It did have some semblance to the truth. Alex’s car was in the garage. She had given him a lift. And they hadn’t anticipated the council digging up a major section of the ring road.
But, of course, Lucas Ryecart knew the reality: that Alex and she had arrived together because they were living together.
He even gave Alex the chance to confess. ‘Do you and Tory live in the same neighbourhood?’
‘I…no, not really.’ Alex slid a conspiratorial glance in Tory’s direction.
He was doing as he’d promised by keeping quiet about their current arrangement.
Tory’s heart sank as Lucas drawled, ‘That was generous of you, Tory, to go out of your way,’ and forced her to look at him.
It had been a week since they’d met and in the interim she’d put herself through aversion therapy. She could not like this man, brash egotist that he was. She would not like this man, even if her job depended on it. She had to look at him with dispassion and see the ruthlessness that underlay the handsome features.
This time she was ready—just not ready enough. She saw his age, written in his sun-lined face and the grey round his temples. She saw the imperfection, a scar tracing white down one cheek. She saw the mouth set in an irritatingly mocking curve. But then she met his eyes and forgot the rest.
A deep blue, bluer than a tropical sky, they drew her to him, those eyes, and made her realise that attraction defied any logic. The sight of him still left her senses in turmoil.
But this time she fought it, this involuntary attraction. She got angry with herself for such weakness. She got even angrier with him for causing it.
‘Actually, it wasn’t out of my way at all.’ Her voice held a defiant note.
His mouth straightened to a hard line. He understood immediately. She was answering his postcard. No, Alex hasn’t gone.
He went on staring at her until she was forced to look away, then he switched back to business.
He talked frankly of the direction he envisaged the department taking. He wished to concentrate on documentaries with a longer shelf-life. Previous programmes had suffered from delays and hence loss of topicality or duplication from other companies.
Alex clearly felt he was being told what he already knew. ‘We are conscious of duplication,’ he put in. ‘We abandoned a project not so long ago because Tyne Tees was further along on it.’
‘How much did that cost Eastwich?’ Lucas Ryecart enquired.
‘I can’t remember,’ Alex admitted.
‘I can.’ Lucas Ryecart stated a figure.
‘Sounds right,’ Alex said rather too casually. ‘Budgets aren’t normally my concern.’
Tory, assiduously contemplating the wood grain in front of her, flinched inwardly. Did Alex have to jump into the hole the American was digging for him?
There was a moment’s silence before Ryecart returned briefly, ‘So I gathered.’
Alex caught on then, and backtracked to make the right sounds, ‘Not that I don’t try to work within a budget framework. In fact, some programmes have been done on a shoestring.’
‘Really.’ Lucas Ryecart’s disbelief was dry but obvious. ‘Okay, surprise me!’
‘Sorry?’ Alex blinked.
‘Which programme was done on a shoestring?’
‘I…well…’ Alex was left to bluster. ‘That’s an expression. Obviously I didn’t mean it literally, but I believe we’re no more profligate than any other department. Look at drama.’ He tried to shift focus. ‘It’s common knowledge that their last period piece cost half a million.’
‘And made double that by the time Eastwich had sold it abroad.’ Lucas Ryecart pointed out what Alex would have known if he’d thought about it. ‘Moving on, Alex has drafted some proposals for future programmes with which I assume you’re all familiar.’
Tory assumed the same but, from his tight-lipped expression, Simon was still in the dark.
‘I left a copy on top of your desk,’ Alex claimed at his blank expression.
‘Really.’ Simon was clearly unimpressed with Alex’s efforts, and Tory didn’t blame him.
‘Have mine.’ She pushed the document towards him. ‘I have a spare.’
‘Simon, you can get up to speed while we discuss it,’ Lucas Ryecart pressed on. ‘Okay, folks, at the risk of riding roughshod over anyone’s pet project, I propose we can items one and four from the outset.’
‘Can?’ Alex echoed in supercilious tones although Tory was sure he understood.
‘Rule out, bin, expunge.’ Lucas Ryecart gave him a selection of alternatives that somehow made Alex look the fool.
Certainly Simon allowed himself a smirk.
Alex came back with, ‘Why…if I may ask?’
His tone implied the American was being dictatorial.
‘You can ask, yes.’ Lucas Ryecart clearly considered Alex pompous rather than challenging. ‘Proposal one is too close to a programme about to be broadcast by BBC2 and the costs on four will be sky high.’
Tory watched Alex’s face as he woke up to the fact that the American was going to be no pushover like Colin Mathieson.
‘Costs are the only criterion?’ he said in the tone of the artist thwarted by commercialism.
Lucas Ryecart was unmoved. ‘With Eastwich’s current losses, yes. But if you want to spend your own money on it, Alex, feel free.’
He said it with a smile but the message was plain enough. Put up or shut up.
Alex looked thunderous while Simon gloated.
‘Proposal two…’ Lucas Ryecart barely paused ‘…is also likely to attract mega-buck litigation unless we can substantiate every claim we make against the drug companies.’
‘You know that’s damn near impossible,’ Alex countered. ‘We’d have to rely on inside sources, any of whom could be less than truthful.’
‘Exactly,’ Lucas Ryecart agreed, ‘so I’d sooner pass…However, should you wish to take the story elsewhere, I won’t stand in your way.’
Alex went from indignant to disconcerted as the American threw him off balance again. He had yet to fully appreciate that behind the pleasant drawling voice there was a man of steel.
‘So that leaves us two ideas still on the table,’ he resumed. ‘Racial discrimination in the Armed Forces and drug-taking in the playground. Either might be worth exploring… In addition, Simon and I both have an idea we’d like to pitch.’
Alex was instantly suspicious. ‘The same one?’
‘Actually, no.’ It was Simon who answered. ‘We don’t all go in for the conspiratorial approach.’
His disparaging glance included Tory. He’d obviously lined her up on Alex’s side. She might have protested, had Lucas Ryecart not been there and likely to scorn any claim of impartiality.
‘Tory—’ the American turned those brilliant blue eyes on her ‘—perhaps you have some idea you’d like to put forward as well.’
She already had: at least two of Alex’s proposals had originated with her, but, in giving them to Alex, she had effectively lost copyright.
She shook her head, and wondered if he considered her gormless. She had certainly contributed little to the meeting so far.
‘As you know, Tory and I worked quite closely on this document.’ Alex imagined he was rescuing her from obscurity.
Instead he confirmed what Simon suspected: that they’d worked as a team, excluding him.
It also made Ryecart drawl, ‘Very closely, I understand.’
‘I…well…yes…’ Alex couldn’t quite gauge the other man’s attitude.
Tory could, only too well. For very closely read intimately.
She was finally stirred into retaliation. ‘Have you a problem with that, Mr Ryecart?’
He fronted her in return. ‘Not at all. I look forward to working in close liaison with you myself, Miss Lloyd.’
And let that be a lesson to me, Tory thought, clenching her teeth at the barely hidden double meaning.
She looked to the other two men, but if she ex
pected any support she was in for a disappointment. Alex had put the American’s comment down to sexist humour and was chuckling at it, and Simon was enjoying her discomfort.
It was every man for himself.
‘Returning to the matter in hand,’ Lucas Ryecart continued, ‘I suggest each of us pitch our idea for a limited period, say forty minutes.’
He took his watch off and laid it on the table. It was a plain leather-strapped, gold-rimmed affair, nothing ostentatious. If Lucas Ryecart was wealthy, he didn’t advertise the fact.
He glanced round the table, waiting for someone to volunteer. No one did. In adversity, they were suddenly a team.
‘We’re not used to working with time restraints,’ Alex objected for all of them.
‘I appreciate that, but I find deadlines cut down on bull,’ Ryecart said bluntly, ‘and forty minutes is the air-time for most documentaries produced at Eastwich… I’ll go first, unless anyone objects.’
No one did. Tory felt a little ashamed for them all. They were such rabbits.
‘Okay,’ he proceeded. ‘My idea more or less dropped in my lap. One of our backers, Chuck Wiseman, is a major publisher in the US and is looking to spread his empire to the UK. Specifically, he’s bought out two quality women’s magazines—Toi and Vitalis. Anyone read them?’
Tory was the only one to say, ‘Yes.’
‘Your opinion?’ he asked seriously.
She answered in the same vein. ‘Toi is a pale imitation of Marie Claire. Vitalis is mainly hair, nails and make-up, with the occasional social conscience article.’
‘Cynical but accurate.’ He nodded in agreement. ‘Chuck intends amalgamating the two, keeping the best of both and hoping to create something more original. But it is something of a marriage of convenience, with neither in any hurry to get to the altar.’
‘It’ll never work,’ Alex commented.
‘Possibly not,’ Ryecart echoed, ‘but Chuck’s determined and he’s a man to be reckoned with.’
‘So where do we come in?’ Tory was intrigued despite herself. ‘Fly-on-the-wall stuff, recording the honeymoon.’
‘Sort of,’ Ryecart confirmed. ‘Chuck’s sending both staff on a residential weekend in the hope that familiarity will breed contentment.’
‘He’s obviously not very hot on old sayings,’ Alex commented dryly.
‘Still, it might make for a good story.’ Simon smiled as he considered the in-fighting that would ensue. ‘Where’s he sending them? If it’s somewhere hot and sunny, you can put me down for that one.’
Ryecart smiled briefly. ‘’Fraid not, Simon, but I’ll note your enthusiasm. It’s an outdoor-activity course in the Derbyshire Dales.’
‘He has to be kidding!’ Tory exclaimed before she could stop herself.
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought,’ Ryecart echoed, ‘but Chuck reckons he’ll end up with a solid team as a result.’
‘If they don’t kill each other first,’ murmured Simon.
‘Or kill themselves, falling off a mountain,’ Tory added. ‘These courses are fairly rigorous, physically and psychologically.’
‘Which is where we come in,’ Ryecart rejoined.
‘An exposé?’ Tory enquired.
He nodded. ‘Assuming there’s anything to expose. Who knows? The course might be as character and team building as it claims.’
‘I would think it would be more divisive,’ Tory judged, but saw what he saw, too—the makings of a good human-interest story. ‘I mean, if the staff know it’s a test, there’s going to be tension from the outset.’
He nodded. ‘Two groups of individuals spending a weekend in each other’s company under difficult circumstances. As fly-on-the-wall TV, it could prove dynamite.’
Alex and Simon nodded too, warming to the idea, even though it wasn’t theirs.
‘What are we talking here?’ Alex asked. ‘One of us plus camera crew interviewing these women while they abseil down mountains?’
‘No crew,’ Ryecart dismissed. ‘The centre has continuous camera surveillance and uses camcorders for outdoor events. This footage will be handed over to Chuck’s organisation and then to us.’
‘Is that legal?’ Simon said doubtfully.
‘The centre has already signed a waiver, handing over copyright to Chuck,’ Ryecart explained. ‘The plan is for an Eastwich reporter to go undercover as a new member of staff for Toi. They’ll have to join the magazine pretty much straight away as the course is this weekend. Whoever goes—’ he glanced between the three of them ‘—I’ll drive him or her down to London today for the interview.’
Both Simon and Alex looked at Tory.
‘Why me?’ She dreaded the idea of a car journey spent with Lucas Ryecart.
‘At the risk of stating the obvious,’ Simon drawled, ‘they’re both women’s magazines. You’re a woman. Alex and I aren’t.’
‘Quite.’ Alex supported Simon for once.
Heart sinking, Tory looked towards the American.
He just said, ‘It can be decided later,’ and switched subjects with, ‘Right, who wants to pitch their idea now?’
‘I will.’ Alex got in before Simon and began to flesh out his idea revolving drugs in the playground.
Alex had a somewhat novel idea, centring his investigation around public schools and the suggestion that a new breed of parents, themselves party-going and pill-popping in their youth, were tacitly condoning their children’s drug-taking.
He’d obviously done some research on the subject and claimed to have already made contact with a headmaster willing to co-operate.
Simon cast doubt on the likelihood of that, pointing out that no public school head was likely to help him if it put fees at jeopardy.
‘And you would know this, having gone to somewhere like Eton yourself?’ Alex threw back.
‘I did go to a public school, yes,’ Simon said in his usual superior manner.
‘A minor, I bet,’ Alex guessed, accurately.
‘Whereas you, no doubt, were a state grammar school boy,’ Simon sneered back.
Tory suspected Simon already knew that, too. Alex was very proud of the fact.
‘So?’ Alex eyed Simon in an openly hostile manner.
‘It shows, that’s all,’ Simon smirked in reply.
Exasperated, Tory intervened with a dry, ‘Well, if anyone’s interested, I went to a London comprehensive. Unofficial motto: Do it to them before they do it to you… But I was hoping I’d left my schooldays behind.’
Both Alex and Simon looked taken aback, as if a pet lapdog had suddenly produced fangs.
But it drew a slanting smile from Lucas Ryecart as he realised she was ridiculing their one-upmanship.
She didn’t smile back. Simon and Alex might be behaving like prats but the American was still the common enemy.
‘Quite,’ Alex agreed at length and resumed speaking on his pet project while Simon continued to snipe the occasional remark and Lucas Ryecart refereed.
Tory wondered what the American made of the antipathy between the two men. Perhaps he was harbouring some idea of sending their fragmented team on an outdoor-activity course. The idea of Alex and Simon orienteering their way round some desolate Scottish moor, with only one compass between them, made her smile for the first time that day.
‘You don’t share that view?’ a voice broke into her thoughts.
Tory looked up to find Lucas Ryecart’s eyes on her again. Having only the vaguest idea of what had gone before, she hedged, ‘I wouldn’t say that exactly.’
‘No, but your smile was a shade sceptical.’ It seemed he’d been watching her.
‘Possibly,’ she admitted, rather than confess she’d been daydreaming.
‘So you don’t agree with Alex that most adults under forty will have tried some kind of recreational drug?’ he pursued.
Now she knew what they’d been discussing, Tory wasn’t any more inclined to express an opinion.
‘Tory won’t have,’ Simon chimed in. ‘Far t
oo strait-laced, aren’t you, Tory? Doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t drink. Doesn’t pretty much anything.’
‘Shut up, Simon,’ she responded without much hope he would.
‘See… She doesn’t even swear.’ He grinned like a mischievous schoolboy. ‘I somehow doubt her parents were pot-smoking flower children.’
‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong!’ Tory snapped without considering the wisdom of it.
She regretted her outburst almost immediately as all eyes in the room became trained on her.
‘Would you care to expand on that?’ invited Simon.
‘No,’ she ground back, ‘I wouldn’t.’
‘But if it gives some insight into the subject—’ he baited, amused rather than malignant.
‘Simon.’ A low warning, it came from Lucas Ryecart. ‘Leave it.’
Tory should have been grateful. He’d seen her vulnerability. But didn’t that make her even more vulnerable—to him rather than Simon?
‘Sure.’ Simon was wise enough not to want to make an enemy of the American. ‘I didn’t mean to tread on anyone’s toes.’
‘That makes a change,’ Alex muttered in not so low a voice, then gave Tory a supportive smile.
Ryecart took control once more, ‘Simon, would you like to pitch your idea now?’
‘My pleasure.’ Simon was obviously confident.
Tory listened to him outlining his idea for a docu-soap on a day in the life of a Member of Parliament. It sounded pretty tame stuff until Simon named the backbencher he proposed using. A controversial figure, with intolerant views, he was likely to produce some interesting television.
‘He’s almost bound to be de-selected next time around,’ Simon concluded, ‘so he has nothing to lose.’
‘Has he agreed to it?’ Ryecart asked.
‘Pretty much,’ Simon confirmed.
‘Know him personally?’ Alex suggested.
‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ Simon responded. ‘I was at school with his younger brother.’
Alex contented himself with a snort in comment.
Simon expanded on the approach he’d take and Lucas Ryecart gave him approval to progress it further. He had done the same for Alex.
He wrapped up the meeting by saying, ‘All right, we’ll meet again in three weeks and see where matters stand. Thank you for coming.’
The Boss's Secret Mistress Page 7