Part 5

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It was a grey overcast day by the time Donna packed her cargo of neatly stacked paper onto the front seat of her car and set off to Hollow Farm. Unfortunately the word 'farm' made her think of John, and she really didn't want to for the moment; she needed a distraction from his antics, or rather, lack of antics. So she picked a CD to listen to whilst the satnav was making its mind up to direct her journey.

"Turn left in four hundred yards," it stated eventually as her destination drew near.

Donna had no idea how far exactly that was to drive, but it couldn't be that much considering roadwork signs usually started at eight hundred yards away from all the cones.

One side of the lane she was driving down was bordered by a low hedge; the other side was a pretty, dry stone wall. As she slowed up she spotted the small wooden sign that proclaimed it was Hollow Farm. So far so good. It didn't take make effort to steer her car into the long driveway that led her up, over and sometimes sideways along some extremely bumpy and uneven ground towards a couple of farm buildings; one of which she expected to be the farmhouse. Ooh, pretty, she thought as she pulled up and parked in the dirt-covered farmyard behind a Land Rover that had been dismantled and was in bits by a barn. The hanging baskets around the farmhouse door, in particular, were a nice touch to add to the overall effect of country living, she thought.

Within seconds the main door opened and a woman of pensionable age emerged. Just the sort of woman she would have expected Jocasta to be friends with. "Hello! Am I in the right place to find Verity?" Donna called out from her quickly opened car window. Thank goodness for electric windows; saved your arm dropping off if nothing else.

"That's me," the woman warily confirmed, wiping her hands on her pinny. "Did Jocasta send you?"

"Yes, I've brought you some reading," Donna explained, wondering why Jocasta hadn't seemed to have called ahead; but she opened the car door and made to climb out anyway. "I..."

That was when she spotted him: John Smith. He was standing like a squirrel in its dad's coat, gawping at her in shock in the doorway to an open barn before rushing over to greet her equally stunned form.

"Donna?! What you doing here?" he immediately asked in shocked glee.

This could be tricky, and he had her cornered on her car seat. "Not a lot, to be honest. I'm delivering some papers and then heading back."

"But I...," he spluttered for some seconds, wanting to keep her there in order to explain himself, and then realised she was still seated in her car. "What's the problem? Can't you get out? Have you hurt your back or something?" His concern was all too evident.

Aiming to sound offhand, she answered, "Nothing like that; I've got a slight logistical problem." When he looked none the wiser, she added, "My wellies are in the boot and I need them to get across the mud."

Mud? They weren't exactly knee deep in the stuff; there was only a smattering across the yard. "Oh!" he exclaimed in understanding, looking down at her expensive shoes that matched her outfit beautifully. "I can help."

"Oh good," she sighed in relief when he traipsed towards the back of the car, and then watched him open the boot before retrieving something. He reappeared clutching a battered pair of green wellies. "They're the ones."

"Let me help," he offered, holding out a hand; so she took it, more than half expecting him to help her put the wellies on. She did not anticipate what happened instead! He bent, to place the boots down by her now bare feet, she thought. "Come, my lady," he said as she found herself being lifted up and held within his arms.

A squeal of protest immediately left her lips but it took some seconds before anything proper emerged. They'd gone a few steps towards the farmhouse by the time she found her voice and cried out, "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

"I'm escorting you into my home," he proudly stated, and carried her whilst he trudged through the rest of the mud and dirt. "I assume you wanted to go there."

Behind him, Verity rolled her eyes at his romantic hijinks and collected the papers, Donna's handbag and her precious shoes from the front of the car. Nobody ever made sure she got across the mud okay, but she'd forgive him, just this once. Especially as he was looking so happy that this younger ginger woman had turned up seemingly out of the blue. Yes, she'd keep schtum about that one.

"Tea?" she offered as soon as she entered the kitchen, pushing passed the close-standing couple exchanging pleasantries to put the items down on a kitchen chair.

"Erm... Yes please," Donna answered with some embarrassment. Her bare toes wriggled coyly when John had put her down onto the kitchen rug. Despite him dropping her borrowed wellies by the door he hadn't let go of her waist yet, and she really didn't know what to make of this situation. Did he fancy her or not?!

Verity considered them as she filled the kettle with fresh cold water. John may be playing the gallant gentleman with this ginger woman but she knew he was clearly smitten. He wasn't exactly demonstrative with his affections, so this new development would be interesting to watch; and according to Jocasta, this Donna was probably just as taken with him. It had the potential to go far.

"Why don't you show Donna the farm office, John? Perhaps she will be able to give you a few tips on how to organise it," Verity suggested. "I'll do us a proper spread when you get back."

Using this opportunity to keep a tight hold of Donna's hand, John led her through part of the barn; into a cordoned off section with three wooden walls, filing cabinets, a noticeboard, and a desk full of clutter in what felt like a glorified shed.

"Oh my goodness! I see what your mum meant when she hinted you needed organising," Donna exclaimed as soon as they walked into the office. "This place is a mess."

John indignantly sniffed. "Chaos can mean an organised mind, you know."

"I've heard that said about desks, but you aren't trying to be creative here, are you? You're supposed to be running a business."

"Yes… well…" He stood forlorn before her. "I do my best."

"Oh John!" she cried out, and stepped forward to touch his arms in comfort. "I didn't mean to nag or criticise; it's just that I've been all sorts of offices. From the successful and efficient, to the downright disasters, and I know exactly what type I'm looking at here. You're having financial problems keeping this going. Am I right?"

He reluctantly nodded. "We may have to sell up at this rate," he admitted quietly. "I've tried subsidising it with lecturing at the local night school but…"

"It's alright," she immediately consoled him as his expression fell. "You don't have to say anymore. I can try to help you but I'm employed by Jocasta; she takes up an awful lot of my time."

"I understand, but it's nice of you to offer," he softly answered; his bottom lip quivering with repressed emotion. "Dad's an old man, Donna; he can't keep doing this for much longer. I have to face facts, and he's already said he's found a possible buyer for the place."

She gasped in sympathy. "Would you have to leave here?"

"I don't know. I'm hoping not, but if it came to it, I'd want to move them to a cottage near here and not force them into a town. They've never experienced it; it'd kill them," he glumly stated. "It was exciting for me when I went to university in the big city, all that history and culture to see in London…"

"You came to London?!" she interrupted, feeling unaccountably hurt that she didn't know at the time. "When did you do that?"

"A good fifteen years or so ago. Back when you were a teenager," he explained.

"Geroff! I was nothing of the sort! I was working for my first temping agency," she chided. "This is my third agency."

That brought to mind what Jack had said, and his personal vow to get to the bottom of it. "This agency, they send girls out, right?"

Yes," she cautiously answered. "Girls, boys, women and men; all sorts, who'd fit the job."

"Wh-what sorts of jobs are we talking about? Only… it's been suggested to me that you…" His courage suddenly disappeared.

"That I what…?" she encouraged him to continue, except her face sort of suggested she didn't want to know the possible answer.

"Ahh uhm," he began, blowing out his cheeks as he tried to figure out how to properly broach the subject. "And please don't take this the wrong way, but I really need to know before we go any further. Are you an escort or a lady of the night…? Call it what you will?"

There was an immediate, and resounding, SLAP!

"How DARE you!" She stood red-faced, glaring at him as he nursed his freshly struck cheek.

He couldn't have looked more stunned if he had tried. "What did you do that for?! I was only asking."

"Why d'you think, dumbo! It's not every day you offer to help a friend out and get accused of being a prostituting harlot for your efforts!" Donna didn't know whether to smack him one again or just cut her losses and leave. "Get out of my way!"

"So you're not…?" John weakly tried to confirm.

"No I bloody ain't!"

She tried to push passed him and storm out of the office, but he grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him closely. "Donna, I am so sorry, but I only wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth that you are nothing of the sort. Please don't leave me," he begged, using the full kicked-puppy look. "I'd do anything to make this up to you; anything. All I wanted to do when I brought you in here was…"

Intrigued, she sarcastically wondered, "What were you going to do? Get me to type up a letter, were you? A quick bit of filing, or would that be too normal for someone who cavorts about in her underwear all day?"

Why did she have to give him such wonderful mental images to play with? Ones where Donna was being nearly naked. A nervous gulp preceded his next words. "As lovely as that all sounds, I… Oh bugger this!" And he lunged forward to kiss her hard on the mouth.

Her first instinct was to fight the smug bastard off; but he was far too gentle to keep that thought in her head, and those lips of his were softly insistent to put his point across before indignant anger reclaimed her mood.

"NO!" she yelled, and pushed him successfully away. A quick swipe of her sleeve soon got rid of his kiss from her mouth. "Do you really think forcing me to do that works? And to think I thought you were a decent bloke," she sneered at him. "Why am I even surprised? Of course a whore like me can be won over by you throwing yourself at me, because that's what us tarts do, isn't it; we just take your money and run after servicing you."

A swift knee to his groin had him crumpling like a broken deck chair to the floor in agony, and she loomed over him to dwell on her action with pride.

"Oh dear, my foot seems to have slipped." Turning on her heel, she stormed out and knocked on the farmhouse door.

Within seconds Verity opened it. "Is something the matter?" she instantly asked, worried that Donna was standing there alone.

"I've just come to ask for my shoes back, please, and to say sorry that I won't be staying for tea after all," Donna bit out.

Verity dutifully handed over the shoes. "Are you sure?"

"Very. It was nice meeting you," Donna retorted and then strode purposefully back to her car.

With a short wave to Verity, she reversed and then swiftly drove away, still wearing her wellie boots. However a minute later, in a nearby lane, she stopped the car and cried her heart out as she considered changing back into her shoes, not caring a jot about any mud that might have messed up her carpet.