by Paul Ilett
As she entered his office to deliver a pile of documents from Sam, she could feel her heart beginning to beat faster. She had hoped he would be busy on the phone or face down in a report. But he wasn’t. He was seated at his desk, looking straight at her with a huge friendly grin on his face. Felicity could tell his smile was hiding more than his usual bile. It was the only time he had ever really acknowledged her, and she knew why. Derek was aware that she was working with Sam, and had clearly decided to pay her more attention. Of all the senior staff, she knew the change in management would have alarmed Derek the most. Gayesh had never involved himself in staffing matters, and Derek had kept close enough to Howard to make the other directors think twice about taking him on. But Sam was in charge now, and Derek didn’t know him at all. He needed some reassurance about the way their new boss operated, and saw Felicity as his ‘in’.
“Hello stranger,” he chirped. “Long time, no see.”
“Sam’s asked if you can look over these and report back to him by 2pm,” she said, trying not to let her voice waver and reveal her nerves. She placed the paperwork on his desk, and pulled her hands quickly back to her sides so he wouldn’t see them shaking.
“2pm,” Derek replied. “Well, I shall do my best.”
Felicity turned and went to leave his office as quickly as she could, but he called her back and asked her to sit down for a moment. She did as she was asked, cursing herself for not being a little quicker on her feet as she had headed for the door.
“So, you’re working for the new chief exec. How’s life on the top floor?” he asked.
“I’m only there some of the time,” she replied, trying to sound humble. “But it’s good. He’s very nice.”
There was a brief flash of sourness across Derek’s face, as though he had reacted badly to the word ‘nice’. But then his smile returned. “Well, you can tell Sam from me that you were a real asset when you worked in the PR team. I’m happy to say that. You worked very hard and did a really good job. I’m more than happy to say that for you.”
Felicity knew she was expected to smile and say thank you, but was so anxious that all she could manage was a polite nod.
“I wonder,” he said, as though an idea had just popped into his head. “I wonder if you might want to share with Sam some of your experiences of working in the PR team.”
“Goodness,” Felicity thought to herself. “Really?”
“I put you onto quite a few very interesting projects, as I recall. I think it would be terrific if Sam could hear from someone like you about the important work we do here. Beyond the day job, I mean.”
Against her best efforts, Felicity could feel herself complying and nodding her head. She hadn’t wanted to. She had wanted to just sit there and stare in obvious amazement at his cheek. But her internship was important and she knew she couldn’t do anything that would put it at risk.
“Perhaps you could tell him about the community investment scheme that I run,” he suggested. “Pound-for-Pound. I think you gave some support for that, didn’t you? It’s a great scheme. There are hundreds of community projects up and down the UK that have benefitted from our investment. And you can’t buy that sort of goodwill.”
Felicity managed a smile and nodded again. “Of course,” she said. And then she lied. “I really enjoyed my time here. It was a really fascinating part of my internship. I’ll make sure Sam knows all about the Pound-for-Pound scheme.” She left Derek’s office feeling degraded. And as she walked past the grey, unhappy faces of her former colleagues, she felt ashamed at having put her own needs ahead of the team.
During his time in LA, Sam had returned home to London regularly and during every visit Audrey had spoilt him rotten. And so, in retrospect, he should have realised there would be more to a lunchtime visit from his mother than a cup of tea and a chat. She had turned up with a picnic hamper filled with homemade food including cakes, breads, tortilla, potato salad, a very solid chicken and ham pie and a flask of tea. As they sat happily chatting and eating, Audrey had updated him on family and friends and talked about her charity work and other projects. But he could tell there was something bothering her and guessed she was waiting for the right moment to ask about the previous night’s row with his father. She would know about it, of course. Sam knew Howard would have called her first thing to tell her all about it. After all those years, his father still appeared to be a little fearful of Audrey’s sharp tongue and would rather she hear about their exchange from him rather than Sam. “Are you keeping your father up to date with everything you’re doing?” she eventually asked, casually. “I think he likes to know what’s going on.” Sam smiled at his mother, a big funny smile, and she frowned at him. “What’s that for?” she asked.
“You,” he replied. “I could tell you were waiting to ask me something. I guess Dad told you about our row.”
“Well, it didn’t sound like a row to me. It sounded like he was just very rude to you, and in front of Estelle too. I had a choice few words for him this morning when he told me.”
Sam found it strangely comforting that, in many ways, his parents’ relationship had continued unchanged by their divorce. Audrey was still the first person whose advice Howard would seek and the only person who could genuinely upset him with a proper telling off. Estelle might well be Howard’s wife, but Audrey had remained his confidante. His parents had separated 10 years earlier, just shy of their 30th wedding anniversary. At the time, Sam had only been in LA a few months and was overwhelmed by the size and complexity of his new job. He found himself on the side-lines of his parents’ divorce, being offered scraps of information by his father and endless reassurances from his mother that it would all work out for the best. Even now, he still didn’t know for certain the cause of their separation and he wondered if he ever would. Howard felt the matter was now closed and Audrey wasn’t a great sharer. Typically she would only say what needed to be said, and belonged to a select group of lifelong friends who all had a similar disposition. Common people wore their hearts on their sleeve, she said.
“You know, it would make perfect sense for Adam Jaymes to target the family,” he said. “We’re all expecting it to be one of the staff, but I know he’s going to go for me or Dad at some point.”
“Oh, what would you have to worry about?” Audrey asked, defensively, as though her son’s honour was beyond reproach. “But I’m sure he’ll have a go at Howard. Your father’s a strong character though. He’s made tough choices over the years and I know he’ll stand by all of them. If Adam Jaymes tries to take on Howard, well, my money’s on Howard. My money would always be on Howard.” Audrey seemed to realise there had been a little too much fondness in her tone and so neatly moved the conversation along. “Anyway, you’ve yet to tell me what happened with Nevaeh,” she said. “After all this time I was beginning to think I’d need to buy a new hat. It was quite a shock when you said she’d moved out.”
Sam didn’t quite know what to say. Audrey had only met his girlfriend the once and taken an instant dislike to her, and there was the slightest hint of ‘I told you so’ in his mother’s voice as she probed for details about how the relationship had ended. Sam and Nevaeh had met at a charity event in New York two years earlier. He was the young heir to an international media empire and she was the breathtakingly beautiful model who had seemed funny, smart and down to earth. But over time, as she had embedded herself deeper and deeper into Sam’s life, the veil had gradually slipped. His mother’s critical assessment had been spot on, and Nevaeh revealed herself to be both devious and vindictive. Rather than bolstering Sam’s delicate self-confidence, she had done everything she could to grind him down and isolate him from other people. She bought him new clothes that were obviously too small so she could criticise his weight. She would watch him collapse on the settee after a particularly long and stressful day and then demand he take her out dancing, so she could tell him how much he bored her when he said he was too tired. And she would casually ruin a dinn
er party by taking offence at an innocuous comment from one of Sam’s friends, elaborate an entire argument out of thin air and then demand Sam support her by sending his friends home. Sam had lost a lot of friends during his relationship with Nevaeh.
The final straw had come when Nevaeh had logged onto Sam’s laptop to find evidence of an affair only to find, instead, his extensive collection of pornography; hundreds upon hundreds of videos that he had downloaded over the years, all meticulously filed by specific genres including British, inter-racial, Milf, midget, MMF, swingers and vintage. When confronted by Nevaeh, Sam had attempted to defend himself by making a half-baked argument that there was an important cultural context she was missing and that it was simply his personal collection of adult erotica, a bit like an art collection. But she had revelled in her find, throwing horrendous accusations at him to make him seem little more than a mac-wearing pervert. Nevaeh stormed off to stay with friends for a few days, expecting her weak boyfriend to do what he usually did after a row and lavish her with apologies and gifts to win her back. But Sam had finally had enough. Rather than pursuing Nevaeh, he locked down his apartment, changed his contact details and handed the issue to his legal team so he would not have to deal with her again. Within 24 hours she was out of his life with a pay-off and a gagging contract. He couldn’t have been happier. Sam could not tell his mother the truth, of course, and so fudged the details as much as possible and gave Audrey the public line that he simply hadn’t been ready to settle down. But the conversation prompted a worrying realisation that, back home in LA, there was a woman who knew his most embarrassing secret and who was more than vindictive enough to have shared it with Adam Jaymes.
The Project Ear deadline was approaching and Valerie could feel the atmosphere grow increasingly electrified across the Ear’s enormous newsroom. The phones were ringing far more than usual and there was a boisterousness amongst the staff that made the world on the other side of her glass wall seem little more than a playground. She could see groups of reporters and sub-editors gather in huddles for excited conversations before returning to the desks, only for other huddles to briefly form and then disperse. And the whole time, she could see everyone glancing in her direction, as though hoping to catch the exact moment she received her phone call. One of the giant screens above the newsroom was streaming Sky News and another was showing the BBC. Both were counting down to 9pm and had spent the previous hours interviewing a revolving door of celebrities, commentators, bloggers, journalists and legal experts. The BBC was obviously trying to keep its glee reigned in, with lots of thoughtful questions and furrowed brows. But Sky was having a bit more fun with the story, and had opened a phone poll on who would be next. Valerie was top of the list with 63% of the vote. “Oh,” she said to herself, “my odds are shortening.”
The third screen, the one Valerie had the clearest view of from her desk, was showing Adam Jaymes’ website with its clock ticking down to 9pm. She could see the irony in that Adam’s website was quite literally hanging over everyone’s heads. She decided it was time to face the music, and so transferred her phone to Twigg’s office and joined him at his desk along with Sam, Oonagh and Derek. They were going to record every moment of what happened next, capture Adam’s exact words and the flurry of activity that followed. And they had Valerie’s rebuttal all powered up and ready to go. “It’s funny how we’re all expecting it to be me,” she said, trying to sound pragmatic just as she was beginning to feel genuinely uneasy. “I mean it probably will be me, but it seriously could be anyone of you or anyone of those bastards out there in that newsroom.” She noted Oonagh’s serene expression, a calmness that annoyed Valerie intensely. It was as though Oonagh was saying “Well it won’t be me”. And Valerie instantly wished it would be. She’d like nothing more than to see that smug smile wiped off her face.
“Whatever it is, and whoever it is, we will deal with it, Valerie,” Sam replied. “We will not be another News of the World.” He was pleased that, for once in his life, he felt genuinely up to speed with what was going on. He now knew the company line on most of their potential scandals, although suspected Derek hadn’t briefed him on absolutely everything. Derek, he suspected, had a good few secrets of his own.
As 8.55pm arrived, all eyes fell on the conference phone that had been installed especially on Twigg’s desk. Valerie noticed the hum of noise from the newsroom lessened noticeably, like that pause on New Year’s Eve when everyone’s waiting for Big Ben to strike twelve. “Come on you bastard,” she said.
“Don’t tempt fate, Valerie,” Twigg said, sounding very sensible. By 8.56pm everyone in the room began to feel somewhat deflated.
“Where the hell is he?” Valerie asked. “Is he calling someone else?”
There was a knock at the door, and everyone turned to see Felicity standing outside Twigg’s office. He put his hand up to show her the office was off limits, but she was holding something in her hand and was pointing at it anxiously.
“What is that girl doing?” Oonagh asked. “What has she got in her hand?”
Boldly, Felicity opened the door and stepped inside. “I’m very sorry but - ”
“Not now, Felicity. Out!” barked Twigg.
To everyone’s surprise Felicity ignored his instructions and walked over to Valerie to hand her a mobile phone. “I was waiting in your office and your mobile started ringing about a minute ago. I thought it might be important. The number’s blocked so you can’t call him back.”
“Did you answer it?” Twigg asked.
“No, no ... I just assumed ...”
Valerie looked at her mobile as though it was the first time she had ever seen it. “Thank you dear,” she said. And then Twigg ushered Felicity out of his office again. “Keep an eye on the screen,” he told her. “Tell us when it changes.”
Felicity left the office and joined the masses outside who were now all on their feet, gazing at Adam Jaymes’ website as it hung above their heads, counting down to 9pm.
Suddenly, Valerie’s phone buzzed into life again. She could feel a wave of cold panic sweep across her entire body as she realised it really was her. “What do I do?” she asked.
“Answer it, but put it on speaker so we can hear exactly what he says,” Oonagh replied.
Valerie shook her head, suddenly looking like a confused old woman. “I don’t know how to do that,” she said.
Oonagh took Valerie’s phone and clicked the answer key twice. She then handed it back and silently gestured for Valerie to start speaking. Meekly, Valerie held the phone towards her mouth and politely said: “Hello, this is Valerie Pierce.”
“Hello Valerie Pierce. This is Adam Jaymes.”
It may have just been the familiar sound of his voice, or perhaps the unbridled cheerfulness with which he greeted her. But whatever shock or fear had been holding Valerie’s unforgiving character at bay suddenly evaporated with an explosion of foul language. “Oh, you fucking piece of shit!” she screamed, to everyone’s surprise. “How the hell did you get this number? No one has this number. How dare you call me on this number. You worthless, talentless, revolting little wanker!”
Oonagh was open-mouthed at Valerie’s unexpected outburst, and Twigg reached over to hold her hand in an attempt to quieten her down.
“I just called to let you know it’s your turn,” Adam concluded, still cheerful, and then the line went dead.
“What was that? What did he say? My turn? Did he say it was my turn?” Valerie was no longer anxious. She was just angry that someone had turned the tables on her, especially him, Adam Jaymes. “How dare he? Who does he think he is? My turn. The fucking little shit.”
“Valerie!” Twigg boomed. “Enough. We’re covered. We knew it would be you and we’re prepared. We can turn this whole situation around right here, right now.”
A buzz of conversation began to grow louder from outside Twigg’s office, and all five glanced towards the newsroom.
“The site must have updated,” Oonagh said, an
d she stood and walked towards the glass to see if she could see the screen. But it hung at an obscure angle to Twigg’s office and they couldn’t make out what it showing. But they could see Felicity was scribbling notes onto a pad, and waited quietly as she walked back towards them.
“So, what’s the headline?” Valerie asked, as Felicity came back into the office. She was relieved it was done, and was now almost blasé about what would happen next. The waiting was the worst part of it, Valerie thought. The reality wasn’t going to be so bad. “Oh, let me guess. Valerie Pierce in drink-drive shame? Ear columnist in booze scandal? Am I close?”
“Er, no. Not really,” Felicity replied, looking perplexed. “It’s not a story about drink-driving.”
Twigg stood up, alarmed that their neatly organised plan had been trumped. “What is it then?” he asked. “What’s the story?”
Felicity looked at her notes and then back to the five horrified faces staring directly at her. “It’s an exclusive interview with Valerie’s first husband.”