A Parcel for Anna Browne

by Miranda Dickinson

  ‘And you do the same job, day in, day out, yet you seem more content in your career than I have ever been.’

  It was an observation Anna hadn’t anticipated and it took her by surprise. Could Ben really have concluded that, from the little she had actually told him of her own life? Of course, she loved her job – it was comforting in its everyday usualness, and her colleagues made her workdays enjoyable. But that her happiness was so obvious to a relative stranger surprised her. Am I happy? She supposed she was, even if happiness for Anna Browne was a quiet, safe kind of happiness.

  ‘Aren’t you content? I thought you loved your job?’

  ‘Oh, I do. I mean, I can’t see myself ever doing anything else. But I’m always chasing the next story, the next big headline – and while the pressure is what drives me in this job, it also creates a permanent sense of dissatisfaction. I need to feel like I’m missing something to keep going, I guess.’ A wry smile appeared and Ben reached for his notebook. ‘Heck, that was deep. I’d better write it down before I forget what a shallow newspaper hack I really am.’

  His humour was disarming and certainly put Anna at her ease, but she noticed that he also used it as a shield when he felt challenged.

  ‘It’s endearing,’ she explained to Tish later that afternoon, as they sat in the coffee shop, Anna enjoying the caffeine-free soothing of a peach tea while her friend fuelled her neuroses with a triple-shot of espresso. ‘He’s a confident man, but he hides very quickly from anything too revealing of himself.’

  ‘And that makes you like the guy even more, huh?’ Tish nodded knowingly. ‘Classic unattainable-male syndrome.’

  ‘I don’t want to attain him,’ Anna corrected her, feeling her cheeks reddening despite her best efforts. ‘But, I’ll admit, the prospect of working with him for a fortnight is much more appealing.’

  ‘Because you’re intrigued?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Tish’s expression was hard to decipher. ‘Good.’

  Seven

  ‘Nice scarf, Anna.’

  Murray Henderson-Vitt, staff reporter, leaned back in his chair from his desk behind Anna. He appeared to have half the contents of his breakfast sandwich displayed across the front of his greying work shirt, the other half clearly visible rolling about in his mouth as he spoke.

  ‘Thanks. It was a gift.’ Anna did her best to focus on Murray’s eyes instead of the food flopping around beneath them.

  ‘So I heard. From Ted.’

  ‘Ah.’ Of course you did. Ted Blaskiewicz was obviously not slipping in his gossip-spreading duties.

  ‘So, any idea who sent it?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Bet you’re intrigued, though? I know my wife would be, if she received a gift like that. She’d have good reason to wonder, mind you, seeing as she’d know it wasn’t from me. Last year I bought her a new steam-iron for her birthday, so you can imagine the stick I got for that.’ He picked up a paper napkin and wiped his mouth. ‘So, how’s it going with McAra?’

  ‘Good, thanks.’ Anna had heard from Rea that there was little love lost between Murray and Ben, so she was careful to keep her answer neutral. ‘We’re going out to interview a theatre producer today.’

  Ben had informed her of their appointment when Anna arrived for work first thing, and she was both excited by the prospect of watching Ben in action and a little nervous about being alone with him. Still, it would be good to leave the noisy newsroom for a few hours, not least because of the beautiful sunshine bathing the city this morning.

  ‘Your first field trip. Bless. Still remember mine: visiting a local mayor in Norfolk in his shoddy little office that smelled of fish. Years ago, of course, but the memory of that smell never quite left me. Can’t walk past the fish counter in Morrisons without gagging. Oh, look lively, here comes your boss . . .’ He raised a hand in salute to Ben, who was heading back to his desk. ‘Ah, McAra. I hear you and this delightful young lady are off gallivanting this morning.’

  Ben flopped into his chair. ‘We will be, yes. Jealous, are you?’

  Murray’s eyes betrayed contempt as he smiled. ‘Sitting in a cab in lunchtime traffic in the West End? No chance. Better make sure you rehearse your big song, though. You know what these theatre impresarios are like – always on the lookout for new talent. Could be the big break you’ve been waiting for.’

  ‘Not me, H-V. I’ll be in this job until the day I retire. I’ll send you a note when that day comes. Which care-home will you be in by then, do you reckon?’

  ‘So funny. Well, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have real news stories to write. Anna, have fun.’

  Anna watched the two journalists return to their work like stalking stags after a rut. It was her fourth day in the newsroom, but already she had deciphered the unspoken tensions between various reporters, editors and interns. Ben’s colleagues fell into two distinct camps when it came to their opinion of him: those who liked him and those who were irritated by him. The former group was, it had to be said, overwhelmingly female, ranging from junior reporters to older picture editors and columnists who found everything he said unfeasibly amusing. The latter were a more diverse and, consequently, far more interesting group. Within their ranks Anna saw jealousy, annoyance, bitterness and disgust, mostly aimed at the actions of Ben’s fan club. She couldn’t work out whether the relationship between Ben and Murray was good-natured banter or something deeper, but she was enjoying unravelling the puzzle from her vantage point at Ben’s desk.

  ‘Do you go to the theatre much?’ Ben asked when they were in a taxi heading to the Dominion Theatre, half an hour later.

  ‘More than I used to,’ Anna replied. ‘My friends Jonah, Tish and I take our neighbour Isadora to local theatre productions when we can. We don’t tend to go to the big West End theatres often, but every now and again we’ll treat ourselves. How about you?

  ‘Only when my mum visits,’ he admitted. ‘But if you tell anyone at work, I’ll put you on filing duty for the rest of your time with me.’ He flicked through his notes. ‘So, the theatre bod we’re chatting to today has recently returned to the UK after twenty years living in New York. Which means his first West End production after a raft of Tony Awards on Broadway is a big deal. Plus, he’s secured serious funding for the production. We’re talking big bucks.’

  The taxi swerved to the kerb beside the impressive theatre.

  ‘Here we are. Ready?’

  Anna nodded, surprised by an attack of stomach butterflies. ‘What’s the production?’

  Ben opened the door and hopped out. ‘The Sound of Music.’

  Anna froze. Why hadn’t she checked that fact before they left the newsroom this morning? At least then she would have been forewarned . . .

  ‘Anna?’ Ben was peering back into the taxi. ‘You coming?’

  Dismissing her reaction, she hurried out, following him into the opulent lobby of the theatre. She had to keep her mind on the job.

  I can do this.

  Rufus Sigmund was as charming as Anna had expected him to be. Known as much for his very public, very flamboyant lifestyle, he was larger-than-life in both character and physique. With almost shoulder-length flowing blue-grey hair and powder-blue eyes, he was striking to look at. He towered over Ben as they walked into the Dominion’s auditorium, his jovial laugh booming around the empty theatre space.

  ‘I might look in control, but let me tell you, darlings, it’s been hell on earth. Press viewings begin this evening, and you would not believe the problems we’ve had securing work visas for half the cast. My Elsa Schraeder only became official an hour ago!’

  ‘Why didn’t you choose a British cast?’ Ben asked, making covert notes as he maintained eye contact with his subject. Anna noticed that his smile remained steady as a thousand questions raced across his face. ‘Surely that would have been easier?’

  ‘No time, love. We moved the production from Broadway two weeks ago. The slot we got at the Dominion was too good to miss. Should it be a
success, of course we will recast local actors for the onward run.’ He smiled at Anna. ‘Do you sing?’

  Anna felt herself redden. ‘Not in public.’ Not any more.

  Rufus shrugged. ‘Forgive me, I’m a terror for talent-scouting. My partner reprimands me for it constantly.’

  Ben asked the questions he had gone over with Anna that morning, and Anna watched the interaction between the two men. She noted the subtle changes in conversation as the subject moved from Rufus’ latest production to a recent scandal involving one of his leading actors in his most recent Broadway production. It was well known that the actor – a personal friend for many years – had turned tail on Rufus when he was accused of arriving stoned for performances, and had sold a raft of increasingly lurid stories about the producer. Ben broached the subject carefully, but Anna still saw Rufus Sigmund wince when the actor’s name was mentioned.

  ‘Danny Raphael is a very angry man,’ Rufus answered – and Anna saw pain wash over his eyes. ‘We are no longer on speaking terms.’

  ‘Did that prompt your move back to London?’

  ‘Not at all, love. Despite what your colleagues in the US tabloids would care to believe, my return is purely coincidental. But that’s really old news, Mr McAra, so I trust you’ll be more creative in your report.’

  Ben nodded his understanding. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Excellent. Now, I think it’s time our company showed you why this production of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s masterpiece will become known as definitive.’ He brightened as he motioned to a stagehand and the house lights dimmed.

  The cast walked onto the stage in full costume, performing a medley of the musical’s famous songs. In the darkness Anna sank further into her seat, waiting. Sure enough, it came – a young actor and actress stepping forward as their cast-mates retreated from the spotlight.

  ‘You are sixteen going on seventeen . . .’

  Anna tensed as the song began. At one time this had been the only song she had sung for almost an entire summer. Thrilled at winning the role of Liesl in the Polperro Drama Players’ production of The Sound of Music, she had proudly rehearsed the song on the clifftops above the harbour bay, treating the gulls and skylarks cruising the coastal air currents to her best vocal performances. Like the character she was preparing to portray, she was approaching her seventeenth birthday, the promise of college and, further still, the much longed-for escape from Cornwall beckoning as brightly as the sunlight dancing on the waves beneath her. This would be her final summer restricted to the village, with its too-harsh spotlight on every aspect of her life. But as Anna began to sing there had been an unscripted crash from the back of the village hall . . .

  ‘Not a fan of musicals?’ Ben’s whispered question nudged Anna from her memories.

  ‘Just this one,’ she replied, before she could think of a better answer.

  ‘What’s The Sound of Music ever done to you?’

  ‘Nothing. Just not my favourite.’ Anna forced a smile. Ben didn’t need to know the reason her insides were knotting so tightly as Liesl’s song played.

  ‘Nazis and nuns – not a sequin in sight,’ he joked, blind to Anna’s discomfort. ‘As a teenager it was the only one I found acceptable, trying to be an alpha-male . . . That was a joke, Anna.’

  ‘I know. Sorry. I’m not on the ball today.’

  ‘Late night?’

  ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

  If Ben thought she was lying, he didn’t show it. ‘That’ll be the excitement of working with me.’

  ‘Could be.’ She felt herself relax as the song ended and the cast returned to finish with a rousing rendition of ‘Edelweiss’. But the feeling of injustice remained as they sang: the memory of her stolen moment in the spotlight – her mother’s alcohol-fuelled rant at what she saw as a ‘room full of hypocrites’ silencing Anna’s song. Frozen to the spot, she’d been forced to see the pity in her neighbours’ eyes and hear their muttered opinions reverberating with the sound of a drunken woman’s wails around the walls of the hall . . .

  Safely back on Tottenham Court Road after walking from the theatre, Anna was aware that Ben was observing her carefully.

  ‘That was fun,’ she said brightly, keen to deflect his concern. ‘I liked Rufus.’

  ‘He’s a character, for sure. But I promise we’ll steer clear of West End theatre stories for the remainder of your work-shadowing, okay?’

  ‘Deal. So, where next?’

  Ben grinned. ‘Illicit work lunch, I think. Essential perk of my job.’

  The experience in the Dominion Theatre had shocked Anna with its intensity, but as Friday passed into the weekend, the smarting of it began to fade. Ben hadn’t pressed her for an explanation or sought to find out more – and for that she was grateful. Now, with the weekend stretching ahead of her, she decided to have fun.

  Tish gave her a wry look as they walked from Walton Tower, heading for the Tube.

  ‘Good week, huh?’

  ‘Different,’ Anna conceded. ‘The newsroom is like another planet, though. Two weeks there will be plenty for me.’

  ‘And handsome Ben?’

  ‘Still handsome. And still interesting.’ Anna smiled. ‘He manages to be utterly relaxed and totally on the job at the same time. It’s fascinating to watch.’

  ‘A man multitasking: who knew? So, where are we headed?’

  ‘I thought you could show me that shop in Marylebone you’re always going on about.’

  Tish brightened immediately. ‘Mia Casa, Mio Cuore? Oh my, Anna, you’re going to love it!’

  The idea had come about quite by chance that morning as Anna was eating breakfast, gazing out at the overcast cityscape beyond her apartment window. Perhaps it had been the memory of her past that prompted it. Whatever it was, she had been struck by the urge to buy something new for her home. Her apartment was comfortably furnished, but she hadn’t changed it much since she had arrived at Walton Tower. Every item of furniture, every picture and every object had a memory attached to it – something that gave Anna a sense of peace. But now, with the extraordinary events of the past couple of weeks, she wanted something to mark the present.

  The small shop on Marylebone High Street had been the object of Tish’s affections for nearly a year now, and Anna had lost count of the number of prized purchases from the shop that her friend had proudly shown her. It was a part of London she hadn’t ventured into much before, but as soon as they entered the High Street she liked it. Unlike other areas of the city, it had a more relaxed feel. People walked more slowly, pausing to look at shop-window displays or browse menus in gilt-edged glass frames outside restaurants and cafés. One couple, walking arm-in-arm, actually wished Anna and Tish good morning as they passed – an occurrence so unusual in the city that Tish turned to stare at their backs to check they weren’t a mirage.

  Mia Casa, Mio Cuore had a bright-turquoise painted facade and a brass-handled door that creaked satisfyingly when it opened. Inside, the shop was bright and minimally decorated, the whitewashed floorboards and reclaimed-oak display tables a perfect canvas for the beautiful ornaments, kitchen accessories and textiles. The space smelled of orange, cinnamon and sandalwood, reminding Anna of the New Age shops in Newquay she’d visited as a teenager with Ruari.

  Tish dashed from one display to the next, loudly proclaiming her love for every item she saw, while Anna wandered slowly between the tables and shelves, pausing to run her fingers over rich embroidered fabrics, carefully lift glass ornaments and inhale the fragrance of hand-dipped candles. She wondered if her scarf had been bought from a boutique like this: had the parcel-sender taken time to select the right gift for her, as she was doing for herself today?

  Rea had taken her aside by the newsroom coffee machine yesterday to dig for more details of her gift.

  ‘Don’t you have any idea who sent it?’

  ‘No. I’ve considered everyone I know and drawn a complete blank.’

  ‘Do you want to know?’

  Ann
a confessed she did. The more she had worn the beautiful scarf, the more curious she had become about its sender. It felt as if it had been made just for her – and that made her wonder how well she was known by the sender. If it had been a random choice, it had been a lucky guess. But Anna couldn’t help feeling there was more to the gift than just a kind thought.

  ‘It’s heaven, right?’ Tish’s eyes shone now, and Anna saw her wicker basket contained several items already. ‘It’s too long till my next pay-cheque, but I can’t resist.’ She waggled a credit card in front of Anna. ‘Thank the Lord for plastic, that’s what I say. What you gonna get?’

  Anna had seen several possible purchases, but one drew her back to it. ‘This, I think,’ she said, leading Tish to a display of silvered glass birds. In the middle, one rose up above the rest, its stylised wings spreading out as if preparing to fly. It caused a flutter of excitement within Anna, reminding her of the strange mix of apprehension and anticipation she had experienced in the Daily Messenger’s newsroom that week – and, no doubt, would feel during the next few days. It seemed the perfect choice.

  Later that day Anna unwrapped the bird and placed it on the top shelf of her bookcase, where a shaft of sunlight caused the silver flecks within its surface to sparkle and shine. Her second week in the newsroom lay ahead of her like an uncharted ocean – but, to her surprise, she no longer felt afraid.

  Eight

  First thing on Monday morning the entire editorial team was called into the newspaper’s boardroom on the sixth floor, its full-height windows inviting the neighbouring buildings to peer in on proceedings with glassy eyes. Anna followed Ben into the room, feeling the anticipation of the people around her prickling along her skin. Nobody smiled, but by now she was used to the serious expressions the newsroom incumbents wore.

  The available seats were snapped up quickly, the remainder of the staff leaning against the walls and perching on the edge of tables and planters around the perimeter of the room. Ben offered Anna his seat, much to the amusement of his colleagues. Reddening, she accepted, hunkering down as best she could to avoid their eyes.