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‘Wrong, sweetheart! I’m up, but I’m going to be late because I’m on Breakfast with Britain this morning. Thought you might like to catch me on the show.’
‘Was this cleared with PR? You know you have to tell them if you do any publicity?’
‘I’m telling you now, aren’t I?’
‘You won’t talk about Derek, will you? Billy won’t like it if you do, Mike! If they ask, change the subject.’
‘Oh, of course,’ he said, and there was something slyly amused in his voice that raised hairs on the back of her head. ‘Don’t forget to watch. Oh – and how about today’s papers, eh? Dear me.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ she began angrily, but he had hung up.
Harriet buzzed for her assistant. ‘Are today’s papers in the office yet?’
‘No, they should be arriving any minute, though.’
‘Well, bring them in the minute they get here.’
Harriet picked up her zapper and switched on the television in the corner of her office. After changing channels to find the right one, she left the sound turned down and went on with her work on the shooting script she was annotating. Every few minutes she glanced up at the TV screen.
The intercom on her desk buzzed. ‘Annie and Sean have got here,’ her secretary briskly told her. ‘Sean’s on his way up here. Annie is going to make-up.’
‘Thanks.’ Harriet took a look at the TV screen again but there was as yet no sign of Mike. She was in a hurry to finish her work on the day’s script so she got back to that; she had the sort of mind that could work on several problems at once without getting confused or losing concentration.
A tap on the door. ‘Come in,’ she called and Sean walked in, freshly shaved, his hair brushed down, looking alert and awake. He took up a perch on the side of her desk, his jeans-clad leg swinging.
‘Hi. Annie’s in make-up.’
‘Great.’ Harriet felt a leap of awareness at his proximity; he was not a man you could ignore when he was in the same room, but close up he was dynamite. She felt her mouth go dry. A pity he didn’t feel the same way. It took two. She knew from his absorbed expression that he barely realised she was a woman. At least Billy noticed that. Impatiently, she asked, ‘Everything OK with Annie? Did she sleep?’
Sean didn’t pick up any vibes from Harriet; he was too busy thinking about Annie. ‘Yes, she’s a little shaky this morning, but I think she’s OK. The police will want to talk to her later. I suggest we ask them to make it at midday, then we can get a morning’s work done.’
‘Good thinking.’ Harriet relaxed, gave him an approving smile; work was what mattered most to her too. If Sean didn’t fancy her, well, too bad. She turned back to her script but a moment later out of the corner of her eye caught sight of Mike’s face on the TV screen and reached for her zapper, turned up the sound.
Sean looked across the office, grimaced. ‘What’s he doing on that show?’
‘Being charming, I hope to God,’ Harriet said with feeling. ‘And nothing else.’
‘You don’t think he’ll say anything about Fenn, or Annie?’ Sean stood up, his body tense. ‘I’ll kill him if he does!’
The presenter was talking about Mike with gushing enthusiasm. ‘Star of “The Force” … one of the top names in television … Mike Waterford. Here today to talk to us about his shock over the violent and tragic death of his colleague on the series, Derek Fenn.’
Mike looked sincere and shocked.
‘One of his three expressions,’ said Sean.
‘Don’t be unfair to Mike. He can act.’ But Harriet was grinning.
‘He can’t act. He just exercises his sex appeal on television!’
Mike suddenly disappeared from the screen – apparently there was another item first, one with a man with a hat full of baby chicks which kept escaping and running all over the table in front of the two presenters. Harriet turned down the sound again as her secretary rushed in with a pile of the day’s newspapers. Her expression told Harriet that the news was bad.
Snatching up the top tabloid, Harriet looked at the front page and groaned.
‘Oh, my God!’
‘What do they say?’ Sean took another paper and began to read, making furious noises. He threw the paper on the floor and grabbed another. He read that, muttering angry words, screwed it up and hurled it across the room.
‘They’re all the same,’ Harriet said unhappily; she had read several too. ‘You don’t even need to read between the lines – they’re practically accusing Annie outright of being this woman who was seen with Derek in a pub. The way they’ve written the story, you’d have to be stupid not to get what they’re saying.’
