As his dark eyes meet mine I feel all the old hurt rushing back into my chest.

Don't react, I tell myself quickly. Closure. New life.

'What are you doing here?' I ask, with a little I'm-not-actually-interested shrug.

'I found the flyer for this on your desk.' He lifts a piece of paper, not taking his eyes off mine. 'Emma, I really wanted to talk.'

I feel a sudden smarting inside. He thinks he can just pitch up and I'll drop everything to talk to him? Well, maybe I'm busy. Maybe I've moved on. Did he think of that?

'Actually … I'm here with someone,' I say in polite, slightly pitying tones.

'Really?'

'Yes. I am. So …' I give a little shrug and wait for Jack to walk away. But he doesn't.

'Who?' he says.

OK, he wasn't supposed to ask who. For a moment I'm not entirely sure what to do.

'Er … him,' I say at last, and point at a tall guy in shirt-sleeves, who's standing in the corner of the courtyard, facing away from us. 'In fact, I'd better join him.'

My head high, I swivel on my heel and start walking towards the shirt-sleeved guy. What I'll do is just ask him the time, and somehow engage him in conversation until Jack's gone. (And maybe laugh gaily once or twice to show what a good time we're having.)

I'm within a few feet of him, when the shirt-sleeved guy turns round, talking on a mobile.

'Hi!' I begin brightly, but he doesn't even hear me. He gives me ablank glance, then walks off, still talking, into the crowd.

I'm left all alone in the corner.

Fuck.

After what seems like several eternities, I turn round, as nonchalantly as I can.

Jack is still standing there, watching.

I stare at him furiously, my whole body pulsing with embarrassment. If he laughs at me—

But he's not laughing.

'Emma …' He walks forward until he's only a couple of feet away, his face frank. 'What you said. It stayed with me. I should have shared more with you. I shouldn't have shut you out.'

I feel a dart of surprise, followed by wounded pride. So he wants to share with me now, does he? Well maybe it's too late. Maybe I'm not interested any more.

'You don't need to share anything with me. Your affairs are your affairs, Jack.' I give him a distancing smile. 'They're nothing to do with me. And I probably wouldn't understand them, anyway, bearing in mind they're so complicated and I'm such a total thickie …'

I swivel determinedly, and start to walk away, over the gravel.

'I owe you an explanation, at least,' Jack's dry voice follows me.

'You owe me nothing!' I lift my chin proudly. 'It's over, Jack. And we might as well both just … Aargh! Let go!'

Jack has grabbed my arm, and now he pulls me round to face him.

'I came here tonight for a reason, Emma,' he says gravely. 'I came to tell you what I was doing in Scotland.'

I feel the most almighty bound of shock, which I hide as best I can.

'I'm not interested in what you were doing in Scotland!' I manage. I wrench my arm away and start striding away as best I can through the thicket of mobile-phone-gabbing lawyers.

'Emma, I want to tell you.' He's coming after me. 'I really want to tell you.'

'Well, maybe I don't want to know!' I reply defiantly, swivelling round on the gravel with a scatter of pebbles.

We're facing each other like a pair of duellers. My ribcage is rising and falling quickly.

Of course I want to know.

He knows I want to know.

'Go on then,' I say at last, and give a grudging shrug. 'You can tell me if you like.'

In silence, Jack leads me over to a quiet spot, away from all the crowds. As we walk, my bravado ebbs away. In fact, I'm a bit apprehensive. Scared, even.

Do I really want to know his secret, after all?

What if it's fraud, like Lissy said? What if he's doing something dodgy and he wants me to join in?

What if he's had some really embarrassing operation and I start laughing by mistake?

What if it is another woman and he's come to tell me he's getting married or something?

I feel a tiny pang of pain, which I quell. Well, if it is … I'll just act cool, like I knew all along. In fact I'll pretend I've got another lover, too. Yes. I'll give him a wry smile, and say, 'You know, Jack, I never assumed we were exclusive—'

'OK.' Jack turns to face me, and I instantaneously decide that if he's committed a murder I will turn him in, promise or no promise.

'Here it is.' He takes a deep breath. 'I was in Scotland to visit someone.'

My heart plummets.

'A woman,' I say before I can stop myself.

'No, not a woman!' His expression changes, and he stares at me. 'Is that what you thought? That I was two-timing you?'

'I … didn't know what to think.'

'Emma, I do not have another woman. I was visiting …' He hesitates. 'You could call it … family.'

My brain gives a huge swivel.

Family?

Oh my God, Jemima was right, I've got involved with a mobster.

OK. Don't panic. I can escape. I can go in the witness protection scheme. My new name can be Megan.

No, Chloe. Chloe de Souza.