by Jane Moore
“So have you heard from Mr. Wonderful since he went to foreign climes?” said Rosie, tucking into her Caesar salad.
“No,” replied Jo. “But then I didn’t expect to really because he said it might be difficult to call. I assume he’ll ring before Friday though, to let me know when and where. You still OK to baby-sit?”
“Oh shit!” Rosie clamped a hand over her mouth and Jo’s face fell. “I’d completely forgotten that a multi-millionaire is whisking me off to the Caribbean that night, so I can’t, sorry.”
Jo heaved a sigh of relief. “Very funny. I was a bit worried there for a moment. I could always ask Tim, but I’d feel more comfortable if it was you, just in case I want to creep in during the early hours.”
“Oh, early hours now, is it? A minute ago you were categorically not going to sleep with him.”
“I’m not. What I mean is that we might go to a nightclub.”
“Well, if I was you and I got the chance for uncomplicated sex with a man I found attractive, I’d take it. You’d be mad not to,” said Rosie, leaning over and breaking off a piece of Jo’s untouched garlic bread.
“We’ll see.” Jo stared wistfully out of the window. “I’m not very good at that sort of thing, and I don’t want him to think I’m a pushover.”
Rosie scoffed. “Bloody chance would be a fine thing for me. The last bloke I met seemed to be everything you want in a man, but he turned out to have a heart of gold, nerves of steel, and a cock of butter. If this one turns out to be half decent, I’d grab him with both hands if I were you.”
“As I said, we’ll see.”
Clearly bored by the subject, Rosie yawned and asked for the bill. “So how was Britney Spears night?” she said, taking a credit card from her purse.
Jo fumbled for hers too. “Very good actually, and I was right that it wasn’t a date. He shook my hand on the doorstep when we got home.”
Rosie made a pooh-poohing noise. “Nonsense. That’s simply the actions of a man who knows he has plenty of other opportunities to see you because of the house. He’s biding his time so he doesn’t scare you off.”
Jo laughed. “Rosie, you are such a dreamer!”
“Am I? You mark my words chum.”
20
Wednesday night, but Jo could barely hear him as the line was so crackly.
“I’ll keep this short, I’m just calling about Friday,” he said.
“Yes?” Jo’s heart was in her mouth in case he was calling to cancel.
“Let’s meet in the same bar as before, around eight. OK?”
“Fine.” She felt a surge of happiness that it was still on.
“Great, see ya.” With that, he was gone.
Jo stood staring at the receiver for a few seconds, before shrugging and placing it back on the cradle. I suppose there are lots of calls like that when you date someone who travels to far-flung places, she thought. Still, at least he’d called and at least he hadn’t canceled. She was determined to think positive.
The day after the call, she had driven over to Martin’s place to check on the flooring that had been laid in the kitchen. It was the first time she’d seen him since the concert, but, like her call from Sean, it turned out to be a rather brief experience.
He opened the door while simultaneously putting on his jacket. “Hi there,” he said briskly. “I’m afraid I have to go out, but I didn’t think you’d need me here anyway. Mrs. Richards will make you a cup of tea. We’ll speak soon.” He picked up his briefcase from the hallway floor and headed out of the door.
“Bye,” said Jo, as the door slammed. She walked down the steps to the basement kitchen where Mrs. Richards was standing by the newly installed, attractively named Smeg oven.
“Hello dear,” she said, nodding at the floor. “It’s looking good isn’t it? Have you come to check it out?”
“Yes, I just need to make sure everything’s been done to specification. I won’t stop long.” Jo bent down to touch the maple boards.
“Do have a quick cup of tea while you’re here. Did you see Mr. Blake on his way out?”
Martin had told Jo that, despite his protestations, Mrs. Richards insisted on calling him that.
“Yes, he seemed in a dreadful hurry.”
“He always is dear. I do wish he’d slow down a bit and find himself a nice young woman. Someone like yourself in fact,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
“Oh, I can assure you it’s all business with me,” said Jo quickly, keen to steer away from the subject. “I don’t think I’m exactly his type.”
Mrs. Richards raised her excessively bushy eyebrows. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure, dear. I’ve seen all types over the years: tall, short, brown hair, blond hair. All slim though. He likes a nice figure, does Mr. Blake.”
Jo said nothing because she felt rather uncomfortable that Mrs. Richards was telling her such things. It also crossed her mind that Martin would be furious if he knew his housekeeper was discussing his private life with someone who was ostensibly a complete stranger.
But Mrs. Richards rattled on. “Mind you, they never last long really because he’s such a perfectionist. A lot of them get fed up because he spends so much time working, but then that’s why he’s so successful, isn’t it? A lot of them are attracted to his money, but don’t like the hard work he has to do to get it. Having said that, he can afford to slow down since he sold that Internet thingy.”
While she droned on in the background, Jo inspected the floor closely and found the fitter had done an impressive job. She drained the last of her tea, and placed her cup in the sink.
“Thanks for the tea. I must be off now,” she said, heading for the stairs.
“Anytime dear. I’ve enjoyed our little chat.”
Jo regaled Rosie with the story of Mrs. Richards’ verbal diarrhea when she arrived to baby-sit the next night.
“Bloody hell, if you get the housekeeper on your side, you’re halfway there,” said Rosie with a serious expression. “Remember all that trouble Mrs. de Winter had with Mrs. Danvers?”
“What are you on about?”
“You know, the grumpy housekeeper in Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier.”
“No, I don’t mean that you idiot. I mean, why would I even care whether Mrs. Richards likes me or not? I won’t see her again after the project finishes.”
Rosie said nothing and fixed her with a knowing look.
Jo gave an exasperated sigh. “Oh, you’re not back on that me and Martin thing again are you? Play another record for God’s sake, it’s not going to happen. Quite apart from anything else, I am about to go on a date with another man.”
“And you look great,” said Rosie, looking her up and down.
Jo was wearing a pair of tight black trousers, black mules, and a black and white polka dot halter top that showed off her slim shoulders. She had kept the hairdressing appointment Rosie had forced her into, and her dark blond hair was now scattered with a few flattering highlights that softened her face.
“What a transformation!” smiled Rosie, looking at her watch. “Come on, you’d better get going.”
This time, Jo was leaving her car at home and had ordered a local mini-cab. Unusually, it arrived on time without half an hour’s worth of phone calls, where the control room told her it was either “two minutes away” or “outside your house now,” when patently neither were true.
Twenty minutes later, it pulled up outside the bar. She felt self-conscious as she paid the driver, wondering whether Sean was watching her through the window. But she needn’t have worried as there was no sign of him when she walked around the bar.
“Been stood up? You can come and sit with us if you like, darling,” leered a Neanderthal-looking man sitting near the women’s room.
“Er, no thanks.” Jo scuttled back across the room and squeezed herself into a gap at the packed bar counter. She only had a small handbag with her, so she prayed she wouldn’t have to wait long or there’d be no scrap paper to rifle through. She jump
ed out of her skin as she felt someone’s fingers squeeze her waist.
“Hello gorgeous.” It was Sean.
Jo clasped a hand to her chest. “Gosh, you shocked me. For a minute, I thought it was that ameba-brained creep who tried to chat me up earlier.”
“Sounds like a bright guy to me. I’d certainly try to chat you up if I saw you standing alone.”
Jo wasn’t quite sure how she felt about this statement, but didn’t have to time to think about it before he’d swept her away.
“You go find a seat. I’ll get the drinks,” he said, pointing to a couple just vacating a table.
He returned clutching two brightly colored drinks with straws and umbrellas. “A couple of comedy cocktails to get us going,” he said, sitting down next to her and planting a quick, light kiss on her mouth. “By the way, have I mentioned how gorgeous you look?”
“Yes, you have,” smiled Jo, uncertain how to handle his flattery after years in the compliment-free wilderness of Jeff.
Sean drained his cocktail glass in two or three gulps and slammed it down on the low level pine table. “Sorry, I’m not usually like this,” he smiled apologetically. “It’s just that I’m starved of alcohol. I’ll go and get us a more sensible drink now.”
He returned a few minutes later with a bottle of house white wine and two glasses.
Jo pulled a face as he filled one of them to the brim. “Before we get too drunk, I want to know more about you,” she said.
He picked up his glass and leaned back in his chair. “I was born in South London, I have one sister, and both my parents are unfortunately dead. Right, that’s got that out of the way. What shall we talk about now?”
“Whoa!” she laughed. “First of all, how old are you? I forgot to ask before.”
“I’m twelve,” he said, flinching as Jo gave him a stern look. “OK, OK. I’m thirty-five.”
“And what does your sister do?”
“What? Um . . . not sure.” He looked slightly irritated. “I don’t hear from her much, but the last I knew she was working as a croupier on cruise ships.”
Jo could sense he was uncomfortable with her questions, so she decided to leave the sensitive subject of his parents’ deaths until another time. “Well, you certainly seem to love your job,” she said in an attempt to be placatory. It seemed to work.
“Yes, I do.” He visibly brightened. “It suits me perfectly, although lately I’ve found I’d like to stay put a bit more. I used to think of myself as a bit of a maverick, but the trouble is that mavericks can turn into sad old fucks when they get older.”
When he said this, a vision of Jeff flashed into Jo’s mind. She ignored it. “So do you think you might change jobs?”
“No, I’ll always be a cameraman because I love it. But I might consider leaving The World Right Now, because to be honest war zones do tend to blend into one another after a while.”
Jo smiled. “You should have come and covered the war zone that has been our house for the past few months.”
“That bad, huh?”
She nodded. “Yes, but we seem to have come to a bit of a truce now. We manage to speak to each other without having an argument, and I’ve even let the children meet his new girlfriend.” Jo was aware she was driveling on about personal matters when Sean hadn’t asked her to, but she was so nervous she couldn’t bear any silences.
“Do you mind if I kiss you?” he said suddenly, cutting right across her babble. Without waiting for an answer, he leaned across the table and slowly placed his lips against hers.
They tasted slightly salty, but the softness of them surprised her. As he started to slowly move his mouth, Jo felt a flutter of nerves as she realized this wasn’t going to be a quick peck. There was nothing else for her to do but pull away or respond. She chose the latter. I can’t believe I’m having a full-blown snog in a crowded bar, she thought, her insides churning over as the kiss continued. Jeff and I barely held hands in public. As Sean pulled away and smiled at her, Jo sat bolt upright and quickly cast an anxious glance around the bar. She’d anticipated a small crowd gathered round, but not a single soul was looking in their direction.
Sean nonchalantly took a cigarette out of its packet and lit it. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I hit your car.”
“Have you?” Jo couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Yep. In fact, before I hit your car,” he said, shaking the match to extinguish it.
“Sorry?”
“I wasn’t going to tell you this, but what the hell,” he said, taking a drag on his cigarette and puffing the smoke to one side. “I had pulled alongside you earlier and really fancied you, so when you were in front of me at the traffic light, I deliberately nudged the back of your car.”
For a few moments, she thought he was joking. But his straight face told her he was serious.
“What a strange thing to do.” She was unsure what she felt about this little confession.
“I know,” he shrugged. “But hey, you’ve got to take chances in life when you see them. If I hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
He seemed remarkably laid back about his actions, so for now Jo decided to follow suit and worry about it later. She poked him in the arm. “In that case, you can bloody well pay for my cracked light.”
“A pleasure,” he grinned. “In the meantime, let me pay for more drinks. Come on, let’s go to another bar with a bit more atmosphere.” He stood up.
Five minutes later they were in a bar twice as dark and noisy as the last one.
“I’ll get the drinks!” he bellowed. “You find a square inch to stand in.”
Jo positioned herself in a tight, dark corner at the end of the long bar, and leaned against the wall. As she watched Sean fighting his way through the throng and grabbing the attention of the barmaid, she marveled at what a determined man he was. She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered by his rather drastic method of meeting her, or to run a mile. But after years of Jeff’s indecisiveness, she found it sexually exciting to be with a man who knew what he wanted in life and grabbed it.
Sean returned clutching another bottle of white wine and two glasses which he promptly placed on the bar, leaving his hands free to place around Jo’s waist. Pressing his body against hers, his mouth bore down for a passionate kiss that left her feeling light-headed with a pounding desire she’d not felt since the early days with Jeff. For a moment, she forgot about her problems, she forgot about her mother, Rosie, Tim, and even her children. She was lost in the deliciously carefree feeling of physical contact with a man she found extremely attractive. God, it’s like being a teenager again, she thought. When you don’t have a care in the world and a kiss is of monumental importance. They spent the next hour tucked away in the corner, their kissing sessions punctuated by conversation shouted into each other’s ear.
“I find you very attractive, Jo,” he said, idly caressing the back of her neck with one hand.
“The feeling’s mutual,” she bellowed back. The music stopped just as she said the last word, making conversation a little easier.
“I’m a bit of a tricky bugger to have a relationship with because of my job and stuff, but I think we could be good together,” he said.
“I agree.” She deliberately kept her answer short in the hope he would elaborate, and it worked.
“I know you have commitments and things to sort out, but I’ll never be a burden on your time because I’m away so much. So what do you say?”
How delicious to have the ball back in my court, she thought, after so many emotionally strained months of being messed around by Jeff. It felt good.
“Why not? Let’s give it a go,” she smiled. Her calm exterior belied the fact that her stomach was doing euphoric somersaults.
“Fantastic,” said Sean, planting a smacker on her lips. “This calls for a celebration. Come on, I have a bottle of champagne at home.”
21
unprepossessing modern block in th
e less chic part of Fulham. It had a gloomy communal hallway with eighties-style red and gray stripey wallpaper and a faint odor that suggested it hadn’t been cleaned since its opening. Kicked to one side was the ubiquitous pile of unclaimed mail found in every apartment building, addressed to people who had moved away long ago. Jo followed him up one flight of stairs to a door marked 24 in plastic letters.
“ ‘Scuse the mess,” he said, fumbling to get the key in the lock. “But I haven’t been around much to tidy up.”
She walked in expecting to find a complete disaster, but found that, compared to her house, it wasn’t the slightest bit messy. In fact, it resembled a hotel room or show home with everything neatly in its place.
“On the contrary, it’s very tidy,” she said loudly to Sean as he crashed about in the kitchen, presumably getting the champagne.
She was standing in his living room, which rather contradicted its name and looked distinctly unoccupied. There were a couple of arty farty photographic books on the coffee table, a pair of graying hotel slippers by the side of the black leather sofa, a mini-stereo, and an answering machine flickering in the corner. There were a few books on one of the shelves, but not a single picture or personal photograph in the room.
“It’s very sparse,” she said, as Sean walked in clutching two full glasses of champagne and a bowl of tortilla chips.
“I know, I love miniman . . . minmila . . . I like it like this,” he grinned, handing her a glass.
“You love minimalism, is what you’re trying to say,” laughed Jo. “Funnily enough, I’m trying to achieve that look on a house in Chelsea at the moment.” She was making polite conversation, but Sean clearly wasn’t listening. He was fumbling in his CD rack in the corner, and a few seconds later the strains of Moby filled the room.
Perched on the edge of the sofa, Jo suddenly felt awkward and rather wished she hadn’t come back to this rather soulless flat. It was so long since she’d been with anyone except Jeff that she was unsure what to do next. She was also unsure of whether she even wanted anything to happen next. Staring at the floor, she had just decided this was all moving rather too quickly for a second date when Sean sat down next to her and gently took the champagne glass from her hand. He placed it on the coffee table and murmured, “Now, where were we?”