to refrain from leaping up and hugging her, Bea was nonetheless having difficulty in composing herself. There is a God, after all. Thank you. ‘That’s wonderful news for you. Congratulations. What will you be doing?’
As Jade explained that the new women’s fiction list was being reinvented and put in her charge now because the existing editorial director had moved to America, it became obvious that this was going to be an excellent career move.
‘That all sounds fantastic. A great break for you. I’m not going to try to persuade you to stay because, the way things are, I think this will be a much, much better deal than anything I could offer.’ That, at least, was true.
‘I was hoping you’d say that. Thank you.’ Jade was all smiles now the worst was over. ‘Here’s my resignation letter. I thought I’d better make it formal.’ She passed Bea the envelope.
‘Perhaps I should have a word with Stuart, just to put his mind at rest about what’s happening here.’ Bea couldn’t quite believe how good fortune had played into her hands. ‘Could you ask him to come in?’
Stuart entered her office at his most recalcitrant, his scar gleaming pearly white. He left on a high to go and celebrate with Jade. Bea had reassured him that his job was secure. Deciding to put all her cards on the table, she confided that Jade had in fact done him a favour. She hadn’t wanted to lose either of them but she was delighted with the way the dice had fallen. He would have more responsibility and together they would make a strong team with a vital role in turning the company around. Fired with enthusiasm, they planned to meet the following week to discuss tactics.
After he’d gone, Bea spent a couple of hours catching up with a backlog of work and tidied the office ready for a new start. For the first time in months, she went home fired up and looking forward to what was to come.
*
As she soaked in a hot bath, hoping that it would relieve the worst of her symptoms, she let her mind run to their source. Tony Castle. Why, when she had at last met a man, even if their brief acquaintance had been fuelled by alcohol, did he have to have been such a shit? Until that night, she’d almost forgotten how good sex could be. And now she wished she hadn’t had the reminder. She slid down so the back of her head was submerged under the water. With the sounds of the radio dulled, a conversation she’d had with Kate over an Indian takeaway floated back into her mind.
‘I don’t know why you’re so hell-bent on finding a man anyway,’ Kate had said, as she piled up the foil trays. ‘You’ve survived without one for long enough.’
‘Sex. That’s why. A bit of physical contact. Someone to talk to on a long dark winter’s night. Someone to put out the bins. It’s all right for you, cocooned in marital bliss with it all on tap.’
‘Seems to me the only good thing about sex at our age is that once you’ve done it you know you don’t have to do it again for at least another week, or even a fortnight if you’re lucky.’ Kate stabbed at the last bit of chicken korma with a fork, before taking the containers over to the retro flip-top pedal bin.
‘Speak for your own libido. Mine feels as if it’s been in cold storage since Colin left. I’ve spent all my time throwing myself at my work unless I was trying to be a decent mum to Ben. Now I’ve decided to throw myself at a man instead. I’ve just got to find one.’
Why was it that married women really didn’t get what it was like to be single at this age? Although they moaned about their partners and pretended to envy the single, even the celibate, state, she knew they, Kate included, would never embrace it any better than she did. Yes, she had the freedom to do exactly what she wanted when she wanted, but there were also times when the loneliness could be overwhelming. At home alone on a Friday night when smug couples were candle-lit dining with each other, when young singles were out pubbing, clubbing or smooching in the cinema, ‘alone’ was what she was. Ben had his own life now and was guaranteed to have skedaddled to a friend’s house or a party as soon as humanly possible. She didn’t dwell on the possibilities too hard. Scrambled eggs, a bottle of wine and a DVD were all well and good in their place, but on a regular basis, they lost something of their charm. And, however well she entertained herself, there was always an empty space beside her on the sofa. Most weekends she kept herself busy, even if only with the piles of reading she had from work, but some she spent huddled in a self-pitying heap beneath the duvet. What she’d said to Kate was right. This had to stop. She was only at the half-way point in her life: it was time to pick herself up and find the partner of choice. She hadn’t yet lost all faith in Let’s Have Lunch, so bring on the next four dates.
Dates? Christ! She had one with Mark this evening. ‘Eight. Don’t be late,’ he’d said. And that was exactly what she was going to be. Very.
Like a whale rising from the ocean, she surfaced with a huge splash, soaking the bathmat and dousing the three scented candles. How could she have forgotten? Cursing under her breath, she climbed out, wrapped a towel around her, mopped the floor with another and tore down the corridor to her bedroom. With the hair-dryer in one hand and her phone in the other, she did her hair and ordered a cab. She took a look in the mirror, then dashed back to the bathroom for some styling mousse and her hairbrush, which she found muddled up in Ben’s things. Still, the fact that he brushed his hair at all was something to be thankful for, never mind what he did it with.
When she heard the hoot outside, she was almost ready, ramming her feet into the nearby fake leopardskin pumps, grabbing the thin cream jacket from the end of the bed and running downstairs as she transferred the contents of her office bag into her evening bag. Her only other bag, in fact. Her hair and lipstick could be remedied in the back of the cab.
Her heartbeat had slowed by the time they pulled up outside the bar, which was tucked away behind Regent Street. Outside, the pavement pulsed with people. Window ledges were littered with empty bottles and glasses, the street with cigarette butts. She pushed her way through the open doors into the dimly lit interior. Huge ceiling fans whirred lazily while the combination of voices and music provided a busy background hum. Edging her way past the mahogany bar, which was shoulder deep with braying cocktail drinkers, she eventually spotted Mark sitting in the quietest corner by the restaurant section, partially hidden behind a potted palm. Opposite him was an enormous wall clock, so he must be all too aware that she was nearly forty minutes late. On the table was an empty glass and a forlorn neon pink gerbera that was winning its right to droop, despite the supporting wire wound about its stem.
‘I am so sorry.’ Bea hurried up to him. ‘I’ve had a helluva day and I had to rush home first to drop some things off, then I came straight here.’ She hoped he wouldn’t notice how newly bathed she was.
Mark looked at her, clearly relieved. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’
‘My God. I would never stand someone up. Never. Let me get you a drink.’ She began to rummage in her bag for her purse. ‘I’d have phoned you, but you didn’t give me your card.’ Despite being touched by his response to her arrival, she decided to pass the buck. It worked.
‘I’m afraid I don’t really have much time.’ He sounded apologetic, as if it was his fault she was late. ‘My ex has just phoned. She’s had a major row with my youngest daughter and is insisting that I come and take her for the weekend.’
‘Heavens. How old did you say she was?’ Surely his children were old enough to look after themselves.
‘Thirteen going on twenty-three.’
‘Then you’ll need a drink first. Hang on.’ Bea negotiated the crush at the bar to return with two small
