Woman to Woman (29 page)

“Now these,” she said, doling them out to everyone, ‘are only small pressies, but don’t say I ever forget

“Oooh lovely,” squealed Brenda, who’d found a pair of shell earrings in her package.

On the phone as ever, Nikki waved a hand-painted pottery candle-holder at Rhona and mouthed ‘thank you’.

“I didn’t know what to get you, Tony.” said Rhona, as the chief sub-editor emerged from the advertising office with a pile of papers in his hands.

“I knew you wouldn’t like anything but booze, darling, but this lot would complain if I gave you any and not them, so I got you this.”

She produced a tiny bottle. Tony took it and peered through his glasses to see what the label said.

“Aphrodisiac oil!” he exclaimed.

“I just thought you might need some,” Rhona said innocently, batting eyelids sooty with mascara.

“You didn’t complain the last time we went to bed, Rho Rho,” he countered.

“She said I was a tiger he told everyone with a dramatic sigh.

“Women …”

“What about them?” A deep voice behind them made everyone hop guiltily.

Standing outside Rhona’s office, holding a heavy black briefcase, was Mark Denton. He did not look terribly amused.

But then, Jo decided, he rarely did these days.

If Jo had been asked to describe Mark Denton, she would never have said that he was handsome. Some women said he was attractive, sexy even, although she could never see it. She had to admit that he was well built with rugby player’s shoulders topping a lean, tall frame. But his Roman nose was crooked, his jaw could have broken rocks and the only sign that his chin had ever yielded against anything was the off-centre dent in it. Short, greying dark hair was raked back over a lined forehead. And his shrewd and piercing eyes looked as if they’d never shone with delight over anything apart from a successful deal. Everything about Mark screamed money, power and taste. If you liked that sort of thing.

Today, he was dressed in a beautifully cut grey suit with a subtle yellow silk tie and polished shoes.

“I’m here for the sales meeting he announced.

Jo could have hit herself. She’d completely forgotten about the

meeting and she should have reminded Rhona the moment the other woman came in. Mark Denton was invariably early, ‘to catch people out’ Rhona always said cheerfully and correctly.

He wouldn’t be pleased to see the entire office having a whale of a time at half ten on a Monday morning when the publication of the August issue was only a week away.

He strode into his large office and slammed the briefcase onto the highly polished conference table.

“Coffee, Brenda.” hissed Jo. Brenda scurried off like a rat let out of the lab to make the rich Colombian coffee the boss preferred to instant.

Presents completely forgotten, the staff dropped everything and rooted around their desks for folders, sheets of ideas, notebooks and pens. Mark Denton had that effect on people.

Jo knew she had those papers about the advertisement feature on safe tanning, but she was damned if she could find them. Even the usually unflappable Nikki was frantically trawling through her briefcase, muttering curses as she went.

Only Rhona remained calm and cool. She picked up her bags, sailed into her office, sat back in her chair and lit a cigarette with relish.

“God, I miss this place when I’m away for longer than two weeks,” she shouted out the door. “Maybe I wouldn’t be happy in a French chateau after all. I really do get itchy feet after too long simply lolling around in the sun, drinking wine and reading novels.”

“Don’t torture me,” moaned Jo, who was longing to lie down in the sun and read novels even if she couldn’t have kept more than a teaspoon of wine down. That sounds like sheer bliss. I’d kill to be doing that right now, to be anywhere rather than here she added in a quieter tone so Mark wouldn’t hear.

“I don’t know how you deal with him, Rhona, he’s so difficult.”

“That’s because you spark off each other, darling.” Rhona put out her cigarette and picked up a fresh notepad from her desk.

“You two are like bullfrogs in a pond, each one determined to be in the

right and boss of the pond.” “I am not!” Jo was shocked.

“You never said that to me before. You said he was difficult!”

“Don’t mind me.” The editor got up and slipped her arm around Jo.

“I’m still woozy from the journey and probably saying things I’ll regret when I calm down. You’re just the sweetest creature imaginable when Mark is on the premises, honestly.”

Jo sat back in her chair at the conference table whiles Nikki and Tony discussed ideas for the Autumn beauty supplement and mulled over what Rhona had said. There was no way she sparked off Mark, she decided crossly. It was all his fault. He irritated her beyond belief. Look at that meeting two weeks ago when he’d deliberately annoyed her by mentioning the poster campaign. All right, she should have noticed that the designers had spelt three words wrong on the mock-up, but at least she’d caught it in time. Lord knows what it would have cost to reprint two hundred posters because of a few careless spelling mistakes.

But they didn’t have to reprint so why did he have to bring it up at all?

“What do you think, Jo?”

Startled, she looked up to find them all looking at her expectantly, a distinctly quizzical look on Mark’s face. Damn.

She hated to be caught out by him of all people. There was no way she could brazen it out and pretend she knew what they’d been talking about.

“Sorry, I was miles away.”

“Obviously.”

Was she imagining it or was there a slight smile on his face?

Probably a smirk, the pig.

“I’ve a lot of things on my mind,” she started hotly but got no further.

“I know the feeling,” Mark interrupted gently.

“Are you OK, you look a little pale? Would you like someone to get you some water?”

“No, no thanks,” answered Jo weakly. What was going on?

Was Mark Denton, tough guy extraordinaire getting soft in his old age or did she look absolutely dreadful, so dreadful that even he’d noticed?

“Mark’s got a great idea for the September, issue, but we’ve really got to get working on it immediately said Rhona briskly. She poured some Ballygowan into a glass and sent it down the conference table to Jo.

“He wants us to do a big fashion feature from New York, linked with an advertising supplement centred around the Mademoiselle chain of shops.

It’s pretty hush-hush right now, but they’re opening two shops here, and four in the UK in November.

“Linking up with them would be a brilliant chance for us to push the readership figures up, especially if we could do some sort of competition with them Rhona continued.

“It would mean a higher profile for Style and lots of ads.”

“And lots of money said Aidan, the advertising manager, excitedly.

“I’ve made tentative inquiries and what we need to do next is to go to New York and try and put things in motion.” Mark paused for a moment and slowly took a sip of coffee from his cup. The thing is he began, “I’d like you to get involved right now, Jo. I need you to come to New York with me. You’ll know the right way to talk to these people and it’ll be useful for setting up fashion shoots later, when we send a model and photographer out.”

“Oh.” Now she was stunned. Mark wanted her help in setting the deal up? Amazing. Jo’s mind turned somersaults thinking about it all. A month ago she’d have hated the idea because it would have meant being separated from Richard.

Not a problem she had now.

And it meant she could spend hours in Bloomingdale’s, wandering through miles of beautiful designer clothes with her credit card at the ready. Of course, travelling with Mark would hardly be a thrill, but at least it would be a break.

“Do you think you could manage it?” Mark was looking at her very strangely now, heavy eyebrows knitted together in consternation. Was he actually asking her and not ordering? What was happening to him?

“I’d love to, of course she replied in a businesslike manner.

“When do we go?”

“Saturday?”

Saturday! She’d hardly be packed by Saturday. It took her at least a month of planning and thinking about her wardrobe to go away for a weekend, never mind a business trip to New York. She just nodded her head and said “Right.” I’ll set up meetings for Tuesday and Wednesday, which gives us Monday to recover from jet-lag,” Mark was saying.

“We should be finished by Thursday, Friday at the latest.”

“Lucky old you,” said Nikki enviously.

“I love New York and I adore the Village. Weren’t you there only last year with

Jo felt her stomach lurch at the mention of his name. She hadn’t told the other girls in the office that she and Richard had broken up. She hadn’t heard a word from the bastard since that horrible morning in her flat so it was pretty obvious that he was out of her life for good. She knew she had to tell people, but she kept putting it off. How could she tell them she was single again and pregnant all in the one fell swoop? It was so embarrassing, so humiliating.

“Nikki, do you have the pictures for the perfume ad feature?” said Rhona loudly. She knew that Jo was on the verge of tears and guessed the reason why.

For the next half an hour, the conversation around the conference table ranged from advertisement features to production problems. Jo sat quietly, answering questions and trying to join in. But she didn’t feel up to it. Damn Richard.

Under the table, her hands caressed her tiny bump, gaining solace from the thought of the life inside her. Baby, baby, you make me strong, she said to herself.

When the meeting was over, Mark dismissed everybody curtly but asked Jo to stay. Instead of remaining at his seat at the top of the table, he moved into the chair beside her.

“I got the feeling that you’re not keen on going to New York.” he began, splaying his hands onto the table as he spoke.

He had strong fingers, more suited to a builder than a man who made deals on his mobile phone and drove a Porsche.

There was no wedding ring on his left hand, something which never ceased to amaze the entire office.

Why wasn’t Mark Denton married? There were always plenty of women hanging around him, Jo knew that. Quite a few of Jo’s journalistic pals had expressed an interest in him and told Jo she was a lucky bitch to work for such an attractive man. She couldn’t see it herself.

Rhona knew more about him than she let on, Jo knew that for sure. Whenever there were rumours about Mark and a mystery companion, Rhona pretended to know nothing. That was why she was such a good person to confide in. No secret would ever pass Rhona’s lips once she’d sworn to keep it. He certainly wasn’t gay. Definitely not.

“If there are personal reasons why you can’t be away, I’ll understand,” Mark said slowly.

“But I’d really like to have you with me. I know you’d make an excellent impression on these people, you talk their language and understand their ideas. I’m good on the business end but hopeless in that respect.” He laughed.

“I don’t know the difference between one designer and another, but I know you do.”

Charmed by his frankness and complimentary manner, Jo relaxed.

“I’d love to go she replied.

“It was a surprise, that’s all.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a few days,” Mark said.

“I’d hate one of the other magazines to steal a march on us which is why I want to get this sorted out immediately. I hope this isn’t disrupting your calendar too much, I hope you’ve nothing planned with Richard or anything …” His voice trailed off.

Was he pumping her for information about Richard? Jo wondered for a second. No, he couldn’t be. How could he know?

“I’ve nothing planned,” she said brightly.

“Where are we going to stay?”

“The Manhattan Fitzpatrick. It’s a beautiful hotel and it really is a

home away from home. Sitting in the bar you’d think you were in Dublin because the place is packed with Irish people.”

“Lovely.” said Jo, meaning it. When she and Richard had gone to New York the previous summer, they’d stayed with one of his friends in a small apartment in Queens, an apartment with dodgy airconditioning at that.

“By the way, thanks for putting me wise to Emma,” Mark added.

“I really had no idea what she was up to. I suppose I’m the doting uncle who sees her through rose-coloured glasses.

She was always a handful as a child, so I don’t know why I thought she’d change that much when she grew up. But she really is a good kid. She just needs to mature a bit, that’s all.”

“I understand,” answered Jo automatically.

“Do you have any plans for lunch?” he asked.

“I’ll be away all week so I won’t have a chance to talk to you about the trip.

If you’re not doing anything, we could go to Dobbin’s.”

“I’d love to have lunch,” she said truthfully. Might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb and anyway, she was starved.

Dobbin’s was a fantastic place for lunch even if it was too expensive for her purse. Mark Denton could certainly afford it.

She stood up and smiled at him.

“I’ve just got to finish an article and make a few phone calls,” she said. She didn’t want him to think she’d drop her responsibilities like a shot at the mention of a free lunch.

“Fine. We’ll go at half twelve.”

Back at her desk, Jo returned to the article she was writing on autumn’s essential fashion buys and the ten wardrobe staples every woman needed. She flicked through an album of pictures from the top designers’ autumn winter collections” and chewed the top of her pen. She hated following fashion blindly, telling ordinary women with ordinary curves that over-the-top Seventies stripes or snakeskin jeans were going to look as good on them as they did on skinny little Kate Moss.

Jo’s idea of fashion was the sort of outfit which suited each individual wearer.

“Tailored black trousers are a must-have,” she wrote, as she had for

the past three years. “I’m glad to know I’m in fashion,” said Rhona, peering over Jo’s shoulder at her VDU.