by Susan Lewis
‘Does he know yet that it’s me who’s editing?’ Penny asked.
‘Yes.’
Penny’s eyes opened wide. ‘Didn’t he object?’ she cried indignantly. He could at least have done her that favour.
‘To be truthful with you, Penelope, he didn’t seem to know who you were.’
Penny felt the colour burn her cheeks. ‘Please, don’t call me Penelope,’ she said.
‘But why on earth not? It’s such a pretty name.’
‘Because it sounds plump. Looking plump is bad enough. I don’t want to sound it too.’
Sylvia laughed. ‘You really are such a funny thing at times,’ she said. ‘You’ve got so much going for you, including a lovely face, and, who knows, maybe a bit of sunshine and exercise will get that body of yours into better shape.’
‘Meaning I need it,’ Penny bristled.
‘Meaning . . .’ Sylvia threw out her hands. ‘I don’t think I can win here so let’s get back to the subject of David, shall we? Amongst the lengthy list of superlatives you used to describe him I will challenge only one. He isn’t lazy. Regarding the rest, I concede you may well be right. But he has an exceptional flair for business, which is why I have asked him to take on this magazine with you. You will have equal power . . .’
‘How can we when he’s your godson?’ Penny protested. ‘And if, like you say, he’s so much more experienced in the world of business than I am?’
‘You will have equal power,’ Sylvia repeated, ‘which is something David is already aware of and hasn’t disputed. To all intents and purposes the magazine will be yours, as will the decisions, and he will help out on the finance and business fronts where necessary. So there is no need to concern yourself about some kind of power struggle.’
‘What’s his title going to be?’ Penny enquired loftily.
‘He doesn’t actually have one,’ Sylvia answered. ‘Neither has he asked for one. However, you are the editor and together you and David will fulfil the role of publisher. Naturally, when you get the magazine back on its feet you will need to increase your staff, and at that point we will review the situation. As it stands, it will be all hands on deck and I imagine everyone, including you and David, will be performing as many menial tasks as you will editorial. However, the budget I am having drawn up for you is more than generous, so you won’t be reduced to making the tea just yet.
‘Of the staff currently on the magazine,’ she continued, barely pausing for breath, ‘I would suggest that you retain Marielle Descourts, who has been acting editor since we took over Fieldstone when the previous editor resigned. She is, as her name would suggest, French, and will undoubtedly have an invaluable knowledge of the region as well as some good contacts when it comes to contributors. I took the liberty of speaking to her on the phone this morning to tell her that you will be arriving within the next week or two.’
‘What’s she like?’ Penny asked.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know her at all,’ Sylvia answered. ‘But from the sound of her I’d say she’s around your age and her English is excellent. Ah, thank you,’ she said as the waiter refilled their glasses. ‘I suspect, or rather hope, that the two of you will become great friends,’ she went on, ‘and that together with David you will make a formidable team.’
‘And what if I feel,’ Penny said, knowing that she already did, ‘that the entire face of the magazine should change, including the title, distribution, price, frequency of publication et cetera? Will the budget stretch to that?’
‘If you can show me good reason for making such drastic changes, then I’m sure we can come to an arrangement,’ Sylvia answered. ‘The accountants tell me that there is every likelihood we will be operating at a loss for quite some time, but it’s what I expected.’
Penny looked at her curiously. ‘Why are you so keen for this magazine to work?’ she asked. ‘I mean, to put it bluntly, it’s nothing more than a local rag that’s never going to find its feet in the world of giants.’
Sylvia smiled. ‘Call it the whim of an old lady,’ she chuckled. ‘I have a fondness for the Riviera, it’s where my husband and I met and spent many holidays over the years.’
Inwardly Penny shrugged. If you were as rich as Sylvia then you could afford that kind of whim, she supposed.
‘There is just one other thing,’ Sylvia said. ‘Initially you probably won’t have the time, but I know you have a passion for writing short stories, which I imagine will find their way into the new magazine, and, if they do, I’d like to publish them in Starke. I also want to continue to run your interviews where they are relevant for Starke. This way we will keep your name in the big league, as it were, and I’d like you to feel free to call upon Starke’s resources to add to your material should you feel it necessary.’ She laughed at the look that had come over Penny’s face. ‘Does that help soften the blow of your name being taken out of lights?’ she asked. Without waiting for an answer she said, ‘It means that, should the new magazine not succeed for any reason, the damage to your career will be as minimal as I can make it. But let’s not look on the gloomy side, because I have every confidence in you and in David and I fully expect to see the new version of whatever you choose to call it on the stands by the end of the year.’
‘What!’ Penny gasped. Then, with a mischievous twinkle, she added, ‘If you’d drop David, I’d do it single-handedly by August.’
Sylvia smiled. ‘Then, with David, perhaps you could do it even sooner.’
Penny rolled her eyes. There was obviously no getting rid of him so it was a waste of time trying. ‘Just answer me this,’ she said: ‘if it turns out that for some reason David doesn’t want me on the magazine, what happens then?’
Had Sylvia not taken so long deliberating her answer then Penny might have considered it as innocuous at it sounded, but when eventually she said, ‘I foresee no problems on that particular front,’ Penny’s suspicions were immmediately aroused.
‘Meaning you do on other fronts?’ she challenged.
‘Meaning,’ Sylvia responded smoothly, ‘that you will find David a hard man to alienate. Now, why don’t we eat our lunch and turn our attention to more important matters . . . such as the content of your new magazine.’
Though Penny wasn’t yet prepared to commit any of her ideas to paper she needed little encouragement to test them out on Sylvia; so, giving in to the change of subject, she began outlining some of her initial concepts, whilst, for the moment at least, keeping her curiosity in check. Besides, it could be that she was reading too much into Sylvia’s last two remarks, for on the face of it they really didn’t add up to much. Nevertheless Penny’s instincts were telling her that there was something about David’s involvement in this new magazine that, for some reason, wasn’t being shared with her.
Chapter 3
A WEEK LATER Penny was gazing down at the vast, snowy peaks of the Alps, which were glistening like great mounds of Lalique glass in the dazzling midday sun. The flight into Nice at any time of year was spectacular, but on a day such as this when there wasn’t a cloud in sight and the rugged mountains were cloaked so beautifully in their gleaming white winter coats it was impossible not to be moved by the sheer magnificence of it all. In fact, it was making her think of Declan, for the last time she had taken this flight he had been with her and though on that occasion there had been no snow the compelling beauty of the Alps, much to the amusement and delight of the other passengers, had moved him to song.
He’d called her several times during the ten days or so since she’d left him, but there was nothing he could say to change her mind and make her go back. His bisexuality just wasn’t something she could live with – in fact, it had killed her feelings for him as effectively as if he had taken an eraser to a pencil sketch. Of course the imprint was still there and it was true to say that she was feeling pretty lost without him. But she knew that would pass and the negative results of her blood test meant that she must now put it all behind her and move on.
As the plane began its descent, circling down over the still, turquoise-blue sea and hugging the coastline into Nice, she was watching the passing land and seascapes and trying to make herself believe that this was soon going to be her home. It didn’t seem real, but she wasn’t sure whether that was because a very strong part of her still didn’t want it to be, or because the shimmering light on the deserted sandy beaches and majestic stucco-fronted buildings lent the place a strangely ephemeral feel.
Her schedule had been frantic right up until the moment she’d left. She, Yolanda and Sylvia had done so much research into the Côte d’Azur and had tossed around so many ideas that, though still in the theory stage, Penny had found herself becoming almost childishly excited by the sheer enormity of the challenge. Now, as the plane skimmed over the sun-spangled sea and glided smoothly on to the runway at Nice airport, she was far more nervous than excited at the prospect of having to begin putting at least some of her ideas into practice. How the hell did she know what anyone wanted down here when she’d only ever visited the place twice?
But she was going to find out, which, of course, was why she was here on this recce and the reason she had asked Marielle to meet her off the plane so that they could get started straight away.
The flight was only half full, so it didn’t take long to get through customs and around to the baggage reclaim. It was as she was hauling her suitcase off the carousel that someone touched her arm and asked if she was Penny Moon.
Recognizing the voice as belonging to the person she had been speaking to on the telephone this past week, Penny turned to greet Marielle Descourts. ‘Hi,’ she said, letting go of her case and lifting her hand. ‘It’s good of—’. She stopped dead and blinked in amazement as she stared at the woman in front of her. She felt a bit like a magic lamp that had been rubbed and out had popped the delectable, sultry and stupendously beautiful brunette she had always longed to be. ‘. . . you to come and meet me,’ she finished, reasserting her smile.
‘It is my pleasure,’ Marielle told her, her slanted, expressionless eyes sweeping over Penny’s face. She was wearing a short black coat over a tight-fitting black skirt, thick black tights and extremely expensive black pumps. Her hair was a thick, wiry mass of curls that framed her exquisite face and stopped in a harsh line just above her shoulders. Her make-up, though slightly overdone, was immaculate, the shiny splash of red on her wide, full lips adding a striking contrast to the darkness of her skin and clothes. She was the very epitome of French chic and towered over Penny in a way that made Penny feel so uncomfortably dwarfish and dowdy that it was only the brief glimpse of herself in a mirror as Marielle led the way out of the terminal building that reassured her she didn’t look quite so bad after all.
Of course she couldn’t wear the kind of clothes Marielle was wearing, but her knee-length navy suede jacket that was covering a long, cornflower-blue sweater dress with starched white collar was pretty smart and both were great colours for her hair and eyes. And besides, she wasn’t here for either a beauty contest or a fashion parade, she was here to do a job!
As she stepped outside she inhaled deeply and took a brief look around. There was a glorious crispness to the air and a radiance in the light that made the wintry bleakness of England seem like the planet’s dungeon by comparison.
Trying to keep control of her trolley as she hurried across the road after Marielle, who was striding on ahead through the swaying palms into the car park, Penny was beginning to feel like some kind of simpleton lady’s maid. This wasn’t a good start, she was telling herself, but putting Marielle in her place wouldn’t be much of one either. There would be plenty of time over the next few days to assert her authority, as subtly as she could, for alienating Marielle was definitely not on her agenda. Having spoken to her frequently this past week. Penny was already aware of how invaluable Marielle’s knowledge and contacts were going to be. Her hostility might be a bit of a problem, though, but Penny was pretty certain she’d win her over eventually. Not right away, though, as she hadn’t told Marielle yet that she had already taken the decision – with Sylvia’s approval – to do away totally with the magazine as it stood, for the format was so bland and so depressingly tradesman-orientated that it wasn’t any wonder they’d had to give it away.
‘This your car?’ Penny smiled, catching up with Marielle, who had stopped beside a sleek little red Japanese number.
Marielle nodded as she pressed a button on her key ring unlocking the doors. She offered Penny no assistance with heaving her case into the boot; instead, she slid into the driver’s seat and waited for Penny to get in beside her.
When Penny came to open the car door she very nearly plonked herself on Marielle’s lap.
‘You’re in France now,’ Marielle informed her smoothly.
‘Of course!’ Penny laughed. ‘Force of habit, I’m afraid,’ and walking quickly round to the other side she got in and fastened her seat belt.
‘So,’ she said decisively as they joined the autoroute into Cannes, ‘maybe we can go straight to the office. I’m dying to see it.’
Glancing in her rear-view mirror, Marielle pressed her foot down hard and proceeded to eat up the autoroute as if it was a long, slippery string of spaghetti being sucked into a hungry mouth.
‘Wow!’ Penny muttered, blinking at the passing blur of scenery; then suddenly she was jamming her feet hard into the floor as Marielle raced up behind a Mercedes and sat inches from its tail. Making a mental note not to travel with Marielle unless absolutely necessary, Penny decided to try a little light conversation.
‘Were you born here?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Actually in Cannes?’
‘Yes.’
‘It must have been quite something growing up in such a beautiful place,’ Penny commented.
Whether it was or wasn’t, Marielle obviously wasn’t going to let on.
‘Your English is excellent,’ Penny said, with an ingenuous smile that totally masked the sarcasm, for so far Marielle hadn’t managed much beyond yes and no. But Penny knew from their telephone conversations that Marielle was even better at English than she, Penny, was at French. ‘Where did you learn?’ she asked.
‘I have a lot of English and American friends.’
Penny nodded. ‘That’s nice,’ she said. Then, ‘Are you married?’
‘No.’
Penny waited, but when no reciprocal question was forthcoming she said, ‘Me neither.’
The vaguely hoped-for camaraderie of independent, single women was obviously a nonstarter too.
‘Are you always this talkative,’ Penny enquired after a while, ‘or is it just me that you’ve decided to pour your heart out to?’
Marielle scowled, showing that this time the sarcasm had managed to hit home, but she clearly wasn’t going to rise to it.
‘Well, if we’re going to work together,’ Penny said as Marielle threw some coins into the net at the payage, ‘we’re going to have to find some way of communicating. How’s your semaphore?’
Penny might just have imagined it, but she thought she’d caught the ghost of a smile twitch those perfect red lips. Well, it was enough to be going on with, for friendship was more of a luxury than a priority and she could tackle it again when the time felt right.
A few minutes later they were turning off the boulevard Carnot on to the voie rapide, the road that ran parallel to the coast with the most exclusive part of Cannes sandwiched between. Not that Penny had a clue where they were. All she could see were the backs of tall, mostly slender white buildings on one side with the odd ad for Monoprix or Indian cuisine, and a fringe of extremely grand, almost Florentine-looking, villas interspersed with holiday apartments through the lush tropical foliage on the other. It was in a secluded, palm-studded forecourt outside one of these villas that Marielle brought the car to a halt.
‘This is it?’ Penny said incredulously, turning to her. ‘These are the offices?’
‘Yes,’ Marielle
answered, already getting out of the car.
Penny looked up at the creamy-yellow façade of the villa, at its dark-green shutters, wide, filigree balconies and intricately carved friezes. On both sides of the upper storey were two large, balustraded terraces and reclining on each side of the pointed roof were two happily fat and impudent-looking cherubs. From the outside it appeared more like the home of a minor branch of the Medici family than it did an office, but if this was where she was going to be working she reckoned she could live with it.
The entrance hall was vast, with a high, domed ceiling, art-deco cornices and a dusty marble floor. There was no furniture to speak of and the paint was peeling, but it wasn’t hard to imagine what it had looked like in its glory days.
‘We don’t use the downstairs,’ Marielle told her, already halfway up the balustraded staircase.
‘But we will – eventually.’ Penny smiled, following on. ‘You said on the phone that you have an assistant working with you at the moment. Is she here?’
‘Not today,’ Marielle answered, offering no explanation as to why.
‘But it’s been just you two running the shop since the previous editor left?’
‘Just us and a few freelancers,’ Marielle confirmed, pushing open a heavy white door. ‘This is the main office,’ she said, standing aside to let Penny through.