Page 24 of The Cottage in the Highlands

Guilt and anger charged through me. I was doing it again. Giving him head room when he didn’t deserve it. Whenever I thought I was beginning to shrug him off, he’d reappear like some bloody phantom.

I scooped up my glass and gulped down the remainder of my lemon water, determination bubbling away inside of me. Sod it! I decided I would call Goddess now and ask for another interview. I would show Athena Mayhew it wasn’t just her who had the monopoly on assertiveness.

I attracted the attention of a passing waitress and requested the bill.

“Oh, sorry. I better get that. That’s my phone ringing,” I said as I was plucking my credit card out of my purse. I quickly paid and then answered it. “Hello?”

I slotted my credit card back into my purse and fished out a tip for the waitress, while an apologetic female voice murmured down the line.

I listened to what she was saying, before my mouth sprang open in surprise and relief. It was Orion, from Goddess magazine. They wanted to see me. Straight away.

Chapter Ten

I gawped at Barbara, Oli, and Athena in the same meeting room I had been in earlier, which reminded me even more of a hotel reception area. Talk about Groundhog Day. “Pardon?”

Athena’s blood-red lips promised a smile but didn’t quite deliver. She shot Barbara and Oli either side of her a knowing glance. “We’re offering you a job,” she repeated.

My mouth flopped open. “But… but I didn’t have a proper interview. I was going to contact you about that, to ask if it could be rearranged.”

Good grief! I needed to listen to myself. I was in danger of talking myself out of a job at this rate, even before I started.

Athena flapped her dark talons. “No need. Your solid credentials speak for themselves.” She bared her small teeth. “So, when do you think you will be able to join us?”

I took a gulp of the water they’d given me. Was this happening? Was it real?

Bloody hell! My head was scrambling to make sense of it all. My mind whirred with a combination of surprise and trepidation. They wanted me and a journalism position was being offered. But how could they gauge me as a suitable candidate when they hadn’t completed the interview?

I fought to make a coherent decision. They must have just decided that from the brief interview I did have, and my CV, I was suited to the job. But working for Athena Mayhew… I could handle her, couldn’t I? I mean, she hadn’t seemed that terrifying so far, although I hadn’t been on the receiving end of one of her tirades.

I realised with an embarrassed jolt that I wasn’t saying anything.

The three faces cross-examined mine across the table. An opportunity with the magazine of the moment, working with Athena Mayhew… It all seemed rather rushed though. But time wasn’t on my side to faff around and debate it all. I had to make a choice.

“Yes,” I blurted, ignoring a hissing voice in my head, concerned at the speed and unconventionality of it all. “I would be delighted to accept your offer. I’ll speak to my editor when I get home. I’m sure he’ll be fine about me handing in my notice and leaving a little earlier than anticipated.”

“Excellent!” clipped Athena, rising up from her chair. “Barbara here will attend to your contract and the paperwork and have that with you ASAP. If you have any questions about leave and conditions, she can answer them.” She clattered away on her thin heels, before whirling back to face me. Her eyes grazed me from head to toe. “As the new beauty reporter here at Goddess, I think your… shall we say, more natural appearance will be refreshing.”

I’d reached down by the side of my chair for my bag, but shot straight up again, as though a bolt of electricity had been fired through me. Noooo. I must have misheard. Did she just say beauty reporter?

I stood and fiddled with the strap of my bag. “Pardon?”

Oli gazed everywhere but at me and Barbara’s pale cheeks flipped to a heated red.

“You’re going to be our new beauty writer,” Athena repeated in a matter-of-fact tone. “About time we stopped going for the gormless but well-groomed types.”

Her eyes, swept with sparkly coffee shadow, bored into me. “You have more of the earthy, country girl image. You should appeal to a wider audience.”

Her words zoomed over my head. No. This was some sort of mistake.

I had stepped into someone else’s body. That was it. I was witnessing all this on behalf of someone else. The new beauty writer?

What the hell did I know about beauty? I mean, I did the usual ablutions as every woman does – the odd manicure and pedicure, shaved my legs, went to the hairdresser’s every couple of months to have my corkscrew riot tamed – but that was about it.

I thought again about my CV and application. This wasn’t the job I had applied for. I had gone for the investigative reporter’s job. At least I thought I had. Had I read the spec properly? Maybe I had submitted my application for the wrong one.

Doubts about myself surfaced. No. I had applied for that post. I know I had. So what was going on?

I had all these ideas and plans tumbling around my head for future features. A spotlight on working mothers in the publishing industry. An interview with the latest female football referee. I wanted to write about Goddess readers, for Goddess readers, not enthusing over stone massages and spa weekends.