about twenty-four. This isn’t like him. Whatever I’ve said about him in the past, he’s not a skirt-chaser.’
‘Given the incentive, they all are,’ Jo said. ‘Pretty, is she?’
‘I suppose. Well, yes. A redhead.’
‘Say no more. Is he married?’
‘Divorced. He lives alone.’
‘Then I don’t see what the problem is.’
‘Fiona is the problem. The thing is, she’s a single mum. There’s a four-year-old son. She needs the work and she’s afraid if she gives him the big E she’ll lose her job.’
‘Are you sure she isn’t out to pull him?’
‘Jeez. You want to work with him.’
‘Some women are turned on by power.’
‘Running a print business in Fishbourne? It’s not exactly Microsoft International.’
‘Have you talked to her?’
Gemma nodded. ‘She’s the homespun type, a bit short of confidence. Doesn’t know how to handle it.’
Jo giggled a bit. ‘Handle what? What exactly has he been up to?’
‘Get a grip, girl. You’re positively slavering. No, it isn’t physical. Not yet, anyway. But the early signs are there. Yesterday he was in the stock room showing her the papers we use, telling her about quality and sizes.’ With a glare at Jo, who was grinning again, she said, ‘Sizes of paper. Today he was with her for over an hour explaining how the big colour printer works. She’s in accounts, Jo. She doesn’t need to know that stuff.’
‘And she spoke to you about it?’
‘In the loo at the end of the day. She knows I’m his PA. We haven’t talked much before this, but she said she’s getting embarrassed about all this interest and some of the other women are noticing. Basically she was asking if I think he’s got the hots for her.’
‘Obviously he has. Is that what you said?’
‘Come off it. I was trying to reassure the poor wee lass. I said I’ve never known him get heavy with a female employee, which is true.’
‘There’s always a first time. Was she asking for support?’
‘Not directly. No, I wouldn’t say so. I guess she wanted me to know it wasn’t welcomed-in case I was jealous, or something. Which I most definitely am not.’
‘But you’d like him to cool it?’
‘For everyone’s sake, yes.’
‘Does he know she’s got a kid?’
‘He ought to. He interviewed her when she joined. He could easily look at the file.’
‘I expect he’s conveniently put all that out of his mind. Randy old men are like that.’
Gemma rolled her eyes. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘But you just said he hasn’t tried it on with you.’
‘Please! I was speaking generally. This is about Fiona, not me. She’s got to find a way of giving him the elbow without putting her job at risk.’
‘You want my advice?’ Jo said. ‘Don’t get involved or you’ll end up getting grief from both of them. She’s a grown-up. She can deal with this herself.’
She didn’t, after all, go bowling. There was a phone message from her dad to say Mummy was in Southampton Hospital with concussion after falling off Penrose, her white gelding.
‘Wasn’t she wearing a riding helmet?’ Jo asked him when they met outside the ward.
Daddy was a silent man with a large moustache that was his defence barrier. ‘You know Mummy,’ he said, as if that explained all. Really it did. This was the third time she’d fallen and ended up in the hospital.
‘Couldn’t she get a safer horse?’
‘I’m not sure it was the horse’s fault.’
‘He’s so tall. It’s a long way to fall.’
‘You could be right, but I don’t see your mother on a pony.’
‘She ought to think about giving up riding.’
‘Try telling her.’
Telling her wouldn’t aid the recovery. Margaret Stevens was a stubborn woman. The mother-daughter relationship had foundered years ago when Jo went through teenage rebellion and Mummy went through her room looking for unsuitable reading and cannabis. Harmless things all her friends were trying at the time, like coloured hair and ripped jeans, became issues. If her mother had treated her with a modicum of understanding some of this might have made sense, but it was handled in a vindictive way. Mummy’s own self-indulgence, the gin and cigarettes and all the expense on the riding, was not for comment. Jo had a suspicion there were other dissipations, and it had suited her mother to turn the spotlight elsewhere. The trust between them had never recovered.
She was in a side ward in Accident amp; Emergency and as pale as the pillow but still in good voice. ‘You look like death, darling. What’s wrong? ’
‘You’re what’s wrong, Mummy, giving us a shock like this. How did it happen?’
‘Don’t ask me. It’s a blur. They’re keeping me in overnight. What a bore. You two had better go out for a meal. Your father won’t cook for himself. If I remember, there’s a good Italian restaurant opposite the hospital.’
Typical of her mother, directing operations.
‘Don’t suppose I’ll get much,’ she ranted on. ‘They have a system of ordering here and I missed the chance to see what’s on offer. I’ll get the leftovers, I expect, cold stew and semolina.’
‘You must be feeling better if you can think about food.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a drink right now.’
Jo reached for the jug of water on the cabinet.
‘I mean a tipple, not that stuff.’
‘You’re here to get your head right, Mummy.’
‘Fiddlesticks. What have you been up to? Ages since we saw you. It’s a funny old world when it takes something like this to get you calling on your parents. Are you still working in the glasshouse?’
‘Garden centre, Mummy. Yes, I am.’
‘What do you do-water the plants?’
‘I’ve told you before. Lots of things.’
‘It’s not good for you, working under glass. It’s no protection from those rays. You can get skin cancer. Tell her, Willy.’
‘I’m not telling her anything,’ her father said.
Mummy was unfazed. ‘She should get a different job. With the education we gave her, she ought to be doing something better than watering pansies.’
Daddy rolled his eyes and was silent.
‘Come on, dear,’ Mummy insisted. ‘What have you been up to? Is there a man in your life? I wish there was, someone you could start a family with, legally of course. No such luck, I suppose?’
Jo was beginning to think she would leave. She hadn’t come here for an inquisition into her private life. ‘How is the horse?’
‘Which horse?’
‘Penrose. Did he fall as well?’
‘I’ve no idea. I told you it’s a blur and you’re trying to change the subject.’
Her father said, ‘The stable lad who phoned said you went under a tree and got knocked off by a low branch.’
‘That doesn’t add up,’ Mummy said. ‘I’m too experienced for that.’
‘It happened before.’
‘Willy, I was a novice then. I don’t make basic errors these days.’
‘Something unseated you.’
‘I expect the horse reared. You can’t do much when that happens. A dog must have frightened him. People should keep them on leads. And muzzled. Josephine, you didn’t answer my question. What sort of company are you
