The Cinderella Reflex (14 page)

The phone went dead and Helene tossed it into her bag. She looked at the tropical fish in their aquarium and envied them their simple life. Then she belted up her robe, shoved her feet into her slippers and went up to her bedroom to pack. She’d had only one night here but she checked out with little regret. Spas were not really her thing, she realised, as she threw her weekend case into the boot of her car. She was far too dynamic for all that sitting around.

By the time she arrived home, however, Helene was feeling far from dynamic. Her stomach felt sick and her right ear was itching like mad – probably from that Hopi ear candle therapy she’d had earlier. She threw her bags on the floor in the hall, went into her bedroom and lay down, pulling her patchwork quilt around her shoulders. Far from being revitalised, as the spa had promised, she felt utterly exhausted.

A wave of nausea overcame her and she got up reluctantly, padding into the kitchen searching for something to eat. The hotel’s meals had been sparse, tiny portions of health food all designed, allegedly, to help the body to detox. Maybe that’s why she felt so ill now?

But she didn’t have time to detox, she thought, as she picked up the phone and dialled in an order to the local Chinese takeaway. She still had to figure out how to get Tess back to work. She didn’t want to go kow-towing to her, like Richard had suggested. She would just get too big for her boots. No, she would prefer if Tess made the request herself. She just had to figure out how to make that happen.

When the food arrived, the sight of the rice and chicken in their silver aluminium boxes lined up on her kitchen table brought on a fresh wave of nausea and she had to rush for the bathroom. As she dry-retched into the sink, she felt irked all over again that Richard had summoned her back from the spa. Getting Tess back could have waited.

In fact, she thought, with a flash of defiance, it could still wait. She would go and find Tess when she was good and ready. Not a moment before. She dumped the food into the bin, made herself a pot of tea, put on her favourite box set and, for once, forgot about work completely.

Chapter Nine

It was the day Jack McCabe was due to make his big announcement about taking over Atlantic 1FM. Rachel Joy, a reporter with the
Killty Times
, was standing at the entrance to the hotel conference room. She was accompanied by a photographer. Helene shifted in her chair and watched them closely. She knew Rachel’s unabashed ambition was to work for
The Sun
and with her instinct for trouble there was no reason why she wouldn’t achieve it.

Today it was obvious that Rachel had her sights firmly trained on Ollie Andrews. And there was no question but that he was already heavily under the influence. Helene had spoken to him when she had arrived. He was mad as hell at the rumour that Jack McCabe was to announce a competition for a new star today and that he intended to do it in public, so it would be a fait accompli and there wouldn’t be anything Ollie could do about it. He hadn’t even bothered to suck a mint to camouflage the smell of whiskey on his breath. Glancing back at him now, slumped on a chair in the row behind her, Helene reflected that Jack had yet to realise that Ollie was a law onto himself, and didn’t operate by the same social dogma as the rest of the world. After all, Richard wasn’t going to tell him how unstable Ollie was, not when he was so desperate for Jack to buy the station.

Richard was sitting at the top table, facing the audience. He was fidgeting, tapping his biro on the white tablecloth and throwing anxious glances at the two empty chairs on either side of him. Helene was delighted to see him so evidently uncomfortable. He had called unexpectedly into her office earlier, asking whether she’d managed to persuade Tess to come back to work yet. She had tried to explain how nauseous and lightheaded she’d been feeling over the last few days – how she hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything else – but Richard hadn’t even been listening to her.

“Anyhow, what’s with Jack McCabe’s sudden obsession with Tess Morgan?” she had asked finally. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Richard had snapped and banged out of the office.

A movement nearby caught Helene’s attention and she turned to see that Jack had finally arrived. Her stomach lurched unexpectedly and she folded her arms protectively around her stomach. Everyone was nervous here today. It was only natural, with so much uncertainty about.

Jack cut an arresting figure as he strode towards the podium to join Richard. He was dressed in a well-cut black suit, white shirt and scarlet tie. Paulina followed him. Her pale blonde hair was caught back in a chignon and her make-up was impeccable. She wore a cherry-red dress and jacket and managed to look both sexy andbusiness-like.

Helene looked around the room to see how other people were reacting to the first sighting of Jack McCabe. Andrea was sitting a few seats down from her, pale-faced and white-knuckled, her hands gripping the arms of her chair. Sara was craning her neck, trying to get a better look at Jack. She was wearing a new outfit, a black fitted short skirt and matching jacket, which, she’d announced earlier, she’d bought especially for today.

“Jack McCabe is, like, a gazillionaire,” she’d pointed out seriously, “and still unattached as far as I can make out.”

Up on the podium, Jack and Richard exchanged brief nods. Paulina nodded down at Helene and, thrilled with the public recognition, Helene gave her a little wave. She and Paulina had been in touch several times since they’d met at Matt’s café. She had been surprised to find Paulina had been every bit as helpful as she was at that first meeting – open about her success and generous with tips on how Helene could take her career forward to the next level. And, if Paulina liked her, surely that was a sign that she would survive the changes that were coming?

Jack got to his feet and tapped the microphone in front of him. A hush came over the crowd.

“Hello there!” He smiled into the audience, commanding the attention of the room instantly. “Firstly, I must apologise for being late. As I’m sure Richard has already explained to you, I was unavoidably delayed with other business, but I appreciate that you’re all still here. And, since you’ve all waited long enough already, I think we should just get on with things, shall we?”

A murmur of assent swept through the room and Jack consulted his notes.

“Secondly, I want to officially confirm that I have bought Atlantic 1FM …”

Helene let out an audible sigh of relief. Richard was free! She could hardly believe it. After that, she only half listened to the rest of the speech – how Jack was confident he could transform the station into a dynamic new entity,
blah blah blah
.

“The wheels are in motion for us to get a national broadcasting licence . . .”

Then Helene was jolted out of her reverie by Ollie shouting, “
Yeah!
” very loudly and drumming his heels on the ground in a little victory dance.

“Yes, Ollie – it is good news,” Jack looked directly at the presenter. “But as I think we’ve all guessed by now, it will mean changes. And change always brings challenges.”

Here it comes, Helene thought, folding her arms tighter. This is where Jack was going to declare he wanted to bring in his own people – young people. People under thirty, with the X-factor. She twisted around to see Ollie’s reaction.

“Change is good,” Ollie asserted, nodding his head agreeably. His eyes were bloodshot and Helene noticed a warning vein pulsing at his temple.

“So yes, we will be expanding,” Jack continued. “And yes, we will be improving. But it’s going to take an awful lot of effort from everyone. The station needs to build up its listenership dramatically and we’ll need lots of innovative ideas to do that. We also need to re-brand and re-position ourselves in the market, and while I intend to be very hands-on in this project, I have to confess that marketing is not my forte so I am going to hand you over now to Paulina Fox.”

A polite round of applause broke out as Paulina got to her feet.

“Thank you.” Paulina fingered the pile of papers in front of her and gave a dazzling smile before she began her speech. “As Jack has just said, we have challenging times ahead of us. But sometimes change brings opportunity as well. And for one person – maybe even someone who is here with us today – this could be a very special opportunity to play a very big part in the new, improved Atlantic 1FM!”

Helene leaned forward in her chair.

Paulina cleared her throat and consulted her notes before continuing. “I have been working on the new brand over the past few weeks and Jack and I have agreed that we need to create a new personality to be the face of the revamped station.”

Helene glanced back at Ollie. A deathly pallor had replaced his usual high colour and she could see a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“What do you think that will mean for you, Ollie?” Sara whispered, her eyes wide with alarm.

“What do I think? What do I think? Who the hell cares what I think?” Colour flooded back into Ollie’s pale cheeks as his rage rose.

Immediately the press photographer turned his camera away from the podium and trained it on the fuming presenter. Then he twisted it back to Paulina, who was looking at Ollie with open fascination, as if he were an exhibit from a zoo.

“Yes, well, there will be plenty of time to hear what people think later,” Paulina said tightly. “But we’re here today to launch a competition for the new face of Atlantic 1FM. The person we are looking for must have the X-factor and –”

“The X-factor – hell, that’s original!” Ollie Andrews snorted.

He was staring at Paulina with open hatred now and Rachel Joy edged closer, delighted she was getting something juicier than a run-of-the-mill business story.

“The winner,” Paulina continued bravely, but her voice was shaking a bit now, “will get his or her own show. In fact, the competition is called ‘
It’s My Show
’ and contestants will have to convince us – through a pilot programme, a written paper and perhaps a portfolio of relevant work – that he or she is the person we are looking for.”

“I am the voice of Atlantic 1FM,” Ollie interrupted, “so why do we need a new
face
?”

Jack stood up and smartly stepped into the breach.

“Let’s not get side-tracked here. As Paulina said, we are looking for a
new
person to front the newly revamped station.” He held Ollie’s gaze until Ollie looked away, before continuing, “That person could be in this room.
It’s My Show
is a nationwide competition, but everyone here has the experience to be a serious contender. And, remember, even if you’re not the winner, the contest will be a fantastic shop window for your ideas. Ideas are the lifeblood of every organisation and I’m sure I don’t have to remind you,” he glanced at Ollie again, “it is in
all
our interests to make Atlantic 1FM viable.” He sat down, nodding at Paulina to continue.

She smiled gratefully and cleared her throat. “Thank you, Jack. So, what else is there to say?” She glanced at her notes again. “We want to encourage everyone here to put themselves forward for this contest as soon as possible. We are planning a major relaunch party where we will announce the winner. We should have more news about Atlantic 1FM getting a national licence by then too, so we are expecting a strong national media presence there.” She glanced around the room, “Any questions?”

“Do I take it I have to apply for my own job?” Ollie asked belligerently.

“As I said, the contest is open to everyone in the room.”

“What’s in it for the winner?” Rachel Joy pushed a lock of lank fair hair behind her ear and kept her eyes trained on Ollie.

“The winner will have their own weekday show which will run for two hours – he or she will be the face of Atlantic 1FM, an ambassador for the revamped station,” Paulina replied smoothly.

“And, as I think someone has already brought up, what will that mean for
This Morning with Ollie Andrews
? Will that show then be axed?” Rachel persisted.

“We will be looking at all our programming in the coming weeks but no decisions have been taken yet.” Paulina scanned the room again, looking for someone else to speak.

But it was Rachel who spoke again. “Excuse me? Paulina, isn’t it? Is it true there have been problems behind the scenes on
This Morning
? I’m referring to the recent incident where your Tess Morgan walked out of studio in the middle of the broadcast. Is your Agony Aunt of the Airwaves having some work-related problems of her own, perhaps?”

A low titter rose from the crowd.

Paulina coughed. “The Agony Aunt was a pilot slot and, as I said, we will be looking at all our programming.”

“Sources suggest there was a personality clash between Ollie Andrews and Tess Morgan,” Rachel persisted.

“I’m not aware of that,” Paulina replied.

“So why has Tess Morgan left the station then?” Rachel asked.

“Well, I’ll have to ask Tess’s boss that question.” Paulina looked at Helene.

“Um … Tess has other projects on at the moment so it’s unclear what her commitment to Atlantic 1FM is.” Helene hoped she’d get away with that. It was the safest answer in the circumstances – at least until she got a chance to talk to Tess.

“Thank you, Helene. So …” Paulina glanced at her notes. “The contestants will have access to whatever expertise they need – a stylist, make-up artist, nutritionist, voice coach maybe. And Jack and I will be on hand to give tips to anyone who wants them. It’s really up to the individual to convince us that he or she has what we’re looking for. We will be promoting the station on cross media – television advertisements and guest slots as well as blogs and social networking sites – so we want the winner to feel supported. Any more questions?”

“Yes!” Sara’s hand shot up. “You mentioned television just there. Is it true the cameras add on ten pounds?”

Everyone laughed except Ollie, who nervously ran his hand over his stomach.