A Parcel for Anna Browne

by Miranda Dickinson

  The sender had said they would see Anna at the party. And here Juliet was: the last person in the world Anna would have expected.

  ‘Oh.’

  Anna thought about all she had planned to say to the revealed sender of her parcels tonight. She had pictured this moment in her head so many times – but now what? She took a long look at Juliet, the revelation of her generosity completely at odds with the powerful, detached personality she had become infamous for. Now that her chance to thank her in person was here, words deserted Anna’s lips.

  ‘Oh? That’s all I get?’ Juliet shook her head. ‘So much for philanthropy.’

  Pulling her thoughts together, Anna sat next to the editor. ‘No – no, I’m sorry. It’s a lot to take in, you know? I’m still not sure I’m happy being anyone’s “project”, but thank you. The gifts were beautiful and I loved receiving them. It’s been amazing, actually. I never thought anyone would do something so generous for me. It’s changed how I see myself and, well, it’s meant the world to me. But you don’t need to send any more – not that I’m suggesting you were going to, of course . . .’ She let her gaze follow the progress of the moonlit water as it danced into the fountain’s basin. ‘This is not how I expected this evening to pan out.’

  ‘You and me both.’ Juliet grabbed a packet from her purse. ‘Smoke?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Good. More for me.’ The tip of her cigarette glowed as she inhaled. ‘So, Anna Browne, where do you go from here? After your work on McAra’s exclusive I think you should consider a career change to the newsroom.’

  ‘It’s not what I want to do. I think . . . I think I just want to keep discovering what makes me happy. I like my job, my friends, my life. But I feel like I want to find out what else is out there.’ She turned to Juliet. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Not a clue. Other than I know that my days of anonymous benevolence are probably over.’ Her cigarette smoke snaked up into the night. ‘I can’t see myself taking up golf or moving to the south of France. I expect I’ll find something to sink my teeth into. I’m not like you, Anna. Work is all I have. And I like it that way.’

  ‘You could move to another newspaper. When the news breaks of your announcement they’ll be lining up for you.’

  ‘You’d think. No, I’m done with the newspaper business. I’ve made my mark. The only way would be down for me, and I’m not giving my rivals the satisfaction. I’ll figure it out.’

  The sound of a muffled announcement from the Orangery caused them both to lift their heads.

  ‘Sounds like Piers is getting microphone-happy. I do hope he doesn’t try to start a karaoke competition. He’s a terribly maudlin loser.’ She ground the remains of the cigarette beneath her expensive heel. ‘I should get back.’

  ‘Thank you, Juliet – for the parcels. I’m sorry I shouted at you.’

  ‘You had every right to. I’d have been incandescent with fury. Whatever you decide to do next will be the right decision, but I think a certain journalist needs to be put out of his misery.’ She gestured towards the party, where Anna could just make out a figure slowly pacing the pathway.

  Her work done, the editor stood and began to walk back to the party. At the corner of the path leading into the courtyard she paused, without looking back. ‘The parcels – did they really make a difference?’

  ‘They helped me to change my life.’ It was the truth and yet, even as Anna confessed it, she felt sad that her adventure was at an end.

  ‘Good.’ Juliet nodded, walking slowly out of view.

  Seeing Ben, Anna realised she had the answer that had eluded her. There was one thing left to do, to draw a line under the parcels. Rising, she took a breath and began to walk towards him . . .

  Fifty-Three

  The moon emerged fully over the garden, its light casting long shadows between the high hedges and ornamental features. It painted the garden with a blue-white eeriness, as if time had frozen and those moving through its expanse were pale memories of people who had once walked here. In the distance, the orange-yellow glow of the party burned like a setting sun on a dark horizon.

  Anna was aware of every step, the gravel path crunching beneath her shoes, her heart keeping time. But her mind blazed brighter than the lights from within the Orangery, a thousand and one new thoughts sparkling. The last piece of the puzzle had been placed – and now the way ahead was open for her to enter. She felt transported by an unseen energy. Now she knew who she was and where she wanted to be.

  Ben’s despondent figure edged closer into view. His back was turned, his eyes trained downwards as he kicked at the gravel. Gone was his bravado, his anger that caused him to walk away before. Instead he looked like a small, lost boy, beset by regrets he wouldn’t rescue himself from.

  ‘Ben.’

  He didn’t reply. Anna moved closer.

  ‘Ben . . .’

  He turned. ‘Hi.’

  ‘It’s getting cold out here, don’t you think?’

  ‘I . . . um – I can’t say I’d noticed. Are you . . . ?’ Looking at the jacket in his hand, he held it out to her.

  ‘No, thank you. Ben . . .’

  He closed his eyes. ‘Don’t say it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I mean it, Anna, don’t say it. I was stupid and I was angry. But I had no right to be. You were right: I used you. Not in the beginning, but when I had the chance to write your story I didn’t hesitate. You didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘It’s done. No hard feelings. There are more important things in life.’

  Bravely she reached for his hand and took it, feeling an initial hesitance as he almost pulled back. But then his fingers began a tentative exploration of hers, moving and turning until they laced tightly together. For some time, neither spoke – the sensation of each other’s skin replacing the need for words. When Ben rediscovered his voice, it was soft and small, barely more than a whisper.

  ‘I thought you couldn’t trust me again.’

  ‘So did I.’

  ‘What changed?’

  ‘I realised it’s my choice. Life is my choice. So I choose you to be part of it. If you still want to be?’

  ‘More than you know. Anna, I’m so sorry for what I did.’

  ‘I know.’

  Should she kiss him? Their bodies had moved a little closer when their hands met and now Anna could feel the warm waves of Ben’s breath caressing her cheek. She had never been the one to make the first move before, but she had never before been the Anna Browne she now felt she was, either. Realising that, nothing prevented her from following her heart. With a boldness that thrilled her, she stepped forward and brought her lips to his. He didn’t hesitate this time – his arm wrapped around her body, pulling them closer, as one hand still intertwined with hers. It was beautiful and shocking, raw and strong all at once, Anna finding a home in Ben’s embrace.

  When they broke apart they observed one another, as if seeing the other for the first time. The power of the moment caused their laughter to reverberate around the garden.

  ‘What was that?’ he asked.

  ‘That was a kiss,’ she teased. ‘Any complaints?’

  ‘Mmm, jury’s out . . .’ He was already pulling her back into his arms. ‘Better try again, just to be sure.’

  They traded kisses, laughing as they did so, the mood between them dancing between playfulness and passion. The tension that had built between them for so long finally broke as an intense flood of revelation swept them both up.

  When Ben managed to break free he asked, ‘And the parcel-sender?’

  ‘What about her?’ Anna moved to kiss him again, but he held her away from him.

  ‘Her?’

  She nodded. ‘So I can say, with the greatest certainty, that I am not in love with her.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Can’t say.’

  ‘Yes, you can. You can tell me anything, now we’ve kissed.’

  ‘And risk it appearing in your next exc
lusive report? No, thank you.’

  ‘Aw, come on, Anna! You can’t leave me hanging like that.’

  ‘I think you’ll find I can,’ she giggled, not resisting when he kissed her again. Perhaps she would tell him one day – maybe when the Daily Messenger’s esteemed outgoing editor had finally retired. But, for now, it was a secret she was happy to keep.

  And so, under an ink-black London sky illuminated by a dazzling moon, Anna Browne received her final gift. It was not wrapped in brown paper with perfectly symmetrical corners. No courier delivered it and none of her colleagues were present to witness its arrival. This time, the sender’s details were full and complete – and the gift was worth more than she could ever have hoped or dreamed.

  It was a gift of her own choosing.

  And it was perfect.

  Fifty-Four

  ‘Today’s the day the Dragon flies Smoke Mountain, eh? It’s a day for celebration, I reckon,’ Ted Blaskiewicz grinned, patting Ashraf’s shoulder as he headed towards his security office.

  Ashraf turned to Anna, swallowing hard. ‘I hope that doesn’t mean he expects me to match him drink for drink in the pub tonight. Last time I was hungover for a week.’

  Anna smiled as she finished entering the last of Monday’s appointments into the reception system. ‘Never drink with Ted. It’s really the first lesson any new employee should learn.’

  Sheniece folded her arms. ‘There shouldn’t be any new employees on the reception team. The newspaper’s secure, for now at least, and we all still have our jobs. Nobody should be giving theirs away.’

  Gathering her colleague into a hug, Anna whispered, ‘I’ll miss you too, Shen.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re moaning for, Sheniece. Anna going means you get to be Senior Team Leader – which means you can legitimately make my life hell from the end of the month.’

  ‘You’ll love it, Ashraf Guram, and don’t you try to deny it. I wonder how the old bag’s doing on the sixth floor? Probably still barking orders at poor Piers. When does she go?’

  ‘Ben said her office is pretty much cleared out now, so I don’t think it’ll be long before she leaves for good,’ Anna said, rolling her eyes when Sheniece mimed a silent movie-style swoon.

  ‘Ben says . . . You two are enough to make anyone throw up. How is the man himself?’

  ‘Settling into a TV newsroom. He seems happy, though.’

  ‘And now he’s dragging you away, too.’

  ‘No, he isn’t. This was my decision.’

  With each task being one less that she would ever have to do at the Daily Messenger, Anna felt strangely wistful. So much had happened since she’d first set foot in the glass-and-steel atrium – and she would miss it. But the spark of an idea that had begun a few months ago had blossomed into something new and exciting. It was time for a new start.

  Her interview with the not-for-profit business-support agency had passed like a dream, her soon-to-be employers drinking in every word of her carefully prepared presentation. She was offered a job before the end of the interview and now a brand-new position awaited her. It would be a challenge – bringing her firmly into the spotlight when meeting new clients and potential investors – but for the first time in her working life Anna didn’t fear what that might bring. Ben said her new employers didn’t know what they were letting themselves in for. But the pride in his smile told her all she needed to know.

  She thought about Juliet Evans now, facing a new challenge of her own. Her career had been her life for so many years – how was she going to fare, now that it no longer defined her? Anna hadn’t told Sheniece, Ted, Ashraf or her other workmates that Juliet was her secret parcel-sender. Instead she had told them that whoever it was must have bottled out at the last minute. Ted had said it was probably for the best, while Sheniece had been far more interested in the details of how Anna and Ben had got together to push for any more.

  The parcels had returned to being Anna’s secret. And she liked it that way.

  ‘Anna, you coming? Beer is calling our names, girl.’

  Ted, Sheniece and Ashraf were standing on the other side of the reception desk, coats and bags at the ready. Signing off and switching the reception phones to night service, Anna picked up her things and joined her colleagues.

  ‘Everyone’s going to be there,’ Sheniece babbled as they headed for the front door. ‘Rea, Ali, Pervy-Henderson-Vitt. Oh, and the new chap from the newsroom everyone’s lusting after . . .’

  In the doorway of the Daily Messenger building, Anna met a familiar figure walking in.

  ‘Hey, Anna. I’ve got a parcel,’ Narinder grinned, winking at her.

  Anna nodded, knowing full well that it wasn’t meant for her this time. ‘Take it straight up. Top floor.’

  Fifty-Five

  Juliet Evans handed the last box of belongings to Piers and closed the door behind him. Turning back, she surveyed the oddly empty space that had signified her life for so long. Pale patches of carpet were the only reminders of where expensive furniture once stood, designer-made cabinets and couches given as gifts by grateful Board members in recognition of her work. Within these walls she had masterminded the Daily Messenger’s rise from almost-forgotten title to leading national daily, back in the heady Eighties gold rush. Gazing from the floor-to-ceiling windows across the city, she had planned scheme after scheme to rise above the competition, set the Messenger apart and – crucially – ensure her name was set in the very stone of Fleet Street greats. In her office, given back to her by a smarmy Damien Kendal following her triumphant party speech, she had witnessed her last hurrah: confirmation yesterday of Messenger sales and circulation beating the top national tabloid title by 7 per cent. It was her parting shot to the industry that had made her name, and it sealed her notoriety forever. She might be leaving today, but she was leaving in a blaze of glory. It was exactly how she had wanted it to be.

  She took more than a little satisfaction in the fact that she had been given leave to hand-pick her successor, Joanne Malin, a flame-haired star of broadcast media. The Daily Messenger would be safe in her capable hands and Fleet Street would learn to give her due honour, as they had Juliet. She was already being hailed as the helmswoman of a new era for the paper. And rightly so, thought Juliet, kicking away the burn of irritation at how quickly she was being forgotten. Success would surround this newspaper for many years to come, she was certain, built upon the solid foundations she had toiled to establish. That, in the end, was what she wanted.

  And yet her decision to vacate the top office carried with it a sadness that surprised her. Many times over her career she had longed for days not governed by the steaming juggernaut of her ambition. Tomorrow morning, it would finally be a reality. The thought terrified her.

  A knock on her door called her attention away from what lay ahead. ‘Enter.’

  Piers’ expression was all apology. ‘I’m sorry, Juliet, I just wanted to check . . .’

  ‘Check what?’ She stopped herself. Her loyal assistant deserved better than to be a punchbag for her angst. ‘Forgive me. Come in.’

  He seemed as surprised as her by the emptiness of her former seat of power. ‘It looks wrong,’ he said, his smile conveying more than his words.

  ‘Does it?’ The drag of melancholy returned to Juliet’s stomach. Annoyed by its arrival when her employee was there to witness it, she pushed it away. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Actually, I wanted to check that you were okay.’

  Taken aback, she stared at him. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Because I imagine this,’ he indicated the space with a sweep of his hand, ‘is a little strange to deal with.’

  In fifteen years of Piers and Juliet working together, they had never so much as shared a passing anecdote about their personal lives. She didn’t know his partner’s name, or whether he had children. She seemed to recall him mentioning once that he lived in Bloomsbury. Beyond that, for all Juliet knew, Piers Langley might well have stopped existing the mom
ent he left the building.

  ‘It is.’ The admission felt momentous.

  ‘The place won’t be the same without you,’ her PA ventured. ‘You are the Daily Messenger. I don’t know how anyone will fill your shoes.’

  ‘She doesn’t have to,’ Juliet replied. ‘My successor is eminently capable. She’s still at the stage in her career where success matters. I have grown tired of it.’

  ‘Forgive me if I don’t believe you. You have success coursing through your veins.’ Reddening, he grinned. ‘I can be forward, now I know you can’t sack me.’

  ‘I still have an hour before I officially retire,’ Juliet returned, grateful of the light relief. ‘You should be warned.’

  ‘Message received and understood, Ms Evans. Is there anything you need?’

  A Plan B, Juliet thought. But who was she kidding? She had never needed a Plan B in her life. ‘I’m fine, thanks. You may as well finish now, Piers. I doubt I’ll have more orders for you.’

  To her surprise, her PA’s eyes glistened as he extended his hand. ‘I won’t say goodbye, then, only adieu. If you should need assistance for your next venture, you have my number. I come highly recommended by the best in the business, you know.’

  Juliet took his hand and didn’t protest when Piers moved closer to plant two kisses on her cheeks. ‘Thank you. Sincerely. I wish you every success.’

  Watching her former assistant hurry from her office, it occurred to Juliet that he might well be the only person here who would truly miss her. This business mourned nobody for long, the course of continuous global news forever moving forward. Those who furthered its advance were, in the end, as disposable as the subjects of the stories that fuelled it.