Wild Justice

by Liz Fielding

  'And a wages bill to match I have no doubt.'

  'And as soon as the season begins -' she ploughed on, refusing to be sidetracked, but Luke Devlin had other ideas.

  'That's usually Easter isn't it? It's late this year, but I'm sure you've taken that into account.'

  As late as Easter could be. Ten weeks. Ten long weeks before the invasion of people eager to throw off winter, seventy long days before the Easter holidays brought children bursting out of school and families down to the coast to fill the caravan parks and the guest houses.

  'People will start arriving as soon as the weather picks up a little. The antique shops in the Wynds bring them long before it's warm enough to sit on the beach.'

  'And why should they venture out along a cold and windy pier when the Wynds can offer them any number of attractive little bistros?' He leaned towards her, fixing her with a glance that pinned her back against the sofa. 'Let's drop the pretence, Miss Beaumont and admit that without my support you're in deep trouble.'

  It took all her self control to keep her voice pitched low, thoughtful.

  'The loss of sponsorship from Harries would be a serious blow, Mr Devlin, I would be a fool to pretend anything else. It will take time to find new sources of support. But since you kept your activities very discreet and Michael preferred to keep his problems to himself I had no reason to suspect anything was wrong. After all, if your takeover had been a week later, the money would have been in the bank right now.'

  'You think you've just been the victim of bad timing?' He shook his head. 'Let me disabuse you of that fantasy. The truth of the matter is, Miss Beaumont that if my “activities” had been delayed even for a week, there would have been no money to put in the bank. In business, as in drama, timing is everything. And even a local radio station has to be run as a business if it's to survive.'

  Fizz clamped down hard on her teeth at this. That was precisely why they had needed to spend so much money on diversification. If only she had known, or at least been given some warning when things had started to go wrong…

  'Yes, of course it must.'

  She lifted her chin a little. Luke Devlin was right. She should have known, it was her job to know that the sponsorship was on a handshake. That their sponsor was about to go to the wall.

  'As you can see from the figures, the reason for our expansion is precisely that. I wanted to give the station a broader base to avoid just this kind of difficulty.' She remembered her intention to issue an invitation. 'Perhaps you would like to come and look around, see for yourself what we're doing? Saturday morning is always lively and you could have lunch with us in the new restaurant. As the station's guest, of course.'

  'No. Thank you.' Those disconcerting eyes could apparently read her mind. 'Harries Industries is in trouble because the previous chairman ran it like a philanthropic society and it will take considerable cost cutting to put it back on its feet. It would be quite wrong to encourage you to squander your financial resources on entertaining me, since there is no possibility that I would change my mind once it is made up.'

  Fizz swallowed. 'And is it made up?'

  'Yes. It was made up long before you made your touching little speech.'

  'I see.' Could she have been that wrong? Time was money to this man. Why would he waste it listening to her?

  'I may continue with sponsorship for the time being subject to certain conditions.'

  'All of it?' The words escaped before she could bridle them as her heart performed a somersault, pure relief mixed with joy. The emotion was intense, but short lived.

  'You might not care to take it when you've heard my conditions,' he continued, in the same careless voice.

  'Within the guidelines we'll be happy to provide you with any additional advertising messages of course -'

  'Miss Beaumont, I have no doubt that you'd put my name in lights above the pavilion if I asked it.'

  'I doubt we’d get approval from the Planning Committee,' she replied, unable to stop a grin from widening her generous mouth.

  She felt glorious, as if some great weight had been lifted from her shoulders and she was perfectly willing to forgive him his earlier rudeness. Good grief, she'd walk on her hands down the pier, somersault its length, if that would make him happy.

  'I won't bother the borough council on this occasion,' he assured her. 'My conditions have nothing to do with advertising.' His voice, cool, distant, brought her crashing back to earth.

  'What do you want?'

  'As you must realise, Miss Beaumont, Harries is in no state to give money away.'

  'It isn't entirely a one way street,' she protested. 'The public relations aspect has been very valuable to Harries in the past. Perhaps you don't understand -'

  'Don't I?' His voice hadn't changed much. Just the tiniest inflection to warn Fizz that she had said something rather silly. 'That argument might be a little subtle for the men and women who will be made redundant, don't you think?'

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'Will there be many? Redundancies?'

  'I can't say until Phillip has made his report.'

  His cousin? That dry, humourless man. She looked towards the door he had disappeared through. 'Then heaven help them,' she murmured.

  'Phillip might not be your idea of fun, Miss Beaumont, but I can assure you he has a highly developed sense of what is right. He won't lightly waste a well-trained work-force.'

  'I hope you're right.'

  'In this instance you can trust me.'

  Fizz, fastened by his intent gaze was compelled to believe that he meant exactly what he said. In fact, she was sure that he never said anything he didn't mean. And he had said they could have their funding.

  She frowned. 'And the sponsorship money? You said we could have it. Can I trust you in that instance too?'

  His eyes mocked her doubtful tone. 'I am prepared to write you a cheque now. My personal cheque. And I can assure you that I won't require any public relations, corporate entertainment, or personal publicity in return. Quite the reverse, in fact.' He paused, briefly, before adding, 'And if I use your restaurant I will be more than happy to pay for my own lunch.'

  Fizz wasn't fooled into heart-stopping gratitude a second time.

  'But there are conditions attached to your generosity?' Of course there were. Nothing about Luke Devlin suggested that he was simply an easy touch and she had a sudden ominous sense of foreboding. 'Conditions that I'm not going to like?'

  For a long moment Luke Devlin said nothing, but subjected Fizz to an intense and level regard from the coolest pair of eyes she had ever seen. Clear, incisive, ransacking eyes that made her feel transparent. The eyes of a man who would be very hard to fool. And who would make you pay with everything you had if you ever succeeded. She held his glance for as long as she could, matching his determination until she began to feel slightly dizzy, as if leaning over the edge of a precipice.

  'I think you'd better tell me.'

  He turned away abruptly as if he too had found the intensity of that exchange uncomfortable. 'Perhaps, after all, it would be better if I discussed it with your father. I'm sure that he will be able to take a less emotional view of my proposition.'

  Edward Beaumont thrived on emotion, it was his life-blood, but Fizz didn't think it advisable to say so. Luke Devlin had used the word in a manner that suggested he didn't much approve of emotion. There was no place for it in business. He had said so.

  'But he is not here, Mr Devlin,' she pointed out. 'I am. And I can assure you that I am fully empowered to make any decisions on behalf of Pavilion Radio.'

  Her determination must have filtered through because he turned back to face her and she met his questioning glance head on, refusing to be the first to back down. Fortunately he did not put to the test, but after a moment, nodded.

  'Very well.' But he didn't immediately explain his proposition.

  First he took a cheque book and fountain pen from his inside jacket pocket, then casually propping
one ankle on his knee and using his leg as a table, he proceeded to write a cheque which he tore from the book and handed to her.

  Fizz took it almost reluctantly, with a feeling of apprehension. Luke Devlin was showing her the money. Putting it into her hand. She recognised the technique. They both knew how hard it would be to give it back, no matter what he asked. He was banking on that and that made her nervous. It suggested that he thought she might say no. She glanced at the cheque and her heart sank further. It was nowhere near the level of sponsorship she needed.

  'Cheer up, Miss Beaumont. That is just the first instalment.'

  'Instalment?'

  'I realise that in the past the sponsorship money was paid in a lump sum. However this will help to keep the bank manager happy at the end of the month. Won't it?'

  And it would keep him in control, make sure that she kept him happy too.

  'This is for one month? But that means you will be giving us more than Michael agreed.'

  'The additional sum is to cover the cost of employing another member of staff.'

  Fizz met his impassive gaze. 'Only one? It's an awful lot of money for one person.'

  'Only one,' he confirmed. 'But I think you'll be happy enough to take her on.'

  She. Of course it would be a woman but why on earth did her heart plummet at the word? She should be relieved. She recalled the moment she had set eyes on him, her body's explosive reaction. That instant, almost cataclysmic, recognition had only happened to her once before. But if Luke Devlin were involved with someone she was safe from him. From herself.

  'I think perhaps you had better explain exactly what you want in return for such overwhelming generosity,' she said.

  He paused for just a moment. 'There is a young woman, Miss Beaumont, an actress. You may even have heard of her. Melanie Brett.' He paused, pointedly, clearly expecting some reaction. Not to have heard of her would apparently be unthinkable.

  Her forehead wrinkled in concentration as she tried to remember where she had heard the name. She's in one of those Australian soaps the teenage girls love so much, isn't she?'

  'You admit to watching the opposition, Miss Beaumont?'

  Unexpectedly, he smiled. His mouth, as predicted was wide, the lines drawn into his cheeks deepened and as for heart-warming, it would have melted permafrost. A very dangerous reaction that had been known to undermine the foundations of the strongest building. Deep inside her she could almost hear the ice cracking.

  'Of course,' she said, quickly, determined to ignore the thaw. 'It's essential. Don't you keep up with your competitors?' She didn't wait for him to answer. Of course he did. 'Tell me about Melanie.'

  'She arrived in England this morning.' He glanced at his watch. 'In fact she's due in Broomhill within the hour which is why I'm on such a tight schedule myself. And she has expressed a wish to guest in your own little soap opera.'

  'She wants a part in Holiday Bay?' To say she was surprised was the understatement of the year.

  'Just for the summer.'

  Fizz laughed, she couldn't help herself. 'You're joking!'

  His face remained impassive. 'Why should I joke about something that is going to cost me a small fortune?'

  'But surely she will be appearing on television while she's here? Doing the chat shows, that kind of thing?' He neither confirmed nor denied it. 'Oh, come on, Mr Devlin, I don't believe she's even heard of Holiday Bay. I know the limits of our transmission so you can't tell me she's been picking it up on her tranny in Australia.'

  He responded to her disbelief with the faintest smile, the smallest shrug that confessed he had had his bluff called. 'Maybe not. But she'll be in Broomhill Bay for the summer and I'd like her kept busy.'

  Relief that it was something so simple relaxed her face into a smile. There had been something about his manner that had made her certain that he had being going to ask for much more. Something impossible. Even so, it might not be as easy as he seemed to think.

  'If you can organise a work permit for her, I'm sure we can fit her in. The publicity would be more than welcome.' With Melanie Brett in their daily soap they would be fighting off sponsors for the programme, not begging for them. Luke Devlin must know that. She quickly dropped her eyes in an attempt to conceal her excitement and looked again at the cheque. 'I'm afraid we can't possibly pay her this kind of money, though. It's strictly Equity rates at Pavilion Radio.'

  'Although she has lived most of her life in Australia, Melanie was born in England and has a British Passport. A work permit will not be necessary. And you'll pay her whatever I say you'll pay her.'

  Fizz was puzzled. She had already agreed to take Melanie on board. Good grief, she'd be an idiot to refuse. 'We'll find a place for Miss Brett in the cast, Mr Devlin,' Fizz said, very slowly, very carefully. 'But I meant what I said about Equity rates.' she continued, before he could interrupt. 'My sister, my father, every member of the cast is paid the same fee. I couldn't possibly allow any special rates. You must see that.'

  'Must I?'

  Cool, impassive, Mr Luke Devlin regarded her with cool amusement. But she refused to crumple. Claudia considered herself a star and took part in Holiday Bay with grudging condescension only because Edward Beaumont had insisted upon it.

  As it was the scripts had to be written around times she was available. If she discovered another, younger actress was being paid more than she was, she would walk out and Fizz wouldn't blame her.

  'Your interest in the show is really very flattering, Mr Devlin,' she said, with an attempt at a smile. 'And we'll be delighted to include Miss Brett -'

  His smile was merely a display of strong white teeth. 'I never doubted it for a moment.'

  'The problem is, I'm not quite sure why you feel you have to pay us for the privilege.' She made a small gesture with the cheque that now weighed like lead in her hand.

  'All pleasures have to be paid for.' Fizz was very glad that her cheeks were already pink, so that her blush shouldn't betray her. She remembered her initial relief that this was all to do with impressing a woman. But Melanie Brett? The girl was so young, so very tender for a man like Luke Devlin. Thirty-five or six years old, rock-face hard, he didn't seem to be the type to lose his head over a pretty face, at least not of a girl very nearly young enough to be his daughter.

  Or maybe not. Some actresses specialised in playing teenagers well into their twenties and the programmes shown in England would be at least a year old. And anyway it was absolutely none of her business. If he was so besotted that he would use his money and power to buy her what she wanted, well, she supposed it demonstrated a kind of humanity behind that ruthless exterior.

  Heaven alone knew that she could understand why Melanie Brett would be attracted to the man. She had once fallen head over heels for that heady mixture of dangerous good looks and sexual magnetism when she was too young to realise the dangers and she had just learned that she still wasn't as immune as she had imagined herself to be.

  'I imagine scripts will have to be rewritten and that will involve some expense,' he continued.

  'How thoughtful of you.'

  'You'll find Melanie is very enthusiastic about radio, very keen to widen her experience in the medium.'

  'And there isn't a radio station in the country that wouldn't give her a guest spot as I'm sure you know.'

  'But I want her here with me, in Broomhill Bay,' he said, very softly. 'So it must be your lucky day, Miss Beaumont.' Lucky? On the surface, maybe. Yet she preferred to suspend judgement on her luck for the present. She had the feeling that nothing was quite that simple where Luke Devlin was concerned. 'And Melanie greatly admires your father,' he continued, smoothly. 'I believe he has something of a reputation for bringing on young actresses.'

  Something about the way he said this set her teeth on edge. 'My father is a busy man,' she said, quickly. 'He hasn't time for coaching.'

  'Well, maybe once he's met her, he'll make the effort to set a little time aside for her. From his hectic schedule
.'

  'I'm sure she's charming, but I would advise against raising her hopes.'

  'I could make it a condition of the sponsorship.'

  'That, of course, is up to you.' Pointless to suggest that she didn't have to accept such a condition. They both knew that she did.

  She looked at the cheque. She wanted to run with it to the bank, pay it in, make Mr Nicholson a happy man.

  Something, some inner voice, was urging her not to do anything without thinking about what he was offering and what he wanted in return. If he wanted Melanie on the show badly enough to pay for the privilege, a day or two wasn't going to make any difference.

  'It's an interesting proposition, Mr Devlin,' she said, finally, holding the cheque out to him. 'But I think it would be better if you kept this until I've spoken to my father.' Her hand remained extended, but he made no move to retrieve his cheque.

  'So your boast that you have full authority to make decisions is an idle one? I'm disappointed in you, Miss Beaumont. You've wasted my time.'

  She refused to rise to his taunt. 'On the contrary. You have wasted mine. I came here to discuss finance. I'd be happy to accept the portion of your cheque dedicated sports coverage, unless of course you know some other young person who is anxious to join the commentary team?' His eyes gleamed dangerously, but he didn't answer. 'No, of course not, you did say just one extra member of staff. Unfortunately my father is the casting director of Holiday Bay and the decision must be his.'

  'Then you'd better tell him that its a package deal, Miss Beaumont. You can't have one without the other.'

  Somehow that didn't come as a surprise. She made a move to stand, but the sofa clung to her, possessively. He ignored her plight.

  'Then we must hope that my father is as enthusiastic about Melanie as we both are.'

  'Are you telling me that casting entirely rests upon merit? That it has nothing to do with finance?'

  'Holiday Bay is a soap on a small independent radio station, Mr Devlin. Hollywood it isn't. But courtesy requires that I speak to my father.'

  'Courtesy? Then we are in agreement on something,' he replied, with the suspicion of a smile that sent her treacherous pulse cart-wheeling. 'A promising beginning. Nevertheless, there are occasions when artistic decisions are too important to be left to the artists. And if you don't agree to my simple condition, it will all be academic anyway. You are out on a limb and I can assure you that sooner rather than later someone will come along and saw it off.'