Naked Truths (50 page)

Angie's hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh no! Is he all right?'

Ash grimaced. ‘He's broken two ribs and his collarbone. It could have been worse, he was piss . . .' He stopped himself. ‘He was drunk again, fell down two flights of stairs in our block of flats.'

Freddie glanced at his wife. ‘Poor fellow.'

Angie's kind brown eyes looked at Ash. ‘Are
you
OK, darling? It must have been dreadfully upsetting for you.'

Ash felt a lump rise in his throat. Angie's concern always got to him a bit.

‘Yeah, I'm cool. The thing is, I've realized I need to be there for my dad if he's going to get better. We're all each other has got.' He trailed off.

Angie knew what was coming. ‘You're going back to live with him,' she prompted gently.

Ash was silent for a moment. ‘Yeah,' he said finally. ‘I'm sorry.'

Angie smiled. ‘Oh, darling, you've got nothing to be sorry about. Family is so important, Freds and I understand that.' Despite her resolve to be stoical, her voice wobbled. ‘I'll just miss you dreadfully, though, you're my star pupil!'

To her surprise, Ash loped over and gave her a hug. ‘Don't be upset, Angie. This whole
Soirée
Sponsors thing has been a wicked experience, and you and Freddie have been great to me. Y'know, for the first time in my life, I really feel like I'm going somewhere.'

Freddie handed his wife a piece of kitchen roll. She blew her nose loudly. ‘Freds and I are very proud of the way you've dealt with everything, aren't we, darling?'

‘Absolutely,' agreed Freddie. ‘You know you're always welcome here,' he added.

Ash grinned, an easy genuine smile that reached every inch of his face.

‘I'll come and visit, I promise.'

‘I'll keep you to that!' laughed Angie. ‘When are you off?'

Ash looked awkward again. ‘Tomorrow.'

‘Oh! So soon?'

‘I've gotta pick Dad up from the hospital.'

‘Of course.' Angie looked fondly at him for a moment, then pulled herself together. ‘Seeing as it's such a nice evening, will you do Avon, Barksdale and myself the honour of one final walk?'

Ash grinned. ‘Nice one.'

A few days later interest in the Annie Fincham case hadn't waned. Harriet had even been stopped by a reporter in the street and asked what it was like working with the ‘
Soirée
Saviour'. The
Scoop
's campaign had received nationwide support, and there was talk of going to Downing Street with a petition. Domestic violence charities came out in support of Catherine and her mum, highlighting other similarly controversial cases, while survivors of abuse themselves told their stories. They were old, young, rich and poor; it seemed no part of society was unaffected. The Crimson Killer case had finally made everyone sit up and take notice.

Inside the four walls of the
Soirée
office, however, the staff could be forgiven for not having a clue what was happening. Ever since the story had broken, Catherine had been huddled away in her office, or off having mysterious meetings.

Saffron couldn't bear the suspense. ‘I mean, is she going to say anything?' she whispered loudly, as she and Harriet made hot drinks in the kitchen one morning. ‘I know she's always kept her private life separate, but this is ridiculous. The whole country's talking about it!'

Harriet pulled a face. ‘I know, it must be awfully difficult for her. She's had a terribly sad life.'

Since Catherine hadn't publicly said otherwise, Saffron asked the question that was on everyone's lips, but that they were too afraid to ask.

‘Do you think it was her, and not her mother? The one who pushed him down the stairs, I mean. They're saying it could even have been an accident; that he tripped and fell.'

Harriet was quiet for a minute. ‘I don't know,' she admitted. ‘But if I was in Catherine's position and my mother's life was in danger, I honestly think I'd do anything I could to save her.'

Saffron thought about Babs. Would she put her own life in danger to save her mother's? It made her feel unexpectedly emotional, and she changed the subject.

‘What's going to happen now?' she asked, stirring her coffee furiously. ‘We still don't know if we've met this stupid “Project 300”. Everyone is on tenterhooks.' She sighed. ‘I can't take this much longer. Have we all still got jobs or not?'

Saffron didn't have to wait long. That afternoon Catherine gathered them together in the middle of the office. The tension was palpable.

‘As you are probably aware, it's been an extraordinary few days. I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to talk to you all earlier; I know you're all anxious to know if we've met the “Project 300” target.'

Even Alexander looked nervous, his face nearly as pale as his newly dyed white-blonde hair.

Catherine wasn't going to play it out like Sir Robin Hackford. She looked round before breaking into a big smile.

‘I'm delighted to tell you we have smashed our target.'

It was true, give or take a month. She wasn't going to bother them with the nitty-gritty, all they needed to know was what a fantastic job they'd done, and that their own jobs were safe.

Everyone started cheering and hugging each other. One of the beauty girls burst into tears and ran off to find her eye make-up remover pads, as mascara trailed down her face.

‘That's bloody brilliant!' shouted Saffron.

‘There's more,' said Catherine, once the noise had died down. ‘Because of the Savannah Sexton issue,
Soirée
has become the highest-selling women's magazine . . . in
history
. In fact, I found out this morning we have just passed the one million mark.'

No one spoke for a moment as the news sank in.

‘One million?' the chief sub eventually repeated.

Catherine grinned.

‘Fuck a duck!' he gasped. Everyone hooted with laughter. The chief sub never swore.

‘So we're not closing?' someone asked, still a little tentative.

‘Definitely not,' said Catherine. ‘In fact, I am just in the process of sorting out the bonuses everyone is going to get for working so hard. It may not be six figures but it will pay for a well-deserved holiday.'

Everyone whooped again, and Saffron found herself flinging her arms around Tom Fellows. They jumped apart, embarrassed, but in the carnival atmosphere no one noticed.

‘There is one more thing,' called Catherine, straining to be heard above the noise.

‘Quiet!' someone shouted.

‘We have made
Soirée
the best monthly magazine in Britain, and it's down to each and every one of you. I know I've pushed you over the past six months but you've risen to the challenge admirably. You are an exceptionally talented team of people, and it has been a privilege to work with you. I know
Soirée
is going on to even bigger and better things . . .' She gave a sad smile. ‘But unfortunately, it won't be with me.'

Alexander looked shocked. ‘Darling, you're leaving?'

Catherine tried to reassure the worried faces. ‘Hey, you'll be fine. And I'm confident that whoever becomes editor next will do a great job.' She continued. ‘The good news is that I'm still going to be involved with the
Soirée
brand. Yesterday Gail Barker from
Soirée
Sponsors very kindly offered me a job on her team. I'm going to be working to make us even bigger and better, with plans to go nationwide in the next two years.' Catherine gave a wry grin. ‘Of course, most of you know by now that I always like to have more than enough on my plate. Three hours ago, I also signed a book deal with Starlight Publishing to write a story about my life. If anyone does feel like reading it, all profits from the sales will be going to charity.'

‘I'm going to buy ten copies, darling!' Alexander shouted out, as others murmured their agreement.

Catherine smiled at him. ‘You haven't read it yet!' Her tone grew more serious. ‘It's not going to be an easy journey, but I'm the only one who can set the record straight about what happened that night. My mother was a wonderful person and I haven't had the chance to grieve for her properly because I've always shut out the past. I'm hoping this book will clear her name and give me the peace I've been looking for all these years. And if it helps even one woman who is suffering domestic violence to get out of her situation, then it's all been worth it.' Catherine looked around, slightly embarrassed, at the spellbound faces. ‘Well, that's all folks,' she added awkwardly.

Saffron started clapping softly, and everyone joined in, louder and louder, their faces etched with admiration. Catherine's candour had touched them all. They'd never work for anyone as inspirational again.

Catherine felt overwhelmed at the show of solidarity. Alexander rushed over and planted two emotional kisses on her cheeks. ‘How we will miss you! What on earth is the world of magazines going to do without Catherine Connor?'

Catherine choked back the tears. ‘It will survive, Al, just like we all have.'

It was past seven o'clock by the time Catherine left work. It had been a funny day: everyone was delighted the magazine was safe, but at the same time sad their boss was leaving. The only solution to the conflicting emotions seemed to be going to the pub, but Catherine eschewed the invite. She'd celebrate properly with them at her leaving party, and besides, she had pressing things to be getting on with: drafting out her official resignation letter to Adam, for one thing. She wondered how long he'd last without her.

Spring was definitely in the air as Catherine left the building. She thought about walking home, but then looked ruefully at her feet, encased in a pair of pointed Gucci slingbacks. That was going to be one of the things she definitely wouldn't miss about
Soirée
.

His voice made her stop dead in her tracks.

‘Catherine?'

Fighting to keep control, she turned round. And hated how she felt.

Even now, after everything that had happened, her stomach still flipped as she found herself facing John Milton. He was wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans, his hair as thick and black as ever. The olive-green eyes, normally so penetrating, were almost opaque with an emotion Catherine couldn't decipher.

Her reaction was instinctive. Marching over, she slapped him hard across the face.

John Milton didn't even flinch. His eyes looked into hers, a red mark from her hand already starting to form on his cheek.

Catherine stared back defiantly: she wasn't going to fall for his shit again. ‘What the fuck are you doing here? Come to finish off what you and your girlfriend started?'

The emotions she'd been trying so desperately to keep down bubbled over and Catherine lifted her hand to strike him again. She wanted to hurt him like he'd hurt her. She
needed
him to feel that physical pain.

This time John caught her wrist and held it in a steel grip.

‘Get off me!' she hissed furiously.

He released her. ‘I wanted to see if you were OK.'

Catherine couldn't believe his audacity. ‘Are you having a fucking laugh?'

Not for the first time, they were attracting the attention of passers-by. There was a little coffee shop next door.

‘Can we go somewhere more private?' John asked, tilting his head in that direction.

‘I think you've already taken my privacy away from me,' Catherine responded icily.

He sighed. ‘Please, Catherine. Let me explain.'

Something in his voice made Catherine think twice about walking away. ‘Five minutes.'

Inside the tiny coffee shop, there was only a cramped table for two. Catherine leaned against the wall, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible, but she could still feel the heat from John's body, and smell the familiar scent of his aftershave. ‘Shoot,' she said, in her most businesslike tone.

John looked at her with his steady gaze. ‘Isabella and I have never once been an item.'

Catherine gave a derisive snort. ‘Oh, please! She wasted no time in telling me how into each other you both were.'

Confusion flashed across John's face. ‘I honestly have no idea why she would say that. You might, as you seem to know her better, but God's honest truth, Catherine, is that the only contact I've had with Isabella has been in a business capacity.'

Catherine raised an unimpressed eyebrow, but couldn't help but ask. ‘Why were you together at Duvalls?'

John looked at her. ‘It was a rather weird chain of events that led to us being there at all, and I certainly wouldn't have agreed to go if I'd known you two knew each other, or what she was capable of.' He sighed. ‘I'd been to pick up some paperwork from one of my clients, an American guy named Teddy Barsmann. I met Isabella at his office. I take it they're some kind of couple or something – she was certainly all over him when I arrived. Anyway, Teddy suddenly had to work at the last minute, and Isabella made a scene about him not taking her out. So he asked if I would go in his place. I must admit, I was pretty shocked, but Teddy seemed keen to get her out of there. I didn't want to, but I felt I couldn't say no. He's one of our biggest clients.'

‘You looked very cosy together,' Catherine shot back.

‘It was the worst evening of my life! Isabella isn't my kind of person, anyway, but as soon as she found out I knew you, she wouldn't stop talking about you and asking questions. I just said we were old school friends but she kept quizzing me if we'd had any kind of relationship. I told her it was none of her business. The woman is obsessed with you. She's clearly jealous.' John smiled. ‘And so she should be.'

Catherine ignored the compliment. ‘So you didn't sleep together?'

He looked angry now. ‘Of course not! When I saw you leaving, it took all I had not to follow you.' John frowned. ‘And anyway, what about that guy you were with?'