Woman to Woman (30 page)

“Are elasticated waists allowed?” she asked, smoothing down her black tailored trousers.

“Of course replied Jo.

“Where did you get those trousers?”

she demanded. The way my waist is going, I need elasticated ones myself.”

“Welcome to the club,” said Rhona.

“All you need is a belt to hide the elastic bit and you can breathe in comfort. Tell me,” she asked innocently, ‘what did Mark want to talk to you about all on your own io

Jo looked up suspiciously but Rhona’s expression was serious.

“We’re going to lunch to discuss the trip,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive and wondering why.

“Oh.” Rhona said. “That’s nice. Don’t forget to come back to the office afterwards, will you? No sloping off for indiscreet drinkies in O’Dwyer’s and ending up in Joy’s nightclub at four in the morning.”

“Rhona!” Jo was scandalised and shocked.

“Are you mad?”

Realising she was almost shouting, she whispered, “Just because we manage to talk for the first time without coming to blows, doesn’t mean we’re engaged you know. For God’s sake Rhona, I know I’m single, I’m not desperate!”

“You don’t have to be desperate to fancy Mark,” Rhona answered mildly.

“Just because you’re blind to his charms doesn’t mean that lots of other women wouldn’t rip out your contact lenses to be in your place, Jo.”

“Well, I’m not one of them,” hissed Jo.

“For a start, I won’t be drinking and there’s as much chance of him fancying me as there is of you winning the 3.30 at Leopardstown!”

“Fine,” grinned Rhona.

“I’ll expect you back at two with a doggy bag and a bottle containing the two glasses of wine you couldn’t drink.” She waggled one finger at Jo.

“Don’t have fun, whatever else you do!”

At half twelve on the dot, Mark appeared beside Jo’s desk, briefcase in hand.

Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes.” replied Jo nonchalantly.

“See you later.” she called in to Rhona’s office on the way out.

Rhona’s response was a wicked wink.

Knowing that Mark was behind her and couldn’t see, Jo stuck her tongue out at Rhona. Fun with Mark Denton?

Honestly, all that Chardonnay and the French sun must have scrambled Rhona’s brain.

“Nice car she said as’ she settled herself into the low-slung passenger seat of the Porsche.

“It must cost a bomb to insure.”

“It does Mark answered wryly.

“But she’s worth it he added, patting the steering wheel lovingly.

Here we go, thought Jo, another man in love with his car.

She waited for the spiel ‘it goes from nought to sixty miles an hour in half a second and has triple cylinders and buckets of horse power …” Boring, boring, boring.

But he didn’t say anything like that.

“I always dreamed of having a car like this he said instead.

“My father loved cars but he never had the money to buy anything but old wrecks. I remember him bringing me to a car show once, and we spent hours looking at all these beautiful sports cars. He said he’d love to drive one of them, just once before he died.” He paused, concentrating on turning right down Fitzwilliam Place.

Jo sneaked a sideways glance at him, amazed at this sudden softening of the hard-as-nails image. For once, his jaw wasn’t as firmly set and he looked younger than his forty-three years, more approachable somehow.

“He died before I got my first business off the ground Mark explained, ‘so he never got the chance to ride in a sports car. When I bought my first BMW, I drove to the graveyard in it. It was as if I was showing him that I’d done what he’d always dreamed of doing. I suppose that sounds very sentimental to you, does it?” He turned to look at Jo.

She shook her head, still seeing a younger version of Mark standing beside his father’s grave with tears in his eyes.

“I understand completely she said finally.

“I never really knew my father. He died when I was four and I can’t

remember him at all. But I like to think he looks down on me sometimes. I’d like to think that he could see me and be glad that I’m doing well,” she said quietly.

“He has a lot to be proud of Mark said.

“You have done well.”

Jo flushed and then laughed to hide her embarrassment.

“I wouldn’t say that she started.

“Why wouldn’t you say that?” demanded Mark, braking at traffic lights and turning to look her straight in the face.

“Things aren’t always what they seem, Mark.” she explained hesitantly.

“We all look at other people, see that they have X, Y and Z and think, “They’re happy, they’ve got everything.”

But we don’t see the other side of things at all, the problems people hide.” She shrugged.

“If you put up a good enough facade, you can fool everyone. Even yourself Yeah, she’d managed to fool herself all right, fool herself that Richard cared for her.

The car purred to a halt outside Dobbin’s and Mark switched off the ignition.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Not really Jo replied, amazed that this man could be intuitive enough to know that she was talking about her own problems.

“Let’s have lunch and talk about business.”

That’s fine by me he answered.

Seated in a booth up beside the wall, they stared at the menu silently. Everything sounded so beautiful, thought Jo hungrily. Tarragon vinaigrette, deep-fried brie on a red currant sauce … “I love the way they describe food she said to break the silence.

“You couldn’t imagine how it could taste any better than it sounds!”

He chuckled.

“That reminds me of an awful joke he said.

“Tell me she commanded.

“OK. This American guy goes into a restaurant in Ireland and says to the waitress that he wants a chicken smothered in gravy and she says, “If you want it killed in that cruel way, sir, you better do it

yourself!” I know, it’s a dreadful joke.” Jo broke out laughing and crumbs of the bread roll she’d just bitten into spewed out onto the table.

“Sorry.” she mumbled, her mouth still full. She swallowed and grinned over at him.

“That’s daft but it’s still funny. I used to love silly jokes like that, especially the elephant ones.”

“Elephant jokes?” he asked.

“Oh, they’re totally silly but I love them,” she said.

“Here’s one. Why do elephants paint the soles of their feet yellow? So they can hide upside down in bowls of custard.”

He laughed and said, “You’re right, that’s silly.”

Just then the waiter appeared.

“We better pick something to eat,” Mark said, serious again, ‘or we’ll never get back to the office.”

“I’ll have the avocado salad,” Jo said straight-faced, ‘and chicken smothered in gravy!”

Mark burst out laughing while the waiter stood there with a bemused expression on his face.

“Sorry.” Jo grinned up at the waiter.

“I’ll have the avocado salad, the monkfish and some water, not the sparkling stuff.”

She looked at Mark as he scanned the menu. He was a strange man and no mistake. He’d never been anything other than abrupt and businesslike with her during the three years she’d worked for him.

Today was startlingly different. He was still the boss, no doubt about that. If his dinner arrived with a single flaw, it would be dispatched back to the kitchen like a shot, she knew.

Yet it was as if he’d suddenly decided to open up to her, to let , the tough businessman facade drop a little. Wait until she told Rhona.

“I’ll have the brie and the monkfish,” Mark announced, ‘and a bottle of number 33.”

He hadn’t even looked at the wine list, Jo realised. He obviously visited Dobbin’s so often that he knew exactly what he wanted.

“I’m not drinking anything she said quickly before the waiter left.

“I’m sorry. I should have asked. Make that a glass of red wine, will you?” he asked the waiter.

Jo was waiting for him to ask why she didn’t want wine, but he didn’t. He leaned back in the wooden bench seat and smiled at her over the small vase of carnations, a warm smile that lit up his face. He was almost handsome when he smiled.

Maybe that was what made other women fancy him, his smile, something he rarely produced when he was in the office.

“So tell me, Ms Ryan, what spurred you on to become a journalist and a fashion journalist at that?”

She looked at him curiously.

“What’s brought this on?” she asked bluntly.

“I suppose I don’t know that much about you, other than what you’ve done for Style over the past three years, which has been excellent,” he added.

“And seeing as we’re going to be travelling together, I thought it would be nice to know each other a bit better.”

His face was serious as he spoke and she found herself noticing that his eyes were a beautiful cool grey colour. Jo was suddenly glad she had washed her hair that morning and worn her navy silk dress even though she’d felt so weak when she woke up that she’d felt like wearing her dressing-gown into the office. And was it her imagination, or was he gazing at her in a distinctly un-boss like way? Stop that, Jo, she reprimanded herself. He hasn’t been interested in you in three years, he’s hardly going to start now. There’s got to be some ulterior motive for this ‘tell me about yourself stuff.

“Don’t you have my CV in your files?” she asked smartly.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“But CVs are limited. They tell you when and where a person is born, what they got in Leaving Cert English and whether they like hang-gliding or knitting, all useless when it comes to getting to know someone.”

Amazing. He wanted to know about her. Maybe he was interested in her after all! How weird. Was she interested in him, she wondered? No, she couldn’t be. She was pregnant with another man’s child, a man who’d dumped her. She couldn’t possibly fancy any man.

“Fair enough, I’ll spill the beans, on one condition she said firmly.

“What’s that?” he grinned.

“You tell me the same about you.”

“I’m afraid I’m very boring, Jo.”

That doesn’t matter. You don’t talk, I don’t talk.” She smiled triumphantly at him.

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“I thought that’s why you were bringing me to New York with you she said cheekily.

“Of course, of course. For that, and because you understand the world of clothes. I’ve never been able to understand how they can make two yards of fabric into a dress and charge two grand for it he said.

“It’s a complete rip-off.”

“I’d keep that particular sentiment to yourself when we’re in New York.” Jo laughed, ‘or we’ll be going home empty handed.

The secret of understanding the fashion world is to tell all designers that they’re either the new Coco Chanel or the most innovative designer you’ve ever seen, not that they’re rip-off merchants!”

Their first courses arrived and Jo attacked her salad with gusto.

“No breakfast she explained between mouthfuls of avocado.

“Want some brie?” he said, holding out a piece on his fork, the sort of intimate gesture lovers make. She felt that ache in her chest

“No thanks she said, remembering all she’d read about avoiding soft cheeses during pregnancy for fear of Listeria She stared down into her plate, shuffling pieces of radicchio around in the oily dressing, terrified that the tears would start.

What the hell was she doing wondering whether Mark Denton fancied her or not when the man she’d loved had walked out on her?

If Mark noticed her sudden change of face, he didn’t mention it.

“Were you always interested in fashion?” he asked blandly. Fashion yes, she could talk about that for hours. Grabbing the life belt he’d thrown her, Jo started talking. She was still at it by the time Mark had paid the bill.

That was lovely, I really enjoyed it she said truthfully as they left the restaurant.

“I’m glad,” Mark said, opening the passenger door for her.

“Actually, I brought you out because I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Of course,” Jo replied. What would she do if he asked her out to dinner? Say yes? She’d have to say yes. Anyway, it would be fun. He was a very entertaining companion when he wanted to be.

He opened his door and slid into the driver’s seat.

“It’s Emma. After what you said to me when Rhona was away, I’ve been worrying about her. She really needs a firm hand and some guidance. I’d love it if you could take her under your wing, Jo.”

Jo felt herself deflate like a burst balloon. So that was what it was all about. He wasn’t even vaguely interested in her.

He’d simply been softening her up before asking her to look after his bloody niece. What a fool she’d been to even imagine that Mark Denton would be interested in someone like her.

You’re a complete moron, Jo Ryan.

“What would you like me to do?” she asked tersely.

Take her on like a student. Train her how to write, how to interview people, you know the sort of thing. If you agree, I’d be delighted and so would Emma.”

It wouldn’t kill me to be nice to the scheming little bitch, Jo decided. But she wasn’t going to take any cheek from her.

“I’ll take her on, Mark,” Jo said coolly.

“However, I want her to understand what I’m doing for her. She better be prepared to work hard and not whinge or run to you every five minutes if she wants my help.”

“I’ll talk to her,” he said quickly. Thanks, Jo, this means a lot to me.”

She sat in stony silence until the car stopped outside the office.

“I’ll see you at the airport at ten on Saturday morning, OK?”

he said.

“Right. Thanks for lunch,” she said quickly before slamming the car

“How did you get on?” Rhona asked eagerly when Jo stalked into her office.

“Bloody awful,” Jo snapped. That man drives me insane.”

“Oh.” Rhona looked pensive.

“Maybe he’ll grow on you when you’re away.”

“I doubt it. “

Jo’s fingers tightened their grip on the seat’s armrests and she swallowed deeply. For the tenth time in five minutes she wished she’d never watched that bloody movie about the plane crash in the Andes.