Woman to Woman (40 page)

A motley selection of cupboards and a battered dresser made up the rest of the kitchen fittings.

Dark beams crisscrossed the ceiling, giving the place an old-fashioned air, and Jo could immediately picture hanging dried flowers, strings of garlic and copper pots from the beams.

Nothing in the room had seen a paintbrush for a very long time and the scent of old cooking oil permeated the air. But even drab wallpaper and dirt couldn’t hide its charm.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” said Jo, delighted with the place.

“It’s got character,” Mark said slowly.

She turned around to grin at him before leaving the kitchen for a look at the sitting room. It had the same dark beams and leaded windows as the kitchen.

The large granite fireplace surrounded by black slate would have dominated the room had it not been for the lurid brown and orange carpet which clashed with the pale blue walls.

“I have the decor,” Mark said, feigning delight.

“I think we should get the person who did this place to redo the office, don’t you?”

“Could we afford them?” Jo countered.

“Getting this hasn’tbeen-touched-since-1972 look can be very expensive.”

She got a tissue out of her handbag and went over to the window at the back of the room. As big as the window in the kitchen, it looked out on the same view. There was a window seat so you could sit and gaze out at the same time.

Jo perched on the edge of the dusty seat and rubbed the window with the tissue until she’d made a clean patch big enough to see out. There were several sycamores and a beech tree on the edge of the back garden and a wild hedge bordering it, but there were gaps in the greenery and you could look down at the fields below.

A couple of Friesians swished their tails contentedly in the field, enjoying the last rays of the early September sun. They obviously belonged to the farm she could see about half a mile away.

“As long as it’s not a pig farm, we’re flying,” she said.

“Why do I get the impression that you’ve already made your mind up about this house, Jo?” asked Mark.

Jo looked up at him. She really liked the house and was already thinking of all the possibilities it had with the right renovations and redecoration. But she wanted him to like it too, God knows why, she thought to herself “Do you hate it?” she asked.

“Jo.” He put a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her, grey eyes shining with amusement.

“I think it’s got great character, but it’s not what I like that’s important. It’s going to be your house, so it’s up to you. But it’s going to take some work,” he warned, looking around the room.

“It’ll definitely need rewiring, which isn’t cheap, and there are bound to be lots of other jobs to be done as well. I doubt if it’s been

occupied for a long time, so who knows what’s broken down or jammed since then.”

Jo looked crestfallen for a moment, then her face brightened.

“If it’s such a dump, it’s probably been on the market for years and I should be able to knock a few thousand off the asking price. That’s it! That way I’ll save enough money on actual cost to renovate it. Come on, let’s see what’s upstairs.”

She took Mark’s hand and led him out of the room. She was on the second stair when she realised what she’d done.

She was holding his hand. It had seemed such a natural thing to do at the time, as though they were looking at the house together, like a couple.

His hand felt warm and strong, fingers clasping hers firmly.

She couldn’t very well let go, now could she?

The upstairs was an attic conversion. The low sloping roof was covered in honey-coloured tongue-and-groove pine which gave both bedrooms an unusual, cosy look. A large fitted wardrobe, also made from pine, covered one wall in the big bedroom.

“Now that’s what I need,” Jo said. She slid her hand awkwardly out of Mark’s and opened the wardrobe.

Like everything else in the house, it was grimy inside. But it was spacious and well designed with enough shelves and hanging space to accommodate even Jo’s vast wardrobe.

The bathroom is very nice,” said Mark, who’d left Jo to investigate the rest of the upper storey.

“There’s no shower, though.”

“It’s lovely,” Jo said in surprise, appearing at the bathroom door. There was no mention of a bathroom in the advert and I’d begun to think there was an outside loo. It’s a relief to find this.”

Thankfully the artist who decorated downstairs wasn’t allowed to have anything to do with the upstairs,” Mark added.

Plain white tiles, a plain white bathroom suite and cork floor tiles meant that the bathroom was by far the most subtly decorated room in the house.

“Apart from getting a shower put in, this doesn’t need any work Jo

They were standing in the back garden discussing how the hell you’d clear the wilderness of weeds and thistles without a JCB, when the estate agent appeared.

“What do you think?”

Jo felt Mark jab her in the ribs.

“It has possibilities Jo said, trying to sound utterly unimpressed.

“But it would cost a bomb to make it habitable and the price is way too high.”

The estate agent’s mouth opened. Obviously, Jo was the first person in a long time to do anything other than leave very rapidly after catching sight of the house. The fact that she was even discussing the house price made it a red-letter day.

“You’re interested, then?” the estate agent asked hopefully.

“I don’t know, darling Mark said, sliding an arm around Jo’s shoulders.

“I know you like it but it’s out of the question at that price. You’d want six grand knocked off the price before you could even consider it.”

Trying not to smile, Jo played along with him.

“I know, sweetheart.” She just hoped he wouldn’t convulse with laughter at her calling him sweetheart.

“You’re right.

He’s always right.” she deadpanned to the estate agent who now had a resigned look on her face.

“I’ll tell you what, Mrs. er …” Mark said.

“Mrs. Middleton.” supplied the other woman.

“I’ll phone you during the week to have a chat about the house. Come on, darling. Let’s go.”

He kept his arm around Jo’s shoulders and tightened his grip when he felt her shake with suppressed laughter. She finally let it out when he slammed the driver’s door.

That was priceless! I never knew you were so good at lying, Mark.”

That wasn’t lying, darling,” he joked, switching on the engine. That was business. It’s playing your cards close to your chest. If we string her along for a while assuming nobody else is interested in the

place because she looked so thrilled that we were thinking about buying it we could get a much lower price.”

“Just as well you were here, then,” Jo said, ‘because I’ve never been able to play anything close to my chest in my life.

I’d have said I loved the house and she’d have added a few quid to the price by the time we were finished.”

“Anyway,” she said, shifting in her seat so she was looking at Mark, ‘what do you think about it?”

They were on a very narrow road and he was concentrating on the road ahead, giving Jo a chance to observe him as he drove. His profile was harsh, eyes narrowed as he stared at the winding road. He looked so serious and intense most of the time that it was such a surprise when he let his guard down to kid around with her.

He really was a very different man once you got to know him, she thought. Behind the cool business exterior lay a funny, affectionate person. It was odd to think she’d ever imagined him to be an arrogant boss who expected people to jump when he clicked his fingers.

He glanced over at her.

“Sorry, Jo. What did you say?”

“I wondered what you thought of the house. Do you think it’s totally mad to even think about buying it?”

Totally mad, I’d say. Oh, you mean the house.”

She swatted his arm with the rolled-up prospectus.

“Don’t take advantage just because I called you sweetheart. I could call you lots of other names and they wouldn’t all be as flattering, all right?” He shot her a grin.

“Yes Ma’am. Or is it Your Highness?”

“Your Highness will do fine,” she replied.

“Now, what do you think of the house?”

“First of all, you need a surveyor to go over it with a fine-tooth comb to see if there are any major problems, structural ones, subsidence or

whatever. Then, we need to get a contractor to have a look and give us an estimate on what all the work will cost. Don’t even think about

how you’ll redecorate the kitchen until you’ve got some idea about how much you’ll have to pay to make it habitable,” he advised.

“Then, if we can knock enough money off the list price to complete the repairs, it might be worth it. But it’s probably going to take a couple of months to do. Are you ready for!

that?” Jo didn’t even take a moment to think about it.

“Of course,” she said impulsively.

“I love the house, it has so much character, so much … I don’t know, warmth.” She searched for the right word, for once not able to find it.

“It feels like a home, despite all the dreadful carpets and everything,” she said finally.

“I’ve looked at loads of places over the past three weeks and I’ve only seen one I liked as much.

Well, only one I liked as much and could afford,” she amended.

“You’ve convinced me,” Mark said.

“I’ve got a friend who’s a contractor and I’ll get him to look at the house during the week, if that’s OK with you?”

“Wonderful.”

“It was very nice of Mark to drive you up to see the house,” said Rhona, putting a Canderel sweetener in her coffee and stirring it thoughtfully.

“I’ve always told you he was a nice man and you just couldn’t see it. I’m so glad you’re getting to know him now, personally,” she added, emphasis on the last word.

Jo looked at her suspiciously but Rhona’s face was innocent.

You never knew when Rhona was teasing or not, she was such a good actress. Jo put her cup of tea down on Rhona’s desk and picked up a set of colour transparencies from an underwear company.

It was Monday afternoon and she and Rhona were going over all the articles they still needed for the October edition.

Friday was printing day which meant everything had to be ready by Thursday, making this the busiest week for the Style team.

As usual, most of the big features were in, subbed and laid out. It was the niggly little details that still had to be sorted out.

Jo still had to chase up the illustrator who was supposed to have already sent in his water colour illustration of the restaurant reviewed in the issue. Nikki had developed bronchitis and was unlikely to be in all week, which meant that Jo had to find someone else to rewrite all the beauty product press releases for the Top Ten Beauty Products We Love page.

And Emma, who had begged to be allowed to interview three top Irish models for their beauty hints, had rung Annette that morning to say she couldn’t make it and could someone else go because she didn’t want to stand the girls up?

“I’ll kill her raged Jo, when she heard this latest piece of news.

“How dare she do that! I don’t care if her bloody leg is hanging off, she shouldn’t drop her mess into our lap and expect us to deal with it. If she couldn’t go, she should ring the models up herself and cancel.”

In the end, Rhona rang a freelance journalist who sometimes wrote features for the magazine and begged her to do the interviews. Crisis solved, the editor and deputy editor still had a lot of work to do, which was why they were poring over colour trannies of clothes, shoes, handbags and glamorous celebrities.

“I thought we could use this one on the Fifty Ideas pages,” Jo said, showing Rhona a picture of a silky cream body with a built-in push-up bra and lovely lace detail on the front.

“It’s the most versatile piece of underwear, it’s very flattering and it’s pretty good value.”

Rhona took the transparencies and held them up to the window.

“I do like the basque and the hold-up stockings. I bet Mark would just love that “Bitch,” said Jo, as Rhona dissolved into laughter.

“You’ve a one-track mind, Rho.”

“I know, “one track and it’s a dirt track”,” recited the editor.

“I couldn’t resist it. Anyway, Jo, there’s no point pretending there isn’t something going on between you, even if the pair of you behave like complete strangers when you’re in the office.”

“But there isn’t anything going on protested Jo. (“Are you trying to tell me that all that bonding and having dinner in New York was totally platonic, because I won’t believe you Rhona said.

“You know you fancy him, you’re just too stubborn to admit it. You told me yourself how you thought something was going to happen between the two of you the first night until he got all businesslike.”

“Oh God, I don’t know.” Jo took a sip of tea and looked at Rhona blankly.

“Yes, I like him, but I’m not exactly a bargain in the girlfriend department, am I?

“I’m pregnant with another man’s baby, so what the hell would someone like Mark Denton want with me? He’s only being kind,” said Jo in a resigned voice.

“Don’t be silly, Jo,” snapped Rhona.

“You’re one of my best friends and one of the nicest people I know, and Mark is interested in you, I know for a fact. He’s always liked

“What do you mean “always liked me”?” demanded Jo.

“Well, there never really was a right time to tell you …” the other woman said slowly, picking up her cigarettes and extracting one from the pack.

“Rhona, stop prevaricating and tell me!”

“Well, the first Christmas after you arrived at Style, Mark and I went out for lunch and he was very interested in you.

He asked if you were going out with someone, that sort of thing.” Rhona lit her cigarette and took a deep drag.

“You were going out with Tim at the time, so I told him and that was it.

Then, when you broke up with Tim, Mark was involved with a woman and well, the timing was just never right.” Rhona shrugged.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me, Rhona?” asked Jo, completely stunned.