Lovers and Liars (23 page)

Gini sat for a while, considering this information. A ten-day silence from Appleyard; whorehouse panties. What, if anything, could she deduce from that?

Her next call was the Fashion department. Someone there could surely help with an aspect of this story which had been bothering her ever since the interview with Susannah. Why had the mysterious woman delivering the parcels been so memorably and so identifiably dressed?

her way to the Fashion department, she passed the picture s office. Its door was.open, and the room beyond was

ded with men. Half the Art department were in there, toer with a large and raucous contingent of sub-editors. Men d over into the corridor, blocking her path. Something was g passed from hand to hand. There were whispers, cat-calls whoops.

i stopped. One of the men, slightly sheepishly, handed her photographs.

martine.’ He grinned. ‘We’re finalizing the lay-out. Jenkins just given the OK. We’re running them tomorrow. What d’you V

me on, Gini/ someone shouted from beyond. ‘Give us the an’s viewpoint. Hot or notT

ere was more laughter. Gini looked down at the pictures. Swan was instantly recognizable, and so was the welln French Cabinet Minister in her embrace. The movie-star’s um hair was tousled. Her lips, newly injected with siliaccording to the latest gossip-column reports, were parted. throat was arched back. She was naked to the waist; the net Minister was cupping her right breast to his mouth; ngue lapped her nipple.

is one we can’t run on the front,’ said the picture editor, ing from his office, and peering at the picture over Gini’s Ider, an assessing look on his face. ‘Alas. Inside, maybe. ns is in two minds. He thinks it’s a bit hot. We’re running over six pages. Dynamite, yesT

-cal Lamartine took theseT Gini said, feeling sick.

else? The whole place was guarded. Guards, fucking anns, would you believe? God knows how he got in but he did.’

ell, the frog can kiss goodbye to the Presidency after this.’ picture editor grinned. ‘Serves him right, arrogant little shit. hey, there might be a headline there … ‘ He turned to ompanions. ‘Sonia Swan - and the minister is a write-off. ong, how about that?’

ns greeted this attempt. The crowd of men ebbed back the picture editor’s office. Gini handed the pictures back

… …g assistant editor. She offered no comment, but

e her wav down the corridor to the lift. When its doors ed, she iound herself face to face with Nicholas Jenkins. ns radiated importance: his senior minion, a Glaswegian

by the name of Daiches, stood next to him, adoring and taking notes.

‘It’s OK,’ Gini said, ‘I’m waiting to go down,’

‘No, you’re not.’ Jenkins beckoned. ‘Up. In my office. Five minutes. Daiches, tell them I need that quote from the Elys6e in the next fifteen minutes. Is the minister’s position secure, yes or no? They’ve had all fucking day. If they can’t get a statement, then fucking well invent one. Just say “spokesman”, but make it convincing. Who does frogspeak?’

‘Holmes can do the Elys6e style. Or Mitchell.’

Daiches, widely known in the offices as Jenkins’s representative on earth, was mild of manner. This was deceptive. He was Jenkins’s eyes and ears. When Jenkins decided to dispense with a journalist’s services, a not uncommon occurrence, it was Daiches who did the firing. His pale eyes fixed on Gini as she entered the lift. He had never liked her, and she detested him. He acknowledged her presence with a slight inclination of the head.

‘Mitchell,’ Jenkins said. ‘Put Mitchell on to it.’

Daiches nodded, and made a note. They had reached the fifteenth floor. Jenkins strode across the Wilton. Through the outer office, through the inner office, where a number of waiting hacks leaped to their feet.

‘Not now. Not now. No time. Daiches, deal with this.’ Jenkins brushed them aside. He strode ahead into the sanctum, Gini at his heels. One of his telephones was ringing. Jenkins snatched it up. With exquisite politeness, he said, ‘No fucking calls for the next fucking five minutes, all right, Charlotte?’ and slammed the receiver back in place.

He sat. Gini stood at the other side of the desk. Jenkins acted power energetically for another minute or two, consulting papers on his desk. Then he looked up.

‘Progress?’ he said. ‘Yes. Quite a bit.’

‘You’ve found McMullen?’

‘Maybe. We have another address. I-‘

‘No time. Never mind the details. Check back with me Monday when all hell isn’t breaking loose.’ He moved a piece of paper half an inch. ‘What about telephone sexT

Gini hesitated. ‘I’ve put that to one side, for the moment. I thought you wanted me to concentrate on the Hawthorne story. You said-!

‘Jesus. You can walk and chew gum at the same time, can’t youT

fSure, Nicholas.’

en do it. Work on them both.’ He looked down at his desk n irritable way. ‘Anything else?’

was characteristic of Jenkins when in this mood, to summon ees, then behave as if they had sought him. Gini, who w this, ignored his tone.

ere is one thing/ she said. ‘Who else here knew about the home story, Nicholas? AnyoneT

told vou. You, me, Pascal. That’s it.’ aiche’s doesn’t know, for instanceT

ow many times do I have to say it? No, he does not. This was lead, and it’s my story. I’ve nursed it along, and I’ve kept it er wraps … What are you smiling atT

othing, Nicholas. I just thought it might be my story too. And I’s, of course.’

it is. So it is. So just don’t fucking well cock-up on it, that’s all He paused. ‘And tell Pascal to watch his fucking expenses, is a newspaper, not the Royal Mint.’

e. I’ll tell him that, Nicholas.’

began to move towards the door. Jenkins gave her a sharp

ou and Pascal? You’re getting along all right? Good chemistry?’ ine so far. Yes.’

ell, just keep it that way. I need teamwork on this. You d learn a lot from Pascal.’

Im sure I could.’

ou’ve seen the Sonia Swan picturesT He gave her a sudden ile of entirely fake benevolence.

I saw them just now.’

reat, aren’t they?’ He rose to his feet, crossed the carpet, and his arm around her shoulders. ‘Give Pascal a message from will vou? Tell him I’m increasing the print-run tomorrow by her hundred thousand. That Sonia Swan - we’ve got her going n on that minister, you know, right in front of his bodyguard. you believe that? Pascal got the whole thing. We can’t run

pictures, obviously, but we can hint … ‘ He patted Gini’s Ider. ‘Meantime, word’s out. The Mail and the Express are ng gallstones. Tell Pascal. Another hundred thousand on the

kint-run. Tomorrow, we wipe those ass-holes off the streets.’ L Fashion department was in chaos, as usual. They were arOnging a big shoot.

‘Ball-gowns in SiberiaT Gini said.

‘Not quite.’ Her friend Lindsay, the fashion editor, smiled. ‘Bondage clothing, couture-style. In Martinique.’

‘Lindsay, listen. I need a favour. Would you call Chanel for me? They know you. They’ll talk to you. Chanel, and a couple of other places. Tbere’re some details I need checking on a sable coat-‘

‘A sable coat? Bloody heU.’ Lindsay grinned. ‘You do know there’re virtually no furriers left in London, do you? Not even Harrods sells fur coats now.’

‘There must be some, Lindsay.’ ‘Yes. One or two. What elseT

‘Nothing difficult. Chanel accessories. A Chanel suit. This Chanel suit, and these accessories.’

Gini produced the relevant page from December Vogue. Lindsay looked at it.

‘Oh, I remember that. It’s lovely. Classic stuff.’

‘Yes. Well, I want to know who bought it. Ditto the coat. And I can give you a pretty exact date.’ Gini explained the details. When she had finished, Lindsay gave her a speculative look.

‘WhyT she said.

‘Never mind why, Lindsay. Just help me out. Please. If I try they’ll clam up. If you try it’ll take you ten minutes. Less.’

‘Oh, very well. Since it’s you… ‘ She paused. ‘Hey, I hear you’re working with Pascal Lamartine, is that trueT

‘Who said thatT

‘I can’t remember. Someone. I thought - Gini gets all the luck. Tall, dark, handsome, smouldering. Deeply sexy.’

‘Cut it out, Lindsay. He’s not my type.’

‘I’d load his film for him any time.’ Lindsay laughed. ‘D’you think I could persuade him to do a fashion shootT

‘No, Lindsay, I don’t.’

‘Pity. It could be interesting. Seriously. It’s erotic. Snatched photographs, the paparazzi approach …

‘Secrets are erotic, that’s why … ‘

‘And how. Have you seen his Sonia Swan stuff? Unbelievable. Can you imagine, lying in the undergrowth, shooting that? D’you think he gets turned on by it?’

‘I haveWt the slightest idea.’

‘Defensive, defensive … OK, OK. I’ll say no more. I know when to back off. I thought you said he wasn’t your typeT ‘Lindsay .

dsay gave Gini a close look, then made a gesture of mocknder. ‘Not another word. I swear. Your secret’s safe with

dsay, just call those stores for me, would youT

g t, right. I’m doing it now. Don’t bite my head off.’

say began to work the phones. While she did so, Ginibegan f through the directories of fashion models. Susannah at ICD a good witness, she thought, an exceptionally good witness what had been her first reaction when the woman delivering parcels walked into reception? That she n-dght have been a

1. Gini frowned: the woman wasn’t Mrs J. A. Hamilton. nnah’s instincts might have been correct.

pile of directories was thick: Models One, Storm, Elite. Face beautiful face. She stared down at the pictures. The ease with these women could transform themselves was unnerving;

was Evangelista as a blonde, a redhead, a brunette …

er a half-hour, Lindsay completed her calls. She crossed to and handed her a sheaf of notes. She was looking pleased herself.

read down the notes with astonishment, and with mounting ent. She made no comment. When she had finished, she ‘You’re totally certain about thisT

dsay nodded. ‘One hundred per cent. I know the manager nel well. I spoke to him personally. There’s no mistake.’ uld they often make an arTangement like thatT

a famous customer? A good customer? Sure, what do you

7’ She looked at Gini closely. ‘You look excited, Gini - and I that look. Is this important? Something big?’

o, not really … ‘ Gini said hastily. ‘Just background. Thank Lindsay. Oh, and don’t mention to anyone that I was asking,

0’

ot a word, I pron-tise.’

dsay began to turn away. She yawned and stretched, and at the chaos of this office. She had hours of work yet. glanced back at Gini, who was now gathering up her varibelongings. She frowned: she could see that there really something wrong, for Gini’s features wore a tight, closed,

expression, as if she were concentrating on her work, yes t also fighting something else. It was unusual for Gini to ‘table, she thought: they were good friends, in fact Gini her closest friend at the News, and she could rarely rer seeing Gini this tense.

As Gini reached out for her coat, Lindsay stopped her. ‘Hey, slow down/ she said. ‘Gini, are you OKT

‘No. Not really. No. I’m not.’ Gini gave her a quick look then shrugged. ‘You know how it is. This damn place .

‘CoffeeT Lindsay looked at her closely. She and Gini were used to speaking in a kind of female shorthand in which the offer of coffee was also the offer to talk.

Gini hesitated. ‘I shouldn’t … maybe ten minutes .

‘I could use a break myself. Come into my office. It’s less like bedlam in there.’

‘All right. Thanks, Lindsay. I forgot about lunch. Coffee would be good. But ten minutes only, then I must rush.’

Lindsay smiled. ‘You rush too much/ she said. ‘One of your problems, Gini. What are you afraid of? Actually having some time to think?’

As soon as they were in Lindsay’s office, and the door was closed, Gini began to pace. She had just put on her overcoat. Now she took it off again, and threw it down on a chair. It was followed by the scarf she had been wearing, by the overflowing bag she always carried, by a pair of scarlet gloves. Lindsay watched this divesting take place, and put the kettle on to boil. In the cruel fluorescent office lighting, Gini’s fair hair took on a silver tinge; the light sharpened the planes of her face.

‘Christ, Lindsay/ she said, still pacing. ‘I can’t stand it much longer. This place, the men who work in this place … ‘

Lindsay said nothing. Gini appeared oblivious to her in any case, and she had never, on any occasion in the past, seen Gini behave like this. Normally, Gini kept herself on the tightest of reins. Lindsay had often wondered how much that cost her. Well, now she saw, she thought.

‘How can you bear it, Lindsay?’ Gini swung around to look at her, then began pacing again. ‘The endless looks, the sniggers, the language, the innuendo, the little pats when you’re at the Xerox machine, the taking orders from men like Nicholas Jenkins, and all the time, you can never ever say what you truly think, because you’re a woman, and so you have to tread so damn carefully, can’t lose your temper, can’t speak your mind, because if you did, if you did - then that would just prove all their points?’

She swung around again. ‘Don’t you think you’d like to speak the truth, just occasionally, tell them what you really think of them and not care that then they’ll put you down as hysterical, or having

period - or being a ball-breaker. Oh, Lindsay, don’t you ever you could stop acting, acting, just for onceT

ere was a silence. Lindsay made the coffee. She put it on her Gini continued pacing. With a sudden angry gesture, she the band tying back her hair, so it fell across her shoulders

across her face. Lindsay watched her toss that hair back, and ue to pace, as if this office were a cage. She looked a little and a little magnificent, Lindsay thought, like a maenad,

some wonderful and anarchic embodiment of female force. have my own domain, Gini,’ she said eventually. ‘It’s a le domain, so I’m safe. They don’t trespass in here and ey do I can tell them to fuck off. They don’t mind. Fashdoesn’t threaten thern.’