Last Resort (15 page)

"Regular columns,"

she said, her face still crimson and

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p

her voice strained by her own efforts to hold back the laughter. She cleared her throat and mentally thanked God that she had made such precise notes for herself, which she could read from while mentally pulling herself back together.

"We'll start with the problem page, which Samantha Moon, my sister, will be handling. To get her started I'd appreciate some bogus letters containing pertinent problems which we can run in the first issue. Next, I need a nutty reader for the letters column to be introduced in the second issue. By nutty I mean someone who takes an eccentric, if not outrageous, opposing view to my editorials. If any of you feel up to that, or know someone who might be, I'd like to hear about them."

She looked around at the silent, attentive faces, careful this time to avoid David's, for if he was still laughing she knew she would lose it altogether.

"OK, moving on,"

she said, hoping she wasn't gabbling and suddenly not at all sure that this agenda was in the right order,

"our experts on the French system, Didier Feron and Elizabeth Robbins, who as an American expat has lived on the Riviera for over twenty years, will, I am sure, have no problem concocting queries for the first issue. The restaurant and hotel critics, along with the local arts reviewer, are faced with no shortage of material. Marie-Christine Gunther, who, as I'm sure some of you already know, has an international bookshop in St. Laurent du Var, will be supplying us with our book reviews. As in all other cases, she will alternate her columns between English and French and I am sure we can all help out from time to time with the reviews. Current issues, particularly those of the European Community, I will mainly be taking on myself."

"Have you decided what stance we will be taking?"

David asked, obviously in control of his mirth now.

"Slightly right of centre,"

she answered, half hoping he would challenge her on this, for she was far more cornfortable with a debate situation than she was with this 107

garbled soliloquy. But David simply nodded, so, looking back at her notes, Penny continued.

"I will also be handling the celebrity interviews/ she said, waiting for Marielle to bristle, which she did most satisfyingly.

"Now let me see,"

she said, scanning the page again and hoping no one realized that she'd lost her thread.

"Ah yes, gossip. This is something that will come into later issues, after I have been to Los Angeles to check out a couple of ideas I've had. We will also take our film reviews straight from LA and hang on to them until such time as the films are released in France. Having heard a local American reviewer on the radio here recently giving her critique of the film Shadowlands in which she referred to C. S. Lewis as C. W. Lewis and then proceeded to say that the story wasn't believable, when most of us know it is a true story, has convinced me that we'd do better with a more educated reviewer and, considering the fact that Shadowlands was, to the best of my knowledge, released in France over six months ago, I think getting our information straight from Hollywood will serve us best."

Receiving no objection to that, she turned over a page and waited for everyone else to do so. The Health and Beauty spot is yet to be filled,"

she said. The same goes for the entertainment guide, interior design and sport and leisure, of which there must be a wealth of material around here. I shall be speaking to several cartoonists around Europe over the next few weeks in the hope that they will be willing to supply us, and the matter of cornpetitions, free gifts, sponsorship et cetera will be something I will take up with David in due course. Short stories by those of you wanting to try your hand will all get read and some of them I hope will be published. Our Mediterranean gardening expert can't be with us today, but there's very little to say on that since he's the expert, and a motoring column is something we will run as and when it is felt relevant. Special features will be handled 108

either by me, Marielle or a freelancer, and fashion, both male and female, is the exclusive territory of Baberte Longchamps, our fashion editor, whose name some of you might know from her time at Elle. She will be keeping a close eye on what is going on around the world, but on the whole she will be concentrating on the region and what is available here, looking at everything from supermarket fashion to the more exclusive boutiques of Cannes and Monte Carlo."

She stopped, took a fortifying sip of the coffee Clothilde had just put beside her, then continued.

"I'd like to run a yachtie page that has nothing to do with the technical aspects of yachting, since that is already well covered by the specialist magazines. What I'm thinking of is a kind of sail-and-regale page that gives a sneaky look at what the mega-rich get up to on their yachts. I'm sure the ports down here are rife with gossip, but it isn't my intention to name names.

It'll simply be a light-hearted look at life on the ocean wave, with perhaps the odd innuendo that gives a tantalizing hint as to whom we might be referring, but not if it risks offending or gets us entangled in a lawsuit. My sister Samantha will be scouring the ports, but if any of you already know someone who'd be willing to oversee this for us, even if he or she can't write, please let me know."

Skipping quickly over the next few paragraphs on freelance photographers, printers, distribution and sales

- all matters she would be taking up with Marielle and David later - she came to a subject that brought a smile to everyone's face.

"Aperitifs,"

she said.

"I intend the magazine to host a monthly aperitif evening to which all contributors, advertisers and selected readers will be invited."

She waited for the murmurs of approval to die down, then said,

"On that note I suggest you all help yourselves to a coffee from the tray Clothilde has prepared over there, before we get into any discussions on the points I can

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already see several of you are bursting to make."

As she closed up her file she couldn't stop herself glancing over at David, who was regarding her with arched eyebrows as if to tell her that so far he was pretty impressed, even if she had made a right charlie of herself by falling off her chair. Penny turned away, refusing to be irritated by him, since despite the reassurance she felt at his approval it wasn't his place to dish it out.

An hour and a half later, after a great deal of productive and extremely entertaining exchanges that went a long way towards settling Penny's nerves and gave her the surprising and slightly heady feeling that she really might make it as an editor after all, she spotted a few surreptitious glances at the clock. It was almost one-thirty and in France pretty well everything stopped at twelvethirty, if not twelve. So, making a mental note to inform those on staff that two-and-a-half-hour lunch breaks were only to be taken when entertaining, she called the meeting to a close.

"Ah!"

she said, as if suddenly remembering something, and turning back to the table she looked across at David.

"Unless, of course, David has anything to add."

Assuming he was totally unprepared, she waited for him to look floored. But he simply allowed his eyebrows to shoot up as though surprised she'd remembered he was there.

"Well, as a matter of fact,"

he said, when everyone was looking at him,

"I don't have much to add at this stage. Except/ he said, turning to the man beside him,

"I'd like to introduce Pierre Clemence here. Pierre will be working closely with me and will be available during the times I'm not."

He paused, but as Penny started to turn away he continued with a concise summing-up of the way he intended to allocate budgets, followed by some astonishingly ambitious ideas for distribution, a mindnumbingly impressive list of probable advertisers, who ranged from Renault to Marlboro to Moet et Chandon,

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the name of the legal and accountancy firms who'd be acting for them, and finished up with a suggestion that whoever came up with a title for the magazine should be awarded a prize.

"Any suggestions?"

Penny said, covering her pique with a generous smile. How the hell had he managed to get all that together in the space of a fortnight, she wanted to know.

"How about,"

he answered, putting his head to one side,

"a slap-up meal at the Palme d'Or in Cannes with our illustrious editor? But, whoever wins, I give a word of warning: keep her off the desserts."

The colour instantly flared in Penny's cheeks, since everyone present would probably assume he was alluding to her weight.

"I imagine whoever wins would prefer a companion of their own choosing,"

she said chillingly, and with a quick

"bon appetitV she walked back into her office, followed by Sammy, who had slipped in halfway through the meeting.

"Don't laugh,"

Penny told her, actually trying not to herself.

"I'm sorry/ Sammy said,

"but I think you just got a right old dollop of egg on the face to pay you back for the tiramisu."

Tes, well,"

Penny said with a reluctant smile.

"But what did you think of him?"

Sammy shrugged.

"Well, he's certainly hormonally disturbing, I'll give him that, with those wicked, cometo-bed eyes and that hugely promising bulge in his jeans."

Then, laughing as Penny threw her a look, she said,

"He seems an OK kind of guy to me. And what a speech, eh? Short, to the point and, by God, does he have things under control! I wonder where he found Pierre Clemence?"

T don't know and I don't particularly care, as long as Clemence knows what he's doing/ Penny responded, sifting through the paperwork on her desk.

"Ah, here it

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is. Some problems for you to be going on with before the other test ones come in. And maybe you'd like to think about what you're going to call yourself/

she added, turning to the computer.

"Aren't you going to have any lunch?"

Sammy wailed.

"I'm starving."

"I don't have time/ Penny answered, feeling her stomach protest even as she said it.

"Get me a coffee, will you?"

It was the middle of the afternoon by the time she heard the half dozen or so staff returning, the contributors having now taken themselves off home to await a call from Penny to discuss their particular ideas and problems. She picked up a document that had just finished printing and took it out to Brigitte.

"This is a preliminary list of the newspapers and magazines I'd like to subscribe to/ she told Brigitte.

"If you're not sure how to go about it, it can wait until Clothilde comes in on Thursday."

"It's all right,"

Brigitte assured her with an eager smile,

"I'll find out how to do it."

"You're a star/ Penny said, patting her shoulder; then, glancing at Marielle's empty desk, she went over to talk to Mario, the advertising director. It wasn't that she didn't believe David's claims that he'd managed to get so many big names interested in their humble little periodical, it was simply that she wanted to hear it again, and, perhaps, find out how he'd managed to do it.

Just a few minutes with Mario was enough to confirm what she already suspected: that David had been working on setting up the business side of this magazine long before Sylvia had approached her. And, boy, had he been working, for the list of advertisers who had made provisional bookings was even more stupendous than he'd outlined.

Hearing the door open, Penny looked up from Mario's desk to see Pierre Clemence standing awkwardly in

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front of the door, his briefcase clutched in both hands, as if unsure where to go or to whom to address himself.

"Ah, Pierre!"

Penny said, reading his dilemma instantly.

"I imagine you're wondering where your office is/

Pierre gave a grateful, if somewhat embarrassed, smile.

"We haven't been properly introduced, have we?"

she said, going to him and extending a hand.

"I'm Penny Moon, as you've no doubt already gathered, and I'm pleased to meet you."

The pleasure is mine,"

Pierre assured her, enclosing her hand in his short, bony fingers.

"Now let me see,"

Penny said, turning to survey the office where Paul Smith, the bright young spark of a freelancer, was availing himself of the telephones, Babette, the fashion editor, was receiving a word-processing lesson from Brigitte and Mario and Barnabe, the subeditor, were debating the various merits of some football team or other.

"Would you like to be out here?"

she said to Pierre,

"or would you prefer somewhere a little more private? There are two offices there,"

she went on, pointing to the two closed doors.

"I believe David's been using the one on the right, so if you'd like to take the other .. /

"I'll use David's,"

Pierre answered.

"He doesn't normally like to have an office of his own, he just squats in mine."

"OK/ Penny responded, telling herself that it was David's business how he worked and leading the way into the small, sparsely furnished room with a neat little marble fireplace across one corner she went to open the shutters. The desk contained nothing more than the itinerary for that morning's meeting and the shelves along one wall were completely empty.

T was hoping to go over a few things with David this afternoon/ she said as Pierre placed his briefcase on the desk.

"Is he coming back?"

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'Uh, I don't think so/ Pierre answered, not quite meeting her eyes. With Marielle missing too, Penny quickly put two and two together and came up with

"siesta'. Was this something she was going to tolerate, she asked herself, or was it something she should confront right now and run the risk of a showdown with David?

"Maybe I can be of some assistance,"

Pierre offered.

Penny looked at him for a moment, liking him but somehow knowing that it was going to be impossible to get close to him.