Having It All (53 page)

‘I’m afraid you’ve got a tough choice. I’ve studied every aspect of WomanPower and I’m convinced there’s only one solution: you’ll have to get involved
full-time, both of you, or appoint someone else as Managing Director who will.’

‘But we already have an MD – Liz!’ Ginny insisted.

‘An MD who’s just got engaged, who likes to go away for long weekends, and wants to see her kids.’ Britt shrugged, trying to soften the blow of her words.

‘Just what are you implying?’ It was Liz’s turn to be angry now. ‘That I don’t take the job seriously? When I joined WomanPower it hadn’t even got any
customers! Ginny was about to lose her house, for God’s sake!’

Britt gripped the top of her chair. ‘I knew this would happen. You bring me in to tell you the truth, then you loathe me for doing it! Liz, I’m not implying you don’t care
about WomanPower. You’ve done a brilliant job. But WomanPower is getting too big. And I’m afraid the reality in business is that you can’t stand still. You have to grow or go
under.’

‘Why?’ demanded Ginny. ‘Why do we have to grow? Why can’t we just go on as we have done with just our two branches and Liz and I running the company between
us?’

‘Why did you start working all the hours God gives? How come your appointments diary was bulging? Because you’re a growing company!’ Britt reached down beside her and lifted
two box files. ‘Do you know what these are? Unanswered letters! And I heard one of your interviewers slamming the phone down on a customer yesterday. And do you know why? Because she had four
others on the line. The poor girl was tearing her hair out. You can’t go on like this. I’m sorry but the truth is, whether you like it or not, you’re a victim of your own
success!’

Liz looked Britt in the eye. ‘So what you’re saying is that we have a simple choice. Stay as we are and watch WomanPower collapse or get someone else to run it for us?’

Britt felt grateful that Liz at least seemed to be prepared to face the truth. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

‘But who? We might get the wrong person. Someone who just sees WomanPower as a business, who doesn’t understand what it means to all of us.’

‘Then find the right person.’

Liz got up and stared out of the window over the rooftops of Lewes to the Downs beyond. It was only what she’d been expecting after all. She’d just put it out of her head because of
Nick and the engagement.

‘This may not be the best time to remind you’ – they all looked at Mel who had kept quiet throughout the meeting, feeling that it was really their show, that she was just the
new girl –‘but I hope you haven’t forgotten the PR tour we agreed to with the Manpower Services Commission? It’s in less than two weeks.’

‘Oh my God, I’d forgotten all about it!’ Liz turned back to the others. ‘Just when Britt says we can’t deal with the business we’ve already got!’

‘We’ll have to cancel it,’ said Ginny flatly.

‘No, I wouldn’t do that. It’s amazing that a Government department invited you in the first place. Cancelling would look terrible.’ Britt chewed her pen thoughtfully.
‘You see, there is one other possible solution.’

Mel sighed with relief. She would feel a complete prat if she had to cancel all the venues she’d just set up with the MSC.

‘Well, what is it?’

‘Have you heard of Ross Slater?’

Ginny looked puzzled. ‘Isn’t he that man you pretended to interview, Liz? The whiz-kid who runs World of Work?’

‘What about him?’ Liz still felt embarrassed at the memory.

‘Rumour has it he’s about to make you an offer.’

‘What kind of an offer?’

‘Hard to tell. But my contacts in the City say he’s been sniffing around for weeks. Apparently he thinks WomanPower would fit very nicely into his portfolio.’

‘And what would that mean?’ asked Ginny, confused.

‘It would mean’ – Britt folded her arms and leaned on the back of her chair – ‘that you could all give up WomanPower and join the idle rich!’

‘But that’d be amazing! It would solve all your problems, surely? You sell up to Ross Slater and get rich without even having to work!’ Nick smiled broadly
and squeezed her hand. ‘We could buy a yacht! Cruise round the Med! Sounds like my ideal!’

Liz looked across the dinner table of yet another perfect restaurant at Nick’s handsome face. Everything was so easy for him. No choppy seas of divided loyalty, no treacherous
undercurrents of guilt or regret; to Nick life was plain sailing. Whatever was easiest and most enjoyable, you did. Usually she loved his carefree charm. But tonight it irritated her.

‘But Nick, you don’t understand! I
love
WomanPower. I believe in it! It’s unique! No one else is helping women with kids to get decent jobs. We’ve even got
companies to pay them properly! Women don’t have to apologize for being mothers any more!’

Liz sipped her wine, realizing with a sudden sense of depression that he really
didn’t
understand. And how much ice would their ideas cut with Ross Slater either? Would he just
dismiss them as sentimentality, an inappropriate business method? She couldn’t see him bending over backwards to fight for flexi-time for working mums. ‘I’m just not sure
I’d trust Ross Slater with WomanPower.’

Nick looked up from the menu, taken aback at her vehemence. ‘Don’t sell, then. No one’s going to make you.’ He glanced back at the menu as though they were talking about
a shopping list, or where to go to eat. ‘Anyway, he hasn’t even made an offer.’ Sensing her disapproval he took her hand. ‘I, on the other hand, have. When are you going to
ask that husband of yours for a divorce?’

Liz looked guilty. ‘As it happens I’m going off on a PR tour next week – something Mel’s set up, WomanPower and the Manpower Services Commission on bringing women back
into the workforce, very kosher and good for the image, starting in London then all over the country. I thought I’d go over to Selden Bridge and talk to him.’

‘Great idea. Then we can tell Jamie and Daisy.’

‘Yes,’ replied Liz doubtfully. That was something she wasn’t looking forward to doing. But first she had to clear things up with David.

‘So, what else is in the Diary apart from Sheepdog Trials and the Young Farmers Welly Throwing contest?’ David looked round the weekly news meeting at the eager
young faces around him. He knew they hadn’t quite got used to his ironic humour yet and tended to take him at his word.

The News Editor looked down at a typed sheet. ‘There’s a demo by the parents at Prittley Junior School because they can’t get enough teachers and the kids keep getting sent
home.’

‘And who could blame them. No wonder kids these days can’t even read the menu in McDonald’s. And?’

‘It’s the annual pay round so the bin-men are threatening to strike.’

‘So what’s new? We’d better keep an eye on that one, though, the readers care about rubbish. Fire away? Anything a little more dazzling? I mean, I know this isn’t the
Sun
, but I can’t believe everyone in Selden Bridge keeps their noses clean and says their prayers every night. What about a little corruption? Dirty deeds in the council planning
department?’

A young reporter from the far end of the table put up his hand as though he were trying to get the teacher’s attention. He only looked about seventeen. It was probably just that David was
getting old. Even the policemen looked young to him these days and that was supposed to be a sure sign of ageing.

‘I’ve been working on an interesting story, David. Have you heard of M&X Developments?’

‘Aren’t they the property spivs? Buy up old buildings, turn them into wine bars and restaurants?’

‘Right. They got into a spot of bother in Liverpool when they were refused planning permission for an old jute warehouse and it mysteriously burnt down.’

‘So what happened? Don’t tell me! As if by magic they got their planning permission!’

‘Right again. Well, M&X has been trying to buy the old wool mill on the canal and turn it into a wine bar and, don’t laugh, marina. Two months ago they were refused planning
permission unless they included some low-cost housing.’

‘And did they agree?’

‘No, they said it wouldn’t be economically viable.’

‘By which they meant they wouldn’t get a new Porsche out of it!’

‘Exactly. Anyway last night it caught fire. Luckily a security guard spotted it and called the Fire Brigade who put it out without too much damage.’

‘Bloody hell!’ David felt the familiar excitement he still got even after fifteen years as a journalist. ‘And you reckon the lads at M&X Developments will be looking for an
ass to kick?’

The reporter nodded.

‘Now that’ – David jumped up and began pacing, already composing the splash in his head –‘is what I call a good story!’

He turned back to the meeting. ‘Anything else on the agenda or should we get out and chase a few property spivs?’ In his eagerness David started to gather up his papers.

‘Hang on a minute, we haven’t talked about the Woman’s Page!’

David looked sheepish. ‘Sorry, Suzan. No more we have. Anything particular you wanted to discuss?’

‘Yes, there is as a matter of fact. I need an extra page.’

‘Why? Princess Di’s not pulling a surprise visit to the frozen north surely?’

‘I’d be on the first train out if she was. No, this is much more important than royal visits. I want to do a double page spread on Women and Work.’

‘Why now? Why in Selden Bridge?’

‘Because I want to peg it to a conference in Leeds next week.’

‘And what conference is that?’ Suzan seemed curiously reticent about the details.

‘Oh, just a conference on women and jobs, but it sounds interesting.’

‘Who’s organizing it?’

‘The Manpower Services Commission.’

The News Editor looked up and smiled. He tossed a press release in David’s direction, adding, ‘In conjunction with a private company called WomanPower.’

David felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. He’d thought that here, 350 miles from London, he was on his own territory, worlds apart from Liz’s. He looked down at the
press release. She was even going to be speaking.

He looked up to find Suzan watching him carefully.

‘I’d like to go,’ she challenged.

‘No need.’ David avoided her glance and shuffled his papers. ‘I’ll go. I’m going to Leeds anyway on Thursday and I’ll look in.’

He stood up, closed the meeting and strode out of the building.

Suzan stood in thought for a moment, then she ran through the open-plan newsroom, the Lycra of her short red dress crackling with the electricity from the new carpet, until she got to the glass
partition separating David’s office from the newsroom.

Outside, guarding it like a badly dressed lion, sat his motherly secretary.

‘Ruth, what’s David got in the diary for Thursday?’

The older woman surveyed Suzan’s long legs, barely covered by the Lycra dress, her barbaric brass earrings and the clumpy Doc Marten shoes she always wore and smelled a rat. Ever since
Suzan had arrived here her clothes had got progressively more outrageous and Ruth suspected correctly that it was to catch David’s eye. And much as she liked the girl’s cocky
friendliness, she instinctively disapproved of this endeavour. Suzan was too young for David. She ought to be chasing one of the young reporters. And besides, although David had said nothing about
a wife, Ruth had noticed the silver-framed photograph of his children on his desk and that was enough for her.

Carefully she put her hand over the entries for Thursday. ‘Why do you want to know?’

Suzan smiled brightly. ‘It’s just that I need to fix a meeting and he said he was going to Leeds for the day.’

Ruth looked startled. ‘Then I expect he is. Why don’t you come back later and I’ll ask him.’

Suzan smiled sweetly. ‘Don’t worry, Ruth. It’s nothing that won’t keep.’ And she turned round, pulling her dress down so that it was just about decent, and walked
off.

I hope she doesn’t bend down in that or she’ll get herself arrested.
Ruth had never been able to come to terms with the fact that these days nice girls looked like tarts.
Maybe the tarts looked like Sunday school teachers?

As soon as Suzan had gone she looked down at the diary. David had meetings all day and he’d said nothing to her about cancelling them. Ruth prided herself as being the soul of discretion,
but all the same, she couldn’t help wondering what her boss was up to.

Liz turned on the taps in her
en suite
bathroom and quickly stripped off her clothes. No matter how often she travelled she never cured herself of enjoying staying in
hotels. She’d often heard colleagues complaining about the dreariness of having overnights in five-star hotels, but to her after broken nights and early mornings it was heaven. No one to
think of but herself for twelve whole hours! She loved everything about hotels. Room service. The minibar with its miniatures, the fluffy white bathrobes, the shortbread by the bed and, most of
all, the little bottles of shampoo and bath-foam. Even though she knew it was disgracefully low-rent, she could never resist slipping them into her sponge-bag.

She’d once heard Bill Cosby ask the definition of a highbrow: someone who can listen to the William Tell Overture without thinking of the Lone Ranger. Maybe a sophisticate was someone who
didn’t nick the little pots of bath-foam.

A couple of minutes more and she could soak away the strain of the last few days of this wretched tour in a herbal bubble bath. If she’d known what was involved she would never have agreed
to this week-long torture, no matter how good it was for their image. But, conveniently, Mel had forgotten to mention that she’d be doing eight interviews a day
and
chairing the
sessions. It was only Birmingham and she was nearly dead.

And the trouble was she felt so hypocritical telling women that going back to work would be hunky dory. After all, she hadn’t exactly cracked it herself. She was a better example of the
problem than the solution. She’d left Metro and now WomanPower couldn’t survive unless she worked full-time. And if she worked full-time she’d be back to square one. They’d
just have to get an MD like Britt said. But who?