After the Break. Penny Smith
she might not look very attractive in that pose, she relaxed them. She made sure her voice was well modulated and began to explain. ‘As I said, I don’t want to be seen only as a journalist. But I’m aware that the news side of it does carry a certain, erm…What’s the word?’
‘Cachet?’ he supplied.
‘Yes. Probably,’ she said. She had thought a cachet was something you kept your jewellery in. But obviously not. And I don’t want to lose that entirely by prancing about in my swimwear.’
‘I see,’ he said, smiling encouragingly and glancing towards her short skirt as it edged up slightly.
She was delighted to notice that. Apart from hosting my own show, I think what I would like to do,’ she said, wriggling slightly in her seat, ‘is to keep that journalistic allure, as it were, while actually going more entertainment-based. You know that I got the job on the sofa because of my war reporting.’
It had been something of a standing joke in the newsroom. Her first report had been so unutterably bad that the producers had had to write the rest and fax them to her so that she could rehearse them. What she had done well was deliver the words. And obviously no one could dispute that she had actually been in a war zone–albeit a very well-protected part of it.
‘So I’m talking more…Oh I don’t know…more University Challenge than Love Island.’
Matthew was enjoying this meeting. He liked Keera’s chutzpah, no matter how misguided she was. He tried not to let his face show his incredulity. University Challenge! ‘I think Jeremy Paxman’s got that pretty well wrapped up,’ he said, ‘but I get where you’re coming from.’ He leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles, admiring the soft leather of his Italian brogues. ‘I’m sure we can get something brewing. If you’re OK with our terms and conditions, I’ll get my secretary to send over a contract. And in the meantime I can start setting up some meetings. I have quite a good relationship with Wolf Days Productions, who are big players in the television world, as you know,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘They were one of the ones who wanted me to do a programme wearing nothing,’ she said, with a complicated sigh that was supposed to indicate it was understandable that everyone wanted a piece of her.
‘Yes, well, they’ve always got something on the go, and it doesn’t hurt to put your name out there,’ he said, then dragged a large desk diary towards him. ‘How are you fixed at the moment date wise?’
She reached into her Chanel bag for her BlackBerry. She noticed that an email was waiting from Simon, and quickly read it. Damn, she thought, as she scrolled through to her diary. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘if we’re talking about a one-hour meeting, max, I can do a week on Monday straight after the show. It’ll get me out of the morning meeting at Hello Britain!, which is always tedious.’
‘Better give me a few more days, just in case. And maybe tell me your free afternoons and evenings. Sometimes they can be more productive.’ He jotted down the dates she gave. ‘Good. I’ll come back to you when I’ve firmed things up. And, as I said, I’ll get that contract written up with our terms et cetera. It’s all pretty standard. On the assumption that you sign, welcome aboard,’ he said, standing up and holding out his hand.
She stood up, too, aware that her skirt had ridden up and was nudging the top of her thighs. She pulled it down a little. ‘Thanks very much,’ she said, taking his hand. Look at me being all businesslike, she thought. I’m like Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde. Only better, because I’m taller and, though I say it myself, better-looking. Better-sounding in the name department, too. Witherspoon. That is just so…so…withering. She made sure her handshake was firm, but not too firm.
Matthew, meanwhile, was contemplating how attractive she would look spreadeagled on his leather bed.
Outside, on the pavement, Keera phoned Simon. She was skilled enough in the politics of office life never to let her annoyance show. ‘Hello, Simon,’ she said, ‘Keera here. Are you busy?’
‘Not for you,’ he said, adjusting his trousers and checking his watch. He was out by an hour. Must be losing his touch. Although he’d been right that she would be the first to ring.
‘Just to let you know that obviously I’m delighted we’re going on a little roadshow,’ she said. ‘Brilliant idea. I was just wondering whether it was worth one of us staying in the studio because, as we know, with the best will in the world, things can go wrong and you could do with a safe pair of hands to anchor it.’ She really didn’t want to be traipsing round the country meeting the hoi polloi and being pawed by local dignitaries. It was so depressing.
‘Hmm,’ said Simon, pretending to think about it. ‘So we’d have Rod back in the studio, you mean?’
Keera laughed her new laugh. Only lower. Finally, she thought. Absolutely pitch perfect. ‘Whatever,’ she said, pertly. ‘Although, as the main presenter, I was actually thinking that perhaps it should be me…’ She tailed off.
‘Oh,’ said Simon, examining the chewed cuticles on his left hand and smiling to himself. ‘I saw the main presenter as the one who was going to be at the hub. And the hub will be wherever we’re going to be. The other person will be the co-anchor, and there’ll be less for them to do. Which was why it was going to be you. But if you’re happy with Rod being main presenter for the week…’
Keera had been caught out. She had insisted on being described in all correspondence as the main presenter. How very annoying.
‘Keera?’
‘Yes, still here. Sorry. I couldn’t hear you. I’m standing on the street and a lorry just went past.’
‘I said that the main presenter…’
‘Yes, I heard you,’ she snapped.
‘Oh. I thought you said you hadn’t,’ he said, pretending he’d believed her.
‘I meant I hadn’t quite heard you. Or wasn’t sure I’d heard you correctly. The thing is…well, to be honest, I have a number of evening corporate events, which I’m hosting.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about that,’ he said, not sounding even remotely sorry, ‘but you’re going to have to sort that out yourself. I’m sure you’ll be able to get to one or two. You won’t be on another continent, after all.’
She realized she had been comprehensively snookered. That idiot Rod would get the cushy job of sitting on the sofa, while she trailed round Britain staying at hideous hotels with the camera crew, interviewing the general public. Hateful. And she would be losing money. There was no way she’d be able to get to and from the corporate gigs if she was in the wilds of bloody Wales, for bloody example. At least it wouldn’t be annoying for her new agent because they’d been set up by the previous one.
She phoned Matthew to see if Hello Britain! could force her to go if she decided to put her foot down.
‘Moot point,’ he said, moving his chair back from the desk and imagining her in lingerie. ‘You could push it if you wanted. But it’s a high-risk strategy. It might result in them not only sticking to their guns but demanding a change in your contract–and you really don’t want that. On balance, I think you’ll have to grin and bear it. As soon as we know where you’re going to be, we can book cars or flights or whatever. And those corporates you absolutely can’t do–well, I’ll have a word with your previous agent. Since he arranged them, it’s up to him to farm them out to someone else. I can always help him with names from our books, too.’
How annoying, Keera thought, as she hailed a cab home. She’d earmarked that money for a new car. A Mercedes SLK convertible in silver. Or possibly black. She’d have to check which one looked nicer with her hair–silver might be a better contrast.
Her co-presenter was also annoyed about the arrangements for the week of outside broadcasts. Rod had assumed that he would be the one going on the road, and had told his wife and daughter. He had been