tedious.’
‘Better give me a few more days, just in case. And maybe tell me your free afternoons and evenings. Sometimes they can be more productive.’ He jotted down the dates she gave. ‘Good. I’ll come back to you when I’ve firmed things up. And, as I said, I’ll get that contract written up with our terms et cetera. It’s all pretty standard. On the assumption that you sign, welcome aboard,’ he said, standing up and holding out his hand.
She stood up, too, aware that her skirt had ridden up and was nudging the top of her thighs. She pulled it down a little. ‘Thanks very much,’ she said, taking his hand. Look at me being all businesslike, she thought. I’m like Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde. Only better, because I’m taller and, though I say it myself, better-looking. Better-sounding in the name department, too. Witherspoon. That is just so…so…withering. She made sure her handshake was firm, but not too firm.
Matthew, meanwhile, was contemplating how attractive she would look spreadeagled on his leather bed.
Outside, on the pavement, Keera phoned Simon. She was skilled enough in the politics of office life never to let her annoyance show. ‘Hello, Simon,’ she said, ‘Keera here. Are you busy?’
‘Not for you,’ he said, adjusting his trousers and checking his watch. He was out by an hour. Must be losing his touch. Although he’d been right that she would be the first to ring.
‘Just to let you know that obviously I’m delighted we’re going on a little roadshow,’ she said. ‘Brilliant idea. I was just wondering whether it was worth one of us staying in the studio because, as we know, with the best will in the world, things can go wrong and you could do with a safe pair of hands to anchor it.’ She really didn’t want to be traipsing round the country meeting the hoi polloi and being pawed by local dignitaries. It was so depressing.
‘Hmm,’ said Simon, pretending to think about it. ‘So we’d have Rod back in the studio, you mean?’
Keera laughed her new laugh. Only lower. Finally, she thought. Absolutely pitch perfect. ‘Whatever,’ she said, pertly. ‘Although, as the main presenter, I was actually thinking that perhaps it should be me…’ She tailed off.
‘Oh,’ said Simon, examining the chewed cuticles on his left hand and smiling to himself. ‘I saw the main presenter as the one who was going to be at the hub. And the hub will be wherever we’re going to be. The other person will be the co-anchor, and there’ll be less for them to do. Which was why it was going to be you. But if you’re happy with Rod being main presenter for the week…’
Keera had been caught out. She had insisted on being described in all correspondence as the main presenter. How very annoying.
‘Keera?’
‘Yes, still here. Sorry. I couldn’t hear you. I’m standing on the street and a lorry just went past.’
‘I said that the main presenter…’
‘Yes, I heard you,’ she snapped.
‘Oh. I thought you said you hadn’t,’ he said, pretending he’d believed her.
‘I meant I hadn’t quite heard you. Or wasn’t sure I’d heard you correctly. The thing is…well, to be honest, I have a number of evening corporate events, which I’m hosting.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about that,’ he said, not sounding even remotely sorry, ‘but you’re going to have to sort that out yourself. I’m sure you’ll be able to get to one or two. You won’t be on another continent, after all.’
She realized she had been comprehensively snookered. That idiot Rod would get the cushy job of sitting on the sofa, while she trailed round Britain staying at hideous hotels with the camera crew, interviewing the general public. Hateful. And she would be losing money. There was no way she’d be able to get to and from the corporate gigs if she was in the wilds of bloody Wales, for bloody example. At least it wouldn’t be annoying for her new agent because they’d been set up by the previous one.
She phoned Matthew to see if Hello Britain! could force her to go if she decided to put her foot down.
‘Moot point,’ he said, moving his chair back from the desk and imagining her in lingerie. ‘You could push it if you wanted. But it’s a high-risk strategy. It might result in them not only sticking to their guns but demanding a change in your contract–and you really don’t want that. On balance, I think you’ll have to grin and bear it. As soon as we know where you’re going to be, we can book cars or flights or whatever. And those corporates you absolutely can’t do–well, I’ll have a word with your previous agent. Since he arranged them, it’s up to him to farm them out to someone else. I can always help him with names from our books, too.’
How annoying, Keera thought, as she hailed a cab home. She’d earmarked that money for a new car. A Mercedes SLK convertible in silver. Or possibly black. She’d have to check which one looked nicer with her hair–silver might be a better contrast.
Her co-presenter was also annoyed about the arrangements for the week of outside broadcasts. Rod had assumed that he would be the one going on the road, and had told his wife and daughter. He had been looking forward to getting away from home.
And, to complete the hat-trick, Heather was annoyed, too. Simon had decided that there was to be a plastic-surgery strand the week after the OBs and that, to save on health and safety issues with the public, producers would volunteer to undergo the procedures. He already had candidates for Botox, fillers and ears pinning. He had persuaded Heather to have her eyebags done. It had been a double whammy for her. Number one: she didn’t fancy going under the knife, even though it was a local anaesthetic and she’d be straight out. Number two: she didn’t think she needed it. But when she’d told a friend how she’d been press-ganged into having her eyelids sliced off, her friend had told her she was lucky. Lucky!
Katie Fisher caught up with all the gossip late that afternoon when she saw her senior producer friend, Richard, who had finished his stint of overnights and was about to have four days off. She caught the tube and an overground train to Twickenham, then went into a delicatessen where she bought a bottle of white, a bottle of red, some cheese, olives and a box of chocolate-covered ginger, to which she knew he was partial.
‘Provisions,’ she declared, as he opened the door.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ he responded, with a smile. ‘We were down to our last weevil.’
‘You look like shit,’ she said, giving him a hug and moving a small dumper truck off one of the chairs.
‘Why, thank you, kind lady. I wish I could say the same for you, but sadly you look great. Have you done something new to your hair?’
‘Washed it. It’s probably shrunk. You know how it is.’
Richard ran his hand through his receding hairline. ‘That’s not kind. Mine’s not so much shrinking as disappearing. I’ve got to the stage where I talk about past events as “when I had hair”.’
‘I’d feel sorry for you, except you’re such a damned fine figure of a man that you look more handsome without it,’ she declared.
‘I knew I liked you. Let’s open the first bottle of wine and have all our week’s units in one fell swoop. When do you have to go?’ he asked, opening the tub of olives and putting them on the table.
