by Maeve Haran
As revenge he began to tickle her.
While Liz waited for someone to give her a sensible answer she heard muffled giggling and a cry of ‘Stop it, stop it!’ Then Mel dropped the receiver. In the background Liz could hear a male voice singing ‘I’m Gonna be a Country Girl Again’ very loudly. And no one needed to tell her that things were looking up for Mel.
As the first issue of the revamped Selden Bridge Star rolled off the presses, David felt an exhilaration he hadn’t felt for years. As editor and proprietor he had complete freedom to write whatever he liked, and no one could pull it because it trod on powerful toes or force him to cover a story he found distasteful. It might be small beer, but it had the heady and powerful taste of freedom.
He thought about the editorial conference yesterday. Some of the young reporters had had terrific ideas, and the News Editor was so young and keen David had to hold him back. There was only one problem. The Woman’s Page. It was edited by a blue-rinsed harridan whose ideas about women’s interests had been frozen about 1934. The solution was obvious. And yet each time he’d reached for the phone to call Suzan Brown and offer her the job, something had stopped him.
He’d told Liz Suzan was coming to work for him but the truth was he hadn’t even asked her. And he didn’t know why. Whether it was just pride, that he couldn’t bear Liz to have been right after all, or his own doubts about getting involved with someone as young as Suzan. Or maybe even out of some kind of crazy loyalty to Liz.
How ludicrous. Suddenly he felt blindingly angry remembering that dreamy, aroused quality in her voice and he picked up the phone and began to dial the number of the Daily News.
‘But, Liz, it’d be crazy not to open up in London! Maybe not now but in six months’ time.’ Ginny jumped up from her desk and started pacing. ‘It’s the obvious step. If we don’t have a London branch we’ll never be able to compete with Nine to Five or World of Work.’
Liz looked up from the report she was reading, her eyes troubled. ‘But Ginny, do we want to compete with them? I thought the whole idea of WomanPower was to be small-scale, so you and I could both work part-time and still see our kids.’
‘You’re right. I suppose. It’s just that WomanPower’s got so much potential. It seems criminal to waste it.’
Liz sighed. She knew what Ginny meant. WomanPower was becoming a bigger success than either of them had ever foreseen. And, lurking in the background, Liz glimpsed the spectre of another job that could, if she let it, take over her life.
The trouble was, though she knew the price of success only too well, Ginny didn’t. Ginny still had all the white-hot enthusiasm of the recent convert. And Liz couldn’t help sympathizing. She could see how heady it must be to find you had an undiscovered talent, apart from being somebody’s wife or somebody’s mother. And she hated having to put the brake on.
She glanced at her watch. Six-thirty. At this rate she’d miss bathtime.
‘Come on, Ginny, I’ll give you a lift.’
‘It’s OK, I’ve got a few things to clear up.’
‘Come on. Or I’ll run over your mobile phone.’
‘All right, all right.’ Ginny grinned back at her. ‘You’ve talked me into it.’
But even Liz wasn’t prepared for the sight that awaited them when they stopped outside Ginny’s house half an hour later. The weather had turned cold and damp and the whole place was in darkness, and freezing cold. Sensing Liz’s surprise, Ginny ran ahead and hastily started lighting a fire.
But the worst shock was the kitchen. The cold seemed to seep out of the tiled floor, so that Liz found herself unconsciously hopping from one foot to the other to keep warm.
‘Damn!’ Ginny apologized. ‘I must have forgotten to riddle the stove.’
‘Where are the children?’
‘What day is it?’
‘Tuesday.’
‘In that case the childminder picks them up from school and Gavin fetches them on his way home.’ She delved in the freezer for a Marks & Spencer’s quiche and put it in the microwave. ‘I do Wednesdays and Fridays. Would you like a drink?’
For a fraction of a second Liz hesitated. Maybe she should stay and see if she could persuade Ginny to take things a bit easier.
But why? It was Ginny’s life, not hers. And Ginny would probably think it the height of hypocrisy if Liz started interfering. ‘No thanks. I must get back. I’m late myself.’
She picked her bag up from one of the kitchen chairs and made for the door, relishing the thought of her own warm-as-toast cottage, where it would be bathtime now and Minty would have draped two small pairs of pyjamas over the Aga to warm. Then she stopped for a moment, her eye caught by the sampler that had had such an influence on her own decision to change her life.
Houses are Built of Brick and Stone
But Homes are Made of Love Alone.
As she read the delicate stitching, embroidered over a hundred years ago, she saw exactly what WomanPower’s success was already costing Ginny. Her home, once a haven of warmth and happiness, was becoming a house like any other. And Liz knew that something immeasurably precious was being lost and that she had to say something before it was too late.
And yet, how could she? She who hadn’t seen her own children for months at a time? Who had been so sure that it was every woman’s right to Have It All. Coming from her such a lecture would be rich indeed.
‘Ginny,’ she began tentatively, putting her bag down again and trying to keep her tone light and chatty. She knew how sensitive Ginny would be. ‘You don’t think you’re overdoing it a bit at WomanPower? You seem to be there all the time instead of just half the week . . .’
She wondered how to go on without sounding holier-than-thou.
In the end the problem was solved for her by Gavin who came into the kitchen carrying Ben and Amy.
He took one look at the tinfoil dish in Ginny’s hand. ‘Oh no,’ he complained wearily, ‘not bloody quiche again!’
‘So, what do you think?’
David had just taken Suzan on a tour of the paper and had handed her the first edition.
For a few minutes she scanned it. Then she looked up and smiled. ‘It’s got lots of potential.’
David laughed. ‘You mean it’s provincial crap!’ Suzan looked at him hesitantly, not wanting to see the excitement leave his face or even admit to herself that now she was here she regretted her decision.
‘Well, it’s certainly different from the News!’
‘Thank God for that much. Of course it’s crap, Suzan. It’s the first edition and the staff have worked for years on Noddytown News. Suddenly they’re asked to produce something fresh and new and challenging. All things considered they haven’t done a bad job. But in three months none of us will recognize it. And making that happen will be as much your job as mine!’
‘Yes.’ She smiled with relief that he was still the same old David, candid and sharp as ever. And that it wasn’t true, as the hacks were saying in the Daily News’s local pub, a.k.a. The Stab in the Back (because that was largely what went on there), that he had lost his marbles.
Fortunately for her, Suzan didn’t know the other thing they were saying about David and her in The Stab. That there was only one possible reason for her to have gone chasing off to Selden bloody Bridge. And the Deputy Chief Sub had opened a book on how long it would take before it happened.
Suzan put her bag down on her new desk and smiled. ‘Let’s get down to it, then.’
David smiled back, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He knew Suzan well enough to guess what she was thinking. She thought she’d made a terrible mistake but she was going to make the best of it anyway. That was what he liked most about her. Her determination.
As she reached for the phone to make her very first call as Woman’s Editor of the Selden Bridge Star, he realized with a jolt who it was she reminded him of. Liz. She had the same spunkiness, the same resolve to drag something positive out of adversity. There was even something about th
e curve of her cheek and the way she held her head that made him think of Liz all those years ago, when she too had started out on a local paper not so different from this one.
Suddenly angry with himself, David turned brusquely away. He really must forget Liz. Looking up he caught Suzan watching him, and he smiled. She really was a very beautiful girl.
‘Hello, Ginny.’ Liz perched herself on the side of Ginny’s desk the next morning and smiled a shade sheepishly. ‘Look, I’m sorry about last night. Why don’t we have lunch and talk about how to make the workload easier on all of us?’
Ginny looked up coldly. ‘Sorry, Liz, I’m busy today.’ Her tone implied that she would be busy whenever Liz suggested a time.
Liz picked up her briefcase and walked towards her office. Once inside she leaned on the door and closed her eyes and hoped against hope that WomanPower wasn’t going to cost Ginny and her their friendship.
Outside in the main office there seemed to be some kind of commotion going on. Surely not a dissatisfied customer already? Maybe a tramp had wandered in off the street? Forgetting about Ginny, she opened the door a few inches.
In the middle of the office stood Gavin holding Ben with one hand and Amy with the other. Liz had never seen him so angry.
‘For God’s sake, Ginny, what’s the matter with you? Ben was supposed to go to hospital today for a checkup on his asthma. We’ve waited months for this appointment and the hospital just rang to ask where he is.’
Ginny looked stricken. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy I forgot.’
‘Just like you forgot to pick them up from the childminder last week? For God’s sake, Ginny, we never see you any more. Don’t we matter to you compared to your brilliant career?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Gavin, don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, why can’t you take him to the hospital once in a while, why does it always have to be me?’
Watching the unfamiliar sight of his parents shouting at each other in front of all these strangers, Ben, always brave and grown-up, suddenly started to cry and Amy copied him.
For the first time, Ginny seemed to realize where she was and what was happening. She held Amy close and patted her head. ‘Don’t worry, darling, everything’s all right.’
She caught sight of Liz, leaning on her door, and for the first time seemed to realize what Liz had been trying to tell her. ‘Oh, Lizzie.’ She ran to her and Liz put her arms round both Ginny and Amy, almost moved to tears herself. ‘Everything’s not all right, is it? What are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know, Ginny, but we’ll think of something.’ As she said it, she knew they would have to find a solution. WomanPower was a brilliant idea. But it was becoming a monster that would engulf all their lives if they let it.
‘We need more people on board for a start. More chiefs as well as more Indians.’ Liz had been thinking over what to do about WomanPower all night.
‘Who for instance?’
‘Mel, for a start. I’ve already talked to her and she’s definitely nibbling.’
Ginny was sceptical. ‘Mel would never leave London. She’s part of the scenery. Like Buckingham Palace, only less classy.’
‘That was before Garth.’
‘And who’s Garth? He sounds like one of Ben’s He-Men.’
‘I haven’t met him. But it’s true luurrve, Mel says, and Garth yearns to be a country boy again.’
‘Oh my God, don’t tell me he’s one of these Sloane Rangers in green wellies and a jeep who wants to come down here and play the country squire?’
‘I don’t think so. From what Mel says, Garth is more Texas Ranger than Sloane Ranger.’
‘Oh well, that’s something I suppose.’
‘But even if Mel joins, it won’t be enough.’ Liz chewed the end of her pencil thoughtfully. ‘We need an adviser, someone we can trust who’s run their own company, to tell us if it really is possible to run WomanPower on the terms we want to. Actually’ – Liz looked down at her hands for a moment – ‘there’s someone I have in mind.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Britt.’
Ginny’s head shot up in astonishment. ‘Britt?’ she squeaked. ‘Yes, Britt,’ Liz said firmly. ‘You remember Britt? Tall, blonde hair, ran off with my husband.’
‘OK, I’ll do it. On two conditions.’ Britt sat opposite Liz at the round table WomanPower used for important meetings.
Liz felt a huge weight being lifted from her chest. Britt would sort them out. She was the best businesswoman Liz knew. And she seemed so much better now. She’d clearly thrown herself into work to get over the miscarriage. She was the old Britt again. But nicer, much nicer.
‘And what are they?’
‘One. That I get complete access to your finances, down to the last penny spent on paperclips. And two . . .’
She trailed off for a moment.
‘And two?’
‘That you don’t hate me if I have to tell you some home truths.’
‘Home truths are what we need.’
Britt looked down into her coffee. ‘Liz, there’s one more thing I wanted to say. Thank you for asking me.’
‘Thank you for accepting.’
And their eyes met for a second, sealed in trust.
As Liz went off to get Britt the reports she needed Ginny put her head round the door.
‘Hello, Britt. When are you starting?’
‘On Monday.’
‘Make it Sunday. Come to lunch. It’s a little ritual Gavin and I are reviving to boost our flagging marriage. Pimms at twelve. Enough food to feed an army, then sleep it off in armchairs with the Sunday papers.’
‘Thanks, Ginny, it sounds glorious but I’m not sure I can. I’m supposed to be doing something.’
‘That’s a pity,’ she dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘because you’ll miss meeting Mr Perfect. Liz is finally bringing him along at last to be officially introduced.’
‘In that case,’ Britt grinned and whispered back, ‘I’ll just have to drop everything and come. Looking at Liz I can’t wait to meet him.’
By Sunday the weather had changed again and it turned out to be the kind of perfect early summer day that makes everyone feel patriotic and believe in England’s green and pleasant land. The sun shone from early morning, the sky was bright blue, the clouds high and chubby just like they were on Jamie’s duvet cover.
Ginny’s guests spilled out through the French windows into the garden and the children ran riot in the orchard.
Britt stood watching Liz, amazed by the change in her over the last few months. With the cares of WomanPower safely laid on to Britt’s shoulders, at least for a week or two, she gleamed with happiness like the heroine of a Hollywood musical who knows everything will come right in the final reel.
Discreetly Britt glanced round for the man who’d done it. Most of the people here today she knew, but there was one man she didn’t, deep in conversation with Gavin. He was tall and good-looking with extraordinary green eyes and clothes so subtly expensive and smart that he looked as though he’d wandered off the set of some commercial, for Martini perhaps or one of the new designer beers.
For a moment she thought of David, lying with his shoes off and the television blaring on her white sofa. At the time she’d resented his slobbishness, but now next to the flawless Nick Winters, he seemed somehow real and three-dimensional.
What was it that made her so uneasy about Nick Winters? He was devastating and he was rich and he was making Liz happy. But why hadn’t some clever little girl snapped him up and moved him into a mock-Tudor mansion with a swimming pool and a child a year to make divorce difficult?
Suddenly a hand knitted through hers and she found herself propelled towards him. It was Liz. ‘Nick, you must meet Britt.’
Britt found the penetrating green gaze suddenly on her. Then he smiled. But it wasn’t the warm, teasing smile she’d so loved in David. It seemed to her to be consciously charming, as if charm were not so much a natural attribute but rather a
useful currency.
Nick turned to an older man in a red cashmere cardigan by his side.
‘Have you met my business partner, Henry Carlisle?’
Britt smiled at the older man, taking in his beautifully manicured nails, and his immaculately polished shoes and his air of weary patience. And suddenly a lot of things fell into place.
‘So what do you think of Mr Perfect?’
In her eagerness to hear Britt’s reaction Mel had forgotten that she was never going to speak to Britt ever again in her whole life and plonked herself down on the arm of her chair, almost spilling her drink as she did.
Britt looked out into the garden where Nick and Liz were laughing together, the sun splashing them with light, a golden couple.
‘He seems to be making Liz very happy.’
‘Yes.’ Mel took a sip of her wine and watched them over the top of her glass, only the slightest edge detectable in her voice. ‘Yes, he does, doesn’t he?’
‘By the way’ – Britt smiled at Mel with genuine pleasure – ‘congratulations. I gather you’re joining WomanPower.’
‘Yes, crazy isn’t it? I’m going to do the PR and generally help out. I don’t know whether I’ll last five minutes. I’m a real town mouse. But Garth really likes the idea. All that huntin’, shootin’, and fishin’.’
Britt tried to picture Garth with his ponytail in plus fours, a gun slung over one shoulder, and failed. From what Mel said about Garth’s attributes in the trouser department, he’d probably keep falling over his own equipment.
Mel jumped up, remembering she’d promised to pass round a plate of canapés. If Ginny had abandoned the kitchen for the life of a high-flying exec, she’d certainly redeemed herself today. It was all Mel could do to stop herself sampling the mouth-watering selection of bite-sized asparagus quiches, paper-wrapped prawns and oysters wrapped in bacon as she headed for the garden.
Popping a quail’s egg on toast in her mouth, Mel looked round guiltily. But there were no guests left in the sitting room. The sun had lured them all outside and Mel followed.
Two feet from the French windows she stopped dead. Immediately outside Nick Winters stood alone. Liz must have got up to get a drink and he was watching her with a look of such passionate yearning that Mel stood transfixed, staring at him.