by Liz Fielding
Just to prove to Melanie Brett that he could give her anything she wanted? Why did she find that so difficult to believe?
Because she didn’t want to believe it?
Fizz found herself dwelling on the memory of a pair of forceful grey eyes, a mouth that smiled so slowly that before you knew it, it would have stolen your heart. She gave a little gasp, then pulling a face at her own stupidity, stared at the sheet of paper she was holding as if that could give her the answer. But it couldn’t.
She threw it down on her desk and walked across to the window to stare down at the lights glowing from the restored Victorian lamp holders along the pier and reflected in the sea, momentarily still on the slack of the tide.
Could it be that she was making too much of the whole business? Looking for problems where none existed? Why couldn’t she just thank her lucky stars, take Luke Devlin’s money and welcome Melanie with open arms.
She didn’t understand why was she hesitating. She had gained a little thinking time by convincing him that she would have to speak to her father, but she could have agreed to Devlin’s conditions on the spot. In retrospect she had been mad not to. Yet some instinct had warned her to play for time. Why, she couldn’t say. Except that his attitude to her, to her father had seemed so personal.
She took the cheque he had given her from her bag and laid it on the desk, smoothing it out very carefully, studying the strong masculine handwriting, determination in every thick downstroke but with the occasional telltale flourish to warn that the writer had a strong imagination. It seemed to her a very dangerous combination.
‘What are you up to Luke Devlin?’ she asked out loud. ‘What do you really want from Pavilion Radio?’ The cheque, if it knew, wasn’t talking.
CHAPTER FOUR
AT seven-thirty the following morning Fizz put her head around the newsroom door. ‘Have you got a minute, Jim?’ she asked.
Jim Ryan, a burly man in his late thirties, was sitting behind his desk organising the bulletins and “carts” for the major news and local current affairs programme on the hour. ‘Two minutes for you, Fizz, my darling,’ he said, easily, without looking up from his task. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Tell me everything you’ve heard about the takeover at Harries Industries. Everything you’ve heard about Luke Devlin.’
‘The long version or the potted one?’
‘Which would you advise?’
‘Since nobody knows much, they’re about the same,’ he said, throwing her a grin. ‘Apparently we’re lucky the whole lot didn’t just go down the pan and that if anyone can dig Harries out of the red, Devlin can. The workers, at least those who have met him, are impressed, although naturally there have been rumblings of discontent. Everyone expects there to be some job losses.’
‘When are you going to do a feature on him, his plans, what it means for the town, that sort of thing? I assume you are planning one of your awesome face-to-face interviews?’
Jim, the manager of news and current affairs at the station, had been with her from the beginning and was one of the few employees who knew that she, and not Edward Beaumont, was the boss. It didn’t stop him from pulling a face at her blatant flattery.
‘I’d certainly like to. I’ve been trying to get hold of Mr Devlin all week, but his secretary is a positive dragon.’ He finished organising his bulletins and swivelled around in his chair to give her his full attention. ‘Any particular reason for your interest?’
Fizz side-stepped the apparently innocent query. Jim never asked innocent questions as many a local dignitary attempting to bluff his way through a budgetary fiasco had discovered to his cost.
‘I was certain you would have assembled a vast amount of information about him from your contacts.’
‘And information is power?’ Jim grinned. ‘What I’ve got is in that folder, but I warn you, it’s not much.’ He pointed to a disappointingly thin file. ‘You’ll not find any scandals that you can use to blackmail him into sponsoring the station.’
Fizz remembered the slate grey eyes, the warning not to do anything rash. But she hadn’t needed any warning. From the first moment she had set eyes upon him, she had known that Luke Devlin was not a man to cross. She buried that knowledge beneath an amiable grin.
‘Now why would anyone need to be blackmailed into supporting the best local radio station in Broomhill, Jim?’
‘It’s the only local radio station in Broomhill, Fizz.’
‘I rest my case,’ she said, laughing. ‘But thanks for this.’ She picked up the file but paused in the doorway. ‘If you can’t get Luke Devlin at his office, Jim, you might try the Metropole. I’ve a feeling he might be staying there.’
‘Where else would a man of his means and style lay his head? Unfortunately he doesn’t answer his telephone, or he has the receptionist as well trained as his secretary.’
Maybe that’s because he isn’t in his own room to answer it, she thought. But that wasn’t news, that was gossip and she kept her thoughts to herself.
‘And I thought Maggie Church was deep in your pocket, Jim Ryan,’ she teased him.
‘So did I. I guess I’ll have to buy her a bigger box of chocolates next Christmas. If the budget will run to it?’
‘We can afford the chocolates, Jim. It’s the red roses and candlelight supper when you hand them over that disturbs the accountant’s blood pressure. Why don’t you marry the woman and be done with it?’
‘Just to save you a few quid on expenses? Besides, she’s got more sense than to lumber herself with a liability like me.’
‘You have asked her then?’
‘That’s privileged information.’ He grinned. ‘According to Maggie, this way she gets all the fun and none of the dirty washing.’
‘Clever girl, I must remember that.’ But she felt a momentary pang of sadness for Jim who was a truly kind man, although having carefully avoided any kind of relationship herself, she was in no position to criticise Maggie for keeping hers at a level of commitment she was happy with. ‘In the meantime don’t worry about Luke Devlin. When he’s ready to talk, he’ll call you.’
‘Is that the voice of experience I hear?’ Jim’s eyes narrowed as the faintest blush heated her cheeks. ‘Well, well.’ He sat back and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You are a dark horse.’
She was rescued from the need to reply by the click of the huge reel-to-reel tape recorder starting up and the warning of an interview coming in from IRN that Jim was waiting for. She escaped as he turned to slide in a cart, ready to record it for the upcoming bulletin.
As she flicked through the folder he had given her, however, she acknowledged that he had been right about the paucity of solid information on Luke Devlin. There were a number of news clippings, but most of them several years old. It was quite clear that the more money the man had made the less forthcoming he had been about his private life.
The very early clippings were all from Australian newspapers and showed him out on the town with the kind of glamorous young women who like to get their picture in the newspaper. The more recent articles were dry as dust pieces from the financial papers about acquisitions and mergers, of interest only to those involved in the City, without even a photograph to enliven them.
The takeover at Harries had been reported as the un-resisted buy-out of a company in difficulties. There was some speculation as to how it would fit in with Luke Devlin’s other interests and whether he would invest heavily in the company, push it into the twenty-first century, or whether he would simply redevelop the site. Informed opinion seemed to favour redevelopment. It made depressing reading.
Jim had written a summary of the information he had gleaned from the cuttings and Fizz read this with interest, hoping for some clue as to his interest in her radio station.
Luke Devlin was British, although shortly after taking a degree in geology he had gone to Australia where either by luck, or good judgement he had made a great deal of money prospecting for minerals. Still in h
is twenties he had not been content simply to invest his wealth, sit back and let someone else do the work.
He had diversified into electronics in the Far East and the USA and taken an interest in Eastern Europe. He was now involved with a number of forward thinking companies although, she was interested to notice, his connection with a seriously heavy merchant bank had been missed.
The takeover of Harries Industries was just the latest in a long line of business coups. Jim, more interested in the ramifications of the takeover than Luke Devlin’s social life, hadn’t dwelt on this. Not that she had discovered much more in her own reading of the material beyond the fact that he was thirty-four years old and unmarried.
Younger than she had thought, then. Perhaps making money in such quantity wore one out. And there was nothing to provide a clue as to his motives. No indication that he had any ambition to move into the media at all, although even if he had, a small south coast radio station would have been an odd sort of place for a man of his means to start. But then his move on Harries had taken everyone by surprise.
Jim had warned her not to expect too much. It was just as well.
Of course there was one person in Broomhill Bay who knew all about Luke Devlin.
Having ascertained from Luke Devlin’s secretary that he was unattainable for the rest of the day, Fizz telephoned the Metropole, chatted amiably to the Maggie for a moment or two before asking to be put through to Miss Brett as if her call was expected.
She knew she was taking a risk. Devlin might be expecting something like this and have already put Melanie on her guard, warned her not to speak to anyone, especially nosy radio station managers. But it was a risk worth taking.
Fizz wanted to find out what Melanie Brett was like, whether she really wanted to take part in a minor radio soap and she didn’t want Devlin at her elbow prompting her. And if she could find out some background on Devlin at the same time… pillow talk...
As she waited to be put through she had a sudden vivid image of the young actress lying in his arms, the darkness of his hair in contrast to the bright sunny spread of hers against a pillow, the tanned skin of his fingers stroking her breast. The same strong fingers that had so recently been fastened about her own wrist. Her own nipples involuntarily tightened at the memory of his touch, the feel of his skin against hers.
‘Melanie Brett.’ The breathy little voice brought Fizz back to earth with an almost painful jolt.
‘Miss Brett,’ she began, quickly. ‘This is Felicity Beaumont from Pavilion Radio. Forgive me for telephoning so early in the morning, but I understand from Mr Devlin that you are interested in working with us during the summer. I wondered if you would like to come and have a look around the station this morning? If you have no other plans?’
There was a squeak of pure pleasure that could hardly have been faked.
‘Luke told me he’d asked you, but I didn’t dare to hope Mr Beaumont would agree.’ She was really that keen? That naive? Surely she must know her worth? ‘I just can’t wait to meet him.’
Oh, lord, but she sounded so young. How could a man like Luke Devlin take advantage of such innocence?
Easily. Without a second thought.
‘I’m afraid my father won’t be here today,’ she said, which was just as well as she hadn’t yet explained the situation to him. ‘But he’ll certainly want to meet you as soon as he has some time to spare.’ Nothing but the truth. Her father was as susceptible to a pretty young fan as the next actor.
According to her mother’s vitriolic outpourings he always had been.
‘Oh, I do understand. And I would really love to come to the studios.’
‘Don’t expect too much,’ Fizz warned, with a small laugh that might have been of sheer relief that it had been so easy. ‘Actually, we’re recording some episodes of “Holiday Bay” this morning at about eleven-thirty, I thought perhaps you’d like to sit in?’
Another squeak of pleasure, an offer to send a car for her at eleven and her mission was accomplished.
*****
Melanie Brett, fresh as a May morning and twice as pretty caused a minor sensation as she walked along the pier, stirring the heart of every male lucky enough to have decided to go fishing that morning.
Fizz, watching for her arrival from her office window, had seen the easy way she stopped to sign odd scraps of paper thrust at her, perfectly happy to chat with perfect strangers. The girl was a natural and worth twice her weight in listening figures. Her fingers itched to ring the advertising agencies and tell them about her prize. Instead she hurried down to the foyer to greet her visitor.
‘This is so kind of you, Miss Beaumont,’ Melanie said, shaking hands with a convent school politeness that reminded her painfully of herself just a year or two younger, eager, wide-eyed and utterly innocent.
For a moment Fizz felt a twinge of conscience at her deviousness then realised that the innocence, at least, had to be an illusion, although the girl was certainly as young as she looked. Then there was another feeling. Alien and uncomfortable. A feeling that she couldn’t identify, or perhaps didn’t want to admit to.
She buried it under a warm smile.
‘Actually I have to admit to an ulterior motive in asking you to come to the station. Since you arrived in town everyone has been dying to know what your plans are. I wondered if you might be prepared to sit in on a radio phone-in later? It would give your local fans a chance to ask you a few questions. Only if you would like to, of course.’
‘Oh, I love phone-in programmes. But I should really ask Luke.’
No you shouldn’t, she wanted to scream at the girl. You don’t have to ask anyone. Be your own person. Don’t let him take you over and break you apart so there’s nothing left.
Instead she kept a polite smile fixed to her lips. ‘You could telephone him from my office if you like?’ She held her breath and hoped his instruction to his secretary to say that he was unobtainable for the rest of the day included Melanie. It didn’t seem likely.
‘Phone Luke at work!’ Melanie looked horrified. ‘Lord, no. He’s always so busy and he hates being dragged out of meetings.’ Fizz could well believe it. And she doubted if he kept his feelings to himself. ‘And if I don’t ask him, he can’t say no, can he?’ Melanie giggled.
‘That’s true.’ And perhaps because of the sudden relaxation of tension Fizz giggled too. ‘I’ll introduce you to Andy Gilbert later.’
‘Oh, I’ve heard him. He’s really good.’
‘He’s certainly very popular with our female listeners,’ Fizz said, dryly. ‘If you’re not too busy perhaps we could all have lunch together and you can discuss what you’re prepared to talk about. He’ll field anything difficult, after all we do want you to have fun.’
‘Oh, I will,’ Melanie answered. ‘It’ll be my first public appearance since I arrived in England.’
‘Then we’re very honoured. I would have thought you’d have been snapped up by the chat shows the minute you set foot here.’
‘Oh, there are some booked,’ she said, vaguely. ‘In a week or two I think. But radio is such fun.’
‘You’ve done a lot? In Australia?’
‘I’ve been a guest on a few shows, you know the sort of thing. Music and chat. I haven’t done any drama myself, but my mother used to take me along sometimes when she made recordings.’
‘She’s an actress too?’
‘Was.’ The girl’s face clouded momentarily. ‘She died last year. In an accident.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Melanie didn’t say anything and after a moment, Fizz said, ‘Shall we go through to the sound studio so that you can meet the cast of “Holiday Bay”? They’ll be having coffee and a run through of the script before recording.’ She smiled encouragingly. ‘We’ll have to give some thought about how you’re going to fit in. An unexpected arrival at the end of an episode, I should think, like a bolt from the blue. The listeners will love it.’
She introduced her to the cas
t who instantly absorbed Melanie into their group, keen to quiz her about working in television and life in Oz. She might be a celebrity, but she was still an actress, one of them. Fizz excused herself. No one noticed her leave.
She picked up the telephone and began to work. Twenty minutes later she leaned back in her chair, well satisfied. She had drummed up an extra five minutes of advertising time for the phone-in and rescheduled one or two others in order to earn a few brownie points at a time when agencies were spreading their budgets ever thinner.
*****
Luke Devlin flipped the intercom on his desk. ‘Get hold of Melanie for me, will you, Liz? And book a table for two at the Angel up at Broomhill Gate.’
‘Of course, Mr Devlin. I didn’t know you were back in your office.’ There was the hint of reproach in her voice.
As a secretary, Liz Meynell was top of the tree. As a mother figure, she could be a man’s worst nightmare. Most of the time he was happy to put up with the one for the sheer efficiency of the other. But not today.
The meeting at the council offices had not been a barrel of laughs. They hadn’t much liked what he’d had to say and he didn’t blame them. Without Harries the town would have a serious unemployment problem.
It wasn’t his fault. It probably wasn’t anyone’s fault. Harries was a company running out of markets. It hadn’t diversified, kept up, retooled. But the residents of Broomhill who relied on the factory for a wage every week wouldn’t see it like that.
They would never be convinced of the inevitability of what had happened. They would only see the effect, not the cause. Michael Harries was apparently considered something of a saint in Broomhill while he had found himself cast in the part of devil.
It wasn’t a comfortable role to play and he knew things could get a lot worse before they got better. So he needed a quiet place to think and as the choice was between his office and the ministrations of Liz Meynell, and the Metropole, where there were hoards of teenage girls camped on the doorstep, he’d let himself quietly into his office and had been sitting there for the last hour trying to sort things out in his mind.