What Women Want, Women of a Dangerous Age: 2-Book Collection. Fanny Blake

while Ellen and Bea shrugged themselves out of their macs. Having hung them above the umbrella, they followed her down to the kitchen where Bea pressed a pale blue box decorated with a wild boar into her hand. ‘Rococo ganaches – my new favourite of the moment.’

      Kate took them with a smile and put them on the side for later.

      ‘Something smells good.’ Ellen walked over to the oven and peered through the glass.

      ‘Let’s hope. I just finished off what Paul started.’ Kate opened the fridge door and pulled out a bottle.

      ‘God, you’re lucky. He’s too good to you.’ Ellen went to sit on one of the bar stools by the island.

      ‘Don’t – please! I know.’ The weight of Kate’s guilt increased. ‘Anyway, you can talk, if things are as good as they were the last time we spoke. White OK?’

      ‘Industrial alcohol would be OK after the day I’ve had.’ Bea threw herself into the comfortable chair at the front of the room, letting her shoes drop to the floor so she could bend her legs underneath her. ‘You’ll never guess what that smooth bastard’s done this time.’

      ‘I thought you were on his side now.’ Kate had heard the whole work saga when Bea had phoned during the week so knew exactly who she was talking about. She had agreed that Bea’s chosen course of action was the best. For the time being, at least.

      ‘I was. I still am – in a way. Except he called me in today to tell me he’d hired Amanda Winter, his editorial director at Pennant, as . . .’ she made quote marks in the air ‘. . . “publisher”. Fait accompli. Not even a word of consultation.’ Her voice rose in indignation.

      ‘But he can’t do that. You’re the publishing director. Isn’t that constructive dismissal or something?’ Kate found herself equally outraged on behalf of her friend.

      ‘Nobody takes any notice of that any more. Once you get to a certain level you can hire and fire who the hell you want. Just wrap the new chief in another title and everyone turns a blind eye. Then get rid of another Indian to pay for it so you’ve got fewer people to do the essential jobs that keep the company going.’

      ‘Where does that leave you, then?’

      ‘Good question. On the bloody back foot. Again. Even though he protests he needs me and wants me to stay.’

      ‘Perhaps he doth protest too much. Can’t you do something?’ She filled Bea’s glass and moved the magazines on the coffee-table to make room for it.

      ‘Like what? All I can do is sit tight, and make sure she doesn’t take my job. That’s what she’ll have her eye on. But she’s not going to get it. I’m going to be the one who decides when I throw in the towel. Not her.’

      Kate watched as Bea arranged her jacket over the back of her chair, still fulminating against the shortcomings of senior management. Like so many of their friends, she had got blonder as the years passed, her hair artfully and regularly streaked for the cost of a small mortgage. Animated in conversation, her face was still striking, mostly thanks to her strong cheekbones and large, expressive mouth that still retained some of the fullness of her youth. She had forged her own style, throwing in the odd designer label with a bit of ethnic and using long tops, not too tight, and jackets to hide the worst bits: her midriff, thighs and a bum that she joked was sliding down towards the back of her knees. Now that she had finally shrugged off the hurt and humiliation of Colin’s clichéd departure for a younger woman, Kate couldn’t see why she was having such difficulty in meeting another man.

      ‘I envy you, you know,’ she blurted. The words were out before she had a chance to stop them.

      Bea stopped her continuing rant mid-flow. ‘I’m sorry?’

      ‘I do. Things might be going wrong for you at the moment but you’ve still got that energy we all had when we started out.’

      ‘What are you talking about?’ Bea looked genuinely bewildered. ‘What energy? I’m completely knackered.’

      ‘You may be. But you still get excited about what you do.’

      ‘So do you, you idiot. Saving lives is exciting, isn’t it?’

      ‘Saving lives is the least of it. I’m bogged down with admin, man-management, endless disputes and patients wanting me to sign sick notes when there’s nothing wrong with them. None of the things I went into medicine for.’ What did she sound like? She hated the self-righteousness that had crept into her voice, especially since what she had said wasn’t really true. She did see plenty of patients during her sessions and house-calls. There was nothing like the feeling of having successfully diagnosed and treated a patient, not to mention being on the receiving end of their gratitude. Her job was constantly different and throwing up new challenges. The burden of admin must be skewing her sense of perspective.

      ‘I thought working for myself was hard,’ said Ellen. ‘I’m always struggling to keep my head above water but you guys make it look positively pleasant.’ She had opened a packet of peanuts and offered them round.

      ‘Don’t go all smug on us. I couldn’t bear it.’ Bea drained her glass and got up for a refill.

      Kate had noticed Ellen’s hurt expression. ‘That’s a bit harsh.’ Sometimes Bea’s humour could fall just on the wrong side of the line dividing funny and sharp.

      ‘You know I didn’t mean it, don’t you?’ Bea took a few nuts and smiled at Ellen who nodded, obviously not a hundred per cent convinced.

      That was another of Bea’s defence mechanisms – pretending her tactlessness didn’t terribly matter. But it did, especially when Kate knew Bea was as fond of Ellen as she was and would walk over hot coals for her if the situation demanded.

      ‘New man, job you love. How lucky are you?’ There had been an edge to Bea’s voice that Kate didn’t like. She must be minding about things more than she was letting on. ‘Oh, sorry, El. I’m being foul. Too much on my plate and unlucky in love as well. Not much of a life-enhancer. Take no notice.’

      ‘You should have called me,’ Ellen offered. ‘I’d have come round.’

      ‘I did. I spoke to Oliver a couple of times, but he said you were busy and couldn’t come to the phone.’

      ‘Busy?’ Ellen looked puzzled. ‘When was that?’

      ‘I can’t remember. Monday, maybe. And then Tuesday. I did think it was a bit odd that you were too busy both times, but what do I know? Poor put-upon singleton that I am.’

      ‘Oh, please.’ Kate played air-violin. ‘Stop now, before I burst into tears.’

      Ellen laughed. ‘I can’t remember what I was doing unless it was when I was going through my wardrobe.’

      ‘What? Your wardrobe’s been set in aspic for years. You don’t do “going through” your wardrobe.’

      ‘She’s right,’ Kate agreed. ‘I’ve never known you throw anything out.’

      ‘Oliver went through my dresses and skirts when I was away and made some suggestions, then encouraged me to take a few things to the charity shop. Don’t know why I’ve never done it before really . . . What?’

      Kate and Bea were looking at her open-mouthed.

      ‘He went through your wardrobe while you were away?’ Bea said, incredulous. ‘I’d kill anyone who went through mine.’

      ‘Only because yours is such a shambles you don’t know what they’d find.’

      ‘It’s not that bad. Just a tad disordered. But I wouldn’t want anyone going through my things.’

      ‘I didn’t think of it like that.’ Ellen looked perplexed. ‘He was only trying to help.’

      ‘I’m sure he was,’ said Bea. ‘But what was he doing there anyway? Hasn’t he got the flat?’