What Women Want (10 page)

Bea had been waiting for her appointment for just over half an hour. Her long-time principled allegiance to the NHS was being tested to its limits. Half a manuscript lay unread on her lap. She found it impossible to concentrate as women came and sat down or were called and disappeared down a narrow corridor where she could see a line of white doors, each with a red light that lit up when the room was occupied. She’d given up trying to puzzle out how the system worked. She had heard one of the nurses explain that, unusually, there was more than one clinic running today, which was why people who had come in after her had been seen ages ago while others who had been there when she arrived were still waiting.

She looked around her. The faded lino was the colour of dried blood. Below the thick green line painted all the way around the room at elbow height, the institutional cream walls were smeared black where chair backs had dragged along them. Above the line, one or two mass-produced exotic landscapes hung dusty and squint. In one corner, a TV was bracketed high on the wall, the sound not loud enough to hear but not quiet enough to ignore. Thin cotton curtains, too short for the grimy sash windows, blew in the breeze made by a fan putting up a futile struggle to circulate some air. The blue and red chair seats were worn and grubby. Everywhere, signs announced the department’s imminent move to a spanking new building: presumably the reason why this waiting room had been allowed to languish, Bea thought crossly. Behind the large semi-circular desk by the door, one nurse sat almost hidden behind a tower of files that she was gradually dismantling, overlapping them on the desktop, apparently to put them in some sort of order, with frequent tuts that could be heard across the room. A receptionist worked beside her, presumably unable to help thanks to her nails, which were long, lacquered works of art.

Bea got up yet again to go to the Ladies and sat there trying to breathe through the pain low in her stomach and the excruciating burning sensation that came as she tried to pee.

‘Bastard!’ she muttered, coming out of the cubicle and taking a plastic cup of water from the dispenser. Wash an infection through – isn’t that what you were meant to do? Two days and God only knew how many gallons didn’t seem to be doing the trick.

Back in the waiting room, she sat feeling angry with herself. A week after their encounter, having geared her mind up to forgetting Tony Castle, it looked as if that was not going to happen – or not yet, at least. Thank you, Tony! How could she have got herself into this situation? How many times had she embarked on the condom conversation with Ben, only to be told he knew it all? As did she. Unprotected sex leads to unwanted pregnancy or the GUM clinic – and to prove it here she was.

‘Mrs Wilde.’

An unsmiling nurse stood, thin blue file clutched to her bosom, waiting. At last. Bea followed her along the corridor into a small room where an equally serious young woman sat bent over a desk. She looked up as Bea sat down. Kind, bespectacled eyes stared out of an exhausted face. She mustered a wan smile.

‘I’m Dr McKay. What seems to be the problem?’ She toyed with her red biro, seesawing it between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand.

As Bea explained her symptoms, the doctor’s intent gaze didn’t leave her face. Under such close scrutiny, she found herself stumbling over her explanation, embarrassed and furious with herself and with Tony. Dr McKay said nothing until she finished, then was sympathy itself.

‘I’m sorry but I have to ask everyone these questions . . .’ she began, before rifling through Bea’s recent sex life – or lack thereof.

Bea was surprised to find that under these circumstances talking about what came naturally came quite unnaturally. Matters she would joke about with Kate or Ellen assumed a more sobering significance. She felt a sadder, more inadequate person than her usual robust self. No, she didn’t have a regular partner; no, she hadn’t had sex for some time (yes, some years) before this last episode; no, she couldn’t exactly remember when; and no, she knew almost nothing about her most recent partner or, more worrying, about his own sexual history, recent or past.

‘Hop onto the couch and I’ll take some swabs.’ Brisk and matter-of-fact, the doctor wasn’t judging her for being so inept on the condom front. But lying there, eyes shut, legs apart, took Bea back to the last time she’d been in the same position. How very different she’d felt then. How short the journey from ecstasy to embarrassment.

‘It’s probably trichomoniasis
.
’ That was reassuring. At least it was nothing worse. ‘We should get the results within half an hour and I’ll give you some antibiotics. There’s no need to be embarrassed, Mrs Wilde. Relax.’

‘I’m not embarrassed exactly. Just kicking myself for letting it happen.’

‘You’d be surprised at the number of women over forty we get in here with similar problems. It’s more and more common. They think they can’t get pregnant but they forget about things like this.’

Knowing she was in good company didn’t make Bea feel any better.

Three-quarters of an hour later, the result was confirmed, the antibiotics prescribed, advice on the use of condoms dished out and Bea was back on the street, breathing in the exhaust of real life. She remembered the doctor’s advice: ‘Even if the symptoms disappear quickly, you should still avoid having sex for a week.’ That was a laugh. Avoid sex? She was
never
going to have it again. Not for a bit anyway. Well, not unless she got very lucky indeed. More worrying was the insistence that she should tell her ‘partner’ that he must be a carrier. She’d finessed the part where she should have admitted to knowing him for only half a day by adding a couple of extra dates. Dr McKay didn’t need to know that even if Bea wanted to she had no idea how to get in touch with Tony Castle except through Let’s Have Lunch.

She checked her mobile to confirm that she was running late. Stopping only to get her prescription en route, she rushed to the office where she had a twelve-thirty meeting with Adam. She arrived too hot and bothered to go straight in so decided to be five minutes late, having straightened herself out in the Ladies, then dipped into her office to get the papers she needed. When she knocked on his door, he opened it, obviously about to go out.

‘I’m so sorry, Adam. I had a meeting outside the office and I’ve rushed back as fast as I could but the traffic . . .’

‘Don’t worry.’ He straightened his pink and charcoal-grey striped tie before slipping on his tailored dove-grey suit jacket.

Don’t worry and a smile. Had the man had a personality transplant? Bea stepped back to let him pass. ‘Shall we rearrange for this afternoon?’

‘I don’t think we need to.’

‘But I thought you said you wanted to go through the forward schedule?’ And I’ve spent the last three days desperately trying to magic something together. If any of those authors don’t deliver on time, I’m dead.

‘I do. But I thought we’d do it outside the office. I asked Jade to check your diary and I think you’re free over lunch.’ Less of a question, more an instruction, Bea noted. ‘Well, I was going to catch up with what I’ve missed this morning but, yes, that would be very nice. Thanks.’

‘I noticed a new French bistro down the side-street by the tube. I thought we could talk there.’

Obviously not expecting disagreement, he strode out of the office, with Bea in his wake, clutching her future plan and praying it would look convincing under Adam’s close scrutiny.

Sitting at a bare wooden table, tucked into a quiet corner of a small, almost empty room, decorated with posters for French cities, tourist sites and French advertisements, Adam suggested they took a moment to look at the menu before they got down to business. A tanned young maître d’ came over and explained in a mouth-watering French accent the dishes of the day, all of which sounded to die for. Convincing herself that food was what she needed to support the antibiotics, distract her from her difficulties and give her strength for the meeting, Bea decided to go for the
galette de crabe
and then the
crevettes aux tomates
, leaving room for the cheese board on the other side of the room. Adam gave the menu a cursory glance, then unbuttoned his jacket.

‘I’m glad to get out of the office. I thought we could do with a change of scene.’

‘Good idea.’ This relaxed version of the Adam Palmer she knew was rather unnerving.

‘However, there’s something I want to tell you before we start.’ Not expecting to be taken into his confidence so early on, Bea nonetheless leaned forward to listen. He must have chosen this restaurant because he knew no one would be here to overhear whatever he was about to say.

‘About a month ago I met a terrific-looking woman at a party. She was in really good shape.’

That was the last thing she would have expected him to confide. Bea couldn’t imagine where this might be leading. Not an idea for a book, surely?

‘When I asked her how she kept herself looking so good, she told me that she ran twice a week and fasted for one whole day.’

‘God. I could never do that.’ Bea felt her waistband biting. Perhaps she should. But not today.

‘That’s what I thought too, but in fact it’s quite easy. I’ve been doing it for three weeks now.’

As he opened up a little, letting something of the man behind the machine slip through, Bea suddenly saw that he might be quite attractive. Vain but attractive. To some. But back to the book in question.

‘The only snag with our coming out at lunchtime,’ he went on, ‘is that today’s my fasting day. You don’t mind, do you? I just thought we could get more done here without interruption.’

‘Of course not.’ You bastard. ‘I’m not very hungry anyway. I was only going to have the melon and the
salade maison
.’ Whatever power game you’re playing, I am not going to be fazed by it. She waved goodbye to the cheese.

Before the food arrived, she had refused the warm crusty French bread with peppery virgin olive oil and had, at his request, passed a copy of the publishing schedule for the next two years across the table. He spread it in front of him so there was little room for her place setting, making her feel crowded and greedy. No doubt another power ploy. As he quizzed her about the titles, she had to keep her wits about her, all too conscious that whenever she had to answer a question, her mouth was full.

‘Obviously I looked at this before I took the job, but I wanted to see in more detail the books you expect to be delivered and those you plan to acquire. Some of this is speculative, has to be, of course, but it’s more impressive than I was expecting.’ He sipped his tap water.

‘Thank you,’ Bea muttered, through a mouthful of salad, acutely aware that a bit of olive (black, of course) had wedged itself between two of her front teeth. Why did this happen more and more often as she got older, and always at the most inconvenient moment?

‘When you say “major autobiography” in October in both years, have you anything in mind or is that just wishful thinking?’ Adam’s grey eyes were on her face, as she tried to manoeuvre the piece of olive out of her teeth with her tongue without it being too obvious. ‘Well?’

Success, just in time. Thank you, God. ‘I don’t have anything definite lined up but you know as well as I do that these things often come in very close to the wire. I’ll brief Stuart and Jade and ask them to make a real onslaught on the agents, literary and showbiz. Of course I’ll be doing the same so we’ll divide the work between us. I’m confident that we’ll find what we need. And that goes for the big fiction for spring in both years too.’ In fact, she was far from confident, but he didn’t need to know that. ‘They’ll be thrilled to have the extra responsibility and I’m sure they’ll rise to it.’ That was true. Under Stephen, they had been kept in the background, responding to the few manuscripts submitted to them or to those passed directly on to them by him or Bea. There was little room for initiative and their contacts were deliberately limited to the less important or fledgling agents not really dealt with by Bea or Stephen, who concentrated on the heavy hitters. ‘And, of course, I know you’ve got your own contacts.’

‘I’m glad you’re responding so well to the challenge.’

Was that real warmth she saw in his smile? In his eyes as well? Surely not.

‘When we last talked, I wasn’t sure you would.’

‘I don’t give up that easily.’ Power games might be his thing but Bea knew a few of her own. Following Adele’s advice, she had decided to play the game his way until she knew what her position was. She was not going to relinquish control of her life to him. Perhaps reorganising the way they worked and putting new demands on herself and her senior staff would reignite her enjoyment of the job.

‘Good. Now what about losing those two people from your department?’

‘Becky, our most junior assistant, could go. I’d be reluctant to let her because she’s bright and energetic. At the same time I know she’d find something else quite easily. But I simply can’t see a way to losing another member of staff and getting the job you want done. You’ll have to make the cut somewhere else.’

Adam shook his head. ‘I can’t.’

‘Then you’ll have to look at the budget again.’ She didn’t need Adele to tell her that the only way to fight a bully was to stand up to them. She knew that from school. When she was thirteen, Sally Armitage had orchestrated a campaign against her. The rest of the class were too wet to stand up on Bea’s behalf so she’d worked out what to do for herself. One day, when Sally had pushed her off balance and snatched her KitKat to accompanying gales of giggles from her admirers, Bea had shoved her, hard, and grabbed back her biscuit. From then on, she had no more trouble, and within a year, she and Sally had become firm friends. Remembering that incident had often helped cushion her way through life. She went on, ‘If we succeed in upping our turnover through the reduced but more profitable publishing programme that I’m proposing then we need the staff we have and, what’s more, we can afford them.’ Bea was not going to back down. She steeled herself for a fight.