Exposure

by Avril Osborne

  It is six when they cross the city bypass and they deposit some of the party along the way with sad yet boisterous farewells. They arrive on campus a half hour later. Here, they will relinquish the University bus and go their separate ways.

  Linda and Jane stand, miserable now, as the men unload the bags.

  “Come home with me,” Jane urges suddenly, out of earshot of the others.

  Linda thinks quickly. She could ring Ken from her mobile. She is not due back until lunchtime tomorrow. And she and Jane only have four days left before Linda is due to fly out to Spain.

  “Yes,” she murmurs.

  To the barely concealed fury of Hector who, Linda realizes now, senses the exclusive friendship unfolding before his eyes, they agree to hail a taxi together. With a smile and a peck on the cheek for Hector from Jane, they make their goodbyes and set off to the campus gates to wait for a taxi.

  Linda enters Jane’s flat and sits over a glass of wine with her until the food they send for by phone arrives. Before they eat, she rings Ken in Spain. She finds that lying to him about a dreary west coast island Sunday is easier than she anticipated. If there is a moment’s discomfort for her in this, it is short lived. Such is the nature of an urgent new relationship. They eat slowly, listen to music and talk quietly for an hour or so before going to bed for the third time. Now only each other matters as they enter once again the world of true lovemaking.

  CHAPTER 16

  She feels low despite the fact that the possible crisis of exposure is seemingly avoided. She reasons to herself that this is probably no more than the natural reaction of anti-climax and that weeks of tension and of protecting her interests have taken their toll.

  Even the end of season party on the evening of the last TV programme did little to cheer her. She invited Bill but a professional dinner with some Queens Counsel or other meant that he could not be there. The prospect of several hours of the company of her work colleagues was somehow more than she could muster the energy for. But she was determined to make the best of it and duly turned up after a quick change at her flat into a smart little black dress with a low neckline and dropped back. Clothes create the mood, she thought, as she stepped out from her taxi, cheered by now and ready to entertain and be entertained.

  There were about a hundred people there – all the team members, their partners and lovers, members of the Board dropping in for a courtesy drink, and some personalities who might be fodder for future programmes. It was an informal evening and there were no speeches, just drinks and quiet congratulations all round for the successful round of features that the series had covered. She mingled, very much the celebrity but conscious too that she was the front person for the people doing the real political and issue analysis that leads to each thirty minutes of footage. This was an evening for apparent modesty. So, much of the evening was about giving credit where it was elsewhere due. The Board’s Chief came over to her whilst she was with Jonathon Whitley and kissed her on the cheek. Susan was charming. This was the first time that she had seen Martin Braithwaite since the Ramsey letter was sent to the Company and she waited for him to make some reference to it. Instead, he chatted about the autumn series – she would be asked to discuss her next contract really soon. This was good news and she felt just a little relief as she and Jonathon exchanged glances. She was still valuable to the Company and if there had been any doubt ‘upstairs’ about her, the Chief was taking the opportunity tonight to say that they were all still in business together. There was a lightening to her mood after that and she allowed herself an extra glass of champagne beyond her usual two glasses. Too quickly, she was on a high but she was impervious to caution. Tonight was turning out better than she thought. The prospect of another series was quite exciting. After all, she had worked with this team for several years now and why move jobs and home and put distance between her and Bill if it could be avoided? And there were plenty of new ideas floating around this evening about how to bring new interest to the programme.

  Mike Moss joined her somewhere late in the evening. A good-looking fellow, he might have been of interest to her in another place and at another time. But he is work and she makes a point of not mixing her personal encounters with people from the workplace. She has made that fact clear to him on several occasions now, although she often admits to herself that she likes his rather surly attention.

  She also likes the way this pig-tailed man dresses – denims, always, and at the party, a dark blue open-necked shirt and blue leather belt. It would all be designer gear, she knew, and would have cost more than many of the suits in the room. He was so slim that she could see the outline of his hipbones. His hips narrowed beautifully and she could picture his naked rear view in her mind. She normally just works and talks shop with him, but as he stood by her, head and shoulders taller than she, she was very conscious of his piercing eyes and his intense expression as he looked at her.And he broke their usual business-like mode of relating, bringing her some more wine and later suggesting that they go to her office for a while to talk about the outdoor camera work needed for the next series. He was standing very close to her as he spoke and there was no misunderstanding his meaning. An encounter in the office was the clear invitation.

  “In other circumstances, Mike, I would love to,” she said, making her interest but also her refusal, clear. “It would be a pleasure,” she hinted, “but, as I say, I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

  Mike was angry at her refusal; she could see that. He turned to leave her there, and snapped that he thought that was precisely what she did – mix business and pleasure. The spectre of Mull and Ramsey reared momentarily in her head but she knew that Mike could only be guessing – he had been told nothing and he saw nothing on the island. And there was nothing else that he knew about her. She was momentarily discomforted as she stood there watching him put on a denim jacket and leave, glass abandoned, with one of the departmental secretaries in tow. But she rallied and gave it little more thought. She doubted that he would be the type to do any more than have his say. And, she had to admit to herself, a session with him would have been good. She felt herself roused at the invitation. She imagined that he would handle her well. There was a fantasy there, if nothing else, for later.

  She was home by midnight; half hoping that Bill would be there. And he was, sitting in her lounge, malt whisky in his hand and, she saw at once, staring moodily at the fireplace. She did not like this new aspect to his character that she was seeing and just hoped that she could shake him out of it quickly.

  She came to his side and he had the courtesy to get up to kiss her and to offer her a nightcap. She accepted, knowing that she would regret the mild headache that would now be inevitable the next morning. But she was still on a high and she wanted him to be there with her too.

  She asked what was wrong, twirling his loose tie in her fingers as she did so and scrutinising his face from as close as she could get. This was meant to jolly him along rather than to be an invitation for serious talk. She saw him decide to open sexually to her rather than to talk and she allowed herself to be pulled on to his lap. He kissed her, hungrily, as if needing her to wipe something out from his mind. She responded, slipping her fingers down over his shirt buttons, letting him run his hands over her black dress and up from the hem.

  They were in bed ten minutes later, in what became a rather feverish and fumbled session, their lovemaking dulled by the alcohol to the point where she began to lose interest. Mental images of Mike Moss helped her as the Mike in her head, in his blue shirt and denims, told her to undress in front of him whilst he sat. The mental image of obliging his various demands helped a lot. She was not sorry that Bill simply crashed out to sleep after he came and she was left in her private world of anonymous sex.

  True to form, the headache is there but she wakes from a deep sleep and is remarkably refreshed as she comes to and gathers her thoughts. Her job is safe, she can hear Bill in the kitchen making coffee and she has not embarrassed
herself at the party despite Mike’s invitation. And even better, she is now on holiday for the next few weeks. She can rest and play.

  She will give her attention to Bill, she determines, as she lies there, stretching to the bedside drawer for a mild painkiller. She will see whether she can find out what was troubling him last night. If it is about them, she needs to know and if it is about something else, she might be able to help and, of course, make herself all the more necessary to him at the same time. She has to support him as much as he did her.

  He comes into the bedroom, wearing only his boxer shorts, a dark skinned and well shaped, stocky man, who takes as much exercise in the squash courts and swimming pool as time permits. He manages golf as well but Susan suspects that the social aspects offset any real health benefits from that. He is evidently in cheerier mood but not yet the solicitous Bill that she likes him to be. She takes the coffee and as he sits on the bed, strokes his back and once again asks if something is troubling him.

  “Just preoccupied, that’s all. Mainly with the evening meeting I had yesterday.”

  “Tell me,” she invites him, not sure yet whether to believe him.

  She knows already that Bill’s dinner last evening with a Queen’s Counsel was an expense account business meeting. This QC is preparing a brief on behalf of Bill’s firm for a forthcoming defence of one of their clients. Now Bill tells her how the evening panned out. When the business and dinner were over and they were drinking coffee, Jeremy Parkhurst, Q. C., started to discuss the firm that Bill and Alistair have built up and new proposals currently under discussion within the legal profession for the creation of solicitor-advocates within the justice system.

  Bill explains, as she runs her fingers down his back to the base of his spine. The move to allow solicitors to act in court has, until now, been opposed by Q.C.s; for they hold a bastion of control, income and prestige within the judicial system. But it is now receiving growing support from inside and outside the profession as a means of lessening client costs and of speeding court procedures. The news from last night, which came as a surprise to Bill, is that Parkhurst is encouraging Bill and Alistair to go down this route of acting in court at the earliest opportunity. They are being asked to pioneer the new role for solicitors in court. The encouragement comes, Bill tells her, from the respect in which both partners are apparently held, both in their own sphere and in the city’s political and financial world. If this hybrid role is coming, Parkhurst argued, it is in everyone’s interests that only the best practitioners are admitted.

  “But that’s wonderful,” she reflects, seeing that this will be an enormous career boost for Bill. Why, she wonders, is he being so cautious and almost unenthusiastic? He is, after all, at the peak of what can be achieved within the firm. “Surely”, she starts to say, “This has to be good news?”

  What he says next floors her. She is not prepared for the plain talking that follows. “I have a dilemma, Susan and I can’t clear it from my mind. Put simply, I can’t

  afford any hint of scandal in my private life if my career is to progress along the lines held out by Parkhurst. Conversely, my Dear, I am not about not to relinquish you on the basis of a false allegation.”

  She has no sense yet of what direction Bill is taking with this statement. Is he finishing it between them? Or is he making some sort of loyalty assertion?

  “Apart from my emotional attachment to you, you would be a wonderful wife and, to be frank, an eminently suitable partner in the context of my career.”

  She listens, stunned at the way he is describing their relationship from the perspective of his own legal and social interests. He might be right, but this makes uncomfortable listening. She struggles to keep her cool and not to feel outraged. It feels as if she is being falsely accused, as if the description of her is, somehow, diminishing. And she has no intention of being used as an accessory to anyone.

  Bill senses what she is feeling and stretches over to put an arm around her before continuing.

  “If there is any one person I can entrust with the dilemma, at least in part, it’s

  Alistair Berry. In any event, my career future and Alistair’s are inextricably linked. I have a duty,” he argues to Susan, “To take Alistair into my confidence and to seek his

  advice in the interests of the firm. I think I should outline the dinner meeting with Parkhurst and the proposal that we should both consider becoming solicitor-advocates. I’ll make it clear that I believe the proposal is sound. The other part is to tell Alistair about you, Susan. About you and Ramsey’s allegations, I mean.” He pauses, protesting now. “You know that I would like to marry you. The thing is, though, that the firm cannot afford any hint of anything – what shall I say – awry.”

  Susan tries to look puzzled now.

  “There have been these allegations against you, whether we like it or not. They obviously don’t look as though they will go any further. And they are quite spurious. Please don’t misunderstand me, Susan. I know that they are spurious. But if they were to come out – well, it could be difficult all round. You know yourself that if allegations hit the public domain, they tend to be believed by the public.”

  Susan sits still against her pillows, not looking at Bill, listening to his words, convinced now that this is a none-too-subtle way of saying goodbye.

  “Susan, I think we should engage a private investigator to see what this man Ramsey is up to.”

  This silences Susan, this strange, somehow dubious-seeming and, certainly as far as she is concerned, dangerous idea. Bill seems to read her thoughts and presses on.

  “It’s not necessarily the unethical, tacky business you think. Let’s face it, law firms, and the corporate sector, as well as the public, use detectives this way. Even government circles, the police – who knows who else – use investigation if they need to for all sorts of bona fide, and not so bona fide, reasons.”

  She knows Bill is serious – she simply had not foreseen anything like this over Ramsey – certainly not in the so-called interests of the firm. But she sees immediately that Bill now has a clear agenda – the firm’s protection. At least, this is how it is being wrapped up. Is he really stitching her up to agree to being investigated? She can see for herself the irrefutable logic of what he is saying. It is genuine, or it is clever, or it is both.

  “What do you think? You would have every right to be furious.”

  “Not if you believe that the allegations are lies, Bill.” She plays for time and tries to think herself into a reality where she is the innocent in all this. “At the end of the day, you have your own interests to protect. But why do this? What can an investigator find out that we don’t already know?”

  “Well, if nothing else, he might be able to find out what Ramsey is intending to do next,. He might find out whether he is up to anything else. And that we do not know.”

  “Where would we find someone suitable? I mean, where would you find someone?”

  “I could find someone reputable. We have plenty of contacts with legal firms who use investigators, for all sorts of reasons – missing people, evidence collection. You know the sorts of things.”

  Susan sits silent for a moment before commenting.

  “You must do what you think right, Bill. But if there is no immediate hurry, why don’t you wait a while? I’m all but certain that it has blown over already. And last night, I had the next series confirmed by Martin Braithwaite. So there can’t be any concerns about my reputation, as far as the TV Company are concerned. Having a private detective could just be a waste of money. I gather that these services don’t come cheap?”

  “No. But the firm can stand the expense.”

  She does not like this one little bit. It is as if the threat has somehow come right into her bedroom and that her protector in all this is about to make himself the agent of an investigation that could expose her. She cannot protest too much, though. That would be counter-productive. Tempted as she is to express outrage and to throw some
thing at Bill, she knows this is not the way through this problem.

  “Why act immediately? Why not check with Alistair whether he thinks an investigator is a good idea? He’s on holiday just now? Would it not be better to wait till he’s back?” She shifts her position in the bed and reaches for his waistband. “ Anyway, my dear Bill, I have another suggestion for your energies for the next few days.”

  He looks down at her, obviously expecting her to initiate lovemaking but instead, she reaches beyond him for a phone directory.

  “Is there any reason why you must be in the city for the next few days?”

  He thinks for a second before shaking his head. The business is quiet with the start of the holiday season and he has a light workload. There will not be any further movement on the solicitor-advocate system until the autumn. Alistair is away but there is someone reliable in the staff group who is not due to take leave until the autumn.

  She suggests Rome. His eyes widen slightly in surprise. Thankfully, he looks positive. Perhaps, if she can distract him with a long weekend break, perhaps the idea of having private detectives running around will look less sensible on his return. She reasons with him in terms of sleeping on it. As she uses the words, she draws him down on top of her.

  Later that morning, she showers and listens through the open door as Bill books scheduled flights for the evening and rings through to a five star hotel somewhere near the Vatican. Neither of them has been in Rome and they intend to holiday in style. Bill enthuses now about staying on in Italy and seeing something of Tuscany, but she is not committing herself that far ahead. It will all depend on the arrangements for the signing of the TV contract. Until that is signed, she is not free to just abandon the city.

  Bill leaves her so that they can both pack. She has a few hours to herself in which to sort her thinking out about this latest threat. But leaving the country has had the effect on her, as well, she suspects, as on Bill, of making the whole Ramsey business seem remote.