Woman to Woman (41 page)

“I would have if Mark hadn’t been the boss, but it would undoubtedly have made you feel very selfconscious to think that he fancied you. It would have been awkward.” That might have been better than being so openly hostile to him all the time,” Jo said ruefully, remembering all the times when she’d sparred with Mark at the weekly editorial

meetings. How awful to think that he’d actually liked her enough to ask Rhona about her romantic entanglements while she’d been oblivious to him. Jo cringed at the thought of it all.

“You see commented Rhona, observing Jo’s horrified face.

“Imagine what it would have been like if I’d told you before now. You’d have been mortified. I’m only telling you now, Jo, because I’m very fond of Mark, I’d love to see the two of you together and the timing is perfect. You’d be perfect for each other and, Lord knows, you deserve a decent man after

“I don’t know,” Jo muttered. This is so weird. I did think there was something between us when we were in New York, but then he seemed to withdraw into being the ice man again.

I don’t understand him …”

A knock on the door interrupted her.

“Rhona,” Annette stuck her head around the door.

“I’ve got Claire on the phone for you. I know you didn’t want to be disturbed but she says it’s urgent.”

“I’ll take it, Annette,” Rhona replied.

“Listen,” she said to Jo in a quieter voice, ‘do you really think Mark would be so eager to spend the entire day driving you around crumbling cottages in the mountains if he was just trying to be kind to a pregnant employee? No. Think about it, Jo. You deserve him.”

The phone rang and she picked it up.

“Hi, Claire, what’s the problem?”

Jo silently gathered up the transparencies from Rhona’s desk and manoeuvred herself out of the chair. She felt quite big, even though the girls in the office kept telling her she was in great shape for six months pregnant. The only problem was clothes. For someone who loved clothes as much as Jo, it was sheer hell to have to bypass all her gorgeous outfits in the morning and pick something from her limited collection of elastic-wasted outfits.

Today she’d worn a soft navy knitted dress which was stretchy enough to fit her, bump and all, and a long, skinny-knit cardigan in silky French blue over it. It looked great, especially worn with the matte gold

pendant she’d bought from a stall in Turkey years ago.

But by next month she was going to have to buy some dressy maternity clothes or she’d be stuck with wearing jogging pants and big Tshirts until she had the baby.

Jo sat down at her desk and looked tiredly at the list of things she had to do. All her energy had vanished during the conversation with Rhona. Now Jo wondered how she was ever going to transcribe that morning’s interview, and write it up.

For two hours she worked solidly, oblivious to the noise of phones, conversations about missing pictures and Annette’s radio tuned to chart music. She had finally finished writing up her interview and was setting up a new file on the word processor to write up the Top Ten Beauty Products We Love, when Emma breezed into the office.

Enveloped in a cloud of CK One, wearing what looked like a very expensive cerise dress and holding a brand new briefcase, Emma dispensed smiles all round before dumping the briefcase on her desk.

“Hello all,” she said airily before turning to Annette.

“Did anyone ring for me?” she asked.

The cheek of her, thought Jo. She completely messed up an interview and she marches in like there’s absolutely nothing wrong, with no apology or excuse for her behaviour. And there was she thinking that her attempts to turn Emma into a responsible member of staff over the past few months had actually worked.

She’d trusted Emma’s declarations that she wanted to learn and had been so sure the younger woman had turned over a new leaf and really wanted to fit in. How wrong could you be?

“Emma,” Jo said coolly, interrupting the other woman’s conversation with Annette about phone messages.

“What happened this morning?”

“Oh, that was a bit of a mix-up and I couldn’t make it this morning. I thought Nikki could do it,” Emma said blithely.

“Nikki is sick, as a matter of fact,” Jo explained, determined not to lose her temper or raise her voice.

“And Rhona had to go to a lot of trouble to get someone else to do the interviews.

If you were sick, or if there was some crisis and you just couldn’t do something you’d arranged, I’d understand.

“But I’d expect some sort of explanation. Instead, you swan in here without either an explanation or an apology and that’s just not good enough, Emma.”

“Well, it’s all right now, isn’t it?” Emma said dismissively.

“So don’t fly into a fit. It was hardly the cover story, anyway.” She turned away from Jo and went back to her desk, leaving the deputy editor incandescent with fury.

Even Brenda, who’d heard everything, sank back in her chair nervously as though trying to avoid the inevitable storm.

Annette was staring at Jo anxiously, while Tom had stopped tapping away at his keyboard and was listening expectantly.

The whole office was waiting for Jo to say something, but she couldn’t speak. How dare Emma behave like that?

Nobody else would be so unreliable and indifferent, but of course Emma thought she could do anything she wanted because she was the boss’s niece. Finally, Jo found her voice.

“How dare you speak to me like that,” she said, her voice shaky with temper.

“I gave you a chance to make up for all the misunderstandings between us, I gave you a chance to work at being a journalist. And you have the nerve to screw up an interview something you begged for and now won’t even apologise for it. Is that the thanks I get for trying to help you, Emma? What the hell are you doing in this office if you don’t want to work? This isn’t a haven for bored twenty somethings you know!”

“No, it’s a haven for stupid pregnant women,” sneered Emma, her pretty face screwed up with spite.

“Don’t think I don’t know you’re after my uncle. You just want to use him like you use all men. Are you trying to get a rich stepfather for your bastard?”

“Emma!” Rhona stood outside her office with her mouth open, outrage written all over her face.

“In my office now,” she barked.

For once, Emma looked worried. She was afraid of Rhona.

“Get back to work everyone snarled the editor.

“Are you OK, Jo?” she said, putting an arm around her friend. Jo didn’t speak. If she did, she was afraid she would cry. She’d tried so hard with Emma for Mark’s sake and she thought she was finally getting through to her. Then, to experience this blast of sheer, barefaced hatred was devastating.

Why did Emma hate her so much? Why did she say such a horrible thing about Jo using men? She didn’t, did she? Is that what Emma would tell Mark, that Jo was after him for his money? It was all too horrible to think about.

“I think I’ll go home,” she said blindly, afraid that the tears would fall.

“Stay here for five minutes,” Rhona said firmly.

“I’ll deal with that little bitch and then you and I are getting out for a coffee.

Don’t pay any attention to what she said.”

Brenda made her coffee, Annette abandoned the switch to mutter comforting words to her and even Tom produced two miniature bottles of whiskey from his desk and poured one into her coffee.

“I can’t drink that,” sniffled Jo.

“Jo,” said Annette firmly, “I’ve three children and I know all there is to know about pregnancy. You have to be very careful about alcohol for the first three months but there’s no harm in taking the odd glass of wine or a drink for medicinal purposes after that. And this is medicinal. So drink it, you’re as white as a sheet, you poor thing.”

The spiked coffee hit Jo’s system like a bullet, leaving her feeling utterly light-headed and totally exhausted. She drank it back and wondered how she’d ever get home. She felt like she wouldn’t have the energy to put the car in first gear.

Rhona would probably be ages with Emma, listening to whatever cock-and-bull story the girl would come up with in her defence. But true to her word, a mere five minutes had passed when Rhona marched out of her office followed by Emma, her face now blotched with tears.

Everyone stared with hostility at the younger woman who immediately snatched up her handbag and fled to the bathroom.

“Little cow hissed Annette.

“Don’t mind her, Jo. She can forget it if she thinks I’m ever taking messages from her boyfriend, her mother or her seven best friends ever again!”

“I doubt if she’ll ask you for a while,” Rhona pointed out drily.

“Come on, Ms Ryan.”

They sat in the bar in the Berkeley Court Hotel and ate nuts from the deep bowl on the table in front of them.

“Very good for protein,” said Rhona with her mouth full.

“And very high in calories,” replied Jo mournfully, grabbing another handful.

“Well, you need an energy boost after today.” Rhona waved at a young waitress and ordered decaffeinated coffee for both of them and a brandy for herself.

“I can’t believe that Tom had booze in his desk,” she added.

“When I think of all the times when I’ve dearly needed a drink in that bloody office and he never opened his mouth, the wretch! You do have an effect on men, my dear.”

“But not on women, it seems.”

“Emma isn’t a woman. She’s a nightmare in human form and don’t forget it. You’ll be glad to know that I savaged her for her appalling behaviour, both for being utterly unprofessional in not turning up for that interview, and for being equally unprofessional in her attack on you.”

“What did she say to that?” asked Jo.

“She whinged that you didn’t like her and then I told her I didn’t like her very much either, but that wasn’t the point.

That certainly shut her up. Anyway, pet,” Rhona patted Jo’s knee, “I finished up by telling her that I wouldn’t sack her I’d let Mark sack her after I’d talked to him about her behaviour.”

The piece de resistance, I thought. You should have seen her spoiled little face when I said that. She went white and then she cried. Hhhmph.” The coffee arrived and Rhona poured a cup for Jo.

“I told her that crying might work with her uncle, but it cut no ice

with me. I’m going to ring him tonight. “Jo thought about Mark hearing two versions of the afternoon’s events. No doubt Emma would be phoning him that instant, giving him chapter and verse on what a bitch Jo Ryan was, how manipulative she was and how she tried to make poor Emma’s life a misery.

By the time he heard Rhona’s version, he would have probably decided that Emma was right that Jo was just a conniving, manipulative person. Why did that thought depress her so much?

She got home at half nine after having a Malaysian meal with Rhona in Kites in Ballsbridge. Satay lamb, chicken with cashew nuts and a large helping of ice cream made her sleepy but gave the baby a new lease of life.

I hope you’re not going to kick all night, Jo said to her bump as she switched on the lights in the apartment. The answering machine’s messages light was on and she pressed the ‘play’ button before closing the curtains.

Mark Denton’s deep voice filled the room.

“Jo,” he said, sounding very tired.

“I’m in London and I’ve just got this dreadful message on the mobile-phone playback from Emma. She sounds very upset and says something awful happened in the office earlier. She says she’s really sorry and she apologised to you, but you won’t forgive her. And then she just cries and hangs up. Listen, Jo, I won’t be home until the weekend, so can you talk to her and calm her down. I know she’s difficult but she genuinely looks up to you and it’s obviously killing her that you’re angry with her.”

He paused.

“It’s nine-fifteen and I’m going out to dinner with someone. I’ll call you tomorrow …” It sounded as if he wanted to add something, then the machine clicked. He’d run out of tape time.

There was no other message so he hadn’t rung back to finish whatever he wanted to say to her.

Damn. She thumped the machine. It wasn’t its fault but she wanted to hurt something because she felt so hurt. He hadn’t even given her the benefit of the doubt, he’d just believed Emma. So that was all he

thought about her.

“I’m glad you decided to come in, Aisling.” Vivienne said, handing her a mug of very strong-looking coffee.

“You’d have regretted it if you didn’t. Edward really wants to get this sorted out properly. Harassment is not something he takes lightly.”

Aisling sat down nervously and looked around Vivienne’s office as if she’d never seen it before in her life. She remembered her first day at work when she’d sat in this same chair and quivered with terror. Would she be able to work the computer or how would she deal with working in an office after years away from one? It had never entered her mind that the actual job itself would be the least of her problems. That her boss would make her life hell.

How could she explain to someone as confident as Vivienne what it felt like to tremble when you heard your boss’s footsteps on the stairs every morning?

Would the other woman be able to comprehend that someone would force a smile onto her face every time she entered her superior’s office, as if that would stave off his psychotic flights of temper? Probably not. Aisling picked a bit of dust off her navy shirt and cursed Leo Murphy.

If he hadn’t been such a pig this could have been any ordinary Monday morning at the office. Instead, she was waiting to see Edward Richardson who had heard about Friday’s encounter from Vivienne. He wanted to talk to Aisling about it. All she really wanted to do was forget about the whole damn thing and wish she’d never lost her temper with Leo or told Vivienne what had really happened, for that matter.

“It’s been going on ever since I joined,” she admitted shakily to

Vivienne on Friday evening when she rang to find out exactly what had gone on in Aisling’s office after the partners’ lunch.

“I didn’t know what to do, Vivienne, I’ve never experienced anything like that before. Nobody tells you how to deal with men like Leo and I just didn’t know what to do she repeated miserably.