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‘It is,’ she acknowledged, then added, ‘Though the column isn’t always funny. I do write about serious matters.’
‘Maybe, but I often hear chuckling. Hey, Bea,’ he called, and his wife turned in their direction. ‘This young lady writes the column in Trend that you think is so terrific.’
‘You do?’ the woman said, smiling. ‘I just love your wicked streak.’
Matthew raised a thick dark brow. ‘Wicked streak?’ he enquired.
Kristin’s heart sank. The couple were making her sound frivolous, wacky and faintly troublesome, but this was not the kind of image which she wanted to put across.
‘When I was younger, much younger,’ she emphasised, ‘there was a time when I rebelled and went a little... haywire. I’ve referred to that period in my column.’
‘Perhaps you’d tell me something I’ve always wanted to know,’ said the bespectacled woman. ‘Is everything which you write true?’
‘Most of it,’ she replied, ‘though sometimes I use a little poetic licence to give an extra punch.’
‘Like when?’ the woman enquired.
‘Well, for example, I once wrote about—’
As Kristin leaned forward to speak past him, Matthew was aware of the closeness of her body and smelled the faint fragrance of her perfume. His eyes followed the line of her profile—smooth brow, lightly freckled straight nose, determined chin—and travelled down the line of her throat to her bare shoulders. His gaze dipped deeper, to the neckline of her dress where her breasts nestled as smooth and succulent as two ripe peaches.
She was the most striking woman in the room, he thought, by far. Know-it-all Freddie had spent the evening drooling and trying frantically to impress her, though she did not appear to have noticed.
‘Was changing into a suit very painful?’ Kristin enquired.
Matthew’s head shot up and, lifting his knife, he concentrated on dissecting a piece of Brie. He had, he realised, been staring at her and could be accused of drooling, too. Had she noticed his interest? Heaven forbid!
‘I beg your pardon?’ he said.
‘I wondered whether being unable to wear your Levis this evening had had you in tears?’
Matthew grinned. ‘There was a slight watering of the eyes, but I gritted my teeth, stiffened my lip and sallied forth.’
‘In style,’ she said, thinking how dignified he looked in his charcoal-grey suit.
‘You’re looking pretty stylish yourself.’
‘Thank you,’ Kristin said, and took a belated mouthful of the chocolate mousse.
His grin, the first of the evening, together with the compliment, seemed to signify a softening of his mood which, in turn, seemed to offer an opportunity to tell him more about the asset he would gain by employing her.
‘In addition to writing my column, I’ve been involved in many other aspects of the magazine,’ she said, putting down her spoon. ‘We run on a shoestring and everyone mucks in where needed, so I’m an all-rounder. I’ve compiled fashion pages, organised surveys, researched and written articles on such subjects as green issues, prison visiting, impotence.’
‘Impotence?’ he queried.
‘I know all about it—’ she tilted him a smile ‘—so if you require any advice?’
‘Thanks,’ Matthew said. ‘I don’t.’
‘I’ve interviewed people from all walks of life.’
‘Movie stars?’
She frowned. ‘Yes, amongst others, though—’
‘Whilst you may have gone down a storm with Sir George,’ he said, ‘I have my doubts about whether dishing the dirt on the latest screen idol fits you to be editor of The Ambassador’s features section. We aim to be popular, but, like I said before, The Ambassador is a quality paper and it’s my intention to maintain that quality.’
‘Aren’t you being just the weeniest bit stuffy?’ Kristin enquired, restraining herself from stretching her vocabulary and saying something really impolite.
‘Stuffy? Me? I’m not,’ he protested.
‘Yes, you are. People like to have an insight into what makes the rich and famous tick.’
‘Maybe, but—’
‘And you’re being bloody-minded.’ She shone him a smile which was somewhere between merry and murderous. ‘I told you I write about serious subjects, but you ignore that and focus on movie stars instead.’
‘Look, I’m sure you’re very good at what you do,’ Matthew said placatingly.
‘You’re patronising, too!’ she flared.
‘Stuffy, bloody-minded and patronising. If I ever need a character reference, I know where to come. However,’ he carried on grittily, ‘I shall have enough problems getting the new Ambassador off the ground without worrying about you messing up.’
‘I won’t mess up,’ Kristin declared. ‘I’m a professional.’
‘So am I,’ he shot back, ‘and it wouldn’t be professional of me to hire someone because their column happens to appeal to Sir George’s teenage daughter. Anyway you’d be way out of your depth.’
Her hazel eyes flashed. ‘How do you know? You don’t. You have entirely the wrong perception of me, a perception which is based on complete and utter ignorance!’
Matthew swung a look around the table. The increasing heat of their exchange had started to turn heads and draw glances.
‘We should drop this discussion,’ he stated.
Kristin nodded and reined in her temper. It was not the time or the place to argue—and, indeed, she had never meant to argue. She had intended to be sweetness and light and to ooze charm, but he was so frustrating.
‘For now,’ she said.
She finished her pudding and a few minutes later their host announced that coffee and liqueurs would be served in the drawing room. People began to move. As the mumsy brunette skewered Matthew in conversation again, Freddie sidled close. She gave a silent groan. A glint in his eye warned he intended to stick to her like glue for the rest of the evening and bore her rigid. And she wished he would stop ogling her breasts.
‘Krisdn!’ someone called, and she looked round to see Emily waving and weaving her way towards her through the guests.
‘I must go. Nice speaking to you. Please excuse me,’ she rattled off, and swiftly made her exit.
‘It’s lovely to see you again,’ Emily said, smiling and hugging her.
She hugged her back. ‘And you.’
When they had met earlier in the week there had been an instant rapport and immediate friendship. The girl, who was shy and a little awkward, reminded her of how she had been at eighteen. An innocent, Kristin thought wryly.
‘I wanted to sit near you at dinner,’ Emily confided as they walked through to the drawing room, ‘but Daddy’s a stickler for protocol and he insisted I must act as hostess at the end of the table.’ She turned down her mouth. ‘I hate making polite conversation to strangers. Are you having coffee?’
‘Please,’ Kristin replied, and they went to help themselves from a buffet table.
At another table, waiters dispensed a selection of liqueurs.
Guests filled the drawing room, some sitting on the pale green couches which were strewn with silk oriental cushions, others admiring the paintings and sculptures, more standing together chatting.
‘You were lucky, you sat next to Matthew Lingard,’ Emily said, looking through the crowd to where the editor was talking to one of the newspapermen. ‘I’ve never met him, but Daddy said I’d think he was a hunk and I do. He’s gorgeous.’ She sighed. ‘He makes my toes curl.’
‘Mine, too,’ Kristin said, though her irony went unnoticed.
‘Has he given you the all clear?’
She shook her head. ‘We haven’t had time to properly discuss my appointment.’
‘I love the way his hair waves down to his collar,’ the girl declared, gazing dreamily at Matthew as they continued to drink their coffees.
‘It needs cutting,’ Kristin said.
‘I think it makes him look dashing and romantic, like a pirate,’ Emily said, and giggled. ‘A Spanish pirate. Did you know he has some Spanish blood?’
‘No.’
‘Apparently one of his grandmothers came from Barcelona.’ The girl eyed her idol again. ‘Let’s go and talk to him.’
‘You go. I’ve talked to him enough already.’
‘I don’t like to go over on my own. Please, Kristin, come with me and introduce me. Please. Daddy’s busy and I’m dying to meet him and this is the perfect chance and—’
‘All right,’ she agreed reluctantly.
She had decided it would be wise to steer clear of the editor for the remainder of the evening. A tactical withdrawal would allow him to cool down, rethink and realise how prejudiced he was being. It would also enable her to adopt a resolutely less inflammable manner.
Kristin frowned. Even if he did have someone else in mind to head the features section, she was not about to give up. Not yet. She had been offered a chance to become a mainstream journalist and it was a chance which she intended to cling onto, albeit by her fingertips.
Dispensing with their coffee cups, she and Emily cut a path between the groups of laughing, talking people. As they approached, Matthew and his companion abruptly broke off from their conversation and turned to greet them.
‘Your father’s told me how well you’re doing at school. Congratulations,’ Matthew said, introducing himself and shaking hands with Emily, who blushed scarlet.
‘My name is Rob Talbot; I’m the about-to-be home news editor of The Ambassador,’ said the other man, who had fair hair, a thick moustache and was in his mid-forties. ‘I’ve come with Matt from his previous paper. We’ve been buddies for years.’ He grinned at Kristin. ‘You don’t seem so madcap to me.’
She darted a sideways look at Matthew. ‘I’m the soul of sanity,’ she declared.
‘I hear you’ve been giving boyo here a hard time. Good for you; most women go so weak at the knees it’s “yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir”. Uh-uh, I’m being summoned,’ Rob said, eyeing a plump blonde woman in another group who was beckoning to him. ‘That’s my other half so I’d better obey or I’ll be in trouble. Hope to catch up with you both again. Bye.’
‘Is the lady his wife?’ Emily enquired as the home news editor disappeared.
‘For the past twenty years,’ Matthew said. ‘Why?’
‘There’re a couple of newspapermen here who came with their “partners”’ the girl said, lowering her voice and glancing round, ‘and Daddy doesn’t approve. Each time he was introduced to a “partner”—’ she enclosed the word with breathless inverted commas ‘—he became uptight I’ve told him he’s stuck in a time warp, but he’s very prim and proper about things like that.’
‘So he wouldn’t be thrilled if you decided to shack up with some dream man when you’re older?’ Matthew enquired, in a wryly teasing manner.
Emily giggled. ‘He’d go bananas, though I suppose he just might accept it if he knew we were going to be married. Daddy doesn’t approve of what he calls “philanderers” either,’ she continued. ‘Once he was all set to employ a man to run one of his companies, but then he discovered he, um—’ she blushed again ‘—slept around, and the whole thing was off.’ She paused. ‘When are you going to talk to Kristin about her job?’
He stiffened. The position of features editor was not ‘her job’. He objected to the assumption—and he resented the increasing feeling he had of being manoeuvred. He took a mouthful of brandy from the goblet which he held. But rather than offending Sir George by refusing outright to employ his protégée, perhaps he should pretend to consider the idea? It would be what was laughingly called diplomacy.
‘I’ll squeeze it in some time tomorrow. OK?’ he said, and Kristin nodded.
‘Emily, my sweet, can you spare a few minutes?’ Sir George called, and they turned to see him smiling from the other side of the room.
The girl sighed. ‘I’ll be back,’ she said, flashing a grin at Matthew, and sped away.
‘You were complaining to Rob about me?’ Kristin enquired.
He hesitated, slowly swirling the amber liquid in his glass. He could fudge, but she had asked a direct question so he would give her a direct answer.
‘Yes.’
She frowned. This afternoon she had thought him relaxed and friendly—but not tonight. Whilst he had treated Emily, with gentle consideration, he was becoming progressively more hostile towards her. It was no more Mr Nice Guy.
‘I’m sorry to interfere with your game plan,’ she said, with a smile. ‘However, when the red mist clears—’
‘You think I’m angry?’
‘I know you’re furious. But—’
‘We’ll deal with this in the morning. You can fill me in on your experience and if I should decide you’re suitable—’
‘You expect me to spend the night dreaming the impossible dream?’ Kristin enquired.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Tomorrow, as a courtesy to Sir George, you intend to go through the motions of an interview. You’ll say you will consider my application and in a few days’ time you’ll send me a letter announcing that, sorry, I don’t quite meet your requirements.’
Raising his glass to his lips, Matthew took another slug of brandy. Whilst he admired a brain, and it helped if it was attractively packaged, Kristin Blake was proving to be a little too sharp for comfort.
‘My job is to reverse the fortunes of The Ambassador and make it pay,’ he said heavily. ‘Not provide a free ride for someone whom Emily’s taken a shine to.’
‘You can’t resist the pathetic fallacy,’ she declared.
‘Which is?’
‘You think that because I’m blonde I must be a bimbo. An airbead who intends to busk it. I’m not.’
‘One thing I do think,’ he said, ‘is that you’re young to head the features section.’
‘I think you’re young to be the editor of a national daily newspaper,’ Kristin responded. ‘Most of them are in their fifties, whereas you—’
