The Making of Mia (10 page)

A tiny crease of anxiety appeared on William’s forehead, but Jo was so concerned about getting the words out right that she
didn’t notice.

‘I’m going to move back to London and get a job on a magazine,’ she murmured. ‘I feel it’s my time now. I’ll never forget
you, and I hope we can be friends but … if I start a relationship with you I’ll only be distracted. And, William, you distract
me so much.’

Jo stood up and with as much strength as she could muster she walked out of the bar, away from William, and started packing
for her new life.

September 2002

Jo was in the recruitment agency waiting for Felicity, who was running ten minutes late. Despite marvelling that her thighs
didn’t spill over the edges of the chair as they’d done two years before, her foot jangled nervously. Jo didn’t normally like
confrontation – she was usually too nice and timid to stand up for herself – but today she was fired up. She’d literally just
signed the contract on a tiny studio flat near Waterloo, had managed to cart all her stuff from Winchester into it, was dressed
more smartly than ever before, and was raring to go. She had a plan, and she was
going
to get a job on a magazine.

Felicity rushed into the room, and after breathlessly offering her apologies she dug out a PowerPoint presentation and launched
into an authoritative, robotic spiel about the recruitment agency, its clients and history. Jo tried to listen attentively,
but as Felicity droned on she found her mind wandering, and without warning an image of William burst into her head. She allowed
herself to linger on the memory of him kissing her, and then, knowing she had to play this meeting perfectly, banished him
from her mind. He’d have loved her in this outfit, though, Jo thought sadly as she looked down at herself. She was in sexy
spike heels, a pencil skirt that hugged her curvy size-sixteen hips, and a flattering fake-cashmere jumper that accentuated
her breasts. She glanced
up at Felicity, who was rambling on about her client-list, and smiled. She wasn’t surprised that the recruitment consultant
didn’t recognise her. When she’d dressed that morning she’d barely recognised herself.

‘You mentioned you have some magazine publishers as clients …’ Jo leant forward and interrupted Felicity’s soliloquy. She
was keen to get to the point, and Felicity gave her a cold and impersonal smile. Jo guessed that Felicity was asked this question
a lot.

‘Absolutely,’ Felicity replied. ‘Depending on your experience and how long you have been with us, I think I can firmly say
that we’d be delighted to send you on assignments like those.’

Jo looked at Felicity in amazement. Was it really that easy for thinner girls? It was time to play her trump card.

‘Well, as I’ve been a secretary for your company for two years, I’d say I’m ready to do one of those assignments now. Wouldn’t
you?’ When Felicity didn’t say anything Jo sighed and lowered her voice. ‘Felicity, we’ve met before.’

Felicity let out an embarrassed little laugh. ‘Have we? You should have said! I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name …?’

Jo sat back in her chair and tried not to look smug. ‘I’m Joanne Hill and we met the summer before last …’ When Felicity looked
none the wiser, Jo felt slight compassion towards the woman. ‘Why don’t you go and get my file and we can take it from there?’

Minutes later Felicity had returned, smiling uneasily. Jo could tell she was startled.

‘Joanne, I didn’t recognise you, you look incredible!’

Jo smiled magnanimously but inside she felt sad. Despite losing all that weight she knew she was just an average overweight
girl with boring brown hair and a pleasant face. She wasn’t ‘incredible’ at all. Just keep smiling, she thought to herself.
Keep smiling and go for the kill.

‘Felicity, we both know the reason you didn’t send me on a job originally was because of my weight, and that’s fine. I’ve
come to terms with it. But I’d like a job now, and I want it to be on a magazine.’

Felicity looked nervous.

‘You know, even if you don’t send me to a magazine I’m determined enough to get a job on one eventually. And I’m sure they’d
be very interested in an exposé of a recruitment agency that has very specific ideas about what secretaries should look like
… you do remember telling me to lose weight, don’t you?’ Jo kept her voice light and her smile friendly, and all the while
she thought of how proud William would be of her. Tiny beads of sweat had appeared underneath Felicity’s flawless foundation,
and when she attempted to smile Jo noticed she had lipstick on her teeth from chewing her lip. Jo desperately didn’t want
to feel sorry for her but she couldn’t help it.

‘We have one job,’ Felicity began slowly, ‘but it’s something we’d normally give to one of our more experienced girls …’ As
Felicity caught sight of Jo’s deadly stare she hurried to finish her sentence. ‘However, due to your … your change of image,
I’d be happy to send you there. Have you ever read
Gloss
magazine?’

Jo didn’t know how she was going to contain herself – she was brimming with excitement. Her eyes kept darting around what
she could see of the office, drinking in the surroundings, and she could feel delight bubbling up inside her. In her wildest
dreams she’d never imagined that the reception area of a magazine office would be so trendy, so stylish. Even the red suede
sofa screamed ‘designer’, and the framed magazine covers behind the Scandinavian-style reception desk added a cool, contemporary
edge. The Italian-looking receptionist, however, eyed Jo with barely concealed disdain while shaking
out her frosted, glossy hair. She was absolutely beautiful, and Jo tried not to stare at her or her expensive-looking clothes.

‘Frieda will see you now,’ she said, looking Jo up and down, and letting her eyes linger on a thread dangling from Jo’s skirt.
Jo tried to not let the girl ruin her excitement at being here, and she wondered if she’d worn the wrong outfit. She’d spent
hours the night before working out what to wear, but the receptionist was clad head to toe in black as though she was the
girlfriend of a beat poet. Her shiny leather boots set off her tan and showed long, lean legs that were in a tiny black mini-skirt
that stopped halfway up her thighs. Despite the last of the summer heat she was wearing a black turtle-neck that clung to
her tiny, perky breasts, and when she stood up Jo noticed she had the narrowest hips she had ever seen. Jo envied her and
felt dowdy in comparison. Her limp dark skirt, white blouse and navy pumps felt cheap and inappropriate. Jo suddenly regretted
spending a hundred pounds on a second-hand sofa for the flat she’d started renting – she could have bought some better clothes
instead.

‘Go down the hall and turn left.’ She eyed Jo up and down again and momentarily ignored a ringing phone. ‘That’s where the
secretaries
work.’

Jo tried to smile her thanks at the receptionist but she had already taken the call, and as soon as Jo heard her swap her
ice tones for honeyed warmth when she said, ‘Good morning,
Gloss
magazine,’ she felt a shiver run down her back. She still couldn’t believe she had a job on a magazine … and to top it all
off it was at
Gloss
, one of her favourites.

‘You must be Joanne,’ an angular-looking woman said to Jo, snapping her out of her daze with curt tones. She was in her mid-thirties,
Jo guessed, and her clothes were cut so well Jo instantly pegged them as Armani. Her hair was carved into a strict dark bob,
and the beginnings of laughter lines were sketched on her face. Jo instantly wondered how it was
possible that this severe-looking woman ever smiled. ‘I’m Frieda. I’ve been expecting you.’

Jo suddenly felt poor, young and out of her depth, as she quickly glanced around the cramped office and saw five other girls
who all looked immaculate and impeccably groomed. Amongst the pot plants and framed magazine covers the typists were all looking
at her with brazen interest, and Jo tried not to blush underneath their stares. She turned back to Frieda, who assessed her
swiftly.

‘I’m going to be your manager for the three months you’re here with us. If you have any problems or issues you come straight
to me. Now, we need to give you a quick tour of the office.’ Frieda looked Jo up and down swiftly and settled on the gape
in her blouse that showed a glimpse of her greying bra. ‘I’m sure your recruitment consultant would have mentioned it but
in case she forgot, we have a dress code here. I’ll make sure you get a copy. But in the meantime follow me.’

Frieda walked briskly back through the corridor and past the receptionist who gave her a mocking smile as if Jo was the entertainment.
Jo didn’t know how to react so she tentatively smiled back and crossed her arms to hide the stretch of fabric straining across
her breasts. Jo had thought a size fourteen would fit but clearly not. She must have put on a couple of pounds.

‘You’ve met Rachel, I see,’ Frieda said pointedly, as she gave the receptionist a quick nod. ‘Rachel deals with all our telephone
queries. If you have a telephone call you must immediately put it through to her. It will be a wrong number as all internal
calls to the secretary pool come through me first.’

Jo nodded brightly and followed Frieda to a set of double doors.

‘It’s quite simple to do, really, as your phone can’t make any outgoing calls apart from to her, anyway. I’ll show you
how to do it later but all you need to do is press zero. I’m sure you will be able to remember that?’

Jo smiled blandly – why did everyone patronise secretaries, including other secretaries? – and she looked down at the grey-blue
carpet that led to the office. Nothing seemed spectacular any more, and her nerves got the better of her. She wondered if
she’d made a mistake. Jo wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to bite her tongue in front of this secretarial Nazi, and
she didn’t see how she’d be able to get headhunted if she was crammed into a small room away from where the action was. Maybe
this wasn’t the way into the industry that she had hoped it would be.

‘This,’ said Frieda, interrupting Jo’s train of thought, ‘is the editorial office of
Gloss
magazine. You’re not to speak to anybody in this room, or disturb them.’ Frieda often showed new girls this room to make
sure they knew their place, and she pushed the doors open with a flourish. Jo drank in the view.

In the large open-plan office sat about twenty slender and beautiful girls who were dressed – like Rachel – in black. The
sun streamed through the large windows and bathed them in a glorious gold as though they were blessed. Some of the girls walked
industriously around the office, but many were on the telephone, speaking in languid voices and laughing falsely. Several
of the girls were peering intently at photographs of models, and one was opening a package of what looked like designer clothes.
‘Oh, look!’ she heard her say in a breathy, little-girl voice. ‘It’s a new couture Dior gown – how wonderful of Nicholas to
send it. It’s darling!’

‘To the right is the executive suite,’ Frieda said hastily, ignoring the rush of the editorial staff to look at the shimmering
turquoise dress and cutting into Jo’s reverie. Jo tore her eyes from the glittering sequinned gown and looked towards the
executive suite with interest. There was no time
for elegant dresses when Jo had to concentrate on filtering into the editorial team. She stood on her tiptoes and caught a
glance of an attractive man in a beautiful charcoal suit through a glass-walled office.

‘Madeline Turner, who won Editor of the Year last year, sits in the office to the right, and in the end office, the biggest
one, is Joshua Garnet.’ Frieda looked at Jo knowingly. ‘He’s taking a keen interest in this magazine at the moment.’

‘Do you mean,’ Jo began, before Frieda raised her eyebrows at her to lower her voice. She started again. ‘Do you mean that
Joshua Garnet himself works in this office?’

Frieda led Jo out of the office and shut the door firmly behind them. ‘Yes, and you’re not to approach him.’

‘But I thought all the Garnets – apart from Harold – were silent directors and preferred to take a back seat on their investment,’
Jo thought out loud, and Frieda looked at her sharply.

‘You seem to know a lot for a twenty-year-old secretary,’ Frieda remarked with one eyebrow raised, and Jo remembered that
she was here to work as a secretary, and not a wannabe journalist.

She thought quickly. ‘Felicity, at the agency, provided me with some background reading. I have a good memory.’

This placated Frieda somewhat. ‘Yes, it is unusual for a Garnet to take an interest, but he appears to have a knack for these
high-end magazines. He acts as publisher for
Gloss
and several of the other titles but he’s paying particular interest to this magazine at the moment. Josh Garnet has a golden
touch. Circulation has improved with his input.’ Frieda looked at Jo and decided to take pity on her. She looked so young
and suburban. ‘Circulation is what we call the number of magazines that are sold.’

Jo nodded distractedly – she was still astounded at the news that Joshua Garnet actually worked on the magazine.
All the press coverage she had read about Joshua Garnet when she was at school had said he was a millionaire playboy who spent
his evenings in exclusive private members’ clubs with blonde models for arm candy. Perhaps, she thought, he had changed his
mind about not working and had taken an interest in the family company. The idea that she might actually meet one of the Garnets
– and Joshua in particular – gave Jo an exhilarated feeling in her stomach. He was magazine royalty, the JFK of publishing.
Frieda spotted the adoration on Jo’s face and led her swiftly back to their small office.

‘And here, as you have seen, is our office. You’ll be assigned copy to type because some of our journalists prefer to handwrite
their pieces. You’re not to make any amendments apart from spelling and punctuation, and to copy what you are given word for
word from the handwritten notes. Do you understand?’