What Women Want (30 page)

Things had hardly gone as Bea had planned. In an attempt to make up for her dash to France she had got into work early on Thursday morning. Yelling, ‘Good morning,’ in the direction of the post-room, she had crossed to the door of her office. She was surprised to see the vertical blinds drawn down. She rarely closed them, believing it was more egalitarian, given she had one of the few enclosed offices, to let everyone in the open-plan area see what she was doing. Reading and typing; typing and reading; and talking. The cleaners must have been being unusually thorough. As she leaned on the handle, she thought she heard a noise inside. Puzzled, she let the door swing open. Amanda was stepping out from behind her desk, a file in her hand. Looking her usual chic, unruffled self in a neat aubergine suit and lime green boat-necked top, she smiled as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be found there. ‘Morning!’ she chirped, nonchalance personified.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘I was just looking for the original Archer contract.’

‘Couldn’t you have waited for me to come in and then asked?’

‘I could. But we didn’t know whether you’d be in today or not.’ A smile played at the corners of her mouth. Amanda was clearly revelling in her rival’s sudden fall from grace. But Bea had expected no less.

However, Amanda having the brass neck to snoop round her office exceeded her expectations. ‘What made you think you’d find it behind my desk?’

‘I thought you might keep author files in the drawers.’

‘Amanda, that’s the lamest excuse I’ve heard for years. Surely you can do better than that.’

‘It’s the truth,’ she protested, as cool as ever. ‘And now you’re here, perhaps you could give it to me yourself.’

‘The contracts are all filed in the rights department, as you well know. I suggest you look there.’

Bea crossed the room so she could check her computer screen. It was blank, thank God. She had remembered to log off before she left on Tuesday to go to the private view. What a long time ago that seemed.

Amanda was edging her way out of the room. As she reached the door, she turned, her composure fully recovered. ‘Oh, by the way, Bea, the presentation went well. Thanks for asking.’

Before Bea had time to react, Amanda had gone, gliding apparently without a care across the open-plan area to her own office. ‘Cat’ and ‘cream’ were the two words that sprang to Bea’s irate mind. Having safely locked her bag into her drawer, she glanced over her desk to see what might have interested Amanda. Most of her correspondence with agents about possible or upcoming projects was on email so she couldn’t have taken advantage of anything there. In fact, apart from the submissions, which were all logged in for anyone to see, she didn’t think there was anything that particularly mattered. Relieved, but still furious at the intrusion, she hung up her coat and strode over to Adam’s office to protest and apologise – if he would let her.

‘Adam, can I have a word?’

When he nodded her in, she stood in front of his desk, knowing she’d be well advised not to let her anger show. She waited to be asked to sit down but the invitation was not forthcoming. A bad sign.

‘So, you’ve decided to come back.’ He continued to study the sales screen on his computer, without even a glance in her direction.

‘Look, I’m really sorry but there was something I simply had to do.’

Behind him, she could see the London skyline sharp against the clouds. A small aircraft circled like a gnat somewhere towards the river. She became aware of the steady tick of a new clock that he’d had installed beside the door behind her.

‘But you can’t tell me what it was?’

‘I’m afraid not.’ For once in her life, Bea was at a loss as to how to handle a situation. She obviously hadn’t just blotted her copybook with Adam. She’d torn it up and thrown it away. He wouldn’t understand if she explained what she’d been up to and he certainly wouldn’t consider it justification for missing such an important meeting. Meanwhile Amanda was hovering, waiting for any opportunity to better her rival, and Bea was making it easy for her.

‘Bea, I’ve been talking to Amanda who incidentally did us all proud yesterday.’ He tore his eyes from the screen and directed his attention fully on her. ‘She’s come up with some good ideas about how the editorial department could work more effectively. Talking to her persuaded me she’s right. Particularly after you pulled that stunt yesterday. That, of course, was one of several things that came up in our discussion.’

I bet it was, she thought. His Beach-Barbie wife and son stared out at them both from the photo. Was there more credibility in the office gossip than Bea had thought? Had Amanda succeeded in flexing the boundary between her professional and personal relationship with Adam? If so, she might be getting a lot more of her own way in the future, which in turn would mean that Bea was going to find it almost impossible to scramble back into Adam’s good books.

His face was unreadable. ‘Not coming in yesterday and not warning anyone of your absence suggests to me that I can’t rely on you in the way I’d hoped.’

‘That’s ridiculous, Adam. It was just one day. You know full well that I do a good job.’

Adam continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘You have to accept that Amanda is part of this company now.’ He sounded as if he was talking to an educationally challenged five-year-old. ‘She has a job to do here just as you have. She’s told me how hard she’s found it to work with you. You need to be more collaborative.’

‘Even if I find her snooping about my office?’

‘That’s not Amanda’s style.’

‘Then how come I’ve just found her in my office, behind my desk, with the blinds closed?’

‘I’m sure there was a good reason. Ask her.’

‘I have.’

But Adam had already turned his attention back to his screen. His hands moved quickly over the keyboard. The discussion was closed. Bea gave an exasperated sigh and left him. She stormed over to the coffee machine for a polystyrene cup of the black sludge that passed as espresso. She took a double shot, marched back to her office and shut the door. She grimaced at the first taste. Heart-starter or heart-stopper? she wondered, and pushed the cup out of reach.

As she thought about what had just happened, she realised that her working life was about to become more difficult than ever. Finding her way back into Adam’s favour was going to be difficult, perhaps impossible. Besides, did she really want to put herself through the humiliating procedure of trying? Her working life had taken a serious nose-dive from which it would be hard to recover. The seed that had been sown during her talk with Adele began to germinate. Perhaps she had reached a point at which she had to take control of her working life instead of going where it took her. Perhaps she would be able to survive outside the confines of Coldharbour, after all.

Adam was out of the office for the rest of the day. That meant she had the whole weekend to plan what she would say to him on Monday. She had no qualms about telling Amanda she had to go to Edinburgh to visit Audrey Balfour, a needy but much-needed bestselling author, who had asked her to travel up to discuss her next historical novel. Amanda had rolled her eyes at what she obviously felt was a further dereliction of duty, but Bea ignored her. Neither did she explain that her real reason for going was to find someone called Marion Drummond.

*

Bea sipped half-heartedly at her warm champagne. She turned to her left where Mark was hidden behind his copy of the
Financial Times
, a cup of coffee to hand. She thanked God the Edinburgh-bound budget airline had curtailed the jingle that had repeated itself
ad nauseam
before take-off until she thought she might scream or tear the plane apart with her bare hands until she found the off switch. But at least this time, on her third flight in two days, they hadn’t hit any turbulence. On Thursday night she and Mark had rushed to meet each other at Liverpool Street after work, each clutching an overnight bag, and boarded the train. As they sped to Stansted, she told him at length about her day and the life-changing decision she had made. Judging by his reactions, Bea guessed that while he envied her impulsiveness, it made him a little nervous too. But there was nothing she could do to change her nature. Besides, her sense of anticipation about what lay ahead was clearly infectious.

Apart from that, the thought of a hotel room with crisp white sheets, a super-king-sized bed and a like-minded companion beckoned – what more could a girl want? What this one wanted was confirmation. And she was determined to get it. In her bag, stuffed into the phone pocket so it wouldn’t disappear into the depths, was the address and phone number of Marion Drummond, otherwise known as Mrs Oliver Shepherd.

The flight was crowded and already delayed by three-quarters of an hour. By the time they finally disembarked into the icy sleet at Edinburgh, there was little traffic on the roads so their taxi found its way to the boutique Bruntsfield hotel in about twenty minutes, arriving just before they stopped serving dinner. It was the first opportunity for a week or so that she and Mark had had to sit down together. The dining room was discreet, dimly lit and came highly recommended by a colleague of his.

Within minutes of sitting at the table, Bea felt as relaxed as she ever had in the company of a lover. More so, perhaps. The diminutive starters were not much bigger than the
amuse-bouches
that had preceded them. Their palates were cleansed by a searingly acidic mixed citron sorbet before the minuscule main courses of monkfish steaks (for her) and rack of lamb (for him). Dithering over the wine, they decided to compromise and order by the glass so they could both enjoy the colour they preferred. Their conversation ranged over the children (gratifyingly and unusually well behaved at the moment), his wife (currently monstrously ill behaved with her demands rocketing now she knew he was seeing someone else), their work (anxious times given the current climate for him; her future hanging in the balance) and, of course, what lay in store for the following day.

‘I still think you should have phoned her before we flew up. Suppose she’s not there?’ As ever, Mark was the calm voice of reason.

But Bea was not. ‘No. I’ve got to meet her in person and I want the element of surprise on my side. I didn’t want to risk her refusing to see me or leaving town once she knew I was on my way.’

‘And if she’s not there?’

‘I’ll talk to her neighbours. I’ll stay another night and wait for her. I don’t know! I haven’t thought it through but I must know exactly what I’m talking about when I manage to see Kate. I want her to grasp how thorough I’ve been. I’m not making the same mistake I made on Tuesday night.’

‘I’m glad you’ve learned your lesson.’

‘OK, Mr Smart Arse. That sounded just the teeniest bit smug.’

‘You know I didn’t mean it. So, how do I fit in?’ His absolute willingness to help her was like having her favourite hot-water bottle in bed – reassuring and comforting.

‘I thought we could find the house together early tomorrow morning. It’s somewhere in Morningside, so she can’t exactly be short of a bob or two. Then I’ll go and talk to her on my own. I won’t be long. After that we could go to the new wing of the National Gallery and have a sandwich there. Then I’ll meet the tiresome Audrey Balfour for a couple of hours’ worth of tea and ear-bashing and then we’ll waste time together until we get the plane back. How does that sound?’

‘Militaristic.’

She laughed.

‘I’m exhausted just by the sound of it.’ He pulled a face. ‘Shall we head upstairs to get some rest ahead of time?’

‘Thought you’d never ask.’

‘Coffee or dessert?’

‘No coffee. And I’ve got a small box of Godiva chocs that you’re going to love. I thought we could just accompany them with a little something from the mini-bar.’

‘Sounds perfect. Lead on, Macduff.’

*

The night fulfilled every one of Bea’s hopes and expectations. It was extraordinary how much things could improve with practice, she mused, as they went downstairs for breakfast. Since their first awkward night together in Norfolk, Mark’s confidence as a lover had grown so there were certainly no complaints on that score.

Mark had got a city map from the reception desk and over the full Scottish they hunted together for Cluny Drive. ‘Got it!’ Bea exclaimed, pointing with her knife and spreading egg yolk over the spot.

‘It’s a bit of a hike from here, but there must be a bus.’ Mark borrowed her reading specs and squinted at the tiny numbers marked on the different roads.

In the end they took a taxi, Bea arguing that time was hardly on their side. She ignored Mark’s suggestion that Marion might have left for work by the time they got there. The Edinburgh streets were bleak. Bad weather had rolled in from the north-east. Pillows of grey cloud swelled above the terraces, dark with rain. Car headlights beamed through the gloom. At least Bea and Mark had come prepared, Bea with her three-quarter-length loose black coat with a fur trim that, while not the most flattering, was a sure-fire barrier against the most Arctic of winds. On her head she had a fake (of course) silver fox Dr Zhivago hat. Mark was similarly well wrapped up in a heavy navy coat, bright orange scarf, gloves and a wide-brimmed waterproof hat that gave him a rather dashing outdoorsy look.

Turning off busy Comiston Road, the taxi entered a leafy residential area, pulling up outside a substantial semi-detached Victorian villa with a light shining from the ground-floor bay window. Mark took both of Bea’s gloved hands and squeezed them. ‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait in the cab to see whether someone’s there. If you go in, I’ll find a coffee on the main road. If not, we’ll be waiting round that corner. If you need me for any reason, call me and I’ll be there.’

Giving him a peck on the cheek and an apprehensive grimace, Bea climbed out. Bracing herself against the wind, she waved, then turned under a small rustic arch and up a long, straight path that divided a scrappy front lawn down the middle. At its end was a white front door, surrounded by the naked stems of climbing roses. To the left of the door was a large bay window, curtains half closed, but she could hear music playing within. She could just make out a mirror above the fireplace and the reflection of a modern chandelier. To the right, four rectangular windows, two above two, stared out into the morning, blinds raised, lights off.