THE office was vast, with a panoramic view of the Thames on both sides. Daniel Armstrong rose from behind a large, cluttered desk as she went in, and drew himself up to his full, intimidating height. But courtesy of the new shoes Joss was only a few inches shorter, and stood as erect as he, her eyes unwavering as he motioned her to the chair in front of the desk. Joss sat down with composure, taking mental notes as she looked at the room. The walls were entirely of glass, with the view for sole ornament. The desk was modern and functional, as was the leather sofa along one side of the room, and the entire office was in such stark contrast to the conventional comfort of the house in Kew it was hard to believe the same man inhabited both environments. Dan was wearing a dark city suit with a plain white shirt and rather flamboyant tie, as usual, but fatigue smudged the slanted eyes fixed on her face.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked as he resumed his seat. ‘I’m surprised you were able to work today. You looked like death when I left yesterday afternoon.’
‘I felt it,’ Joss agreed. ‘But I woke up this morning feeling so much better it seemed pointless to stay at home.’
‘Nothing comes between you and the job, of course. I hope this Jack Ormond appreciates your enthusiasm,’ he said without inflection, and leaned back in his seat.
‘I doubt it,’ she said bitterly, and looked at him in appeal. ‘I didn’t want to do this, Dan.’
He smiled mirthlessly. ‘I’m sure you didn’t.’
‘I never thought for a moment you’d agree.’ She met his eyes. ‘Why did you?’
He shrugged. ‘I might have refused, as usual, if we hadn’t met again yesterday.’
‘Which doesn’t answer my question.’
His eyes hardened. ‘There’s something I need to know.’
Joss sat very still. ‘What is it?’
Dan’s mouth tightened. ‘Why the hell did you ask me to come round so urgently that night?’
She stared at him blankly. ‘I didn’t. It was Thursday. I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘Think back,’ he said harshly. ‘I was out of the office until late that day. I got back to an urgent message saying that Miss Hunter needed to see me immediately.’
‘I didn’t leave the message, Dan,’ she said flatly. ‘Whoever took it got it wrong.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘Yes. I do.’ Joss lifted her chin. ‘You always approved of my honesty, Dan. Besides, why should I lie?’
‘It’s a question I’ve asked myself a hundred times.’ Dan’s mouth twisted. ‘In the circumstances I was surely the last person you wanted to walk in on you—’
‘Actually, you’re wrong about that.’
He raised a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘You surprise me. Unless you wanted an audience for your reunion with the former lover. I assume that’s who it was?’
‘It was Peter, yes. He rang the bell, I thought it was you, and—’
‘Spare me the rest,’ he shot at her. ‘I saw what happened for myself, heard the little choking noises you were making, heard you saying “please” over and over again as he made love to you—’
‘Peter wasn’t making love to me,’ said Joss, incensed. ‘He was assaulting me. Couldn’t you tell that we were fighting? I was begging him to stop. What you saw was punishment on his part.’
‘It didn’t look like it,’ he threw back at her. ‘Not that it matters. If you’d told me about it later it’s just possible I might have been able to forget. But because I saw for myself—’ He shrugged, his mouth twisting bitterly. ‘I just can’t blot the scene from my mind.’
The last little flicker of hope died inside Joss. ‘So why did you agree to an interview?’ she asked quietly.
Dan stared down at the pen he was rolling between his fingers. ‘It’s a gesture on my part. To give you the interview all the other journalists hound me for.’ He looked up. ‘I can’t blot you from my memory, either, Joss. So because of what we had together I decided to give you the exclusive your editor wants.’
The silence lengthened until tension stretched between them to breaking point.
‘Payment for services rendered,’ Joss said dully. ‘An interview instead of a roll of notes left on the dressing table.’
Dan flinched as though she’d struck him, and Joss flung up a hand to silence his reply. ‘My gut reaction is to storm out of here and tell you to stuff your interview, Mr Armstrong. But I can’t afford the luxury. There are lots of talented people out there after my kind of job. So let’s get on with it, shall we?’ She put her tape recorder on the desk, pressed the button and smiled encouragingly. ‘Tell me, Mr Armstrong, how will conservationist opposition affect the plans for your riverside development?’
Half an hour later Joss pressed the ‘stop’ button and put the recorder in her handbag, then got up. ‘Thank you very much for seeing me.’
He came round the desk towards her. ‘Did you get everything you wanted?’
I want a whole lot more than a stupid interview, raged Joss inwardly. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said politely. ‘More than I’d hoped, in fact.’
The sudden, molten look in Dan’s eyes sent her backing away hurriedly.
‘I’m glad you got what you wanted,’ he growled, advancing on her. ‘I wish I could say the same.’
‘Keep your distance,’ she snapped, eyes flashing. ‘You can’t say I disgust you one minute, then fancy a spot of fun and games the next.’
His light in his eyes snuffed out abruptly. ‘I apologise.’
‘For what, exactly?’
‘For everything that’s happened since we met!’ he said in sudden rage. ‘Starting with my crass stupidity in following you out on that balcony.’
Joss turned blindly and opened the door, stumbling a little in the new shoes in her hurry to get away, and Dan reached for her and caught her in his arms, his mouth descending towards hers. Then he pushed her away again so violently she stumbled again, and flung a hand out against the wall to right herself.
‘It’s no good,’ Dan said in hoarse anguish. ‘I can still see the man’s hands on your body, his mouth devouring yours—’
Joss could stand no more. With a choked sound of despair she fled along the corridor to the waiting lift, feeling safe only when she was locked away inside it on her way down to the foyer.
Joss had intended to go to a house-warming one of her friends on Production was hosting, but by the time she got home it was late, and after the meeting with Dan she was in no mood for partying. She rang up to plead the stomach bug as an excuse, then got out her laptop and typed up the article to release the emotions she’d kept under control in Dan’s office. When she’d polished it she switched on her mobile phone and transmitted the article to the Post. Afterwards, suddenly remembering she’d eaten nothing all day, Joss scrambled some eggs, then after supper had a bath and went to bed to watch television from the comfort of stacked pillows, determined to get a good night’s sleep, for once, in preparation for her Saturday stint on the Sunday Globe.
It was well after midnight when Joss got home the following evening, utterly exhausted. She was so tired she fell into bed the moment she’d brushed her teeth, and it was next morning before she bothered to see if there were any messages. When she heard Dan’s voice on the machine her stomach gave a great heave, and before she could listen to what he had to say she was forced to make a run for the bathroom. Return of the killer stomach bug, she thought wretchedly, and washed her sweating face swiftly so she could get back to the phone.
‘Joss, it’s Dan,’ said the message. ‘You looked so pale last night I was concerned. But if you’re out presumably you’re better.’
No, I’m not better, she thought, enraged. Nor was I out on the town. I was working like a slave to pay for haircuts and expensive shoes to impress a man who can’t forgive me for something which wasn’t my fault. But that’s it. No more. As you once said so emphatically, Daniel Armstrong, it’s finished.
Pride and hard work were poor bedfellows as the summer wore on, with an August so hot Joss found sleeping even more difficult than usual. The article about Dan had been well received by Jack Ormond, and as a result Joss was given more assignments than usual in the time leading up to the week she was taking off to stay at Glebe House for Anna’s wedding. She was grateful for the work, which helped a little in her effort to forget the interview with Dan. But when she was alone at night his parting words still burned in her mind like acid. So much so that Joss made no response to his message, and refused to pick up the phone when he rang again to congratulate her on the article. She stood rigid, hands clenched at her side as she listened to Dan’s voice thanking her for an accurate and informative piece of writing. He paused, as though he knew she was listening, but with superhuman effort she kept from snatching up the receiver to answer him. The vivid memory of her own fruitless, pleading messages steeled Joss in her resolve.
As the sweltering August dragged by she was eventually forced to face up to a truth so shattering it almost changed her mind about contacting Dan. But only fleetingly. And by then it was time for Anna’s wedding. Burying her panic deep, Joss locked up the flat and fled the city to drive off to leafy Warwickshire, and the sanctuary of Glebe House.
‘Your friend Francis went to Hugh’s stag party,’ said Anna, as they lazed in ancient deck chairs in the garden after dinner.
‘Really?’ Joss chuckled. ‘Did Hugh get home in one piece?’
‘Yes. Hungover, I gather, but with nothing broken or missing. I laid down the law beforehand. I insist on a bridegroom in mint condition.’ She pushed back her mass of curls and eyed Joss closely. ‘Heard from Dan since?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘I didn’t pick up the phone.’
‘But you still care.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Joss wearily. ‘I still care.’
‘Will you spit and scratch if I say you look fragile, Joss?’
‘No. I know very well I look like a hag. It’s too hot to sleep in London.’ Joss smiled reassuringly. ‘But I’ll be fine by tomorrow, I promise. Is Francis coming to the wedding, by the way?’
‘Yes. And bringing his new fiancée. The eligible Baron’s engagement must have saddened the hearts of Dorset debs. What’s Sarah like?’
It was restful to chat comfortably in a place which held only memories of childhood. And later, in the familiar narrow bed the Herricks always kept ready for Joss, for the first time in weeks she slept well, and woke so late she found Anna smiling down at her, ready to share the breakfast she’d brought up on a tray.
‘Hey!’ said Joss, struggling to sit up. She pushed the hair from her eyes and looked at her watch in astonishment. ‘It can’t be ten!’
‘Certainly is. I took Goodfellow out for a ride, then asked Mother for breakfast for two. She was all for cooking eggs, bacon, and everything else in the fridge, but I whittled her down to tea, toast and her celebrated marmalade. OK?’
‘Perfect.” Joss grinned at her windblown friend. ‘But it’s brides who get breakfast in bed, not guests.’
‘You can cart the tray up on the big day, then.’
The week rushed by in wedding preparations, with little time for introspection. But at the rehearsal it was a bittersweet experience for Joss to stand in the church where her father had delivered so many witty sermons. And afterwards, over dinner with the bridegroom and his parents, just to watch Hugh with Anna gave Joss’s heart a painful wrench as she contemplated a future without Dan.
But Anna’s wedding was too special an occasion to allow private turbulence to intrude on it. Determined that nothing should mar the day, Joss kept her smile firmly in place, and sat with Francis and Sarah and some of Hugh’s farming friends for the wedding breakfast in the flower-filled marquee on the lawn, and later on, when Anna and Hugh left on the first stage of their honeymoon, she joined in with the rest to pelt the bridal car with confetti, then accepted with gratitude when Francis and Sarah insisted she had a snack with them in the village inn.
‘We thought you might feel a bit flat at this stage,’ said Sarah, when Francis was buying drinks at the bar.
‘I do, a bit. It’s the end of a chapter for Anna and me.’ Joss changed the subject quickly. ‘So when’s your wedding?’
Sarah smiled wryly. ‘We haven’t even had the engagement party yet! Francis is determined to celebrate it at Eastlegh, but it’s difficult finding a suitable date that isn’t wanted by some company or other.’
‘Which is wonderful,’ said Joss warmly, and smiled as Francis set three glasses down on the table. ‘I hear business is brisk at Eastlegh.’
‘Long may it last!’ He sat down close to Sarah with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘This was a great idea of yours, Joss. A bed for the night here is a better idea than flogging all the way back to Dorset.’ He gave her a searching look. ‘How are you? Really?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You gave us a fright that day at the restaurant,’ said Sarah with feeling.
‘I frightened myself,’ said Joss wryly.
‘And Dan,’ added Francis.
She shrugged. ‘He got over it.’
‘I doubt that. Dan’s not a happy man these days.’ Francis exchanged a look with Sarah. ‘Are we allowed to ask what went wrong?’
Joss smoothed the lapel of her silk jacket, avoiding the keen grey eyes. ‘He walked in on me when a surprise visitor was getting over-familiar. Against my will, as it happens, but Dan refuses to believe that.’ She shrugged philosophically. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’
It was still early when Sarah and Francis walked Joss back to Glebe House.
‘When we finally set a date for our party, will you come, Joss?’ asked Francis.
‘Will Dan be there?’ she asked bluntly.
‘He’ll be invited.’
‘Then I won’t—’ Joss breathed in sharply, then clutched at Sarah as the starlit night spun round.
Sarah put an arm round her swiftly. ‘Joss, shall Francis carry you up to the house?’
‘No!’ Joss breathed in deeply. ‘Please—I’m not ill.’
‘I think you’re pregnant,’ said Sarah baldly, and Francis gave a smothered exclamation, and seized Joss’s cold hand in his.
‘My God—is this true?’
Joss let out a deep, unsteady breath. ‘I’m afraid it is.’