Career Girls (4 page)

Rowena felt herself surrounded by bodies in college colours, hundreds of them, all seething forward towards the bank, shouting and clapping. Somebody flung an arm round her. She flung an arm round somebody. The college

was going berserk.

‘House! House!’

They were about to cut the boat loose. Rowena was lost

in a press of navy blue, thrown forward towards the mooring boards. ‘I can’t see anything!’ she complained to no one in particular.

Suddenly she felt herself being lifted up from behind, as lightly as a doll, and hoisted backwards over the heads of the crowd. Amazed, she looked down, to see Peter ducking between her legs, supporting her on his shoulders. She had a perfect view of the boat, the river, everything.

The back of Peter Kennedy’s strong neck pressed against

her white cotton panties.

It felt good.

‘Put me down!’ she insisted, weakly. He grinned up at her. ‘Later.’ With a roar from the crowd, the Christ Church boat sprang away from its moorings, finding the stroke at once. The eight rowers moved in perfect harmony into the water their oars churning it up at terrific speed, chasing the Oriel first boat. The supporters on the bank immediately broke up and started to run alongside it, screaming encouragement at the tops of their voices and cursing the rival crew amicably. Peter ran with them, carrying Rowena above him, his hands holding her thighs in an iron grip, ignoring her protests. Her weight was evidently nothing to him.

Rowena, startled, cheered and shouted with the rest. It was too much fun. Besides which, she couldn’t help but think, every single person here could see her getting into it, supporting her college - she’d be kind of hard to miss, with her fair hair streaming out behind her like a banner, piggybacking on top of Peter Kennedy.

There was a cry of triumph as Christ Church inexorably

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rammed into the tail of the Oriel boat.

‘Bumped!’ Peter yelled. He reached up and swung Rowena gracefully down from his back with one hand.

She touched her feet to the ground, smoothing down her

dress, suddenly embarrassed, wondering what to say. ‘We win again,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Peter,’ she muttered.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, casually. ‘That was fun. Let’s do it again some time,’ he suggested.

Rowena Gordon blushed bright red, nodded as coldly as she could, and walked offdown the path.

Cherwell was buzzing.

It was two weeks to the Union elections, and it looked like they were going to be close. Every college was being hacked full-throttle by eager candidates from the opposing slates. Each new day brought a fresh crop of rumour, treachery anti malicious gossip; Tori had defected, Joss wasn’t pulling his weight, rival candidates were still sleeping with each other … Topaz loved it. It was an editor’s dream.

Of course, the biggest rumour of all was that Peter Kennedy and Rowena Gordon were on the verge of doing a deal. If that happened, all bets were off. Rowena would be home free, the first woman President of the Union for five years. Gilbert Docker needed Peter to survive.

Whenever Rowena or Gilbert went round to Peter, the news trickled back to Cherwell. Mostly Topaz didn’t report it. She wanted to throw as much weight as she could behind her best friend, and she concentrated on articles about Gilbert’s sexism or the bully-boy tctics, of his followers. God only knew they made the best reading; one of her writers at St Anne’s had come in just that morning with a story of how Gilbert’s Secretary candidate, a popular Scottish guy reading law, had stuck a ten-inch carving knife into the door of his female opponent on Rowena’s slate. Topaz had been ecstatic; the story was dynamite. She’d lead this Friday’s edition on it.

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The only thing she would not do was interfere personally. Rowena had asked her to take over with Peter three times this week, but Topaz always turned her down flat. She knew what the Presidency meant to Rowena, but evenso, she couldn’t risk her boyfriend over it.

‘Have you seen my layout for the jobs pages?’ Rupert asked, weaving in between their rickety photocopiers with a full cup of coffee. ‘I’m sure I left it on top of my desk… ‘

Topaz shook her head, preoccupied with the carving knife. College authorities had pulled it out of Lisa’s door, and she was wondering if she could get away with sticking a similar knife in the door and taking a photo of that.

‘You’re bloody useless, Rupe,’ Gareth Kelly said. ‘We had two thousand quids’ worth of advertising from McKinsey in that.’

I’ll find it, OK?’ promised her deputy editor, sounding harassed. Rupert was scatty and untidy, but a great journalist. Topaz could see that clearly. Even on a college paper he had a knack for ferreting out the real stories: single-parent students, harassing tutors, tkupe had been the first to congratulate her on her Times commission. He was the only person on the staffwho realized it meant more than a Łx5o cheque.

‘Here.it is,’ shouted Jane Edwards, the features editor. Rupert leaned gratefully across and grabbed it, answering the phone at the same time and slopping coffee all over his desk.

‘Cherwell. Yeah. Who should I say is calling?’

He handed the receiver to Topaz with a wink. ‘It’s for you. Geoffrey Stevens at The Times.’

Topaz grabbed the phone, swinging her long legs over

the desk to reach it. Every guy in the place sighed mentally. ‘Miss Rossi?’ asked a cool voice.

‘That’s me,’ Topaz replied, trying to sound flip and unconcerned. She’d posted off her article two days ago. What if the guy hated it?

‘This is Geoffrey Stevens,’ he said. ‘We received your article on student benefits yesterday. We were won. dering if

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you might like to consider a new use for it?’

Topaz’s heart sank. It wasn’t good enough for the Educational Supplement. ‘What did you have in mind?’ she asked.

‘I think this is a bit too good to tuck away in a supplement,’ Stevens said. ‘I’ve shown it to the features editor and he agrees with me-we want to use it in the main paper.’

Topaz put out a hand to steady herself against the desk. She was too stunned to speak.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Stevens went on, ‘you’re wondering where we’re going to put it. And you’re right, of course, that’s a problem just at the minute. We’re full up, but if you can bear to wait a fortnight we’ll run it two weeks on Monday. Would that be OK?’

‘That’d be fine,’ Topaz said, trying not to sound too overjoyed.

‘Terrific! I’hoped I could count on you. And send me some more, if you’ve got it. We’re always looking for new talent.’

‘Thanks, I will,’ said Topaz. She hung up, and looked at the six faces gazing at her expectantly.

‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m in!’

Rowena planned her campaign with military care. Every speech was dramatic. Every outfit was sexy. Every hack on her slate had his or her orders, and everyone followed them. Rowena had found out whothe weak links were early on, kept them out of slate meetings and assigned them to the

smallest colleges. She just wasn’t taking risks. She wanted to be President of the Union. She wanted it badly.

She would do almost anything to win.

And that was the problem. Because in this case, ‘anything’ involved Peter Edward Kennedy, her best friend’s boyfriend, the power behind Gilbert’s throne. The one man who could hand her what she wanted on a golden plate.

Since that first meeting, Kennedy had swung back and

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forth like a pendulum. Yes, he would support her. No, he’d given his word. OK, Gilbert was a sexist and an elitist. He would back her slate. Well, maybe he wasn’t sure …

Rowena knew she could not let this go. However annoyed, however exasperated she got, she never let it show. If Peter Kennedy could be won over, it was worth

any effort. It was worth going to see him four times a week. And that was the real problem.

Rowena Gordon, the proverbial ice maiden, was having

to deal with something more than annoyance. Something so new she didn’t even recognize it at first, but which slowly took a hold of her, until it was all she could do to control herself. She was falling for Peter.

Every day she had to deal with it. He forced her to sit in

his rooms and discuss politics with him, a subject which normally fascinated her. But with Peter Kennedy she found she was tuning out. She wasn’t listening to him, she was watching his lips move. The square, bold set of his jaw. The thick flaxen hair. The well-developed muscles sliding under the brown, healthy skin.

Peter entranced her. He was so intelligent, so masculine,

so assured. Normally Rowena despised men of her own class: wimpy chinless wonders, the lot of them. Gilbert Docker was a typical specimen. But Peter Kennedy wasn’t like that. He was a thorough gentleman, but he was sexual too. He was graceful, but he obviously knew how to fight. He was accomplished, but he was also a fiercely competitive athlete. He interested her. He excited her.

‘What do you want out of life?’ he asked her. ‘When is it enough?’

‘I want everything!’ Rowena replied. ‘It’s never enough!’ ‘When you die, they’ll put “Dreamer” on your gravestone,’ Peter said, looking at her admiringly. ‘You remind me of something Henry Ford once said- “Whether you think you can, or whether you think you can’t, you are right. ”’

She’d glowed with pleasure at his approval.

She knew it was dangerous. She knew it was. wrong.

3°

Topaz was in love with him, for God’s sake! But what could she do? Without Peter’s backing she might fail. And failure was something Rowena Gordon wouldn’t stand for.

She began to get angry with Topaz. Why couldn’t she do this? Peter was her boyfriend. He’d listen to her. If Topaz would talk to him, she wouldn’t have to torment herself, but no, her friend just refused to help. It was the first breach that had come between them. Topaz wouldn’t even discuss it. She’s too absorbed with her goddamn paper, Rowena thought angrily. Student Journalist of the Year. Young Editor of the Year. Future Times columnist.

So Rowena walked in and out of Christ Church’s magnificent Tudor stone four times a week, because Kennedy refused to let her off the hook. He wanted to be persuaded, talked into it. He told Rowena he enjoyed her company, that she was beautiful, brilliant and enthralling, and that since he had all the cards, she’d have to humour him. °

Rowena tried to convince herself that this annoyed her.

Silk. Satin. Swirling chiffon. The lawns of St Hilda’s were covered in ballgowns. Thin, sparkling sheaths clung tightly to their owners’ bodies, short, bias-cut numbers displayed miles of pretty calves, and old-fashioned crinoline gowns swept regally to the ground, their delicate hems brushing the close-mown grass. The only women’s college left at Oxford was preparing for the Union Ball.

‘What do you think?’ Topaz demanded. She struck a pose against an oak tree wreathed in white dog-roses.

‘Very sexy,’ Rowena Said. Topaz was wearing a tiny, barely-there outfit of navy velvet Which.contrasted beautifully with her auburn hair, bright blue eyes and healthy tanned skin. The dress was boned at the ribs to emphasize her magnificent breasts, and cut off six inches above the knee, displaying acres of firm, rounded thighs. It was a knockout; even the old porters couldn’t stop staring at her.

Rowena tried to hide her disapproval. What did Topaz think she was wearing? She looked like a tramp. That little

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scrap of fabric hardly hid her underwear. How could - she tried to smother her snobbery, but failed - a gentleman like Peter Kennedy want to date her? She was so brazen!

‘Do you think it’s possibly a little short?’ she added coldly.

‘What’s the matter, am I embarrassing you? Huh?’ Topaz grinned. ‘Wondering what Peter’s going to do with me when he checks this out?’

Rowena blushed scarlet.

‘Hey, hey, I’m only teasing,’ Topaz said hastily. ‘You’re getting a little uptight these days, that’s all.’

‘Election pressure,’ offered Rowena, ashamed of herself.

She was letting jealousy sour her friendship.

‘You look wonderful,’ Topaz said warmly. ‘Fantastic.

It’s a little conservative for me, but I’m sure it’ll win you hundreds of votes. Who could see you tonight and not vote for you?’

Rowena had chosen a family heirloom, an antique Regency gown in light pink silk. It was embroidered with a subtle design of heather sprigs, picked out on the bodice in cloth-of-gold. She was wearing her long hair straight, ltting it tumble in a blonde curtain over her shoulders. Her shoes were satin heels from Chanel, and she was carrying a small fan and an elegant clutch bag. Long washed-silk gloves reached up to her elbows. Cinderella would have been proud.

‘Thanks,’ Rowena smiled. ‘That’s the idea.’

Topaz glanced at her again, more slowly. ‘You devious bitch,’ she said affectionately. ‘They could stick a picture of you in the dictionary next to “l/dylike”. It’s all part of the masterplan, am I right? Look feminine, talk feminist? You’ll hook the women with their ears and the men with their

eyes.

Rowena laughed. ‘For a foreigner, you’re a quick learner. ‘

A porter shuffled across the manicured lawns towards them. ‘Taxi, Miss Rossi,’ he said.

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So when are they printing it?’

‘Two weeks from yesterday,’ Topaz said. The taxi crawled across Magdalen Bridge, the Gothic splendour of the college rearing up to her right. Undergraduates in full evening dress were picking their way along the High Street, but Rowena didn’t want to walk. Not that the locals paid any attention. Every year, ball dresses, dinner jackets and drunken students were a standard fixture in the summer term. ‘And he asked me to give him some more stuff, said they were always looking for talent … ‘

Excitement and happiness bubbled in her voice.

‘They’ll print it right after the election,’ remarked Rowena. It was so close now. Anxiety balled in her stomach like a fist. She must win, she must! The Presidency of the Union would be her crowning achievement so far. After she graduated, she was going to give everything up, sink herself into rock music, carve out a new life. Mavericks like David Geffen were her heroes. But all that had to wait. Rowena Gordon was totally single-minded, it was part of her control. If she was going to drop out later, fine. But she had to drop out as a winner, and the Presidency was the ultimate prize.