All Work and No Play (8 page)

She’d trusted him, both as Jonny and Jay, and now they both knew that she was so hopeless at being a desirable
woman that she had to get instructions from the man she was dating on how to be sexy.

‘Jane—’ Jonny reached for her again with his strong arms. She could see softness, maybe pity, in his eyes. He wanted to hug her, to comfort her, and this was her friend and now her lover, and she’d exposed more of herself to him than she’d shown to anyone in a very long time.

If she cried in front of him that would be the final helpless step in her destruction.

She stepped quickly to one side and pulled open the hotel-room door. Anger was strong, and anger would save her.

‘I never want to see you again,’ she said, and wheeled out of the door.

CHAPTER FIVE

J
ANE
turned her chair so it was facing away from the full-length windows looking out into the rest of the office, and massaged her aching cheeks. Fake smiles must use more muscles than real ones, and she’d been at it all day.

Somebody knocked on her door. Instantly Jane whirled around in her chair, her expression composed and friendly. ‘Come in.’

Amy, her art director, entered. She was small and cute and, currently, the only other woman working in the creative team at Pearce Grey. In usual circumstances, Jane supposed this would bond them together. She’d expected them to bond together when Amy had been hired. She wasn’t quite sure why they hadn’t.

‘I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’ Amy asked, poking her head inside. The query was pure politeness;
the entire office could see, if they wanted to, that Jane wasn’t deep in work.

‘Not at all, please come in.’

Amy entered and perched on the armchair across from Jane’s desk. Her dark brown fringe flopped in her eyes until she flicked it aside. ‘Well, I have to thank you,’ she said.

Jane smiled. This time, for real. ‘Why?’

‘Because I love photo shoots. I love them. The clothes and the noise and those hot lights.’ She gave a little shudder of pleasure. ‘And the models. Thank you for asking me to go, Jane.’

‘How is it going?’

It was purely a professional question, of course. Jane was in charge of the Giovanni Franco campaign and therefore she needed to be up to speed on every aspect of its production. It wasn’t a question about Jonny at all. In fact, she’d been too busy to think about Jonny all day.

Except for every five minutes or so when she was broadsided by a sensual memory of them tearing at each other’s clothes. Or a sickening memory of herself, typing her heart out onto her laptop.

‘Great! Absolutely perfect.’ Amy sighed happily. ‘We made completely the right decision choosing Jay Richard as a model. The guy is a natural for Franco cologne. He’s got that relaxed attitude, you know?’

‘He was relaxed?’ Yes. It made sense that Jonny would be relaxed, even after what had happened last night. He’d probably had a hearty post-coital dinner and then tumbled into a restful post-coital sleep.

‘He’s got a talent in front of the camera. And he’s such a nice bloke! Not at all up himself. Very friendly.’

Yes, you should see how friendly he likes to get with his friends.
Jane did her best to look interested.

‘And delectable, of course. He had his shirt off at one point. My God.’ Amy pretended to fan herself.

‘Are you looking for a boyfriend?’ Jane asked, a little too quickly.

Amy laughed. ‘As if a model would be interested in a twenty-seven-year-old single mum. No, I was just window-shopping.’ She evidently caught Jane’s expression and her smile faded. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘No.’ Jane rubbed her forehead and gave Amy another smile, this one rueful. ‘I’ve been working too hard, I guess.’

‘Well, you’ve got a lot on. I was thinking about creative director some day, you know, but, watching you, I don’t think I could cope with the workload. I work hard, but you’re amazing.’

‘Just dedicated.’

Not quite dedicated enough, though, apparently. Checking up on how the photo shoot was going should
have been Jane’s job; it was the sort of thing she prided herself on doing, the little extra bit of personal care for Pearce Grey’s clients. But this morning, the thought of going to see Jonny posing in front of a camera had been too much to bear.

‘Well, thank you for asking me to go this morning. Apparently Thom Erikson is throwing a party on Friday and is inviting the whole office. Did you know about that?’

‘Yes.’ She’d found out at lunch yesterday and forgotten to send out a memo when she got back to work, because she’d been too preoccupied with her upcoming date. Just another ball she’d dropped. ‘I don’t think I can go. Work,’ she added.

‘Too bad. I hear his parties are legendary. And Thom’s cute, even more hunky than his models. I’m definitely getting a babysitter for that night. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Though I doubt Thom Erikson would be interested in a single mum, either.’ Amy perked up. ‘The model asked after you, by the way.’

Jane had thought she was sitting up straight, but at that she became even straighter. ‘What did he say?’

‘He wanted to know why you hadn’t come yourself. I told him how busy you were.’ Amy played with the hem of her jumper for a minute, and then met Jane’s eyes. ‘Jane, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ Jane said automatically, then thought twice.
Amy wasn’t Gary; she appeared to have no alternative agenda for asking how she was. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Well, you know, I haven’t worked here long, but you’re always so busy, and then it’s not like you not to go to the shoot yourself. And you seem pretty preoccupied, even considering how important this campaign is. And then even Jay asked if you were all right, and I figure if someone who barely knows you is concerned about you, then …’ She trailed off. ‘Well, anyway, I wondered.’

Amy’s green eyes were full of kindness, and for a moment Jane was tempted to confide in her. She remembered what a relief it had felt yesterday when she’d typed Jonny the truth about her break-up. And how, when he’d told her about his father, it had seemed as if a burden was being lifted from him.

But then, of course, Jonny was evidently a very good actor. And maybe he’d felt as if he owed her a confidence in return for her blatantly showing him her insecurities. Some people worked like that, as if secrets and vulnerability were commodities.

‘I’m fine,’ Jane said, and in her head she heard Jonny’s voice saying,
I know you’ve got a better vocabulary than that, even when you’re lying.

‘I’m splendid, actually.’ She stood up and gave Amy her widest smile.

She genuinely liked Amy, so it only hurt a little.

The glimmer of relief she had when she turned her key in the lock of her flat, home at last, died away as soon as she actually opened her door.

The place was so empty. And the hours ahead of her, even though she’d worked late, even more empty.

Habit sent her straight across the hardwood floor to her desk in the corner of the living room. She toed off her shoes, giving an involuntary sigh of blessed freedom for her feet, and pressed her laptop’s ‘on’ button.

It hadn’t finished booting up yet when she realised she’d autopiloted herself straight to the worst place in the room.

For the past few months, even when Gary had been around, this had been her favourite seat in the house. Her computer hadn’t been a piece of machinery; it had been a direct line to somebody else, someone who cared. She would come home from work and look straight away for a message from Jonny. Something warm and human, even though it was through a machine.

Quite often, Jonny was online in the evening at the same time she was; he worked all hours on his computer stuff. She’d pour herself a glass of wine and chat with him, about nothing, and laugh.

Jane stared at the screen, now blossoming into colour and icons.

It was a computer. It wasn’t a magic portal to her
friend. It was plastic, wires, microchips, a screen that had made her feel safe enough to reveal herself.

Her chat program launched itself, and she saw that Jonny was online. She immediately shut the program down, before he could hail her.

Her inbox popped up too and she watched the numbers of unread messages mount up. There were two from Jonny. She noticed his return address without wanting to. Swiftly, she turned the computer off before she could even read the topic lines of his emails. She didn’t care what he wanted to say to her.

Because the screen went blank she didn’t realise right away that she was crying.

He had been one of the few comfortable things left in her life. And now he was gone.

Briefly, she buried her face in her hands. Her skull felt fragile underneath her skin, and her tears were hot.

Somebody knocked on the door.

Jane jumped out of her chair. Jonny knew where she lived, didn’t he? Had he been online on a mobile device, hoping to talk with her as he travelled to her flat?

Surely he wouldn’t turn up, not after what she’d said and what had happened between them. But he’d called her at work, both this morning and this afternoon; she’d pretended to be too busy to take his calls.

Her stomach fluttered and she wasn’t sure whether it was dread or anticipation.

She crossed to the door and looked out of the peephole. Only when she saw Gary’s face did she remember that he’d asked her if he could come round to pick up a few things.

This feeling wasn’t ambivalent; it was disappointment, pure and simple.

‘Just a second,’ she called through the door, because if she didn’t answer he’d most likely let himself in with his own set of keys. The knock had been courtesy, like his asking permission to come round; in reality, Gary still owned half of this flat, at least until she bought his share from him.

She hurried to the kitchen, splashed her face with cold water, and wiped it on a tea towel. She’d promised herself that Gary would never see her crying again. Even if, this time, it had nothing to do with him.

Freshening up done, she opened the door, hoping she’d eliminated all traces of her tears. Her skin was always pale, she knew, and tended to show pinkness around her eyes and nose.

‘Gary,’ she said, not exactly in greeting, and stepped aside to let him in.

It was odd, but even in this flat, which they’d shared for two years, Gary looked like a stranger. He stood in
the room, clearing his throat and fiddling with his shirt cuffs. She wondered if she had ever found those mannerisms endearing; she couldn’t remember. In fact, she couldn’t remember looking at him closely at all.

‘Kathleen said she ran into you,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Jane replied. ‘Tell me, Gary, what attracted you most to her—her breasts, her cheap shoes, or her ability to balance heavy trays of food?’

Gary rolled his eyes. That trait wasn’t endearing, either. ‘Jane, that comment isn’t worthy of you.’

Jane took a deep breath, and dropped the sarcasm. ‘I just have a hard time understanding your motivation. You always encouraged me to go for promotion at work. It seemed important to you that I had a successful career. I’m wondering if that was never actually true, or if you’ve changed your mind about what you want in a woman.’

‘Kathleen’s easier to be with.’

‘She’s not threatening to you because she’s successful, you mean. She has her little job and you’re the resident big shot. Whereas the minute I got promoted to creative director, you couldn’t leave me soon enough.’

‘Jane, I encouraged you in your career because that’s all you ever seemed to want.’

‘And as soon as I got what I wanted, you got scared
because you couldn’t stand to live with someone who had the same status and earning power as you.’

His face was getting red.

‘Kathleen is a real woman,’ he shot back. ‘She’s sexy and beautiful and she’s interested in me more than her job. You were never interested in me. You floated around in your own work world and you never took the time to get to know who I am. You never cared about my comfort, or my needs, or—’

She’s sexy and beautiful … like a real woman.
Despair and doubt grabbed hold of Jane’s guts and anger seemed like the safest route.

‘I get it now,’ Jane said. ‘You were looking for someone to bring you your pipe and slippers at the end of a hard day.’

‘I was looking for someone who gave a damn about anything besides herself and her career!’

‘I give a damn about plenty of things,’ Jane snapped.

‘Like what? Like who?’

‘Like my mother, and my brothers, and—’

And she stopped herself, her throat closing up.

Because she’d been about to say
and Jonny.

Somebody knocked on the door.

Jane didn’t bother to look through the peephole this time; she was too preoccupied with emotion. When she
opened the door a young man was standing there with a large bouquet of lilies and roses in his hands.

‘Jane Miller?’ he said. ‘Delivery.’

In a daze, Jane took the bouquet. Its scent immediately surrounded her. She closed the door. The bouquet was so big that she could barely hold it with her left arm as she opened the card that was attached to it.

She’d never seen Jonny’s handwriting before, but she recognised it right away—just as she’d recognised him and never realised it. It was neat and upright.

Dear Jane, I’m sorry for deceiving you. I didn’t mean to. I don’t want to lose you. Can we start again? Jonny.

It was a day for mixed emotions. Jane was flooded with both embarrassment and a huge, hopeless longing.

How on earth could they start again? Now that they’d crossed every barrier she had?

She pictured him at the florists’, writing out the card, tilting his head in that way he had. Maybe furrowing his forehead a little as he thought about what he wanted to say. Or maybe dashing off the note with practised malemodel charm, thinking he only had to make a little effort and a woman like her would fall all over herself to run back into his arms.

But she could see every bit of him in her mind: his blue eyes slightly narrowed, his lean body bent over the counter, his long fingers on the pen.

She’d already learned the written word could be deceptive. What did he mean, exactly, by losing her? Or by starting again? As friends? Lovers? Email buddies?