Jo bumped into Sarah at the door of the restaurant and nearly gasped at the sight of her. Gone were the kooky clothes, wild hair and cute shoes. Instead, Sarah’s hair was pulled up into a tight knot, she wore a classic grey suit with a slinky cream camisole and grey stilettos. If that wasn’t enough to shock her, Sarah also had deep blue smudges under her eyes and her skin was so pale that her freckles stood out like a dot-to-dot picture.
‘New directive from above,’ Sarah said, reaching up to kiss Jo’s cheek. ‘I’m supposed to look corporate, whatever that means. Still,’ she plastered on a smile and hefted a huge patchwork bag on to her shoulder, ‘if that’s what it takes to get promotion, then that’s what I’ll do.’
But at what price? Jo had never seen Sarah look so miserable, although she had to stifle a smile at the sight of her ridiculous hippy handbag. Not totally conformist, then.
A waiter directed them to where Carrie was fast asleep in the corner, head tilted back, earphones in and a silly grin on her face.
Sarah giggled and was about to wake her, when Carrie suddenly yelled ‘Yes!’, slapped the table and opened her eyes with a jolt. She blinked at them both, turned a vivid shade of red and clapped her hands over her face.
‘Oh, heck. Did I say that out loud?’ She pulled the headphones out of her ears roughly, fumbled to turn off her phone and shoved the lot in her handbag.
‘Yes,’ said Jo with a laugh as she and Sarah sat down.
She leaned across and kissed Carrie’s cheek.
‘Looks like we interrupted a When Harry Met Sally moment. Or should I say when Sally sat on her own enjoying herself?’ she said, taking a napkin from the table and laying it over her lap.
Sarah gave Carrie a hug. ‘Your hair is lovely; you look loads younger.’
Carrie took her hands away from her flaming cheeks and gave her head a self-conscious shake. ‘Thanks. I’ve kept it long for years to hide my face, but the time has come for a new image.’
‘Suits you,’ said Sarah with a tired smile, tugging at her grey skirt. ‘Unlike my new image.’
Jo handed the menus round and Sarah scanned it quickly.
‘I’ve only got fifty minutes. I’ve got tons to get through this afternoon,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I wonder if they’ll do me a sandwich.’ She looked round to attract the attention of a member of staff.
Jo frowned and caught Carrie’s eye, wondering if she had noticed how distracted and uptight Sarah seemed. Carrie raised her eyebrows slightly in response.
‘So what’s new with you, Sarah?’ enquired Jo, determined to get to the bottom of her friend’s mood.
‘Nothing.’ Sarah shrugged and deflected the question. ‘Nice dress, Carrie!’
The waitress interrupted them at that moment to take their food order. Jo eyed Carrie’s dress dubiously. She begged to differ; it looked like a nun’s habit. As soon as the waitress swanned off, unimpressed with their request for three house salads, as quickly as possible, Jo tried again.
‘So. Busy at work, Sarah?’
Sarah looked at her with such a pained expression that for a moment Jo thought she was about to cry.
‘Busy at work and really, really worried at home.’
Sarah’s shoulders sagged and she lowered her head. Jo immediately flagged down another waitress and added a bottle of Pinot Grigio to their order.
‘Nothing’s going right. My perfect boss criticizes everything I do, or say, or wear.’
‘She sounds awful, not perfect,’ said Carrie.
‘And I’m permanently tired. It’s nearly Zac’s first birthday and I haven’t even organized a party for him. There just isn’t enough of me to go round.’ Her voice cracked and Carrie put an arm round her and stroked her hair.
‘Also,’ Sarah looked at them both and bit her lip, ‘Dave thinks I’m neurotic. He even admitted it. I think he’s had enough of me.’
Jo tried and failed to find some suitably appeasing words. In her experience, it didn’t take much for married men to stray. And if Dave was truly fed up with his home life, who knew?
The waitress set a bottle of wine on the table and Jo poured them each a glass, while Carrie murmured soothing words to Sarah. There was no point her trying to offer advice, Jo mused. Her love life was as disastrous as her new footwear collection. Her stomach turned over queasily and she took a gulp of her wine.
Sarah shook her head. ‘We never get a chance to talk.’
‘What about organizing a babysitter and having a night out?’ suggested Carrie. ‘I’ll come over if you can’t find anyone else.’
Sarah smiled sadly and she squeezed Carrie’s hand. ‘I think that’s exactly what we need. It’s ages since we’ve been out on a date. A night of romance.’
‘Three house salads.’ The waitress handed them their plates. ‘Dressing on the side for you, madam.’
‘Thank you,’ said Carrie, going pink.
A night of romance.
Jo racked her brains to think of the last time romance had appeared on her agenda and drew a blank. A night of any description, with any man? The only recent event that sprang to mind was the night that she and Patrick had spent poring over the accounts recently, working out how long they would be able to pay the staff before the firm’s cash flow caved in under pressure.
A wave of panic washed over her. Patrick.
She couldn’t afford to think about him now, or she’d be as depressed as Sarah. A whole month had gone by since his announcement and the idea of losing him still filled her with horror. She was angry with Ed Shaw for poaching her director, angry with Patrick for deserting her and angry with herself for letting it bother her so much. She wished she could offer him a better deal than Shaw’s but it was out of the question. She wished …
Jo thought back to the ridiculous wish she had made in Sarah’s cottage in February. Standing on the observation deck of the Empire State Building was as far from reality as being swept off her feet by the man of her dreams. Not. Going. To. Happen.
She was thirty-four. Not quite ready for comfy shoes and cardigans, but getting there. She knew there was still plenty of time left to meet someone, but her single-girl lifestyle had completely lost its appeal; she wanted to meet someone now.
She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind Carrie. Was it time to soften her image? The tough and sexy persona she had affected for work, after her father retired, was intended to send out a ‘don’t mess with me’ signal. Perhaps that was the problem? She glanced at the other two. Sarah had cheered up a bit and was telling Carrie a story about Zac emptying all the books out of the bookcase. They were both giggling. Jo felt a pang of jealousy. For all their husbands’ faults, at least Sarah had Dave and Carrie had Alex.
A couple on the other side of the restaurant, who had been glued to each other’s faces ever since she had arrived, stood and wandered to the door. Oblivious to those around them, they kissed goodbye, a long, lingering embrace, before moving in opposite directions, their fingers touching until the last possible second.
She turned back to the mirror and was shocked by her own melancholic expression. Jo Gold, spinster of the parish. She sighed dramatically. Quite simply, Jo had had enough of being alone. Lonely. Toute seule. She wanted to be loved. Embarrassingly, her eyes pricked with tears. She blinked them back, shocked. Jo didn’t cry. Ever.
Carrie and Sarah stopped chattering and stared.
‘Everything all right with your salads?’ asked the waitress in a tone that implied that she didn’t care either way, but felt obliged to ask.
‘Jo?’ Sarah shuffled her chair nearer and placed a hand on her arm.
The waitress harrumphed and walked away.
Jo swallowed. It was June; she had known these two for five months. They were friends but had they really opened up to each other? Jo certainly hadn’t been completely honest and she had doubts about Carrie and Sarah too.
‘I’ve got a confession.’ She took a deep breath. ‘About the wish list. I told you a white l
ie about my wish.’
She studied their faces, twisting her napkin into a rope and winding it through her fingers.
‘You mean you aren’t scared of heights?’ asked Carrie, a frown of confusion creasing her forehead.
‘No, no,’ said Jo swiftly, not wanting Carrie to think that she had wasted her time researching coping strategies and dragging her up the stairs in car parks. ‘I am. I’m petrified. That’s not it.’
Sarah did her usual scrabbling around in her handbag and took out the dreaded notebook and pen. ‘You don’t want to climb the Empire State Building?’
‘No, I do. But …’ Jo sighed, frustrated by her inability to find the right words. She rested her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. She thought for a moment and lifted her head. ‘OK, here’s the thing.’
Sarah sat with her pen poised, ready to make notes.
‘Put that notebook away, this is for your ears only.’
Sarah lowered her pen and took a big gulp of her wine.
Jo placed her hands on the table.
‘OK,’ she said calmly, ‘confession time. My name is Jo Gold and I’m a hopeless romantic.’ She risked a quick look at their faces. As predicted, they looked stunned. ‘And what I really wish for is my very own Sleepless in Seattle moment. There, I’ve admitted it. And now you probably think I’m an idiot.’
‘We do not,’ Carrie retorted.
‘Carry on,’ said Sarah. She topped up their glasses, checked the time and gave a little gasp.
Jo paused to take a drink.
‘I always assumed I’d meet someone special when I was older,’ she began. ‘A man who would sweep me off my feet. The whole happy-ever-after that little girls dream of. I’ve watched Sleepless in Seattle a million times and you know that bit at the top of the Empire State Building where their eyes meet? Well, that’s what I want.’ She looked up. ‘Pathetic, isn’t it?’
‘No!’ Sarah shook her head.
‘It’s totally adorable,’ said Carrie.
‘But taking over my dad’s business three years ago has taken over me, over my whole life. He drummed into me pretty much since puberty that I needed to keep a clear head to run a business. Attachments of the alpha-male kind were strictly off limits. Since I turned thirty, I can probably count my romantic encounters on one hand. I mean, I’ve had—’
She looked at their sympathetic faces and stopped short of saying the word ‘affairs’. In the past, she had let the men carry all the guilt for cheating on their wives. Now she had seen Sarah’s anguish, she felt ashamed. No more attached men. Ever.
‘Well, I’ve had some action, obviously. I’ve not been entirely celibate.’
Carrie and Sarah both smiled.
Jo ploughed on, desperate to get the whole thing off her chest. ‘But I want to fall in love. I want to share my life with someone. And now I’ve started to think that it’s never going to happen.’
‘Why didn’t you stand up to your dad?’ asked Sarah, spearing a fork into her salad. ‘Sounds like a bully to me.’
‘Not a bully,’ said Carrie swiftly. ‘I’m sure he thought he had your best interests at heart.’
Jo looked at the two of them and wondered how they’d each have responded to Bob Gold’s sermons. Sarah would probably have ignored him and Carrie in all likelihood wouldn’t have wanted to take the business on at all.
‘You’re right, Sarah. I should have stood up to him. Long before now. I guess a part of me just thought he was right.’
Carrie looked subdued and Jo managed a smile.
‘Before you ask,’ she reassured her, ‘the trip to New York is still on; I’ve got to go for work anyway. We can go shopping, sightseeing, a bit more shopping …’
‘But no skyscrapers?’ asked Sarah.
‘I don’t want you two to miss out,’ said Jo carefully. ‘I bet the views across the city are amazing. But even if I could handle the height, I don’t think I could cope with the anticlimax. No offence, but in my imagination I’m there with some delicious hunk, not my two mates.’
‘Hey,’ said Sarah brightly, ‘you might have met a hunk by then.’
Jo shook her head sadly. ‘I’m the career woman. Spiky, sharp and sarcastic. Hardly every man’s dream, am I?’
‘Er, hello?’ Sarah pointed at the mirror, forcing Jo to examine her reflection again. ‘Stunning, ballsy, wicked sense of humour and legs to die for. What’s not to like? Or love, in fact?’
Jo picked at her thumbnail without looking up. ‘You don’t think I’m too intimidating?’
‘You do ooze sex appeal,’ said Carrie diplomatically. ‘And you do scare our vicar. But the right man wouldn’t be intimidated.’
‘I’ll cross the Vicar of Woodby off the list then, shall I?’ Jo smiled, feeling faintly cheered by the compliments. ‘So who’s next? Anybody got anything they’d like to share, anyone else not quite truthful with their wish?’
Sarah buried her head back in her salad bowl and began to plough her way through iceberg lettuce and Carrie shook her head.
‘Oh,’ said Carrie, changing the subject, ‘the flowers for that wedding went really well, Jo.’
Jo noticed the spark in Carrie’s eyes. This could be just the push she needed to get back to work. ‘Sarah, you should see Carrie’s garden, it’s amazing. Did you know she used to be a fl—’
‘Knickers!’ Sarah jumped up from the table, knocking over her empty wine glass. ‘Look at the time! I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to rush off. Can I settle up with you next time?’
‘Of course! You go,’ said Carrie.
She leaned over to kiss them hurriedly, grabbed her bag and tottered off on her heels, overturning a stool on her way out.
‘Book that babysitter!’ Jo shouted to Sarah’s back. Sarah raised a hand in response and disappeared out into the sunshine.
Chapter 20
That evening Jo sat next to Patrick in his office. A whiteboard completely dominated one wall. It was blank except for the words JOSEPHINE GOLD COLLECTION in its centre and circled with marker pen. The two of them stared up at the board in silence, waiting for inspiration to strike. It was after six o’clock and most of the staff at Gold’s had gone home. Jo had nothing better to do and no one to do it with so she didn’t mind working late. She wasn’t so sure about Patrick. He had been drumming the marker pen against his thigh for a full five minutes. If he didn’t stop soon, she was going to shove it up his nose.
Patrick sighed and stopped tapping. ‘It’s not too late to pull out.’
Jo risked a quick glimpse at him and held her breath. Was he thinking of retracting his resignation? This was the conversation she had been hoping for. She shifted in her seat and waited for him to continue.
At first her reaction to him handing in his notice had been blurred by her fury over the exclusivity demands from Shaw’s. After that, she was a bit cool towards him, but he had demonstrated that he was every bit as committed to saving Gold’s as she was and she hadn’t been able to stay cross with him for long. At the end of the day, who knows, she might have had no choice other than to make him redundant in September. Far better this way, with him making the decision to leave.
For the past few weeks, it had been business as usual and other than discussing her annual trip to New York and whether he would still be with Gold’s by then or not, they had hardly mentioned his departure. But inside she was counting down the weeks with dread, unable to contemplate running the company and standing up to her father without his confident handle on all the figures.
‘I mean, Shaw’s wouldn’t be happy, but it isn’t too late, is it?’ he repeated, turning to look at her.
Jo swallowed, mentally crossing her fingers. ‘What are you thinking?’
He leaned forward, fixing his grey eyes on hers. ‘There’s nothing to stop us withdrawing the Josephine Gold collection entirely. We simply tell Ed that financially it doesn’t stack up.’
Jo’s heart sank. She pretended to herself she’d known
all along that was what he was referring to. A ball of thwarted hope gathered at her feet and she kicked it into touch. Of course he wasn’t going to stay. She half wished she could bugger off and leave Gold’s too.
Liz stuck her head round the door. She rested her shopping bag on the floor while she pulled her cardigan over her neat blouse and skirt. ‘I’m off now. I’ve switched the phone to night service; you can pick up any calls from Patrick’s phone. Don’t stay too late.’
‘OK, Mum,’ Jo and Patrick said in unison.
Liz tutted at them as if they were recalcitrant teenagers and pulled the door to as she left.
‘Oh, it definitely doesn’t stack up,’ said Jo.
She took Patrick’s marker pen from him and walked around the desk to the whiteboard. She drew an arrow from the centre and wrote HIGH STREET, underlined it and added ‘Shaw’s’ underneath. She folded her arms and turned back to Patrick.
‘Ninety per cent of our customers are high street stores. The Shaw’s contract stipulates we can’t sell to any of them. Even if we sold the Josephine Gold collection to the other ten per cent who aren’t on the high street, it still wouldn’t be enough to make production viable.’
Patrick was staring at her. She wondered if he could read her mind, could see that the fight had gone out of her. She was usually such a ball of energy, enthusiastic to the last. Come on, Jo, she urged herself, don’t give up.
‘The Shaw’s order is big,’ she continued. ‘It’s the biggest on our books. The idea of canning the collection is killing me, and not only that,’ she gave him a twinkly smile, ‘I really want to prove my dad wrong. Help me out here, McGregor, I need one of your brilliant ideas.’
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