In the eyes that met his from beneath the brim of the fedora, Lionel could see no mockery, no sense of triumph at his humiliation. All he could see was the intense desire to make contact. He looked down at the open file and the newspaper article that sat there.

' "One Hundred Years of Marriage: Aldershot and the British Army." It's a very good piece.'

'It's also the reason you were interested in meeting E. J. Hoffmann, isn't that right?'

'Yes, that's right,' Lionel admitted. 'The originality of the journalist's style intrigued me.' His tone was cynical. 'Perhaps I now know why, Miss Hoffmann. Or is it Mrs?'

'Elizabeth will do.'

'Would you like to sit down?' The offer was made with reluctance; he was aware he had little option.

'Thank you.'

They both sat, and Lionel selected a half corona from the ornately carved cigar box on his desk. He clipped the end and lit up, then struck another match and offered it to her. 'You've gone out,' he said. She appeared not to have noticed.

'Thank you.' Elizabeth took short, rapid puffs, the way the man in the elite Bond Street cigar store had shown her. She didn't care if Lionel Brock was testing her, which he no doubt was, she was prepared to smoke the whole putrid thing and another five if necessary.

'Can we talk, Mr Brock?' she said, leaning back and staring unflinchingly at him through the veil of smoke. 'Can we forget I'm a woman and talk business, man to man?'

That would be difficult, he thought. Close to, despite the masculinity of the body language, the androgynous youth had taken on a distinctly female form.

'We can try,' he said.

'Firstly, I have a reference from an old friend of yours.'

Elizabeth took a folded sheet of paper from the inner breast pocket of her suit and handed it to him.

'Henry Wilmot.' As Lionel's eyes flicked to the name at the bottom of the page, he smiled involuntarily. 'Of course, I'd forgotten it was Aldershot he'd disappeared to well, that explains a lot.'

It certainly did, he thought as he read the reference. It explained why Elizabeth Hoffmann had been given the opportunity to work as a feature journalist in the first place. Henry was a renegade who believed in doing things differently and in giving underdogs a chance.

'He speaks very highly of you,' he said, looking up from the page.

'As I would expect we've had an excellent working relationship for nearly two years.'

What was it about her manner, he wondered. She was not arrogant, nor was she boastful. Nor, he was quite sure, did she intend any disparagement of his old colleague and rival. But such a.s.surance in a woman was most unsettling. Lionel found himself instantly on the defensive.

'I trust you are aware, Miss Hoffmann,' he said stiffly, hoping it was 'Miss'; she hadn't clarified her t.i.tle, and he couldn't bring himself to say 'Elizabeth', 'That Henry Wilmot is one of the best newspaper men in the business.'

'Yes, I'm aware of that. He says the same thing about you, by the way.'

Lionel sat back, savouring his corona and studying her closely through the cigar's lazy smoke, but he could detect no insincerity. It had just been a statement.

'I can see why the two of you would get on,' he commented dryly. 'Henry didn't believe in playing games either.'

'I know. He still doesn't. That's why he decided to opt out for the country, he told me. He got sick of having to play the games.'

'Did he indeed?'

Well, it was an honest admission, Lionel thought, albeit somewhat of an understatement. Henry Wilmot had detested the internal politics of big city newspapers. He'd flouted the rules and offended right, left and centre. Which was just as well, Lionel thought with a wry smile. Had Henry played the necessary games, as he himself had, it might well have been Henry Wilmot who was now features editor of The Guardian.

'I presume Henry is responsible for all this?' He gestured at the hat and the suit.

'Indirectly, yes. He told me how important first impressions are to you.'

'The idea was your own then?'

She nodded.

'And the cigar?'

'That was his. When I told him what I was going to do, he thought you might find it an amusing touch.'

Lionel laughed, and for the first time since she'd appeared in his office, he started to relax. 'So much for the two of you not believing in games,' he said.

Elizabeth smiled pleasantly. 'But it's not really a game, is it, Mr Brock? You and I are talking in a very different way than we would be if I'd arrived as Elizabeth J. Hoffmann.' Good G.o.d, he wouldn't have agreed to see her at all if he'd known she was a woman, she thought, but she didn't say so, aware that he found her quite confronting enough as it was.

d.a.m.n her hide, Lionel thought, but he couldn't argue the fact. She was, after all, right.

Over the next hour, as Lionel Brock continued to relax, he found it progressively easier to talk to Elizabeth J. Hoffmann. Perhaps it was the pinstriped suit and the fedora, or perhaps it was Elizabeth J. Hoffmann herself, but he talked to her the way he'd never talked to a woman before. Indeed, it was rather like talking to a man.

Elizabeth didn't telephone Daniel until the following Monday, aware that he was on duty over the entire weekend, and when she did speak to him, she refused to say one word about her business in London.

'Not over the phone,' she said, 'it's far too exciting. I'll see you in the teashop, usual time, and I'll tell you absolutely everything.' She laughed. 'Oh, Danny, you won't believe what I did!'

Come Sat.u.r.day, true to her word, she not only told him everything that had happened, she acted it out from her first entrance in the doorway of Lionel Brock's office to the final man-to-man handshake upon her departure. And Daniel, watching in silence, aware that the several other customers in the teashop were enjoying the show, wondered how she could have thought he wouldn't believe what she'd done. To his mind, it was so very Elizabeth.

'And you know what I'm most proud of?' she said in triumphant conclusion.

He shook his head.

'I smoked every inch of that hideous cigar!'

Daniel joined in her laughter. He had mixed feelings about the possible outcome of her trip to the city, but for now he wasn't thinking of where he fitted in. He was happy because Elizabeth was happy. He was excited for her and proud of her and so in love with her that he wanted to shout it out.

'G.o.d, I wish I'd seen you,' he said.

'You will. I've kept the suit and the fedora, and I shall present E. J. Hoffmann to you in person.'

'Complete with cigar?'

'Oh yes, definitely with cigar. You're ent.i.tled to the full performance it was your idea, after all.'

He was mystified.

'Don't you remember, Danny? When The Times turned me down sight unseen? I read you the letter, we were sitting right over there.' She pointed to the table tucked in the far corner. 'And you said if they hadn't known I was a woman, they might well have offered me a job.'

He remembered the day clearly he'd been trying to cheer her up. How ironic, he thought, if this should prove to be all his own doing. But he smiled jokingly. 'Are you really telling me that the whole ludicrous idea of your going to an interview in London dressed as a man and smoking a cigar was mine?'

'No,' she admitted, 'the cigar was Henry Wilmot's. But as for the rest of it, yes, you're entirely to blame, and I can't tell you how grateful I am.'

She was radiant in her excitement, and he thought that she'd never looked more beautiful.

'Isn't it strange, Danny,' she said, suddenly thoughtful, 'that until you gave me the idea, it never once occurred to me to keep my ident.i.ty a secret?'

'No, I don't find that strange at all,' he replied. 'You're not accustomed to lying.'

'But I didn't lie. Not once.'

His look was sceptical.

'I didn't, I swear. Admittedly, I didn't say I was a woman when I sent the Aldershot article to The Guardian, but then I didn't say I was a man either. And when they replied telling me to phone for an interview and I made an appointment for E. J. Hoffmann, I didn't say I was Hoffmann, it's true, but then I didn't say I wasn't. I didn't lie and they didn't enquire. It was their automatic a.s.sumption that made everything so easy.'

Daniel studied her knowingly. He recognised the pa.s.sionate gleam in her eyes. Elizabeth was out to make a point.

'They'd a.s.sumed the application for employment had come from a man,' she continued, 'and they a.s.sumed when I telephoned that I was that man's secretary. At least, I a.s.sume that's what they a.s.sumed,' she added in all seriousness, feeling she should be fair, 'but I know I'm right. Now I ask you honestly, doesn't that say something?'

'Yes. It says you're cunning, devious and manipulative.'

'For goodness sake, Danny, I'm talking about the male att.i.tude to women in the workplace and '

'Of course you are, and your tea's stone cold. Shall I order another pot?' He'd drunk two cups while hers had remained untouched.

'I'm raving on, aren't I?'

'Not yet, but you're about to,' he said agreeably. 'And I'd rather hear the outcome of the interview if that's all right with you. Shall I order more tea?'

'No, thanks.' Elizabeth was not in the least offended. She adored having a friend like Danny who knew her so well and always spoke his mind. 'I'd much prefer a walk.'

'Good.' He stood and offered her his arm. 'So would I.'

The late summer sun was warm and the day inviting as they turned into High Street, automatically heading for Princes Gardens.

'So what happens now?' Daniel asked, trying to sound nonchalant. 'I presume they're going to offer you a job?'

'They already have.'

'Oh.'

'Well, more or less. Lionel has to run everything by the editor-in-chief, but he says that's really only a matter of courtesy.'

'Lionel. First names already I'm impressed.' Daniel was desperately reminding himself that London was only thirty miles away, and that this wasn't exactly the end of the world, although he was starting to feel it might be.

'Yes, I was impressed myself, but he was quite insistent. All my feature writers call me Lionel, my dear.' Her impersonation was amusing. 'I see no reason why E. J. Hoffmann should be an exception.'

They'd arrived at the gardens, but they progressed no further as Daniel came to an abrupt halt.

'Feature writer? You didn't tell me that.'

'Of course not. I was leaving the best bit till last.'

'Elizabeth, that's incredible.' He was genuinely amazed. 'It must be, surely. I mean, how many women feature writers would there be at The Guardian?'

'None. Well, none working under their own names anyway. Perhaps there are other E. J. Hoffmanns lurking behind closed doors how could one possibly know?' She laughed lightly. 'From now on, I shall be highly suspicious of any newspaper article featuring the journalist's initials.'

'Really? Do you think that's true?'

'No, Danny, I don't think it's true at all.' She was no longer joking but in deadly earnest. 'I think I'm being offered the chance of a lifetime, perhaps even the opportunity to create history.'

His look was curious, although he didn't doubt her for a moment. In his opinion Elizabeth was capable of anything.

'My articles will appear under the name E. J. Hoffmann,' she explained, 'but once I've proved myself, I intend to fight tooth and nail for my own by-line. I want to be recognised as the first woman feature writer in the history of The Guardian.' She smiled as she once again took his arm. 'In the meantime, of course, I shall have to report a whole lot of rubbish. Come on, let's sit down.'

They entered the gardens and headed for one of the wooden benches that bordered the broad, gra.s.sy square.

'What do you mean rubbish?' he asked. 'E. J. Hoffmann doesn't write rubbish.'

'That's the catch. I don't know how often they'll let me be E. J. Hoffmann. Lionel's given his personal guarantee that he'll a.s.sign me features, but I'm not sure how regularly. In the meantime I'll be a nameless staff writer who covers matters of interest to women.' She grimaced. 'Everything from fashion parades and hair trends to family nutrition, childcare and kitchen appliances in other words, everything that either bores me witless or upon which I'm totally unqualified to report.'

They sat on a bench, and as Daniel gazed at the fountain in the centre of the square, he recalled the army's centennial celebrations and the day they'd first met. He'd known from that very first day that he loved her. Just as he'd known that he wanted to marry her. Now was obviously the time to tell her, he thought, before she walked out of his life. But how should he go about it?

'Lionel says it'll do me good working as a staff writer,' Elizabeth continued, unaware that she'd momentarily lost her audience. 'He says that I'll learn a lot covering such a broad spectrum, and I grant he may have a point, but I'm not so sure about the other aspect of his reasoning.' She launched into a further impersonation. 'Serving as a lady writer will establish credibility with your colleagues, my dear.'

Jolted from his thoughts, Daniel stopped gazing at the fountain and gave her his full attention.

'Lady writer,' Elizabeth added with a moue of distaste. 'I don't know why, but I find the term demeaning. They never refer to male journalists as "gentleman writers", do they? Anyway, Lionel's intimation is that in getting to know my fellow journalists as a "lady writer", I'll be somehow protected from the harsh masculinity of their world. But of course we both know what he's really saying.'

'And that is?'

'He's sounding me out. He's buying time while he a.s.sesses my value as a journalist and also my stamina in the marketplace. I appreciate his concern, unnecessary though it is. Poor Lionel's wondering if I'll be able to handle the slings and arrows that may come my way, or whether the pressure will be too much for me.'

'Little does he know.' Daniel's tone was droll, but the irony of his response was lost on Elizabeth.

'Exactly,' she replied briskly. 'I've said I'll give it a year, after which we'll review the situation. Strictly between you and me, that's when I'll demand my own by-line, but I think it's a pretty reasonable arrangement, don't you?'

He couldn't help but laugh. For someone who was being offered the chance of a lifetime, Elizabeth seemed insistent upon calling the shots.

'Very, I'd say.' And now for the crucial question ... 'When do you start?'

'Surprisingly enough, in a fortnight.'

He felt a sudden sense of panic. Two weeks! So soon!

'That is, presuming Lionel gets the go-ahead from the editor-in-chief. But the timing is so wonderfully coincidental, Danny. Do you know, they were actually thinking of advertising for a female staff writer.'

Daniel wasn't listening. Surely, he thought, she'd be required to give at least a month's notice to The Courier-Mail.

'Apparently they were employing a woman journalist on a freelance basis,' Elizabeth rattled on, 'but she's given up work to have a baby, and they've been considering employing a female writer full-time. Isn't that the most incredible good luck?'