by Katie Fforde
‘Ed will certainly be back; Tom, too, possibly; and Michael said he might come down as well. We'll see who's available.'
‘Michael should come. All this trouble is for his barge, after all.'
‘Was it a lot of trouble?’
Jo blustered. 'Sorry! Did I sound ungrateful? It's just when Michael lent me the barge he never said it would have to go anywhere.'
‘Not what you signed on for, you mean?'
‘No. And it took a lot of organisation and you had to work really hard.'
‘But this is my work. It's what I do, with Ed when necessary.’
She was about to comment that it was funny sort of work when she remembered that gilding cherubs wasn't a run-of-the-mill way to earn a crust either. 'I suppose so,' she said instead, and went down into what had been, until very recently, her bedroom.
It was full of his being: his smell, his things were scattered about, but mostly it was just him. Determinedly, Jo looked in the cupboard for clean sheets and a duvet cover. As she had sneakily taken her own, goose down pillow, when she'd first moved out, she would just swap it back. It would save on washing.
Marcus was not particularly tidy, she realised. Philip, her husband, had been on the verge of being obsessively organised. As Jo was anything but, it had been a point of conflict between them. Until his defection, she had always seen this difference as good – they balanced each other and stopped either becoming extreme. Since then she had wished the Floosie joy of his neat-nik ways.
There was a pile of change on the tiny folding table, and a heap of clothes in the corner. She was just wondering what, if anything, she should do about them, when he came down the steps and appeared behind her, bending his head so he didn't collide with the roof. The space had never been large, now it seemed slightly more cramped than a Wendy house.
‘I don't want you to do anything except find the sheets,' he commanded, 'It's a mess.'
‘It's OK.' Instantly Jo had to argue. 'It's only some dirty clothes.'
‘Yes, but you shouldn't have to deal with them. Go and relax while I change the sheets,' said Marcus, tugging at the duvet.
She and Marcus spent the rest of the morning reading and resting. At least, that was what Jo did. She revelled in the lazy pleasure of just lying around, doing very little. Marcus heated up leftovers for lunch which they ate drinking lager and reading their books. Afterwards, Jo went for a little walk thinking how restful Marcus could be, and how much of a surprise this was to her.
When she got back he said, 'Right, time to get ready.’
‘Get ready for what?'
‘I'm going to take you out to dinner.’
Frantically she tried to find a reason not to go. 'It's still early!’
He grinned at her. 'We may have to walk a long way to find somewhere nice.’
With the bathroom door locked, Jo looked at herself in the mirror and wished she'd had a chance to see if Carole had left anything useful behind. Some evening primrose would have been something. She didn't expect a girl of Carole's age would have anything really hard core, like red clover, but Jo felt so agitated she would have clutched at any straw – even extract of wheat-grass.
‘You're going to a restaurant to have a meal, at the same time, presumably at the same table,' she told herself. 'It is not remotely a date. You'll go halves.' Then a smile appeared. 'Going Dutch is the expression; how appropriate that it should happen while we're actually in Holland!' And then she began the anxiety-inducing experience of getting ready to go out with a man she really, really fancied without a single wild yam for support. The certain knowledge that he couldn't possibly fancy her, given his taste for young things, did not help.
The hard part was not looking as if she'd tried too hard, she decided, wiping off the eyeliner that had got out of hand. Definitely no blusher. That was bound to clash with her first hot flush that would come tonight, sure as eggs were eggs. She had caught the sun a bit, which brought out her freckles – that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it had also made her nose a bit red. Could she convert the red into the sun-kissed look she would have preferred? By the time she had put on and washed off a lot of make up she looked sort of OK, certainly healthy, and with enough eye make-up to bring attention to what were once her best feature. If they still were, when a fine mesh of laughter lines fanned out from the corners, she couldn't possibly say, but it was the best she could do. Jo couldn't help remembering that the last time Marcus had gone out to dinner with a woman, it had probably been with Carole. Looking over the table at a woman of fifty would be very different from gazing at twenty-something skin and bright, wide-open eyes. It wasn't that she was trying to compete -she couldn't possibly do that – she just didn't want the contrast to put Marcus off his dinner.
‘You look wonderful,' he said, when she appeared in the wheelhouse.
Jo clamped down her instinct to say something dis missive and forced a smile. 'Thank you, you're looking pretty cool yourself!’
Now she looked at him she realised that a plain white linen shirt tucked into a pair of navy chinos were indeed rather attractive. They set off his tan and his curly grey hair. She noted this with a disinterest that pleased her. Any woman would have found him attractive just then, not just one suffering from hormone-induced illusions.
Jo had been leaping on and off The Three Sisters for months with no problems. Somehow Marcus standing on the dockside holding out his hand to help her made it incredibly difficult. She stumbled, he caught her and didn't let her go. He took her arm and they set off along the quay as one, Jo wishing she didn't keep bumping into him.
‘Where are we going?' she asked, when she felt sure she could speak without revealing her swimming senses.
‘Into town. There's a nice little restaurant I know there. It's a bit of a step but we can take a taxi back.'
‘I wish I'd worn my pedometer,' she said and then felt foolish.
‘Your what?'
‘You know, it's a thing you wear on your belt, or in my case my knickers.. Oh, why had she mentioned her knickers? They were nothing to do with him! 'You're supposed to take ten thousand steps a day, but it's really hard because the pedometer doesn't register every step,' she wittered on. 'It doesn't like going up hills and if you're just moving around the house it doesn't notice at all. Very frustrating.'
‘I can imagine.’
Jo decided not to try to make conversation and managed to keep silent up until they reached a street that was full of wonderfully tipsy old houses and antique shops. 'Oh, heaven!' she said. 'Look at the way those houses are leaning out into the street! It's a wonder they don't fall down! And those windows! Do you suppose they have shutters on the inside, or you'd never have kept warm in winter. And look at these shops! Can I cross over?’
She'd had forgotten she was with Scary-Marcus or she would never have suggested zigzagging down the street, running from one shop window to another.
‘Is Dora right about them having flea markets in Holland, do you know?' she asked.
‘She certainly is.' Marcus sounded amused, as if he was humouring a young child, but Jo found it endearing.
‘It's just I've started repairing small decorative items for Miranda's shop-'
‘I know.’
‘
. . . and if I could find some items for myself while I'm over here it wouldn't be such a waste of time.'
‘Waste of time?' His eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked down at her.
She smiled up at him, a little rueful. 'Did that sound rude? It wasn't meant to, but you know what I mean.'
‘You mean hanging round in Holland with me would be too boring for words.’
She bit her lip to suppress her smile. 'Oh no, I could put it into words, but it wouldn't be polite. After all, you are practically St Marcus of the Barge, fount of all knowledge and skill in that department.’
He chuckled with pleasure and Jo realised that probably not all that many people teased him. The men were all too in awe of his boat-ha
ndling skills and the women probably too keen to catch his attention. How wonderful that she was above all that! But her complacency was short-lived. 'I do assure you that I have other skills.’
His face was perfectly serious; there was no sign that he was teasing her but she knew that he was and couldn't, at that moment, respond. She gazed intently at a perfectly ordinary electric kettle that had found itself in an eclectic collection of old radios and wished for sanity.
A few weeks ago she'd have gone into town and out to dinner with a man she didn't know very well without difficulty. Of course she'd have been a bit shy at first, but she'd have chatted away until she found what his obsessions were and then been a good listener. After all, she was pretty grown up now, her social skills were honed from years of experience of getting people to feel happy and at ease. So it shouldn't be any different with him.
‘Where's this restaurant then?' she asked, planning to ask him all about himself the moment they got there. Then she would only have to nod and murmur for the rest of the evening. It would be a piece of cake.
The restaurant was in the old part of the town in one of the narrow, leaning, half-timbered buildings that Jo had so much admired. Outside was a bench with a mannequin dressed as an old lady seated on it. Its name translated as 'Granny's Kitchen', Marcus told her. They went in.
One of the many joys of Holland was that everyone spoke English, thought Jo, ashamed of her inability to say even the simplest sentence in Dutch. They were ushered into the dining area by a beautiful young woman wearing tight jeans and a tiny apron. A little part of Jo sighed with envy.
They were given menus and looked at them. 'It's rather like Sudoku, isn't it?' said Jo. 'Trying to work out what everything is. Of course that lovely girl will tell us, but it's quite fun trying to see if anything makes sense.'
‘I think the puddings are easier than the main courses,' said Marcus after a bit. 'It helps that I happen to know that Dame Blanche is what they call ice cream and hot chocolate sauce here.’
Jo read the description. 'Oh yes, you can work it out, especially if you know what it is already.' She looked up at him, smiling. 'What's slag, do you suppose?'
‘Whipped cream.’
Jo sighed. 'I know it's awfully bad for you but I love cream with ice cream, the way it hardens as it hits the cold. One of those puddings that people say are better than sex.' Whoops! She'd dropped her guard for a moment and said something silly again. She tried to retreat. 'Mind you, I do hate that expression, don't you? I mean, you might really prefer a chocolate bar or something at four o'clock in the afternoon, but a few hours later – well, I wouldn't want chocolate.' Colour flooded over her like the sea flooding the Netherlands, in an unstoppable wave. If she didn't know perfectly well what had caused it she would have thought it really was a hot flush this time.
‘I'm very glad to hear it.’
A sort of croak emerged from Jo and she reached for her water.
‘Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I've embarrassed you,' he said.
She drained the glass.
‘It would have helped if you hadn't brought up the subject of sex in the first place, so you do have to take your share of responsibility.’
She swallowed and pulled herself together. 'I didn't, really. I was talking about pudding.'
‘Once the word has been tossed into the arena, so to speak, it's quite hard to take it out again.’
She sighed. 'So I've just discovered.’
He raised an eyebrow and then looked down at his menu again without saying anything.
An internal warmth flickered somewhere within Jo's solar plexus. Her radar with regard to men was rusty – she was very dumb when it came to realising when she was being courted but even she felt that there might be something behind his flirtation.
He looked up and stared into her eyes for long seconds before he said, 'What would you like to eat?’
A laugh rippled inside her, revealing itself only slightly. She studied the menu once again.
The proprietress appeared. 'Hi, guys,' the girl said in charmingly accented English. 'Have you decided? Shall I talk you through the menu? Or can I tell you about our special tonight? Fresh Dutch asparagus with ham and eggs. Very traditional.'
‘It sounds wonderful,' said Jo, very relieved to have the decision taken out of her hands.
‘I'll have the same,' said Marcus, 'and could we have a wine list?’
Alcohol, that was what she needed – Dutch courage, obviously. Her private pun amused her and she relaxed enough to look around her. The room was arranged as a facsimile of an old Dutch kitchen. There was a shelf with cookery books, an old wireless, a coffee grinder and a grater on it. On another wall pictures were painted directly on to it, and everywhere were simple, household objects that were decorative and amusing. Above the stairs to the upper room was a rack of very authentic-looking underwear.
Unexpectedly, Jo didn't feel obliged to make conver sation. She just sat, wondering if she'd misread the messages he seemed to be sending. Could he really be trying to get off with her? She hoped the wine would come quickly when it had been ordered.
Marcus produced his reading glasses to examine the list when it arrived. Jo, who had hardly dared even glance at him in the last few minutes, couldn't help observing that she always found men in glasses very attractive. Karen did too, and they had discussed this phenomenon. Her daughter, now that was a good occupation for her brain -Karen could keep her out of trouble even without being there.
The owner came back and Marcus murmured to her. 'I've ordered a nice bottle of Rioja,' he said. 'I think we need something sustaining.’
While most of Jo agreed she definitely needed sustain ing, part of her panicked – why did he need sustenance? Just let go, Jo, she ordered herself, just put his foolish words out of your head, you're likely to be misinterpreting them anyway. He was probably just trying to put her at her ease.
Marcus went through the process of trying the wine. Not too pretentiously, Jo was glad to note, considering how snooty he was about her wine. Remembering this old grudge gave her a little backbone and she dared to glance up at him when he raised his glass.
‘What shall we drink to?' he asked.
‘Oh, to absent friends and to arriving safely – and getting back safely too.' That was an easy one. The wine was soft and delicious. Maybe there was something in all that wine nonsense after all, she thought.
‘And to you, for being you.' Marcus didn't take his eyes off her while he drank. Jo wished she dared take off her cardigan but she had never liked her upper arms.
She fitted her glass in among the cutlery and plates on the table with care.
‘Joanna,' Marcus sounded serious. 'I think I may have frightened you earlier.'
‘Mm. Well, a bit, I suppose,' she mumbled.
‘You have no idea of how I feel about you, have you?’
‘No! I mean, if you don't just see me as an old friend you've crossed the sea with.’
He took a deep breath. 'I really don't see you as that. Apart from the crossing-the-sea part.'
‘So…?' She was very tentative.
He swallowed, rearranged his cutlery, scratched his nose and said, 'Actually, I think I fell for you when I first met you, in that pub, all those years ago. You were already with Philip.'
‘Oh.' Her mind flew back. Would she have given up Philip for Marcus had he made a move? She couldn't say for sure, but she feared she wouldn't have had the confidence.
‘Yes. I was too scrupulous to do anything about it. I might have done, eventually, but you got engaged, and so that was it. I went away.'
‘Yes,' she said eventually.
‘The thing is…' He hesitated and then suddenly said, 'Are you still with Philip? Emotionally, I mean. Do you still care about him?’
He was being very direct and she had to respect him for it, but she still found it unnerving. 'No… Well, I wish him no harm, I want him to be happy – which is nice of me, considering – but I no longe
r love him in that way.’
A deep sigh went through him. 'Oh! I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that.'
‘What about you and Carole?' she asked gently.
He smiled. 'I think she'll move happily on to the next man who'll give her a good home. I think I lost interest in Carole the moment I saw you again.'
‘Really?'
‘Oh yes. Seeing you again reminded me what an attractive woman you are. I realise I had kept you in the back of my mind for years, but sometimes when you meet people again, everything has changed and you can't imagine what you once saw in them. With you, all my feelings came back in a rush.'
‘Oh?' It came out as a squeak. Did he really mean it? After all, he was a bit of a womaniser and he might just be looking for a change before returning to a younger woman. She could just be a challenge for him. And then she told herself not to be so cynical.
‘Yes,' he went on, smiling warmly at her. 'You're as sexy and as lovely as you ever were, only now you're wise and kind and loving too.'
‘Am I?' She sipped her wine, hoping it would help her stop squeaking. He was very seductive.
He nodded. 'Oh yes.’
She started to smile, and although she tried to stop it, she just found she wanted to keep smiling at him, very much. 'Golly, I'm hot!'
‘Take off your cardigan.' He eased her cardigan down over one shoulder, and the other side fell off in sympathy.
‘I hate my arms,' she murmured as she hung it on the back of her chair.
‘I love your arms!' said Marcus, surprised, as if hating them was a strange thing. He ran his fingers down the top of one as if he couldn't help himself and then put his hands firmly in his lap. 'So didn't you guess how I felt – feel about you?’
She shook her head. 'How could I?'
‘You didn't wonder why I took such trouble to talk you out of your fears, why I was so insistent that you came on the trip, all that?'
‘I just thought you were being kind – at least when you stopped me being so frightened.' She frowned. 'Why did you bring Carole, then?'