‘Stories?’ Anna closed her eyes. She had hoped the follow-up would be the last word on it. ‘There were more?’
‘Oh, yeah, they’ve been in all week. Newsroom’s buzzing with it.’ She paused and Anna could hear the squeak of an acrylic nail being chewed. ‘Actually it’s been nice stuff. I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but Ben’s been really complimentary. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s still holding a torch for you.’
Anna’s headache deepened with the mention of Ben. ‘You’re right: I don’t want to hear it. Did you know he’s been trying to call me from different phone numbers? I’m ignoring the calls.’
‘Today’s the first time I’ve seen him and he looks dreadful, honey.’
‘Perhaps the burden of being the Messenger’s saving grace is too heavy.’ Anna baulked at the bitterness she heard in her own words. But she had no energy for diplomacy this morning.
‘I totally get why you’re mad at him. And I’ll give him a piece of my mind if he tries to talk to me. He lied to you and that’s awful. But the thing is, I’ve seen Ben McAra when he’s bragging about his work and this isn’t it. You’d think he’d be crowing from the top of the building about writing a story that’s gone around the world. But he doesn’t look very victorious to me.’
‘It’s probably an act. I wouldn’t trust him now as far as I could throw him.’ Anna rubbed her eyes. ‘I appreciate you telling me, but there’s no one in the world I want less to hear about.’
‘I know. And I’m sorry. It’s just that, if I didn’t think he was such a dick – which I do – I’d almost say he didn’t plan for this to happen.’
Anna didn’t answer, staring out at the buildings across the street. If Ben was regretting anything, it was most likely getting caught. His article had showed no remorse; if later pieces indicated regret, it was only for effect. Also, knowing that the reception staff and overprotective security chief were gunning for him, Ben’s demeanour could be as much for protection as it was any genuine indicator of his mood.
Anna’s silence had the desired effect on Sheniece. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just thought you’d want to know. Hurry back soon, okay? We miss you.’
In the stillness of her home Anna mulled over what she’d heard. Did Ben feel anything at all? She didn’t want to consider he might have motives beyond those that had caused him to lie to her – because that was the point, wasn’t it? Whether he had planned for events to progress as they had or not, he had still engineered a friendship to get a story. That was not the action of someone who truly cared about her.
And yet, it had seemed out of character when the story broke . . .
As if seeking answers, she opened one of the five voice messages Ben had left after his unanswered calls.
‘Anna, please, let me explain. I know you’re hurt and I know you hate me, but there’s a reason I did what I did . . .’
She couldn’t listen to any more. There was no remorse in his voice, only wounded pride and the panic of being revealed for the liar he was. Angry and annoyed for even entertaining the idea, she deleted all the voice messages and switched off her phone. For today, she wanted to forget Ben McAra ever existed.
Forty-One
‘Hello, Anna? This is Piers Langley, Juliet’s PA. She wishes to inform you that she expects you to return to work on Monday morning, if that is acceptable to you?’
Anna exchanged glances with Tish, who mouthed ‘What?’ over the rim of her coffee cup. She couldn’t help thinking that Juliet’s PA had added the last line for politeness: she couldn’t imagine the Dragon concerning herself with the personal opinions of her employees. ‘That’s fine, thanks for letting me know.’ She had missed the comfort of her work routine, but a concern remained. ‘Can I ask, has the – um – situation changed, regarding rival reporters?’
Piers’ laugh was kind. ‘Oh, you’re old news now, Anna. I shouldn’t worry if I were you.’
‘Was that work?’ Tish demanded, as soon as Anna ended the call. ‘Do they expect you to go back so soon? It’s barely been a week.’
‘I don’t mind, actually. I’m running out of things to do to kill time and I could do with the excuse to ask Mum to leave.’
Her friend chuckled. ‘Is she still at your place? Wow, Anna, you’re a better woman than me. If I had to breathe the same air as my mother longer than twenty-four hours I’d go insane. There’s a good reason we keep an ocean between us. How’s it going with the Browne family reunion?’
The truce between mother and daughter was still stilted, but they had settled into a rhythm of cordiality – a phenomenon that surprised nobody more than Anna. For the price of a cab fare and a lunch out, she had secured the majority of each day on her own, the pair meeting for dinner when Senara returned from her day’s sightseeing. ‘My mother seems quite taken with London, which is a minor miracle.’
‘What’s she been doing in the city?’
‘The tourist hot spots, from what she tells me. London Eye first, Tower of London yesterday and today she’s visiting Madame Tussaud’s and shopping on Oxford Street. She goes out all day and comes back about six.’ Anna was treading this brave new soil with caution. ‘But it’s high time she left. If I’m back at work on Monday, it makes sense for her to go.’
Senara appeared nonplussed that evening when Anna suggested she return to Cornwall the next day. She arrived home suspiciously short of shopping bags, but definitely the worse for wear, leading Anna to suspect she was enjoying the spirits of the city far more than its sights.
‘Fair enough. ’S about time I went back to civilisation anyhow.’
‘Have you had a good time?’ It seemed strange to be exchanging pleasantries with her mother, but Anna had asked before she could think better of it.
Senara reached out and cupped her daughter’s cheek. ‘The best, An. And you made it all possible.’
Anna watched her mother saunter away to the bathroom, feeling inexplicably uneasy.
The sensation still hung over her on Monday morning as the glass doors of the Messenger building slid open to herald Anna’s return. She had parted on good terms with her mother before she left for work, handing her several twenty-pound notes for food and drink on her train journey.
‘This is good – us, I mean,’ Senara had grinned. ‘Can’t believe what a tiger my little Anna’s turned into. Suits you, girl. Don’t you let no one walk all over you, yeah? Now, I’d say I’ll call when I get home, but you know that won’t happen. I’ll be seeing you sometime, I s’pose.’
Despite the melting of ice between them this week, Anna strongly suspected it would be several years before she and Senara stood in the same room again. It was just the way things would always be between them. She was grateful for the seeming calm in their relationship, but she wasn’t expecting Senara to become Mother of the Year. She hadn’t discovered her father’s name, but she understood a little more why he hadn’t been in her life. Learning of Morwenna’s foiled plan for her and Ruari was difficult, but the story had brought a surprising declaration of love from her mum. With some ghosts laid to rest, Anna felt stronger in Senara’s company. At the end of the day, this was more of a positive thing than she could ever have expected. At least she could focus on the future now.
‘Anna! You’re back!’ Sheniece’s embrace nearly knocked Anna off her feet.
‘I certainly am. Did I miss much?’
‘Only the paper being saved, Damien Kendal getting slapped by Lucy in Accounts for a sexist remark, and a certain male reporter looking like someone barfed in his pint. Oh, and Ted had a date . . .’
‘He did?’
‘Just the one. Someone persuaded him to try a dating website and he met a woman who turned out to be nine-tenths psycho.’ She giggled. ‘Seriously, ask him about it – his reaction is hilarious! Only Ted could have an innocent date turn into an episode of CSI.’
It was a relief to find the internal Messenger gossip-spotlight had moved on. Settling back into her familiar r
outine, Anna took her place behind the desk and revelled in the comforting monotony of her day’s tasks.
‘Mornin’, love,’ Murray Henderson-Vitt grinned, as he arrived in reception to collect his visitors. ‘You recovered from being our resident star yet?’
Knowing this wouldn’t be the only time she was asked today, Anna braved it out. ‘Just happy to be back at work, Murray.’
‘You should’ve spoken to me first, like I said.’
‘Oh? And you would have written the story any differently from your colleague?’
‘Probably not.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘Journalists, eh? Bunch of con artists, the lot of us. Tell you what, though, I would’ve looked a damn sight happier about it than McAra does right now.’
‘You’re all heart.’
Murray’s mention of Ben’s mood was interesting, especially after Sheniece had remarked on it days before. It could be part of a plan, she supposed, a damage-limitation exercise by newsroom colleagues to smooth over rough edges left by the stories. But Anna knew there was little love lost between Murray and Ben; he had no reason to make life easier for his colleague.
She discovered the truth when she first caught sight of Ben at lunchtime. He was hollow-eyed and pale as he waited for the lift; four-day-growth cloaked his chin and his clothes were creased, as if he hadn’t changed them for a week. Seeing Anna, he changed course and began to walk towards her desk.
‘Anna . . .’ he called, but she had already hurried into the staff toilet, one door along from the work kitchen, her place behind the desk assumed by an unsmiling Ashraf.
She could hear their exchange as she hid, Ashraf refusing to fetch Anna for Ben. After a few minutes of wrangling, her colleague knocked on the toilet door.
‘It’s okay. He’s gone.’
Anna slid back the bolt and opened the door. ‘What did he say?’
‘He wanted to speak to you. He said he wouldn’t give up. So I told him I know jiu-jitsu.’ Ashraf was clearly proud of himself. ‘He didn’t hang around after that.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’
‘You’ll have to speak to him sometime, though, Anna. Unless you get another job. Ben’s always going to be here.’
Anna knew he was right. At home, it had been easier to block Ben from her life, but here – where the unexpected reaction his story had caused around the world was being cited as the reason the Board had changed its mind and saved the newspaper – it would be impossible to avoid him forever. Anna desperately wanted never to see him again, but she was also angry and wanted answers. The battle between the two raged within her. She knew, eventually, she would have to face Ben.
But not today. I’m not ready to go there today.
Assured that the coast was clear, she returned to the desk, smiling as a grey-uniformed courier approached.
‘Parcel that needs signing for?’
‘No problem. Who is it for?’
The courier checked the label. ‘Anna Browne?’
Anna hesitated. Was this an attempt by Ben to get her attention? She didn’t know for sure whether Ben had been the sender of her previous parcels, but she wasn’t expecting another one in the light of everything that had happened. ‘That’s me.’
As she took the parcel, the courier pulled a camera from his bag, clicking furiously as Anna blinked in horror at the flashes. Ashraf vaulted the desk and dragged the photographer to the ground, yelling for Ted while rendering the paparazzo immobile with a swift upper cut to his jaw. The security chief puffed his way across the atrium, joined by a couple of passing journalists, and together they ejected the intruder from the building. In the middle of the commotion, Anna couldn’t move. She remained, frozen to the spot with the parcel in her hands, while Sheniece tried her best to comfort her.
‘Piers Langley said this was all over,’ she managed, her body numb. ‘He said the story had passed.’
Gently her colleague guided her to a chair. ‘Take some deep breaths, Anna. You’re white as a sheet.’
‘I wouldn’t have come back if I knew this would happen . . .’
‘I know, lovely. Is there anything in the parcel?’
Anna stared at it. The corners were wrong – but then, they had been once before. No sender address appeared on the brown packaging, but a faint rustling sound came from inside. It wasn’t one of her parcels, so what did it matter if she opened it here? Still shaking, she tore open the paper and lifted the old sports-shoebox lid. The box was filled with balls of newspaper and a white postcard sat on top.
Sheniece unrolled a paper ball. ‘It’s the Daily Post.’ Disgusted, she dropped it.
A message and phone number had been scrawled across the postcard:
A story will appear in tomorrow’s Daily Post, claiming you concocted the ‘secret parcel’ story with your lover, Ben McAra, to fool the public and save the Daily Messenger from extinction. It will also claim that you are an attention-seeker and compulsive liar. We have reliable information confirming this from a source close to you, and we will print it in full.
However, if you grant us an exclusive interview, we will run this instead.
Call Mike Hennessy (Chief Reporter) on 07957 . . .
‘Hennessy’s a shark,’ Joe Adams from the newsroom commented as a group of onlookers crowded around Anna. ‘If he says he has a story, he means it.’
‘Is there any way of finding out who his source is?’ Ashraf asked.
Joe shook his head. ‘Not unless Anna asks him.’
Rea had arrived, summoned to the ground floor by the speed of the Messenger grapevine. ‘Or someone who says she’s Anna,’ she winked.
‘Great idea!’ Sheniece said, squeezing Anna’s shoulder. ‘You see, Anna? We’ve totally got your back.’
‘No – let me do it.’
The Daily Messenger employees turned as one to stare at Anna, who was breathing heavily, white-hot anger searing through her limbs.
‘I can pretend to be you,’ Rea argued. ‘Get enough information to hang him and then drop the bomb. Hennessy’s a total git: it would be my pleasure to get one over on him.’
‘I want to speak to him. Tell me how best to do it, to get the information you want, and I’ll do it.’
‘Right, call him.’ Joe nodded. ‘We’ll record it and find out what he has. It’s possible he’s bluffing about his information, to get you to discredit the paper. Anna, try not to worry. We’ll tell you exactly what to do.’
But Anna was worried. The details could have been a lucky punt – plenty of people knew she and Ben were close, a few even knew of their date; the Daily Messenger’s precarious financial position was well known in Fleet Street. It would have been easy to concoct a tale from these facts. But the claims about a source close to her were troubling. Had Hennessy invented this, too – or had he tried to target her friends?
Half an hour later Joe Adams called her to the newsroom floor. A group of journalists, including Rea and a few Anna recognised from the news team, were waiting for her in a small office just off the main newsroom. Ben was conspicuous by his absence – but nobody in the room was willing to refer to it. Anna would have refused to go ahead if he had been there – and the journalists knew it. Joe quickly ran through how the conversation should go, sliding a prompt-sheet across the desk to Anna. Ashen-faced, he and his colleagues surrounded Anna as they made the call on a conference phone.
Mike Hennessy’s tone was as self-satisfied and appalling as his note had suggested. It sounded as if he was constantly chewing when he spoke and Anna imagined that he wore an identical snarl to the one she heard in his voice. ‘Miss Browne, I’m glad to hear from you.’
‘I want to know who’s sold a story on me,’ Anna replied, following Joe’s scripted lines from the sheet of paper.
‘Of course. But first I need to know we have an understanding.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, our readers have a right to the truth. And we have a choice, Anna: either I print what I already have, or yo
u tell me what really happened. I can make it worth your while, naturally.’
‘And what if I tell you it’s none of your business?’ She could feel her blood boiling.
‘Means nothing to me, pet. Fact is, one way or another you’re starring in the Post tomorrow. Whether that’s as an angel or a villain is up to you.’
Anna felt sick, but kept her eyes on the handwritten lines. ‘What’s in it for me, if I give you what you want?’
‘A considerable sum. Much more than that crappy job pays you.’
‘How much?’
‘We’re straying from the point, Anna. Do we have a deal? Exclusive story for the Post and no last-minute running to your bosses?’
‘On one condition.’
‘Name it.’
‘Tell me who’s talked to you.’
‘Time is money, Anna. I’m going to need an answer.’
‘I don’t think you have anything on me, Mr Hennessy. I think you’ve made it all up.’
‘I assure you we haven’t.’
‘I don’t know that. You could have put two and two together. I’ve had one date with Ben. Our newspaper’s troubles are well known. I reckon you’re lying about the rest. You don’t have anything on me . . .’
‘Question is, Anna: are you willing to take that risk?’
‘I don’t think you have a story, Mr Hennessy. My parcels were real and I didn’t make them up. I’m an honest person and I avoid being the centre of attention – why would I lie and bring all this on myself?’
And then, with all her lines performed and as she was looking up helplessly at Joe Adams, Hennessy suddenly took the bait.
‘You think you’re supported by your friends and family? You think they weren’t only too happy to sell you up the river?’
‘I don’t have any enemies. I have friends and people who love me.’
‘Oh, they do, do they? You poor deluded woman.’ His nicotine-heavy cough reverberated around the office walls from the conference-phone speaker. Anna saw the grave expressions of the journalists around the room and wondered if they felt as nauseous as she did.
A Parcel for Anna Browne Page 28
