Vintage Babes (31 page)

Steve grinned. ‘Carol’s pretty frisky for an older woman.’

‘Watch it, mate,’ I told him.

Melanie adjusted her bra strap, a black one which was half an inch wide. Industrial strength. ‘Maybe I should take up fitness training.’

‘I can recommend it,’ I said.

After being chauffeur-driven home, I had showered, changed and come on to the office where I was greeted with applause. The advertisement crew downstairs had given me a standing ovation, which was being echoed by the editorial team. There is a television in the interview room and apparently everyone had crowded in to watch on that.

‘Max looked great, too,’ Melanie added, then stopped as the switchboard rang. She went to answer it. ‘There’s a guy who says he’s a refuse collector and he knows you and he’d like to speak to you.’

I shook my head. ‘Tell him I’m not in the office.’

She did as instructed, but seconds later the switchboard rang again. This time the caller was a woman who described herself as a life-time reader of
The Siren
, so I took the phone. It makes sense to keep our regulars sweet.

‘I wanted to tell you, my dear, how thrilled I was to see you and your young man on the television this morning. Such a surprise –’ there was a squawk of delighted laughter ‘– and hasn’t he got bedroom eyes?’

‘Max isn’t my young man,’ I started to explain, but the woman, who sounded elderly and subscribed to ‘if in doubt, shout’, talked over me.

‘Others might criticise you for cradle snatching, but not yours truly. You snare what you can get while you still have the opportunity, that’s my advice, and never mind if people snigger. They’re only jealous and –’

‘I’m pleased you enjoyed the work-out,’ I cut in. ‘I shall be writing about it, so keep on buying
The Siren.
Goodbye.’

When the phone immediately rang again, Steve grimaced. ‘Oh, the demands of fame. I’ll speak to you later when the fan club’s grown weary,’ he said, and went off to his office.

‘I’m out of here, too,’ Tony said, and he exited.

The next call was from my father. I had rung the previous evening to tell him to watch the morning show. If he had missed seeing me, I would never have been forgiven. Lynn had been unable to watch because she was at work, but I’d set the video so that we could view together later. I was eager to see how the performance had gone myself.

‘I thought you were splendid, pet,’ my father said. ‘And so did all the folks at Bridgemont.’

‘You told your neighbours I’d be on?’

‘Slipped a note under everyone’s door last night.’

I cringed. ‘Dad, you didn’t!’

‘Of course. Having your daughter appear on national television is something special. And we all watched together in the residents’ lounge.’

My cringe deepened into a squirm. I could imagine the old folk sat in rows, hearing aids adjusted and eyes peering through bi-focals; assessing, criticising, secretly wondering what on earth George was making such a fuss about.

‘Everyone loved it. Thought you were so active and so slim. Most of the ladies went a bundle on that Max fellow in his tight rig-out. Didn’t leave much to the imagination. Dilys reckons he must be dynamite in bed.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ I said impatiently.

‘That’s what I told her. What I told the other ladies who’d picked up the gossip about the two of you having a thing going. I explained you were just friends and there was no jiggery-pokery, if you get my drift. That you were old enough to be the lad’s mum or near enough his grandmother. But you did me proud. Don’t suppose you came across that Les Dynam when you were at the television centre?’

‘No.’

‘Shame. He seems such a friendly chap, just wondered if he was the same in real life. How about Gloria Hunniford?’

‘Not a glimpse.’

‘I’ve always liked her, but never mind. Look forward to hearing about it in due course. Oh, and by the way, pet, I’m afraid I’ll have to say thanks, but no thanks to lunch on Sunday. One of the couples here is celebrating their Ruby Wedding and everyone’s invited. But I’ll be at home if you come on Tuesday, around midday.’

‘I’ll see you then,’ I agreed.

‘Lynn and Beth still at your place?’ he said, as an afterthought.

‘They are.’

The three following calls were straightforward congratulations on a job well done with, mercifully, no mention of Max. But the next was from a Dursleigh hair stylist who coyly referred to the trainer and me as having an ‘understanding’. Again, I explained there was no ‘understanding’, but, again, my denial fell upon stony ground.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ I muttered, as I replaced the receiver.

Being mistakenly linked with Max had been irritating enough before, but our television appearance seemed to have provided fresh impetus and provoked even more interest. I frowned. If I was being bombarded by phone calls, many of which assumed we were lovers, what was it going to be like when I went out and about? Would strangers stop me in the street to chat about the imagined romance? If I went to interview someone, might they attempt to turn the tables and interview me about my sex life? When I attended council or healthcare meetings, would there be the hum of whispers and knowing looks? In my role as a reporter, I needed to be seen as sensible, reliable and trustworthy, but such scurrilous gossip could ruin my reputation.

And what about me as a woman? The thought of being envied by half of Dursleigh, but maybe viewed as a laughing stock by the rest made my skin crawl. The joke had gone too far. I hated my private life being a source of lascivious speculation. Yet what could I do about it? For weeks now, at every opportunity I had plainly stated that a relationship did not exist, but I might as well have been talking to a brick wall.

For the next hour, the telephone rang repeatedly and every time it was concerning the televised work-out. Most of the calls were from folk saying how much they’d enjoyed seeing me – anyone who referred to a romance was given short shrift – though there were a couple from local females asking how they could engage Max as their personal trainer, while another woman was eager to know if I knew where Tina had bought her zebra outfit.

‘It’s not every editor who has a television star on his staff,’ Steve said, when I finally managed to escape into the peace of his office. ‘I feel very humble.’

‘Please keep quiet,’ I said. ‘Or words to that effect.’

‘Are you tempted to change careers?’

‘Is this you hoping I might be about to resign?’

‘Me hope that? Never.’

‘Just as well, because a career change isn’t about to happen. Max has been asked to do a work-out on the show again, but with other, younger, women.’

‘Younger being the appeal?’ I nodded. ‘Do you mind?’

‘No. I’m happy with my fifteen minutes of fame,’ I said, then sighed as the telephone rang on his desk.

I had been anticipating yet another ‘well done’ message with some reference to a liaison with Max, but although the call was for me it came from Roger, my friendly policeman. He thought I would be interested to know that the previous day, in a nearby town, another jeweller’s shop had been robbed and goods to the value of over a quarter of a million pounds had been taken.

‘The raid was carried out with military precision and planning, the same as at Gifford’s,’ I told Steve, when Roger had given me the details and rung off. ‘It was another sedate family firm and the thieves are believed to have been the same three men. Seems this is the fourth such robbery in the past month and the police reckon a gang which has local knowledge must be operating in the area, selecting shops which offer easy pickings. The odd part is that each time the thieves have driven away and vanished into thin air. There’s been no sighting of their vehicle.’

‘They don’t head for London, they go to ground somewhere around here?’

‘That’s how it appears.’

‘They need to be stopped,’ Steve said. ‘The robbery has destroyed old man Gifford’s nerves and his son isn’t much better. I called in the shop the other day to see how they were coping in the aftermath –’

‘That was kind.’

‘– and they’re not coping well. Both father and son are constantly on edge and the assistants are the same. They’re wary of every customer and –’ There was a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ he called.

‘Hope I’m not interrupting,’ Tina said, smiling at him. ‘Oh, hi, Carol.’

‘All recovered from this morning?’ I enquired.

She nodded. In the car coming back from the studios, she had been fretful and unsure. She had talked of how, despite giving Joe Fernandez his marching orders, she would miss him. Yet again, she had insisted she needed a man. A husband. And now, blonde and sleek in a white trouser suit, she looked all set to charm Steve. Was that her plan? Was he willing to be charmed? If so, more fool him.

I stood up. ‘Better get on,’ I said.

Back in the general office, I asked about the interview which Melanie had done earlier with the woman from the care home. Listening to her, she appeared to have asked all the right questions and acquired all the necessary information.

‘It went fine and it’ll be a good piece. An accurate piece,’ the girl assured me. ‘Eric never cared about what I did, but Steve does. Okay, he criticises and can really blast you out at times, but that makes you try harder. Makes me try harder.’ She smiled. ‘He says my work is much improved and I have potential.’

‘I agree with him,’ I said.

Her smile widened. ‘Thanks.’

Later, when Melanie went out to buy her lunch, I began to jot down notes about my television experience in readiness for an article. I was wondering if I should ask Tina for her observations, when I heard her walking quickly back along the corridor and towards the stairs.

‘Bye, Carol,’ she called.

‘Bye.’

‘What a woman!’ Steve exclaimed, a minute or two later, and I turned to find him standing in the doorway. I had assumed from his words that he was praising her, but the scowl and thin line of his mouth indicated otherwise.

‘Problem?’ I asked.

‘She wanted to know if I’d seen her on television and what did I think of her? When I said she was good, that all three of you had been good, she rushed around the desk and hugged and kissed me.’

I grinned. His voice reeked of distaste, of horror.

‘You liked it last week, when she hugged you in the street. And, as I recall, the first time you met her, here at the office, you were besotted.’

‘Never. As I recall, you were being so shitty that Tina made a welcome diversion. So I welcomed her.’

‘Me, shitty?’

‘You can be, on occasion. But her kissing me.’ He shuddered. ‘She was so clingy. Like a bloody limpet. Then she told me how her central heating’s gone on the blink and asked if I would go round to her house to take a look. No chance. If she kisses me here, heaven knows what she’d do if she got me on my own.’

‘Handcuff you to the bed and have her wicked way?’ I suggested.

‘She might try.’ Steve made a face. ‘And her husband’s barely been dead two months.’

‘You’re not inclined to be Tina’s next man?’

‘Heaven forbid! I’m not setting foot inside her house, but how do I keep the woman at a distance?’

I grinned. ‘Tricky one, Moriarty.’

‘It isn’t a joke. What I need is for her to think I’m interested in some other woman. That’d cool her down. Otherwise –’ He grimaced again.