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.'