Exposure (5 page)

The flat they shared was a long way from the basement in Pimlico where she lived when she first came to London, and from the shabby chaos of Felix's Islington pad. It was a smart conversion in Chelsea Square, and it belonged to Julia. The furniture belonged to her, and the modern pictures, picked up from local art galleries. Felix said they looked like a lot of daubs to him; he didn't contribute anything but a sophisticated stereo and record player that cost nearly as much as Julia's pictures. She was a star and earning a star's salary.

He didn't resent the disparity; it didn't worry him that she carried three-quarters of their living costs. He was still comparatively low paid, but he had everything to play for. He had Clive Warburton in his sights. His break would come. And when it did, he announced to Julia, then he'd pick up the bills and keep her! And laughed in his carefree way. Sometimes he reminded her of a great casual child, convinced that the world and everyone in it owed him something just because he was there. But he made no personal demands. He lived his life and he expected her to live hers.

She came into the sitting room and put down her overnight case. It was dark-blue leather with her initials stamped on the side.

‘I'd better be off now,' she said. ‘I hope to God the traffic's not too bad.' She'd heard him come in while she was showering; he'd called out and settled himself to watch the England v. Germany football match. He was mad on all sports and nothing was allowed to interfere with his gym sessions and football.

She might keep him, in actuality, but she was never going to own him. He had made that plain from the start. His nickname in the office was Toy Boy; Julia had heard it and blazed with anger. But he only shrugged and laughed. ‘They're jealous I got there first. I don't give a fuck what anyone says.' And he didn't.

He looked up and got to his feet. ‘Come and kiss me, beautiful. We've just scored the equalizer.'

He always kissed her hard, using his tongue, and she couldn't help the surge of sexuality when he touched her. He knew it too, and traded on it. ‘I have to keep my end up with my megastar,' he liked to tease her, and pull her laughing into bed.

He was a marvellous lover, but on his own terms. He had never said he loved her, even in their closest moments.

‘I wonder what the old sod is up to this time?' he said, letting her go. ‘You won't have a ladder left to climb – I wish I could get a toe on it. Put a word in for me, will you, darling?' He always said it, half in earnest, but not expecting anything. She had never promoted him, she never would. He had his terms for their relationship, and integrity in the job was hers.

‘I'll be home on Sunday, lunch-time. Will you be here?'

‘Don't know, might go down to the club and get a game of squash. Have a good time, darling, and we'll go fishing another weekend. See you some time Sunday.' As Julia let herself out she heard him exclaim in disappointment. The Germans must have scored another goal.

The second-hand Renault had gone a long time ago. She drove a sleek BMW; the evening dress hanging in its initialled sleeve in the back came from Bruce Oldfield. She had made it early, and she wasn't shy about showing her success in terms of a smart car and good clothes. Appearances counted; Julia had learned that early on.

It was all face value and hype; success was more than talent. She knew she had that and it made sense of the gloss she had applied deliberately to her lifestyle. She had followed Evelyn Western's advice for the second time. ‘Spend on yourself; dress well, you mustn't be afraid to stand out. Not that you can help it, Julia. You did that the first time you came down here. Poor child, you looked like the new girl on her first day at school …' She had smiled kindly at the memory. ‘Now you're a personality, a name people recognize. Make the most of it. And I'll help you if you like. I do know about clothes. But don't let William know; he'd say I was being bossy.'

She had made the introductions, the tactful suggestions, and Julia realized how much Evelyn Western was enjoying herself. There was no hint of patronage. Once she turned to Julia, with her extraordinary blue eyes bright with pleasure, and said, ‘You know this is such fun for me. We never had a daughter.'

And with equal tact she bowed out and left Julia to make her own choices and develop her own style.

She knew the route down to Hampshire, the turn off from the motorway and the descent into deep countryside. She eased down at the entrance to the drive, slowed for the speed bumps, and rounded the sweep to the front of the house. The butler had changed since her last visit. Western was a demanding and temperamental employer. He hired and fired in his domestic scene as he did in his business. Or businesses. He controlled a chain of middle-ranking hotels, an investment bank in the City, and mining interests in Brazil and West Africa. And three commercial radio stations and a Midlands TV network.

Her bag and the dress were taken upstairs for her by a maid, and the butler, a Filipino, she noted, said Lord Western was waiting for her in the study. There was no sign of his wife, and Julia was disappointed. Western was her employer, a human iceberg. Evelyn, she felt, was a friend.

William Western was reading when she came in. He looked up, smiled briefly at her and said to the butler, ‘Whisky and soda, and vodka on the rocks for Miss Hamilton. Hello, Julia. Good journey down? Saw the smart car driving up scattering my gravel – sit down, over there. How are you? You look well.' She was used to it by now. The questions didn't wait for an answer. She sat opposite him; he even told his guests where to sit. He said, ‘I hear you had another engagement.'

‘Yes,' she answered. The bloody secretary had passed it on …

‘Glad you cancelled it and came here instead. I've got something in mind for you. I think you'll like it. Where's that idiot with our drinks? He's been here a week; you'd think he'd know his way round by now. What have I interrupted? Off for the weekend somewhere with Sutton?'

She kept her temper, but it showed, and he seemed amused by it.

‘Yes. We were going to fish on the Avon. Felix was going to teach me.'

‘About the only thing he could teach you,' he said. ‘He's a bloodsucker. Don't waste too much time on him. Ah, at last!' He glared at the Filipino. The man gave a quick nervous glance and offered the drinks. ‘The lady first,' Western snapped at him. ‘God almighty—' He spoke as if the butler were part of the furniture. ‘You wouldn't believe the references – must have written them himself.'

It was shaming, and Julia said thank you, very loudly, to make up for his appalling rudeness, as she took her drink.

‘I can't stand stupidity,' he said. ‘Drives me mad.'

‘Perhaps if you didn't frighten him to death he wouldn't
be
stupid.'

He looked sharply at her. ‘Siding with the underdog, are we? Evelyn does the same. She doesn't have to pay the salary. And don't presume to criticize me, I don't allow it. Now, let me tell you who's coming to dinner.' He paused; he liked to play-act sometimes. Julia waited. He was a bully and a tyrant. As a person she disliked him intensely. But she couldn't resist the firecracker mind, the supercharge of energy. It glowed round him like a nimbus.

He took a large swallow of his whisky.

‘Nobody,' he said. ‘You and Evelyn and me. Almost a family gathering.'

Julia said quietly, ‘Lord Western, I'm very flattered.'

‘Then don't look disappointed. It'll be worth your while. You can fish with the boyfriend another time. But this could be the most important evening of your life. Now –' He finished his drink, and got up. ‘Time to go and change. Evelyn's coming down from London by car, she'll be here in a minute. Seven-thirty. Don't be late.'

‘I'm never late,' Julia pointed out. ‘You know that.'

‘My wife is; hopeless about time. She's fond of you, you know. Thinks you're a nice girl. I think you're a clever one. Much more important.' He left a room so quickly that it made her blink. He never waited for anyone. He left, and that was the end of it, even if someone else was in mid sentence. He was a dreadful, egotistical bulldozer and she hated him, she thought, refusing to gulp down her vodka and hurry after him. But when he said it could be the most important evening of her life, she knew he meant it.

2

Western was walking about stabbing a big cigar to emphasize his words.

Dinner had been tense; she could feel the atmosphere building up, and it wasn't just Western generating drama. His wife was as charming and friendly as always, but there was something wary about her. Anxious. Julia couldn't make it out. And then they gathered in the study.

He spoke abruptly.

‘How would you like to head up a new feature?' He saw Julia's expression and said irritably, ‘My dear girl – for God's sake you don't think I'm talking about some kind of
Women's
page?'

Julia said, ‘Well yes, I did—'

‘Don't be stupid,' he snapped. ‘I'm talking about a major feature with a new angle. I'm going to call it “Exposure”. The
Herald
's commitment to honesty in public life. Watchdog of the nation. Investigative journalism on the American model. No holds barred, take on all comers. It'll make
The Sunday Times
“Insight” look like a snoop after the Parish Council!' He stopped. ‘Well, what do you think of it? Can you do it?'

Julia shook her head; she saw Evelyn Western watching her. She looked tense. Head up a controversial feature …

‘I don't know what to say,' she said.

‘Well it's the first time since I've known you,' he retorted. ‘You're not being modest, I hope. I wouldn't offer you the job if I didn't think you could do it.'

‘No,' Julia answered. ‘I know you wouldn't. Do you really mean I'd be in charge – not responsible to anyone?'

‘Only to me,' he said. ‘Directly responsible to me. If you get this right, you could be the
Herald
's first woman Editor in a few years—'

‘Billy, don't overwhelm her,' his wife cut in. Then to Julia, ‘It is a wonderful offer.'

‘I know,' Julia answered. ‘And I'll take it. Lord Western – I really don't know what to say. Thank you sounds so inadequate … I can't believe it's going to happen.' She gave a nervous laugh. ‘It's incredible.'

Western turned to his wife. For a second longer than usual, they held each other's gaze. Then he said, ‘Ring for that half-witted Filipe and tell him to bring some champagne. We've got something to celebrate.'

‘To the birth of “Exposure”,' he announced, raising his glass.

‘And to you, Julia,' Evelyn Western added.

She stood up; reed thin in her straight black crêpe dress; a double row of pearls the size of poppets gleamed in the light. They were the only jewels she wore apart from a very small sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds on her wedding finger. Given to her before Western had made his first millions. He'd been a small-town accountant when they married. It was an endearing touch of sentiment.

‘I know you'll want to get down to details with Julia so I'll go to bed,' she said, ‘and leave you to it; try not to stay up all night, will you?' She gave her husband a fond smile, bestowed the last of it on Julia, and was gone. How could she love him? Julia had often wondered. What was there to love in William Western?

And she was such a fundamentally nice woman. Julia gave up. She'd never understand it.

Western finished his champagne. ‘I don't really like this stuff,' he remarked, ‘but it's supposed to be lucky to christen a new venture. I'm switching to brandy. Like some? No, all right then, stick to your fizzy. But don't drink too much – you're going to need a clear head.

‘Now, I suppose you're wondering where to start – well, I've got your first programme mapped out for you. Target would be a better word. I like the sound of it – target. We must work that into the format, it sounds good …'

Julia was caught up, enmeshed beyond objective judgement by the speed and energy of the man. Target. Yes, it would catch the reader's eye, whet the public appetite for blood. He knew his public …

He had a bumper half-f of brandy in his two hands, leaning towards her. The sheer power of his personality was at full throttle. She felt a rush of exhilaration not too far from the sexual high she got from Felix.

‘I want you to go after Harold King,' he said. ‘I want that bastard's head on a plate. Money's no object, hire what staff you want – go where you need to – just nail him for me.' He stared hard at her. ‘Do it, and you can name your price.'

Julia went to the usual guest room. She'd risen on the Richter scale of Western's approval. It was twice the size of the one she'd occupied that first night five years ago; it had a spectacular view of the lake.

Ideas were spinning like tops in her brain. Harold King. The most controversial figure in the public domain. A genius, a billionaire, a brutal adversary; a power figure that revelled in the spotlight.

There were legends about him, fostered by himself; other rumours spoken in a whisper. Arms dealing, corruption, financial tentacles reaching deep into Eastern Europe.

And friends in very high places who protected him.

‘Nail him for me …' Western had said. ‘And you can name your price!'

As he promised, it had been the most important evening of her life.

‘I can't help feeling guilty,' Evelyn Western said. ‘She's still an innocent, Billy. Nobody else would have taken this on.'

‘That's why I chose her,' he answered. He was in his dressing room and he came and sat on the bed and took hold of his wife's hand.

‘Evie, she's clever, she's ambitious and she's determined. That wasn't a bribe – I meant it. I'll make her the
Herald
's Editor if she brings this off. And because she's a woman she can get to people and places that won't arouse suspicion.'