Harriet shook her head. As far as the rest of the world need know, she was already on her way to Heathrow. But Karen refused to go away. Urgent, she signalled.
Harriet sighed. ‘Excuse me. I have to take a telephone call.’ She circled around her own desk, and went out to Karen’s office. Karen held the receiver out to her.
‘Hello? Harriet Peacock speaking.’
It was Charlie Thimbell. Harriet knew him well. His wife was one of her closest friends.
‘Charlie, is everything OK? Is Jenny all right?’
‘Yeah, nothing like that. Listen, Harriet, I heard a rumour. I thought you’d better know about it.’ Charlie Thimbell was a financial journalist, the City Editor of one of the national dailies.
‘What rumour?’
‘More than a rumour, then. A tip-off. Are you watching your back, Harriet?’
‘You’re talking about a raid, are you? We were at two twenty-five this morning. Steady.’
Charlie said nothing for a moment. Then, very quietly, ‘Are you overstretched?’
Harriet laughed. ‘If we are or if we aren’t, I wouldn’t tell you, Charlie. Which would you put first, me or a good story?’
‘Difficult one, that. Well, I just thought I’d let you know. You might want to think again about making your trip.’
‘I’m going. Caspar’s up for an Oscar, and he deserves to win it. I want to be there when he does.’
‘You’ll be a long way from home.’
Karen had taken another call. She told Harriet, ‘Car’s waiting downstairs.’
Harriet was impatient. The television crew had finished, they were carrying their gear out of her office. ‘Charlie, I’m not going up the Amazon, I’m going to LA. They have telephones there. I can be back here in twelve hours, if I’m needed.’
‘Sure thing. Well, enjoy yourself. Tell the old tosspot I’m rooting for him.’
Charlie had never met Caspar Jensen, but he made a joke of pretending familiarity with the man and his habits.
‘Thanks, Charlie. Thanks for ringing. Give my love to Jen.’
‘Come back soon.’
Charlie rang off. Karen was looking up at Harriet. ‘Problem?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Harriet said. She would not have admitted anxiety to Charlie. The anxiety, in any case, was well within bounds. She could live with it. She wanted to see Caspar more than she wanted anything else. Her luggage, two small neat suitcases, was waiting for her by the door. If she didn’t go now, she would miss her flight.
‘Shall I ask the driver to come up for your suitcases?’
Harriet picked them up. ‘No, I can manage. Travelling light.’ One Bruce Oldfield evening dress for the big night, not much else.
Alison Shaw came out of Harriet’s office. She was wearing a full skirt that bunched over her hips, and a loose jacket. An unnecessary Burberry was folded over her arm.
‘Thanks for the interview,’ she said.
‘I enjoyed it,’ Harriet lied. They looked at each other for a moment. ‘I must go.’
‘Have a good trip,’ Alison and Karen said together.
In the car, as it turned into the westbound traffic, Harriet was thinking again about Simon. Her thoughts embarked on a predictable circuit and, with a touch of weariness, she let them follow the familiar groove. She sat hunched forward in her seat, containing the discomfort that they gave her. Looking out of the car window, from the little height of the Westway, she saw the cold sparkle of the city. A moment later, her spirits lifted. The groove had led her, as it sometimes did, to her mother. Harriet imagined Kath at home, in her kitchen, at Sunderland Avenue. The big, modern house would be humming with Radio One, and with the sound of vacuum cleaning or the buzz of the electric blender. They were the sounds of Harriet’s adolescence, but not her childhood. Harriet loved her mother. She thought that they were alike, for all the differences in their two lives.
Unusually, Kath had not telephoned her to wish her bon voyage, and Harriet had not found the time to call today. If there was no time to do it from the airport, she would ring as soon as she reached Los Angeles.
On the left of the car, a 747 dipped towards its destination. Harriet watched it as it slid through the sky, and wondered if the sun was shining on the West Coast.
She wouldn’t think about what Charlie had said. When she came home, she would find out where the rumour had sprung from.
London, 1981
It was half past five.
The street outside Harriet’s shop was crowded with office workers flooding towards the tube station.
Harriet finished checking the till, and left a float for Karen who was on the staff rota to open the shop in the morning. She bagged the rest of the day’s takings, ready to be dropped into the night safe on her way past the bank. Then she went through the shop turning off the lights, so that the dazzling mirror-walls became blank, dark curtains. She locked the inner doors and set the alarm, then stepped out into the street. The shop was secure for the night. She paused to look up at the façade. It was pristine white, with the shop’s name, Stepping, in black, identical to the other shops in the chain.
All the Stepping shops sold dance- and exercise-wear, and ranges of associated products. Most of them, as Harriet’s was, were owned by franchises. Franchise-holders ordered from a central range of products, but they chose from the range to suit their own shops. Harriet knew her customers, and had the knack of offering them what they wanted to buy. The shop was in a good location, almost prime, and it was turning over well. Harriet was proud of it, and of her foresight in predicting the dance and exercise boom. She knew that she was doing all the business she could hope to do. If I was in Covent Garden, Harriet thought. But she wasn’t, and she wouldn’t be, not with Stepping.
She had been running her business for nearly five years. She had found the shop when she was twenty-five, and her stepfather had bought the lease for her. She was paying back the principal now. She was grateful to Ken for his generosity, but she was aware that it had been a sound investment for him.
She was less sure, now, whether she was satisfied with it herself. She knew that it would never make her rich, but more importantly it no longer gave her the charge of excitement that it once had.
Harriet turned away from the shop, and dropped the keys into her handbag. She checked to make sure that the envelope containing the cinema tickets was there too. It was Leo who wanted to see the film, and she had booked the tickets to surprise him. Afterwards she planned to treat them both to dinner at the new Thai restaurant.
Harriet forgot about the business. She began to walk briskly, looking forward to the evening with her husband. She
