Woman to Woman (49 page)

“You’ve got five minutes,” repeated Jo.

“I’m updating my CV, you understand, and I don’t have any time to waste.”

Refusing to rise to the bait, Mark walked into the small sitting room and stared around for a moment before sitting down on the settee. He stretched long legs ahead of him and looked up at her.

“Sit down, Jo.”

This is my house, smart ass,” she hissed.

“Don’t tell me when to sit down.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

She sat. The sheer nerve of him. Marching into her house and taking over.

“So?” Jo arranged her cotton jumper over her blue jogging pants to hide the ink stain on the front. She was angry and she hated being caught out wearing a dreadful outfit. And this ancient white hand-knitted jumper with threads hanging out and threadbare jogging pants with no socks was pretty dreadful. The carpet could have done with a good vacuum into the bargain and the weeping fig had wept a new batch of dead leaves onto the fireplace … “I’ve come to apologise.”

Jo blinked.

“I should have rung you but I was in the car, I’d left your number in the office and,” Mark paused and tried to look her in the eye, but she avoided his gaze, “I didn’t think it was that important. At the time.”

“It wasn’t important at all,” she replied coldly.

“Just your average day in the office when nepotism runs amok. There’s nothing to apologise for.” Jo knew she was pushing it but she didn’t care. For once she felt gloriously like flinging caution to the wind.

“I just can’t work under those circumstances, that’s all. I’ve worked in journalism for thirteen years and I’ve never been treated with the sort of disrespect Emma showed me. What’s more,” she was beginning to enjoy this, “I’ve certainly never treated anyone else that badly, either. It just isn’t in my nature and it certainly isn’t the way to win friends and influence people, or get the best out of them. But your niece is a law unto herself and quite frankly, I won’t work with her any more.” She snorted.

“Anyway, you’ve made it quite plain what way your allegiance lies.”

“What way is that?” he asked calmly.

“What way is that?” she mimicked.

“Do you honestly want me to answer that?” Mark looked tired.

“No.” Jo was really angry now.

“I don’t. You’ve already answered it by your silence. When I thought you’d want to talk to me to find out what had happened, you simply didn’t bother ringing. When I thought you and I had a friendship, a ..”A what?” he prompted. She’d been on the verge of saying ‘a relationship’, and he knew it. Damn him, but he wasn’t getting her to play his bloody games. She didn’t want to be his amusement for the evening.

“A nothing,” she said angrily.

“We have nothing, I can see that now. And I can see I can’t work for you any more.”

“Don’t be rash snapped Mark.

“Don’t tell me what not to be!” she shrieked.

“You’re just like all bloody men, telling me what not to be. Just get out!

Get out of here and stick your bloody job where the sun doesn’t fucking shine!”

He stood up slowly and sighed.

“Jo, I’m sorry. I came here to apologise, I wanted to explain what had happened.”

“I don’t want your apologies,” she said, feeling her eyes smart. God, she didn’t want to cry in front of him. What sort of whinging idiot had she turned into, always crying at the drop of a hat?

“Please, Jo. Listen to me.”

“Just go.”

He said nothing, but he didn’t move either.

Jo poked around in her sleeve looking for a tissue. Why wasn’t he going? Was she going to have to throw him out?

“Jo, just let me say one thing, all right?” His eyes were alight with something she couldn’t identify, It was probably amusement, she thought, since it felt as if the rest of the world’s male population were laughing at her for her naivety and sheer stupidity. Jo Ryan falls for another man’s lies, again. Ha bloody ha.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ring you over the weekend, but believe me, I didn’t take Emma’s explanation at face value,” Mark said in a low voice. And I’m sorry if I sounded angry with you when I rang you from London about it, but it had been a very bad day. Emma’s latest crisis was all I needed and I thought you’d be able to handle her until I got back,” He leaned against the back of an armchair tiredly and folded his arms.

“I trust your judgement, Jo, that’s why I wanted ‘you to sort things out. Please believe me.”

Jo stared at him fiercely, determined not to be swayed by any trumped-up explanation.

“The problem was that I had no idea what Emma had actually said and done until Rhona told me and since I’ve heard, I’ve been trying to get hold of you to apologise for her behaviour. Please understand he said, looking at her intently.

“I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

He stood up and fished his car keys out of his trouser pocket. Tm going to go now because I’ve upset you. And let’s just forget about where I can stick the deputy editorship.”

Jo flushed.

“Take as much time off as you need, Jo. Bye.”

He went, leaving behind him a scent of cologne, the same one she’d smelled when they sat together on the plane, when they’d gone out to dinner, when he’d brought her looking at the house in Redwood Lane.

She stared at the door for a moment, feeling the anger subside as rapidly as it had erupted. In the kitchen, she got a glass of water and drank it quickly, her hand shaking.

Hell, what had she said, what had she done? Jo felt her face flame when she thought about it. She told the boss that he could ‘stick his job’. Oh God. At least he hadn’t accepted her resignation.

How would she ever face him again? How could she sit in at the editorial meetings and have him look at her with those grave, sad eyes as if she’d hurt him deeply? And she must have. He’d been trying to say the right thing and she’d flown off the handle and ruined it all. As usual. It wasn’t Mark’s fault that she was utterly at sea emotionally. That was Richard’s fault. Richard and the pregnancy which was responsible for mood swings like tidal waves.

And Mark wasn’t just the boss, anyway. He was more than that, much more, if she admitted it to herself.

She had a sudden impulse to phone him on his mobile. She had the number, although she’d never used it before. If she rang and

apologised now, maybe he’d come back and she could say she was sorry properly.

Tell him that she simply felt alone and miserable at the thought of having the baby on her own and that he’d arrived when she was at her lowest. Then she thought again. Face facts, she told herself. Mark is your boss, not your lover.

Phoning him would look stupid, desperate even. You’ve messed!

everything up. Think about what you’re going to do now.

When she’d made a cup of sweet tea and taken the last couple of chocolate digestives from the packet, she phoned Rhona. Rhona would know what to do. Or, at the very worst, she’d know what sort of hat Jo could wear into the office for the rest of her life so she wouldn’t have to either look at Mark Denton or let him see her face puce with embarrassment.

“Rho, you won’t believe what I’ve done.”

“I can’t imagine, Jo.” Rhona replied. Jo could hear her take a deep drag of a cigarette.

“But you don’t sound the best. Are you feeling OK?”

“Apart from a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, I’m fine,” Jo explained.

“Mark’s just been to see me,” she added, more slowly.

“Why do I get the feeling that all did not go well on this visit?” Rhona inquired.

“Because you’re psychic?”

“Nope. It’s probably because I can always tell when you’re gearing for a complete blow-out,” Rhona said.

“You do get to know people when you’ve worked with them for three years.

So what happened? Is he still breathing?”

“Oh Rho.” Jo sat on the edge of the settee with the phone balanced on her knees.

“I’ve known myself for thirty-four years and even I wouldn’t have predicted this one. I’ve been such a fool. Within the space of about five minutes I managed to insult Mark, tell him where to stick his job, and,” she grimaced at the thought of it, “I nearly said that I thought we had a “relationship” before he messed it all up. I didn’t say it but he knew I was going to. You’ve no idea how I feel,” wailed Jo.

“What is it about me that I can’t be normal where men are concerned? ““It impossible to be normal when men are involved because they’re impossible,” Rhona replied. They give the phrase “mission impossible” a whole new dimension. Now look, Jo, this is hardly the end of the world. You’re just overwrought. I’m sure Mark knows that.”

“Oh, so he thinks I’m hysterical and that’s supposed to be good?”

“It’s better than him thinking you meant it about sticking his job. He didn’t accept, did he?” Rhona said knowingly.

“Course he didn’t. You know he likes you. What am I saying likes you, he fancies you like mad. He’s just unfortunate to have been caught in the crossfire of pregnancy hormones.”

“Do you think he’ll understand?” Jo finished the second biscuit and licked the crumbs off her fingers.

“Honestly, Jo, for a woman who looks as if she should have the entire male population slavering at her feet, you really haven’t a clue about men, have you?”

Not waiting for ah answer, Rhona ploughed on.

“It’s obvious to me that Mark is crazy about you. But because he’s trying to tread carefully, and because you’re hopeless at reading the situation, you’re making a complete mess of the whole thing.”

“Do you think so?” Jo said doubtfully. It all sounded so much more reasonable when Rhona said it.

“Yes. Now listen to your auntie Rhona or Madame Rhona the psychic as I want to be known in future and go off and have a nice swim, or something energetic like that. Then go home, relax and come in here tomorrow morning as if nothing ever happened. OK?”

“OK. What about Emma? I simply couldn’t face her tomorrow.”

“You won’t have to. I’ve suspended her. Actually, I’ve never suspended anyone before,” the other woman said thoughtfully, ‘so I had to make it up as I went along. It went pretty well, though.”

“What did you say?” demanded Jo, dying to know every gory detail.

“Well, remember that time we were at the Pret A Porter premiere party in the Chocolate Bar and that drunk pulled me onto his lap and tried to stick his hand down my Ben De Lisi shirt?” Even in times of crisis, Rhona was exact about clothes.

“Oh my God yes, I’ll never forget it! I didn’t think you knew how to be so vicious.”

“I was worse than that with Emma.” Rhona said.

“That girl will think twice actually, she’ll think three or four times before ever speaking to anyone in Style like that ever again. I pointed out that word quickly gets around about someone who’s trouble to work with. It’s one thing to be pig-ignorant and rude if you’ve made it, if you’re a damn good journalist or whatever.”

She took another drag of her cigarette.

“But if you’re trouble and you’re only a junior with no evidence of any talent whatsoever, forget about a career in journalism, I said. There are thousands of freelances out there just waiting to step into your shoes, Emma, so wake up and smell the coffee.”

“I’m impressed.”

“So was I,” Rhona said smugly.

“I gave Ted a brief version of it at home afterwards and he was shocked, I can tell you. He says he’s going to disown me when the kids get into trouble at school and I have to go down to give the headmistress a piece of my mind. He couldn’t face the carnage, he said.”

Jo suddenly realised she was laughing and that the knot of tension in her belly was loosening.

“Thanks, Rhona, you’re great at getting people to forget their problems. Can I stay in your house until I have the baby so you can stop me going berserk every second day?”

“With three under-tens running around constantly, you’d really go mad, I can tell you,” Rhona replied.

“You’re right.” Jo managed a weak laugh.

“If I take lots of deep breaths tomorrow morning, I think I’ll be able to face the office. Mark’s not due in, is he?”

“Nope. Anyway, he’s not going to bite you.”

“No, but I may pass out with embarrassment when I see him,” Jo pointed

out. “No you won’t.” Rhona’s voice was firm.

“Go and do something energetic so you don’t have a second to think about it. I’ll be in the office at half nine tomorrow morning with the kettle boiled.”

Nerves got Jo out of bed early, so she was the first person in the office and had already made a cup of tea when Rhona arrived.

“How come I always have so much junk with me?”

demanded Rhona, staggering into the office weighed down as usual by a capacious handbag, a bulging briefcase and the fat black velvet make-up bag she could never fit in her handbag.

“Get pregnant, split up with Ted and you’ll be able to spend many happy hours at home feeling exhausted and bored, and -you’ll end-up tidying your handbag/wardrobekitchen cupboards whatever said Jo, pouring water on a tea bag for Rhona.

“Did you do all that?”

“Yes. I feel very virtuous, I can tell you. I even threw out all the saggy knickers I never wear, found and bin ned the tights with holes in them and rounded up all the black socks and found them partners, or the closest thing to a partner.”

“I’m impressed. Will you do mine?”

“Do what?” inquired Nikki, the beauty editor, who’d just arrived in a cloud of Opium.

“Jo has turned into a living, breathing “de-junk your life” feature,” Rhona explained, taking her tea into her office so she could smoke.

“Oh please de-junk my life.” Nikki shrugged off her black suede coat.

“I spent half of yesterday afternoon writing an article about the beauty essentials and how you only needed blusher, lip gloss, concealer and mascara in your emergency make-up bag. While I, naturally, carry half of Boots around with me every day and it necessitated a ten-minute search this morning to locate my new eyebrow make-up. By the way,” she said to Jo as she switched on her computer, ‘you haven’t forgotten the make-over session this morning?”

“Shit,” said Jo, who had.