by Kay Williams
“Give over, Henry. It's not that big a deal,” Cornwall sneered which changed to a squirm of shame as I threw several magazines on the desk depicting their actions.
“It must be nice to know the local law enforcement and the judges.” I took my turn at sneering. “You would have taken a slap on the wrist and Fallow the fall?”
“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to her.”
“What were you thinking?” I asked, unable to be gentle or quiet with him, a man and a Wildling who should have known better. “That if you could prove you’ll do anything she wants she’ll fall on her back?”
“Don’t be so crass!” Cornwall snapped, baring fangs.
“Then what in the name of the Door happened?” I yelled, losing control for a moment before I could rein it in.
“Things got out of hand.”
“A poor excuse,” I snapped.
“I didn’t say it was a good one,” Cornwall snapped back, his fangs flashing slightly. I didn't find his apparent loss of control of his Human appearance or of the fangs intimidating, I wanted to prise them out and give them to South on a necklace.
I took out another stack of tabloids, these ones women’s magazines that had taken the theft as just run-of-the-mill Wildling high spirits and instead focused on the connections. They slurred my name and my company's reputation by claiming I was doing nothing to compensate the parties involved and how I was using my money and power to keep the two crooks out of jail. As front page news they attacked South associating her not only with Cornwall in ways that were ugly but also with other criminals from before she was famous. Some even hinted that she had been fired for her connection to the theft. Tarnishing her reputation before she even had a chance to make a name for herself as the sweet and gentle natured person she was.
Thankfully, she had had the good sense to brief her publishers before this morning’s fall-out and they had been ready the instant after they had seen the papers with an online statement.
Nevertheless, the damage Cornwall’s stunt had inspired had already been done.
Cornwall paled as he took them in, skimming through some of the worst ones.
“Proud of yourself?” I asked. “That your bit of fun can ruin someone else life while you suffer no repercussions?”
“I’ll call her,” he promised.
“Don’t bother,” I replied, finally letting myself feel all the anger that had been with me last night. “I think you’ve done enough damage, don’t you?”
“I didn’t set out to hurt Harriet!”
“But you did, and me, Mr Cornwall.” I dropped our friendship and it made him wince as if I had struck him, I itched too badly, Wildlings possessed stronger bones but with my own heightened strength I was sure I could have broken his nose without too much effort. “I knew you enjoyed a joke when I met you but I always considered you a sane and rational man, but here you are, a petty thief, dumping his friends at a moment’s notice for a skirt.”
“Don’t talk about Jessica like that!”
“Still thinking only of her and yourself I see,” I yelled back. “You drag my name and my company through the mud, ruin South’s before she even has a chance to make a proper public appearance, I’m sure it didn’t occur to you during your get away that she wouldn’t have another way home?” Cornwall flinched, as I scored another direct hit. “It was just blind luck I came across her when the gallery finally let me go and thankfully she accepted my help last night. You win in every respect in this matter, Mr Cornwall. You’ve got away with a crime that likely won’t tar your career, you’ve avoided most of the bad press, and you’ve proven yourself to your intended. Congratulations, and since you have no interest in anyone but yourself and Fallow, and I need to get back to clearing up the mess you’ve left in your wake, you can get out of my sight.”
Cornwall seemed to hesitate, and for a moment I thought he might treat me to either a proper fight or the truth of what was actually going through his head yesterday night, but instead he lowered his head and went silently to the door.
I eased down into the chair behind my desk, I was shaking and a welling sense of betrayal caused bile to rise in my throat. I also, sadly, had almost no time to try to mend the bridge, I had a fundraiser in New York to organize and if I had any hope of it overriding this disaster it would have to be a spectacular night.
# # #
Harriet South
I hadn’t slept well, and surprisingly it had nothing to do with the incident at the gallery which had kept me awake. It was my suddenly fat bank balance that weighed on my mind.
In the end I was up at six and sitting on the tax office self-assessment help page trying to work out how much of the money I had been gifted with I would have to give back. It was complicated without all my royalty slips but the figure I worked out for myself wasn’t as much as I had worried about and after devoting a fair chunk of my windfall to my mortgage deposit I contemplated what to do with the rest.
I owed Lucy as bottle of champagne.
Picking up a few clothes to start my new job with seemed like a good idea, my wardrobe hadn’t been properly refreshed in years.
It would be nice to check my parents’ itinerary and find a weekend when they were in port and catch them up for an afternoon. I'd enjoy surprising them by waiting at dock-side, they had been worried and guilty for not being here but I was glad they were safe from it all. I told them to enjoy their holiday, raise a glass for me and by the time they got home we would be wondering what all the fuss had been about.
I felt better for having a plan and was ready to crawl back into bed when my news app flashed up with the eight am headlines across a selection of papers and tabloids.
No surprise was the tabloids who led with a picture of Simon and Fallow in their flight from the hotel. All the stories centred on the theft with the artist and their agent pressing charges coupled with some very ugly rumours that Heronsgate Industries was deliberately misusing its wealth and power to keep both parties out of prison. Remembering Heronsgate’s frown from the night before I would rather have been in prison than faced that.
Guests who had been there had been named and shamed for not doing anything to stop the event, my name had been in all the articles. Most only mentioned the fact that Simon had been the lawyer to negotiate my publishing contract, three of them had typed my name in bold font and wrote I had been Simon’s guest at the event but appeared innocent of any crime. Two publications declared rather boldly that I had been involved with distracting management while the theft took place, and some even quoted had been fired by my new job and my work agency for my part in it.
That was libel!
The press had never been there and I had had nothing to do with it!
And I wasn’t fired, I hadn’t even started work yet, and if I had been fired they would have had to call me first!
My phone was ringing and after checking the ID I answered the call.
“Morning.”
“Hi Harriet,” Rosemary didn’t sound as concerned as I felt she should be, I was already wondering how I was going to get even with the liars.
“Are you reading this?”
“Scandal sells,” Rosemary chuckled. “You called us straight away so we were prepped and ready and have issued our statement online. We are concerned with the libellous statements and we have got Anthony on to it. At the least we will get public retractions issued, and we might even get compensation for defamation of character. I wanted to ask if you have heard from your new job or your agency about being struck off.”
“Not a thing,” I replied. “Should I call them?”
“You’re sure? No email or anything.”
“Positive.”
“Okay. Don’t call them. We’ll get Anthony on that too.”
There was a knock at my front door, followed quickly by a ringing of the bell.
“If there are reporters on my doorstep again would I get away with leaving home?”
“So long as you g
o somewhere with a good mobile signal and keep your phone handy,” Rosemary replied.
“Thanks.”
“I know it’s invasive. I know that none of us asked for this and it’s a pain in the ass waiting for the spotlight to move on. But it will move on, Harriet. You are doing fine, just stay cool.”
I wondered how stressed I sounded that Rosemary felt the need to talk me down.
“I’ll go grocery shopping. I don’t care who you are; no one is interesting when they are buying toilet roll,” I offered, attempting to lighten my own mood and smiling when Rosemary laughed and I heard her pass the joke on.
“Anything I need to tell the press if I get cornered?”
“You do not condone thievery. Other than that, saying no comment or referring them back to our official statement online is fine.”
“Thanks, Rosemary.”
“Anthony will call you soon.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Feeling better I rung off and called Lucy. It was unusual to get her voicemail and it put me off leaving a rant on tabloid journalism and my current situation. Instead I asked her to text me what kind of champagne she wanted and when a good time to visit with would be. With Lucy running her own business I didn’t want any bad publicity to affect her work and I wouldn’t have blamed her for wanting to wait a few weeks for all this to die down before we got together.
The doorbell rang again and an eye against the peep-hole showed me there was currently a professionally dressed woman standing on my doorstep. I could have taken the battery out of the doorbell but people would still be able to knock and I would still be stuck inside my own home.
I needed to get out, I took the stairs up to my box room which I had converted in a writing den and grabbed my bag; putting my purse, keys and mobile inside. I grabbed my laptop so I could write and was retrieving my back up portable hard-drive from its drawer when I found my passport.
Rosemary had told me to get away and didn’t mind where I went so long as I had good mobile signal, she had probably meant that I was welcome at Lemon Grove’s office, but I didn’t want to be the kind of needy client that ran to hide under the tail coats of her publisher when things went wrong. Though leaving the country seemed a little extreme and I had no intention of getting on a plane, I did know that private business lounges at airports had amazing security and certain areas were press-free zones. I was probably going to be fine, but if things did get out of hand then I wouldn’t be alone.
It was the perfect alternative.
Shoving the passport in my bag I made sure everything was properly locked up before pulling on my coat and disguising myself with a hat and a scarf. Once again I found myself sneaking out my back door. I wouldn’t need my car this time and hurried up my garden path, the rear of the house wasn’t being watched and I locked my back gate and walked swiftly up the street.,it wasn’t long before I able to flag down a cab.
“Where to?”
“London city airport, please.”
“Arriving or departing?”
“Departing. Thank you.”
The driver turned back to the road and I pulled on my seat belt and logged on to the airport website. London city airport had several business lounges in secure parts of the airport labelled as ‘press-free’ zones and I chose one designed like a small coffee shop, there was a small fee to pay for the privilege of being protected by the security team, but my first order of cake and coffee would be included in the fee.
I paid and received an e-ticket in a text to scan on the door when I arrived.
Relieved, I relaxed into the seat and enjoyed the ride.
The airport was busy and walking with my head down through the departure lounge was impossible. I was aware of people pointing me out and some whispering, my anonymity in a crowd was now fast disappearing. I wondered if people would be asking me for my autograph on buses in the near future. It might be an idea to carry some of the postcards Jonathan had at the book signing in my bag just in case.
Thankfully the lounge was easy to find, my ticket scanned without trouble and I was soon safe.
I had no idea that publishing was going to leave me so paranoid!
The lounge was just like a coffee shop with wooden tables, a counter with teas, cakes and sandwiches. Little menus of hot snacks adorned the tables and the whole lounge was set against large windows giving an unhindered view of a private runway off the main strip where the larger passenger jets were taking off and landing.
It was busy but everyone else was either working, or simply ignoring the fact they were in a room full of other people, and it was quiet under the gentle hum of conversation. I found a table, claimed my free cake and coffee, and was ready to boot up my computer when my phone began to ring with a familiar number.
I scowled at it and wondered if I should answer it, but eventually picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Harriet? It's Simon. Look, I've just seen the papers and wanted you to know that I'm going to get on it straight away.”
I didn't need him 'on it', I didn't want him anywhere near it, or me.
“I'm sorry, who did you say this was?”
“It's Simon. I am so sorry that what I did last night has landed you in so much trouble, and I never meant to drag you into it. I'm going to put everything straight.”
“I don't remember giving you authorisation to act on my behalf,” I said. “I also don't remember signing up for any unsolicited calls.”
“I deserved that.”
“Please remove my number from the database and do not call me again,” I continued, and then took far too much pleasure than I should have done in cutting him off.
My snack arrived and I lost myself to my typing, it was only a couple of hours before Anthony called and I answered the phone with some trepidation.
“Hello?”
“Hello again, Miss South.”
“Mr Carson.”
“Would you like the good news or the bad news?”
“Well if there is bad news I'm going to take a guess that I'm fired.”
“Yes,” Carson agreed, not a man to sugar coat things. “What we didn't know was that someone at the agency admitted you were on the books during the first riot of press interest thinking they would gain some easy publicity out of it. Except all they got was press swarming the office and their statement not making it to publication because you issued your own in person.”
“That would explain why they were so good about the attention to start with.”
“They didn't want anyone finding out they had tried to use you and betrayed your client confidentiality. But when your name hit the papers this morning they were pestered for a comment, and they said that if you were linked to a crime of that magnitude you would be struck off.”
“I see,” I said. “The press then twisted it from an ‘if I was’ into a ‘she has’.”
“Precisely. Unfortunately, when I spoke to the manager he had obviously decided that you were causing him more trouble than his one small firm could manage and he had decided to cut his losses and remove you from their books.”
“Charming.”
“Frankly speaking they didn't handle the attention well in the first instance and they brought the trouble on themselves. Legally, because you haven't started your new post yet, you are subject to the contract with the agency and they believe you to be in breach of that contract by association with the crime.”
I pinched my nose trying to make sense of what he was telling me.
“You are saying that in their eyes I am guilty until proven innocent and that gives them the right to pull the plug.”
“Yes,” Carson agreed. “You could spend a great deal of time and money proving your innocence but I would suggest, for a greater good, you not causing a fuss over the decision.”
“Greater good?”
“By even talking to the press about your contractual obligations they are in breach of it themselves by way of client confidentia
lity, and they are willing to settle that anonymously out of court.”
“Pay me off, get rid of me, no further changes brought.”
“They aren't a national company and they are only based in London, so the amount isn't huge but it is acceptable when compared to their filed earnings.”
“What about the people at the new job?”
“The press never knew where you were going so they were never mobbed, but if you aren't on the books at the agency then you can't hold the position with them.”
“So it’s a case of accepting the hush money, or fighting the charge and keeping the job.”
“Those are your two choices,” Carson agreed, “I don't want to appear insensitive, Miss South, but it is data entry, not a CEO position.”
“Plenty of those kind of jobs going in London,” I summed up. “Take the deal. I just want it over with.”
“You don't want to know how much first?” Carson sounded surprised.
“So long as it is enough to pay your fee I don't mind what is left over.”
“The good news is that the libellous comments have already been retracted online, and they will be in print tomorrow,” Carson continued rather than contest my comment.
“You work fast.”
“It was an easy case, a few CCTV images of you on the other side of the room and not once talking to the hotel manager was all it took.”
“I won't ask how you got those without police approval or a warrant.”
“I asked nicely,” Carson chuckled. “And the security staff liked your book.”
“Finally, my popularity has been good for something.”
“Compensation from global media groups is always more generous than single businesses.”
“I'll take your word for it.”
“I have never known anyone so unmotivated by money,” Carson sounded bemused.
I already had one large pay-out I hadn't been expecting, the idea of two more was actually more daunting then amusing, and I wished once again that I wasn't getting it in the way I was, for the reason I was.
“I was always told that it was hard work that was supposed to pay off.”
