by Maggie Brown
“What…what did you say?”
“You heard. I’ve had enough of his crap. I’m off.”
“What’s gotten in to you?” Her troubled gaze locked on Sophie.
“Nothing. I’ve just realized I’m wasting my time trying to get ahead here and nobody gives a flying fig about me anyhow.”
Brie leaned forward, studying her intently. “What’s the matter, kiddo? This isn’t like you at all.”
Sophie pressed her fingers to her eyes and waited for calm. She’d just blurted that out, but now it made sense. Why was she here anyhow? Her contribution wasn’t valued. Being a better writer than her male counterparts meant nothing. They were always given the plum assignments—talk about inequality. “I’m just waking up to a few facts,” she snapped.
“Something has obviously upset you. Was working for Eleanor Godwin so dreadful?”
“Eleanor is one of the nicest people I’ve ever meet. Owen’s a proper sleaze for sending me to dig up dirt on her. She deserves privacy.” Sophie twisted a pencil in her fingers until it snapped. “If he thinks that’s good journalism, he’s lost me.”
“So what’s the article you’re writing if it’s not about her? Or is it? Owen will hardly print something that’s not controversial.”
Sophie gave a snort. “It’s definitely not about her. I picked up a little tidbit that was right up my alley.”
“Are you going to tell me what it’s about?”
“Nope. You can read it in the next edition. Now go, I have to finish.”
Disapproval mixed with resignation flashed across Brie’s face. “Okay. But meet me at the bar at five thirty after work. I won’t be resting until you come clean and tell me why you’re so cranky.” She added with a toss of her head, “Don’t be late or I’ll hunt you down.”
As she waltzed off out the door, Sophie couldn’t help smiling. It would be useless not meeting her there. If Brie wanted to know something, she was tenacious. Whether she would tell her anything more, she hadn’t decided, but a few drinks with a friend would be welcome. She swayed back in her chair, thinking over the last week and a half.
By the time the boat docked in Mackay, she had felt completely gutted. Not only had she lost the love of her life, she knew it was doubtful she would keep her position on the paper. She booked into a motel, and went online to buy a plane ticket to Brisbane for the following afternoon. The twenty-four-hour stopover allowed her to settle down. She couldn’t stop crying.
When she arrived home, she holed up in her flat—Eleanor was due to leave the island in five days and as far as Owen knew, Sophie was still there with her. So she had some time to come up with some miracle, an article that would save her skin. The first thing she did was research Eleanor’s films. It wasn’t hard to find the one she’d starred in seven years ago in Rome.
After toing and froing from one site to the next, she found some images of the final wrap party, held in the private wing of the Palazzo Doria Pamphilj. And there she was, standing next to Eleanor. Sophie took a hard look at the remarkable resemblance to herself—they could have been sisters. When she clicked on the photo to enlarge it, names appeared beside it. All Sophie could register was the “Princess” before “Maria.” It was unbelievable. Eleanor had an affair with a married member of a royal house. What had she been thinking? No wonder it was such a secret.
Sophie slammed the computer lid down. There was no way she would ever print something so damaging. The inflammatory information was dead and buried as far as she was concerned. Not that she was going to write anything anyhow. She’d chop off her right arm before she wrote anything about Eleanor, good or bad.
But what was she going to do about an article? The epiphany came to her while she was watching the nightly news. She could dig something up about that arrogant Fortescue. Though mentioning the island was taboo, she did have some newsworthy information on him. Firstly, he had a mistress or at least a squeeze on the side. Secondly, he was holidaying on a super-expensive resort. Did he pay for everything himself? He wouldn’t have been stupid enough, she figured, not to pay his own accommodation, but maybe, just maybe, given his arrogance, he may have charged his travel to his government allowance. If she could get him on those expenses, what a coup that would be. On the public agenda, tax-funded private flights for politicians were a huge no-no. A sackable offence.
It only took a phone call to a friend who had access to the governmental travel claims department and a day later she had the article. Both plane and helicopter fares were paid using his official parliamentary credit card.
Sophie was brought out of her thoughts by the aroma of coffee in the next cubicle. Satisfied her work was done, she punched print, saved it with a click and went to the tearoom. She was going to need some caffeine before she faced Owen. The finished article focused on Fortescue’s upcoming re-election, his performance as a minister, and at the very end, she dropped the big bombshell. Instead of campaigning in his city electorate, he was flitting around using taxpayers’ money taking scenic helicopter rides in the Whitsundays. No mention was made of Eurydice or his extramarital liaison. The public didn’t really care if politicians had mistresses, but they did care if they paid for their elected representatives’ recreation. The ride would be enough to sink him.
To her surprise, Owen seemed genuinely pleased to see her when she entered his office. He gestured with a smile to the chair across from him. “Sophie, you’re back. I didn’t expect you until next week. What have you got for me?”
She threw the photos on the table. “These first of all. I want Brie to have the acknowledgments.”
After he stacked them in a pile on the desk, he studied them one by one. The fact he lingered over each shot was a sign he was impressed. “Great work. But why give the accolades to Brie?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Now what about Eleanor Godwin. What did you dig up?”
“She’s squeaky clean. She was a great employer and there’s absolutely nothing remotely controversial in her life.”
With an unsmiling stare, he pushed back in his chair. “That’s hard to believe. Everyone has secrets. Didn’t you write anything about her?”
“No…there are some good people in the world, Owen, believe it or not. It’s a pity you never realized that before you wasted my time,” she said with a disdainful curl of her lips.
He stiffened, clearly annoyed at her attitude. “What a shame then that there was nothing. It would have been a step up the ladder for you.”
“Huh! That’ll be the day you’ll promote a woman.” She tossed the article across the table. “My time wasn’t wasted…I earned my money. This is decent reporting, not scandal mongering. It will be my last hurrah.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m resigning and since I have days-off owing, I’m leaving immediately in lieu of notice.”
For once, he looked completely bewildered. “Why? You’re one of my best reporters. You can’t just walk out.”
“Because I’m sick of being treated like a second-class act,” said Sophie bitterly. “You never appreciate how many hours I put in, or anyone puts in for that matter. But mostly it’s because I want to be a real journalist, not tabloid.” She pushed back her chair and leapt to her feet. “Good-bye, Owen.” She hurried from the room as she fought to hold back the threatening tears.
After cleaning out her desk quickly, she snuck out of the building without saying good-bye to anyone. Brie was already waiting for her in the cocktail lounge. Sophie would have avoided this tête-à-tête too, but she knew Brie would never let it go.
Brie’s gaze rested on her with concern. “What’s wrong, Soph? You’re starting to worry me. You didn’t chuck your job, did you?”
Sophie ordered a double vodka and lime before she sliced her finger across her throat. “You bet I did. I’ve had Owen up to here.”
“He’s all right. Just stand-overish sometime. We used to laugh about him. What’s got you all worked up?
”
Sophie emptied half the glass in one long swallow. “I’m sick and tired of being taken for granted.”
“Nobody takes you for granted, kiddo. We all love you.”
“Huh! Not from where I’m standing.” She gulped down the rest and waved to the bartender.
“Whoa. Steady down. You know you’re a three-pot screamer.”
“I intend to have a drink tonight. Many in fact.” She narrowed her eyes at Brie. “Why do you always boss me around?”
“I do not.”
“Of course you do.” She took up the new drink and gave a noisy swig. “Everyone does.”
Brie gazed at her—a very direct, very unnerving stare. “Come on, out with it. You’re really upset about something and I’d like to know what.”
“Actually,” said Sophie, downing the rest of the drink, “I don’t give a stuff about anything or anyone anymore.” Suddenly, to her horror, a couple of tears leaked over her lids. She wiped them hastily away with a hand. “I think I better go home to bed. I don’t feel very well.”
Brie was immediately on her feet and threw an arm around Sophie’s waist. “Lean on me. I’ve only had one drink. I’ll drive you home.” Her anxiety was palpable as she helped her out the door to the parking lot.
By the time they reached her unit, Sophie was sobbing. With infinite care, Brie helped her change before she tucked her in. “I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight. You get to sleep now.”
All Sophie could do was grunt before, overcome with exhaustion, she collapsed into a fitful sleep.
As soon as she woke, the memory of her meltdown flooded back. Sophie gripped the pillow tight around her shoulders to control the shudders. What must Brie think? Tentatively, she eased off the bed, hoping her friend had gone home, but no such luck by the noises coming from the kitchen. With a resigned slump, Sophie padded off to the bathroom for a shower, knowing she had some explaining to do. And this time Brie was not going to let her off so easily.
The jets of water went a long way to making her feel human again, although the depression that had settled on her since she left the island still clung like a suffocating cloak. A darkness that left her bereft and wanting. She tried to picture being with Eleanor in her warm bed, secure in her arms, but the more she strove for the images, the more they wavered out of focus like a shimmering mirage. When she emerged from the shower, all she could see was the faded paint on the walls of her bedroom, the threadbare quilt, the shabby carpet. Ellie would hate it here.
Sophie hadn’t a clue what to do next. She dropped down on the edge of the bed, her hands in her lap, defeated. Nothing could fill the gaping hole in her heart. With an effort, she rose wearily to her feet to dress.
Brie was cooking French toast when she walked through the door. “Hi there,” Brie said, warily eyeing Sophie as she took a seat at the kitchen table. “Feeling better?”
“A little.”
“Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
Sophie shook her head without answering.
Brie dropped down into the chair across from her, folding her hands on the table. Her gaze was sympathetic. “Bottling it up is only going to make matters worse. I’m here if you want to talk it over.”
“It’s nothing you can help me with.”
“Try me.”
Sophie wanted to be able to say she didn’t have the time to talk, but Brie genuinely looked concerned. And she had stayed the night, so she was owed some kind of explanation. “I met someone on the island but it didn’t work out.”
“Ah.” The word came out like a breath of air as Brie studied her. “So you’ve finally been bitten by the love bug. Who called it off…you or him?”
“It just didn’t work out, and that’s all I’m going to say.”
“Okay. I won’t pry. It’s obviously devastated you, but you can’t just throw in your job because you’re unhappy. You still have to earn a living.”
Sophie waved a hand in the air. “Ha! Look at this place, Brie. It’s a dump. If I’m ever going to make something of myself, I have to get away from the paper. It’s a dead end. Owen’s just using me and I deserve better.”
“So you’re still determined to leave the Globe?”
“I am.”
“What will you do?”
“For the time being I’ll freelance. I’ve enough political connections to make a living, and later on, I might even try for a position with a TV station or as an overseas correspondent.”
Brie reached over and took her hand. “I’m going to miss you. You’re my best friend, you know that.”
“I’ll still be around annoying you for a while yet. We’ll be in the same city, just not working in the same building. Now come on and let’s eat.”
After Brie left half an hour later, Sophie gazed out the window with a trickle of panic. Quit—the word reverberated in her brain. She tried to digest exactly what she had done. She had turned her back on a steady position—ripped it out by the roots. For what? To take a ridiculous plunge headlong into the unknown so she could be good enough to redeem herself. To earn the love of someone like Eleanor. She pressed her knuckles to her temples and groaned. Not someone like her…she wanted to be worthy of her. But it was all too late. She’d ruined her chance, so for the rest of her life she’d have to face the what-ifs.
Just the thought of Eleanor brought back the devastating loneliness. She wanted to cry, to scream, to run. There was only one person she needed to see now, only one person who could soothe the ache.
Her mother.
Chapter Thirty
Sophie loved their sprawling family house, but as she approached the front door, she did so with some trepidation. This was her first visit since Eurydice, and although she sought her mother’s comfort, it could end unpleasantly. Today she intended to come out to her.
When Valeria Marsh opened the door, such a surge of love rushed through Sophie that she began to tremble. Could she stand it if her mother was disappointed in her? The welcoming hug Sophie received immediately caused a lump in her throat. “Hi, Mum,” she murmured as she sank against the warm bosom.
Her mother stroked her hair, running her fingers lightly through the fine strands. “Sophie dear, why didn’t you ring to tell me you were coming?”
Sophie looked up, catching her mother’s eye. Even in her early sixties, Valeria, with her warm friendly face, expressive dark eyes, and thick dark hair peppered lightly with silver, was still a beautiful woman. And as was the tradition of her mother before her, she unstintingly showed her affection for her children with kissing and hugging. “I wanted to surprise you,” Sophie said. That was true, for she had wanted to see her mother alone. Any forewarning and she would have let the family know Sophie was coming. Someone would have popped over for sure.
“It’s a lovely surprise. I see you’ve cut your hair. It’s very chic and suits your face. We’ve missed you. Come into the kitchen and we can talk over a cuppa.”
“Okay.” As soon Sophie as settled into a seat, she launched into her prepared speech. “Um…I’ve something to tell you. A couple of things actually. I…I wanted to have a talk alone without Dad.”
“Oh? By the look on your face, the news is important.”
Sophie winced, reluctance seeping into her resolve. “It is. I want you to keep an open mind.”
“Now that sounds ominous,” said Valeria. She looked at her intently. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No…No. I resigned from the Globe yesterday.”
“You left the paper? I thought you enjoyed your work there.”
Sophie watched while her mother poured out two cups of tea. “I did, but I was getting nowhere. I’m going to freelance for a couple of months while I try for a position on a larger publication, or maybe try TV.”
“You think you can successfully support yourself with freelancing?”
“I’ve enough contacts now. At least doing that, I can select my own stories. My last project wasn’t true journalism.”
&n
bsp; “Then go for it. You can always get part-time work at night in your uncle’s restaurant until it’s paying well,” said Valeria with a smile. “I don’t know why you wanted me to have an open mind about this. I know you will succeed in whatever you do, Soph. You’ve always been hard working.”
“I’m not worried about money. I was very well paid—what I earned on my assignment was on top of my regular wage.” Sophie placed the cup carefully on the saucer, clearing her throat. “It’s the next bit that’s…um…a bit contentious. I want to tell you something about myself.” As her mother waited, Sophie took a deep breath. It was now or never. “You must have been wondering why I’ve never brought anyone home to meet you.”
Valeria blinked, clearly puzzled. “You’ve had plenty of friends over.”
“I…I mean…someone I’m romantically involved with. You know…a boyfriend.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’ve finally met someone? That’s wonderful.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why aren’t I going to like this? Is he married?”
Sophie let out an exasperated puff of air. She was making a hash of it. Better just to blurt it out. “I’m not having an affair with a married man. I’m a lesbian.”
Her mother stiffened, her expression stern. Sophie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen such a reaction in her usually unflappable parent. She hung her head, her breathing shallow as she waited for the words to come. She could take anger but not shame. Please God, don’t let her be ashamed of me.
“Sophie Theresa Marsh. You are twenty-nine years old. Why haven’t you told me this before?”
“Because I thought you would be ashamed of me.”
Valeria shook her head impatiently. “And why would I be? You are still the daughter I loved, and was proud of, five minutes ago. I’m upset you’ve kept this secret from me for so many years. I thought you knew you could tell me anything.”
Sophie blew out a long breath. “You’re okay with this? Really?”
“Well,” said Valeria with a wry shrug. “There’s nothing I can do about it, is there? And I must admit, I can’t say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. You never looked twice at any of your brothers’ friends and some were very handsome. I guess I can live with it.”
