Chapter 2.
Emily remembered the "weird" thing, the 4th clue, as she emerged from the elevator to the Runway Offices at 7 am the following morning. She always aimed to get a good start on the day - Emily was nothing if not hard-working – and the offices were pretty well empty at that time in the morning. This gave her a chance to check something out.
She sat down at Andy's desk, not her own, because she wanted to check back through Andy's latest docs. She knew her password – Cincinnati123 – obvious to anyone once you knew Andy's strange loyalty to the little city from whence she hailed, and began to look through her recent work. She found what she wanted within three seconds.
Miranda's expenses for July had been documented on a Spreadsheet template. The month had just ended, and there were usually at least two pages of entries, but Andy had finished the task the day before within five minutes. Emily had noticed it, because Miranda had implied it would be a big job, but Andy had whisked through it, produced the final form to be signed off by the Editor, and had then taken it down to finance in no time at all. Now she could see there had been just two lunches with named designers, and one drinks session with a fellow editor listed from earlier in the month, but no items for the last eleven days, not one.
It was the absence of expenditure put on to the Runway tab which was puzzling. No track of where Miranda had lunched, or what she had bought, whom she had met, or where she had gone since before the French reception. And even stranger, there were no receipts either. So what was the comment, "the receipts are in my purse" all about? It was as though Miranda wanted to draw a complete curtain over her extra-mural activities.
Emily thought this was a definite clue. She would interrogate Andy about it, but it also persuaded her to go with Serena when she believed Miranda was having an affair. If she wasn't on Runway business all month, what was her boss doing, where was she doing it and who was she doing it with?
Emily had two obsessions in life, one, controlling her weight, and two, controlling Miranda's diary, and as a result, knowing every last thing about her life. All this mystery and blank page nonsense was seriously bad for her health.
Andrea came in looking cheerful at 8.15 am. She was dressed for the heat, in a singlet and mini skirt which had a slight flare to its panels, making it swivel provocatively round her hips. Her legs were bare, long and smooth above the Jimmy Choo high heeled sandals, and her hair was swinging up in a high pony tail. Emily thought she looked far too relaxed and sexy for a day in the office.
Miranda wasn't due until 9. She took a Pilates class on a Wednesday morning from 7 to 8.30, a fact closely guarded by Emily against the other staff, but one she had grudgingly allowed Andy to be told, so she knew not to book appointments then, and why to fend off phone calls.
Emily had closed down her screen and returned to her side of the office earlier. She didn't want Andy to see she's been snooping around on her computer.
"What on earth went on last week while I was away?" she asked once Andy was seated, using a tone of voice designed to get prise out any new information which might be floating about near the surface.
Andy replied placidly enough, (her years in the youth theatre group at High School had trained her well), but she could feel her heart begin to thump and her mouth grew dry.
"What do you mean?"
"I saw you toss Miranda's expenses off in five minutes. It looks like she did nothing at all. "
"Oh, that. I don't know. She was in the office some of the time. The photo shoot based on NYPD was being organised. She met with the people here who are setting that up. I don't remember much else."
"Anyone come in?"
"Oh, yes, people from the police. . . "
Andy realised she shouldn't identify their brilliant handcuff hero by name. She didn't want Emily to start imagining anything close to what had really happened, (well who would?) But she also didn't want to reveal the writing assignment Miranda had given her, about a day in the life of a patrol officer in a long hot New York summer. If it was accepted for publication, she would have to use a pseudonym, otherwise accusations of favoritism would certainly be flying round the whole office.
Officers Sal McCarthy and her work partner Kate Burns had indeed visited Runway the previous Thursday for an initial encounter. They had strode like Amazons among the waif like young models, so the resulting design "look" was very striking, and Miranda had taken to the concept of mixing hard and soft, reality and frothy frivolity more keenly.
Nigel, tanned and quite relaxed after his long weekend away in Canada, had also warmed to the idea, and the pair of patrol officers were booked in to return the next week to take part in the photo-shoot. Andrea had fixed to meet with Sal that very evening to interview her properly for her article.
Emily was convinced Andy could tell her more. Even if the clueless girl had no idea what she'd seen, she might have witnessed something, but Andy's face remained blank and her mind seemed distracted on things far away. She was obviously going to be hopeless as a Dr Watson to Emily's Sherlock Holmes.
They stared at each other for a few moments, and then Emily decided to let Andy in on the big Rumor. If she knew the point of Emily's questions, she might be better able to help her find the answers.
"Now, listen to me very, very carefully! I should not be telling you this, and for God's sake don't let a word of it pass your lips to anyone else, but the word going round Runway is that Miranda is dating someone." She emphasised the last word by lowering her voice and stressing the D.
Andy looked astonished.
"Dating? Where did that idea come from?"
"Not sure, but it's my job to find out if it's true, and it's your job to help me."
"Are you sure it's any of our business if Miranda is dating anyone? You've always told me how private she is."
"Of course it's my business, certainly. So I can . . . , so I can make things easy for her, assist, and you know, help keep things private!"
Andrea didn't see much that was logical in Emily's argument. She knew Em was the worst gossip hound in the business, and once she knew something definitely juicy she wouldn't be able to resist sharing it with all and sundry.
But she could see that if she could send Emily barking up the wrong tree, chasing red herrings whatever they were, and the mixed metaphors really fuzzed up her brain) then she could maybe deflect the woman opposite from suspecting the truth. Andrea began to feel like a secret double agent in her own life.
"Oh, I see. . . Yes. So what evidence have you found so far?"
Well, there are four definite clues."
"Hmm?"
"Firstly, and everyone apart from you seems to have noticed this, she looks different."
"Different?"
"Yes, really weird. She seems happy."
"Oh, I hadn't noticed."
"Well you wouldn't. She's always so rightly irritated by your appalling carelessness and being late all the time you can't expect her to be happy around you! But when you're not here, she often walks the corridors looking really happy. She was even singing yesterday."
"Singing?" This did make Andy sit up and look astonished.
"Yes. It was a song about the weather."
"Oh what a beautiful morning?" Andrea grinned.
"No. You are the sunshine of my life!"
"Not sure I know that one. Perhaps we could ask Miranda to sing it for us."
"Don't be an idiot. As if!"
"Any other evidence, apart from looking happy and singing cheerful songs about weather?"
"Yes. She keeps getting mysterious text messages, and goes all dreamy when she reads them. And she looks out of the window a lot of the time."
Andrea did recall Miranda saying how she had begun to follow her progress when she emerged from the building so many floors beneath, and went across the road in search of coffee, a little figure far below at street level, making her way through the traffic to Starbucks. ("Do cross at the lights, darling. I get so worried about you jay-walking. You nearly got killed this morning.")
"Perhaps she's dating someone in a tower block opposite. Talking to them, you know, like Matt Damon in the Bourne movie."
"That might be it!" Emily ran to the window to look, but the sea of anonymous glass windows running across the buildings opposite defeated her powers of observation.
Andrea made a mental note of the coaching session she needed to have with Miranda that evening. Her adored one was giving too much away, obviously. Perhaps she should deflect her towards singing the Blues or "Stormy Weather."
"Anything else?"
"Yes, she asked me to look for beachside property in Provincetown!"
"Provincetown, Mass?"
"Is there another? And the point of that is, (so Serena had informed her) that they have already made same sex marriage legal in Mass. So it could be a Gay thing going on here."
Emily went hot with shame as she said this, and her face went red. She was embarrassed to even mention the word Gay in connection with Miranda, but she also had an deeper embarrassing (delightful) fantasy of Serena and her getting married in a little chapel by a beach one day themselves, and then staying on for a sandy honeymoon . . . .
"But isn't Provincetown also a favorite spot for families. Lots of straight people go there as well. I wouldn't say that's any indication. Any other evidence, Sherlock?"
The Provincetown news had surprised Andrea. This development was new to her, and somewhat scary.
"Yes. Blank expense sheets. What was Miranda doing all last week when she was out of the office? That's what I want to know!"
Andrea could sustain her poker face no longer. She could feel her own cheeks begin to turn pink as her mind slid back to some of the extra-mural activities she had assisted Miranda in undertaking over the last ten days. She could have filled Emily in with copious details, but they would all have been in the category of "explicit", and her colleague would probably have died from shock to her delicate nervous system.
"I must go for the coffee," she mumbled quickly. "I'll be late if I don't." Then she did her normal scurrying exit, clutching her billfold, phone, and also a second I phone Emily had not seen before. It looked new and expensive. Maybe Andy had a secret lover as well!
Though that was really a ridiculous idea. The new phone was probably a present from her parents, concerned why she never called them. But what was there for her to say? Only Andrea could make living the high-life in New York, with a job millions of girls would die for, seem mundane. She couldn't imagine what she did with her free time, apart from playing soft-ball in some dreadful Bronx team.
Emily opened the online diary for her day ahead. She felt in charge. She was in control. Miranda could rely on her to hold any fort which came into sight. She felt powerful. She was happy. She was determined to find out who was making Miranda sing silly songs, and go all dreamy. It obviously wasn't anyone at Runway, that was for sure, but she would keep looking. She started on her to-do list for the Paris Fashion Week preparations, and waited for her boss, singing or not, to arrive at the office.
At lunchtime, over half a tomato, two peas and a cubic centimetre of American cheddar, she tackled Nigel, and brought him up to speed on the Affair.
"Well if she is, I'd say Good Luck to her. She deserves to be happy," was his reply as he unwrapped a tuna roll and took a bite.
"Yes, but who is it? We need to know. If it's someone unsuitable it could hurt her and ruin Runway as well. Can you talk to her, and maybe find out what's going on?"
"No . . . I'm sure Miranda will tell me in her own good time, when she's ready. But don't hold your breath. It took her six months before she confessed to buying Patricia, the St Bernard. She is going through a nasty divorce don't forget, and the paparazzi are always on her case at the best of times."
Upstairs in the Editor's office, Andrea was debriefing Miranda about being recruited to Emily's detective agency.
They were in the private bathroom behind the office, wedged against the washbasin. Miranda had her hands under Andy's top and was caressing her back as she pulled her in for a kiss. Andrea was more shameless and had her hand up Miranda's skirt and down inside her silk underwear. The wetness she met there excited her and made her fierce. Within minutes she had Miranda squirming and groaning against her, and thrust her hand deep through her body, feeling her pulsating clit in her palm as her fingers entered far beyond it.
"Oh, oh, oh! " Miranda rocked back and forth on Andrea's hand, and came in an explosion of released energy. They stayed coupled together until Andrea whispered. "Em will be returning soon. Your lunch breaks are far too short here. I should get back to my desk."
Miranda cupped her face with both hands and went in for a last, long kiss. She ran her thumbs gently over Andy's cheekbones, and then gave her pony tail quite a painful tug.
"You'll be the death of me."
"No I won't. I'm a good influence on you. I'm . . . Oh Miranda, help me here. I'm frightened how much I love you. You turn me into a puddle just looking at you."
Miranda hung onto Andrea's hair, twisting it tightly through her fingers. . She definitely had a thing about it. Then she braced up and turned on the faucet in the washbasin. "Wash your hands darling. And let's mop up the puddle. I'll try to throw our Emily off the scent. Cheeky girl, she's wrong if she can catch me out. "
Andy put both hands under the cold water tap and rubbed in some of Miranda's lovely smelling hand-wash gel.
"Just quit following me whenever I leave the building, and maybe change the repertoire for the singing?"
"I didn't even realise I was singing," smiled Miranda, reapplying her makeup with one hand, and giving Andy a final goose with the other.
"Ow!"
"I've learned to be ambidextrous lately darling. Haven't you noticed?"
They somehow managed to break apart and return to their respective offices by the time Emily returned from the canteen. Miranda decided to take a brisk walk round the other departments, just to scare a few people into action through the long hot afternoon ahead, and to settle her own adrenalin. She caught herself singing an old Patsy Kline number, "Crazy, I'm crazy for feeling so lonesome." Well, it was more miserable than before. But there was no way she could pretend she was miserable. Miranda Priestly had never been happier.
Andrea had started to prepare a list of all the fashion houses who produced their own brand perfumes, which was most of them. She still felt intoxicated by the unique of Miranda's special scent, which she could almost smell whether she was there or not. It was divine.
Emily marched back to her desk. She carried a small yoghurt and a spoon, which she placed in front of her.
"You smell of something expensive," she said baldly. "Are you trying out the perfumes for that assignment? What is it? I recognise it, but . . . "
Andrea gulped. If she wasn't careful, Clue No 5 would be hitting Emily's brain before too long.
"Eat your yoghurt, Em," she said. "I'm off for lunch now."
And she disappeared.
Emily ceremoniously unwrapped her little pot of sustenance. She took a spoonful and ate it very thoughtfully. The plot, as they say, was thickening.