Mike shook his head, but the expected telling-off didn’t come. ‘And you think it might affect our chances with Marcie?’
I nodded.
He picked up a fountain pen and absently balanced it across the pad of his index finger. Even gravity bent to his will. The tortoiseshell pen started to list to one side, but with a flash of his military-sharp reflexes, he flicked his wrist and righted it. ‘He seemed quite amenable to me. In fact, he said Marcie is considering giving her first interview in almost ten years, and he thinks we’d be a good fit.’
I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘Good? We’d be abrilliantfit!’ I was already picturing the four-page spread: arty shots of Marcie in a run-down country house. Her wild hair black against crumbling Bath stone...
‘—in exchange for something.’
I hit pause on the movie in my head. ‘In exchange for what?’
Mike smiled tightly.
I groaned. Nick’s lecture on bartering made sense now. ‘He wants us to redo the Hands Down review? I told him—’
Mike let the pen drop onto his desk. ‘A feature – double-page, plus the cover.’
I pinched the bridge of my nose. ‘I see. And is he also going to tell us what font to use?’
‘You saw what happened to sales with just one review of Hands Down. Why chase Marcie, who’s practically a ghost?’
‘BecauseRe:Soundhas never been about boy bands. Can’t you see the irony of it? Hands Down want our credibility to rub off on them, but every time we feature them they leach it away. I can’t stand back and watch the magazine I’ve loved since I was thirteen turn into a celebrity rag.’
‘I sympathise, Zoë, but there’s more at stake than just our credibility. We’re talking about the survival of the magazine. I’m doing everything I can to keep the Octagon board happy, but if circulation doesn’t hit their targets, they’ll pull the plug.’
The words made my breath catch in my throat.
‘They’ve threatened to close us down?’
He nodded.
I’d known this was coming, of course, but had tried not to think about it. I’d prayed that the magazine’s reputation would be enough to keep Octagon off our backs a bit longer. But now the nightmare threat of closure was a sudden and glaring reality.
‘I’ve told them we’ve got a major scoop in the pipeline, in time for the September issue, but we need to go back to them with increased ad sales and proof of increased circulation figures before the board meets in two months’ time.’
‘No pressure then, Mike.’
I tried not to let the enormity of what he was saying derail me. Concentrate on the next step forward – getting the Marcie interview.
‘What was Nick like with you, by the way?’ I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
‘Seemed like a perfectly nice chap,’ said Mike.
I mentally rolled my eyes. Nick Jones was high-handed, rude and arrogant.Nicewas not the adjective that immediately sprang to mind.
‘Where did he come from, anyway?’ I said. ‘Why have I never heard of him?’
‘He’s been doing wonders for Pinnacle’s artists in South America. Speaks Spanish like a native. French and Italian, too, I’m told. He’s trilingual.’
‘Of course he is,’ I muttered.
Mike frowned. ‘Except, when you add English, that’s four languages. What’s the word for that?’
‘Tosser.’
He smiled.
‘It sounds like he moves around a lot,’ I said, brightening. ‘Maybe he won’t be in London long.’
