Woman to Woman (19 page)

once he got started. Mark was one of those people capable of sending her into a frenzy of temper, something he regularly managed at the weekly editorial meetings. He remained calm, no matter what, while she was left openmouthed with temper. How Rhona managed to get on with him so well was a complete mystery to Jo.

“What the hell is going on over there?” Mark demanded.

“I’ve just had Emma crying at me over the phone about some stupid bloody interview and wasting money on plane tickets.

Jesus, don’t tell me you can’t run the place when bloody Rhona’s away!”

Jo could feel her blood pressure rise along with her temper.

Relax, she said to herself, don’t lose your cool.

‘ There’s no problem, Mark,” she replied calmly.

“Unfortunately, Mary is sick and can’t fly to London for an interview she’d set up with Helen Mirren. Emma seems to have got the idea that she should “go and had it all arranged until I got here.”

She paused before the lie.

“It would be marvelous if Emma could have gone, but I happen to know that Helen is, er … very particular about interviewers, she prefers more experienced journalists.” She crossed her fingers at the lie.

“Emma just doesn’t fit the bill. If she’s that keen to interview someone, I can set up something less challenging for her, but she’s not ready for big interviews yet.”

“What the hell’s the problem, then?” Denton’s voice was a fraction less aggressive.

“Why’s she ringing me in floods?

Rhona doesn’t have this effect on her.”

Suddenly Jo snapped. If he wanted to know what the problem was, she was damn well going to tell him!

The problem is that Emma finds it very difficult to take orders or to be told what to do, Mark,” Jo said candidly.

“She doesn’t want to be a team player, she wants to be out on her own.

“We’ve had some great journalism students in the office and they’ve been eager to learn, willing to do any job to gain experience.” Her voice was raised and she just didn’t care.

“Emma has never been like that. She thinks she knows it all and she never wants to do what she’s asked. She just doesn’t understand that there’s a lot more to journalism than interviewing someone famous. Emma thinks she’s too good for the day-to-day jobs in a magazine. And to make matters worse Jo paused for breath, ‘she does everything she can to create friction in the office. Ringing you this morning before I got in is a prime example of what I mean. That’s Emma trying to make trouble and abusing her relationship with you she spat.

“I won’t stand for it.

“If you want her to be the editor of Style, Mark, then make her editor. But until you do, don’t expect me to kowtow to her just because she’s your niece, right!”

There was a silence at the other end of the phone. Jo was wondering whether she’d gone too far when he spoke.

“At least I can rely on you for straight-talking, Jo.” Denton said flatly. And that certainly was straight-talking. I didn’t know Emma was such a problem, Rhona never mentioned it before.”

“Emma is in awe of Rhona, so she never puts a foot out of place when she’s around. She doesn’t feel the same about me,” Jo admitted.

“That’s the problem. She thinks she can use you to sideline me. I don’t dislike Emma.” she lied.

“But I won’t have some twenty-six-year-old with zero experience trying to tell me how to run this magazine.”

“Point taken he said coolly.

“I’ll tell Emma not to run to me when something disagrees with her, but I want you to work with her, Jo. She’s got her heart set on journalism and I promised her parents I’d give her a good start.” His voice softened.

“She’s a sweet kid at heart, you just don’t know her.

That tough exterior is all a front.”

Yeah, thought Jo. She’s just a cuddly little thing, like a bloody piranha. Still, you’ve got enough opinions off your chest for one day, Ryan. Keep your mouth shut if you want to keep working.

“I know what you mean she answered warmly. What an Oscar-winning performance.

“She’s probably insecure. I never spotted it until now. I was quite taken in by that tough act. Don’t worry, Mark, I’ll work with her. But she’s got to learn to work under me, she’ll never get on in this business if she automatically puts up her fists to the boss.”

“Yeah, you’re right, Jo. Help her out, she’s a good kid,” Mark said earnestly.

“Of course. I’ll bring her in later and get this sorted out.”

That’s great, Jo. Talk to you tomorrow.”

With that, he was gone. Jo ‘hung up with relief and leaned back in her chair. It was still only eleven o’clock, but she felt as if she’d been in the office all day. This isn’t good for you, my darling, she addressed her bump.

By the time Jo had discussed the beauty pages and the lucrative sun cream advertisement supplement with the beauty writer, Nikki, chief sub Tony and Aidan from advertising, it Was nearly time to leave for the lunch. After redoing her lipstick and anchoring a few stray hairs back into the knot at the nape of her neck, she grabbed her handbag and marched out of Rhona’s office.

Nikki was standing up beside the reception desk, talking rapidly on the phone and attempting to open her mascara at the same time.

Annette was unwrapping a sandwich covered in cling film and talking to Brenda, who was eating a rice cake and eyeing the mayonnaise squelching out of Annette’s tuna sandwich hungrily.

Emma was nowhere to be seen.

“She went off to lunch half an hour ago,” Annette informed Jo.

“She said she wouldn’t be back.”

“OK,” said Jo.

“Brenda, will you talk to Nikki about writing the sun cream supplement. I was hoping to get Emma working on it, but if she’s not back today, I want you to take over.

How’s the diet going?” she added, as Brenda spread a meagre amount of diet cottage cheese on another rice cake.

“Fine,” answered Brenda glumly.

“I’ve lost nearly a stone. I’ve only another ten pounds to go.”

“When’s the wedding, anyway?” Jo asked. The end of July. My sister’s lost all her weight and she’s bought a size twelve wedding dress. I’m not going if I can’t get into a size twelve.”

“Don’t be daft, Brenda,” interjected Nikki, sliding tanned skinny arms into a slinky little pale gold cardigan.

“You’ll look marvelous whatever size you are. I’ll give you some of that wonderful Lancome face tanner and you’ll look sexy and sun kissed

“Nikki, you’re starting to sound like a cosmetics press release,” laughed Jo.

“I sleep with make-up brochures under my pillow and absorb it all.” Nikki took a brush out of her handbag and ran it through her straight blonde bob.

“I don’t put milk under my cornflakes any more, I replenish their lost moisture with a vital enriching fluid!”

“Don’t mock it,” Jo said. Think how handy all that “replenishing moisture” jargon comes in when you’re writing ad features.”

That’s this afternoon’s work,” Nikki smiled on her way out the door.

“Now, I’m going to stuff my face in Bewley’s with my beloved husband and he’ll kill me if I’m late. Bye.”

“I’m going to be late myself Jo said, looking at her watch.

“Annette, I’m going to Stark’s for Maxine’s fashion show. God only knows when I’ll be back. These damn things always start late. When Emma comes in, tell her she’s not to leave this evening until she’s seen me, right?”

“No problem,” said Annette.

The four o’clock news was blasting out of Annette’s radio when Jo finally walked into the office, clutching a hand painted silk scarf from Maxine’s beautiful, albeit overpriced, new collection.

“Emma’s gone home, Nikki had to leave early but left the beauty feature on your desk and you’re to ring Anna from Models Inc. about who you’re going to pick for the wedding dress feature.” Efficient as ever, Annette handed over a sheaf of pale yellow phone messages along with

some post. “I thought Emma was to stay until I’d talked to her said Jo crossly.

“Wouldn’t listen, just marched off about five minutes after she got back from lunch Annette explained.

Jo sighed and walked into Rhona’s office, wishing she’d had the chance to tackle Emma before the little bitch went home to Mummy with tales of woe about the horrible deputy editor. Would Denton sack her before or after her maternity leave?

“Oh, Jo,” called Annette. “I nearly forgot. Richard rang and said he’d see you tonight at your place.”

Jo felt her heart quicken. Richard wanted to see her, he’d changed his mind, he must have! Oh, thank you, God, thank you, she whispered fervently. He wants me to give him another chance, I just know it.

Emma instantly forgotten, Jo rushed to the loo to see how she looked. Her carefully applied foundation had almost vanished in the summer heat and there were little smudges of mascara under her eyes. No problem. She whisked out her make-up bag and started the repair job.

How like Richard not to say when he was coming, she thought happily, blotting up excess lipstick with a tissue. But who cared what time he arrived? He was coming to see her, that was enough.

She was squirting another blast of Tresor onto her wrists when the doorbell rang.

Richard looked better than ever, blond hair gleaming against faintly tanned skin. A broad smile showed off the perfectly white teeth he brushed religiously.

“Jo, my darling,” he murmured, sliding one arm around her waist as he pulled her close for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“Oh, Richard she said softly.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know, my darling, I know. These,” he produced a huge bouquet of pink roses from behind his back, ‘are for you.”

Jo felt tears prickle behind her eyes. Pink roses. They’re so

beautiful she said tearfully. Thank you.” “Don’t cry,” Richard said quickly.

“Let’s put these on ice.”

He bent down and picked up two bottles of white wine from the doorstep.

“It’s your favourite, darling, German Riesling. Now, have you got anything to eat? I’m starved.”

“Er, no.” She’d spent the whole weekend planning to shop properly and had still only made it to the corner shop for milk, bread, cheese and ice cream. Chocolate-chip Haagen Dazs. Sinful but glorious.

Anyway, why didn’t he bring something to eat if he was hungry? In fact, why had he brought wine when he knew she couldn’t drink any? Oh well, he was just being Richard thoughtful and thoughtless at the same

At least he was making an effort. He never remembered practical things, but he was trying. She’d just have to get used to his foibles when they were living together. So what if he always drank the last of the milk and then expected more to materialise magically, that was Richard for you. She could live with it. Thank God he was back. She loved him so much, she couldn’t let her damn hormones screw their reunion up.

In the kitchen he’d found the corkscrew and was expertly opening the first bottle. She stared lovingly at the back of his neck, admiring the way the denim blue shirt clung to his strong shoulders.

“Glasses, darling?” he inquired. Jo opened a cupboard and handed him a wine glass.

“I can’t drink, Richard, because of the baby.”

“Have a sip,” he said persuasively.

“Half a glass won’t kill

They sat on the big three-seater settee, the way they always had. He lounged at one end, the glass of wine beside him on a small table. Jo sat curled up beside him.

Sky Sports blared out of the TV, but Jo didn’t mind. He paid the subscription so he never missed an important match and usually she sat and read while he watched, bored with the endless discussions of

players and tactics. Now, she sat peacefully, watching him watching TV, content just to be close to him.

Maybe it was the weekend without him, a weekend without his touch, that made her so needy. She’d missed him, missed his touch, missed his arms around her.

After two years with Richard, she’d almost forgotten all those times when she’d felt desperate for a man’s touch, felt alone and unloved when her current man wrote himself out of her life. She certainly should have remembered what it felts like, it had happened often enough. But that was all in the past. Thankfully.

Her fingers spread out on Richard’s chest as he watched the’ TV, luxuriating in the feeling of soft denim warmed by his skin. He didn’t respond, totally absorbed in the game. Nothing changes, she thought happily, delighted at his presence and determined not to freak about the things which had always irritated her before. The poor man needed time to get used to pregnancy mood swings.

She felt perfectly happy. Serene, almost. This was bliss. He’d changed his mind, he’d come back to her and the baby. They had a future again. They were going to be parents. She was going to have the most beautiful, most adored baby in the whole world. It was all so perfect.

When the match was over, Richard was still hungry.

“Let’s get pizza,” he said, stroking her cheek gently before kissing her on the forehead.

“A twelve-inch pepperoni with garlic bread.

My wallet’s in my jacket.” Jo felt hungry herself, despite the large lunch she’d wolfed down in Stark’s.

He was opening the second bottle of wine when the pizza arrived. The quarter of a glass of wine that Jo had drunk was rattling acidly around her stomach, but she was still starving.

They ate enthusiastically straight from the box, strings of mozzarella dripping juicily from the slices of pizza they pulled apart with their

“Delicious,” Jo mumbled, her mouth full.

“Like you,” Richard grinned back.

They never got to see the Liverpool match. Instead, they ended up on the carpet, kissing garlic butter off each other’s mouths and pulling at clothes with greasy fingers.

When they finally made it into the bedroom, Richard finished undressing her, carefully unclasped her bra and buried his face between her breasts, fuller now than they’d ever been before. He licked each nipple eagerly before sucking them, making Jo arch her back with pleasure.

“Oh, darling,” she moaned, ‘that’s wonderful.” She ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed her breasts, sending quivering bolts of desire through her body.