'Oh.'

'Or six hundred.' Migsy had mistaken her surprise for stalling.

'All right,' Poppy said.

'Great. Now, I have to go, but I'm going to bike round a pile of invitations tomorrow morning for next week's parties. I'll call you on Thursday at eleven again for the lowdown. But honestly, Poppy, well done. You've done terrifically well.'

Poppy stared at the handset. She didn't know quite what to think. Six hundred pounds a week was very tempting, and the feedback she'd had so far had been so positive. So she'd come across as a bit b.i.t.c.hy, but she'd been mauled plenty in the papers before and survived, hadn't she? Why shouldn't someone else take a turn in the ring?

She turned on the television and watched a bit of an afternoon film, then switched to Sky News. A reporter somewhere hot was standing in front of a beaten-up-looking shack.

'So yes, Elsa, I can tell you it has now been confirmed that Minnie Maltravers has adopted a nine-month-old Guatemalan baby called Cristiano Morales. From what we've been able to discover, his mother died in childbirth and his father is unknown. His grandparents raised him for a while, but then, finding themselves unable to cope, had put him in an orphanage. Minnie Maltravers is believed to have left Guatemala. Sources report she has returned to Scotland, where she and her husband Max...'

So that that was what Luke was doing. She should try and remember to watch the was what Luke was doing. She should try and remember to watch the Seven Thirty News Seven Thirty News, she supposed. Poppy was shaken by the indifference she suddenly felt towards her husband. For nearly three years thoughts of him and how to win him had consumed her, but now she felt a creeping anger at how he'd ignored her.

She reached for the pile of invitations at the side of the bed and as she leafed through them, she picked up the phone.

'Meena, it's me. Take a couple of Berocca and some Red Bull because we're going out again tonight.'

32.

Even though Minnie had slipped away in the dead of night, the story of the adoption had gathered pace like a runaway sledge. The world's media descended upon the tiny village in the middle of the jungle where Cristiano Morales had been born, with the result that on Monday Cristiano's aunt was telling everyone who dangled a hundred-dollar bill under her nose how happy she was that her nephew would grow up in the bosom of one of the wealthiest women in the world. By Tuesday she'd changed her mind and was saying how tragic it was that Cristiano had been 'stolen' from his family by gringos.

Meanwhile dozens of aggrieved women who had been refused permission to adopt a Guatemalan baby came forward to complain. Every psychologist in the land was under siege from journalists wanting opinions on Minnie's character and whether such a hard-core hedonist could ever make a good mother. Everyone was discussing the rights and wrongs surrounding the issue. Everyone except the Seven Thirty News Seven Thirty News which had a different agenda. which had a different agenda.

On Thursday evening, Thea was sitting in the gallery the programme's main operations room watching the bank of screens in front of her. Bernie, the day's usual programme editor, had impetigo so Dean had decided Thea should take over.

'You've programme edited before, haven't you?'

'Of course,' Thea lied, eager to impress him.

It had been an adrenalin ride, but everything was going to plan. They'd just finished the first third of the show, covering the Russian presidency battle, the new targets for carbon emissions, the German serial killer jailed for life for the murder of fourteen prost.i.tutes and now the adverts were running.

Some of the screens showed Marco and Emma being touched-up by the make-up girls. One showed a still of a giant rubbish dump, the opening shot of Luke's report from Guatemala, which was coming up next.

'OK, Marco, Emma,' said Jayne, the PA, whose job it was to time each second of the programme. 'Going live in three, two, one, on air.' Emma swivelled her chair towards the camera.

'Good evening, and welcome back to the Seven Thirty News Seven Thirty News, and now over to Luke Norton in Guatemala City for the third in this week's special reports on the lost children of Guatemala.'

Hilary, the director, pressed the b.u.t.ton and the gigantic rubbish tip filled the screen. The camera moved in to highlight two beautiful children dressed in rags sifting through the garbage. Luke's voiceover kicked in: 'On this rubbish dump, just outside Guatemala City, Pablo aged six and his sister Juanita, eight, are trying to make a living. They haven't seen their parents for two years since the end of the bitter civil war that tore this country apart...'

Thea sat back with a smile. Tick. Another report under way. Two more to go and they'd have fulfilled their side of the bargain and then Jake Kaplan had better deliver the goods. After Minnie's disappearance, Thea had been more or less constantly on the phone to him. He'd rea.s.sured her that even though Minnie was no longer in Guatemala, she'd been seriously shaken by the vicious media coverage and was seriously considering giving an interview to defend herself. Meanwhile, the best thing the Seven Thirty News Seven Thirty News could do was keep its team in place. could do was keep its team in place.

'Minnie's people are delighted with your guys' work,' he'd told her that afternoon, 'and they love the fact you're the only network not questioning her decision, just showing what a wonderful job she's doing helping these poor people.' Thea smiled at the undercurrent of sarcasm. Jake continued, 'They all met Luke while they were out there and they thought he was just charming and they've a.s.sured me that if she speaks to anyone it'll be to him.' A slight pause. 'And Martin Bashir.'

'Martin Bashir?' Thea's voice was so loud, the phone was redundant. She could easily have been heard on the moon, let alone Guatemala City.

Jake sounded sheepish, 'Yeah, Martin Bashir on ABC. Minnie likes him because he's the guy who interviewed Princess Diana. But that's an American network. You're the front runners to get the only British interview.'

'You never said anything about a British and and an American interview.' an American interview.'

'I didn't know until about twenty minutes ago.'

A vision of chopping off Jake's head and dipping it in boiling oil floated through Thea's mind. 'You b.l.o.o.d.y owe it to me to let us have this first,' she'd hissed.

Minnie's people had to be pleased with this report, anyway, she thought, concentrating again on the screen.

Luke was on vintage form: succinct, moving, with just the slightest hint of anger about a world that only took an interest in the plight of the poorest when someone like Minnie became involved. As he listened to Maria, aged ten, who lived under a piece of tarpaulin and whose only pleasure in life was sniffing glue, Thea noticed a stillness in the room, her colleagues sobered by what they were seeing. Only one was immune to Luke's spell.

'f.u.c.king h.e.l.l,' Dean barked from behind her, making her jump. Unlike Chris Stevens who always watched the programme in his office accompanied by a large Scotch, Dean had an unnerving habit of entering the gallery unannounced and making running, critical commentary. 'I'm still worried about this, Thea. We're the only people not debating the Minnie issue and doing worthy reports instead. If we don't get the interview off the back of this we're going to be a laughing stock.'

'I know, Dean,' Thea said, keeping her voice low so the others could concentrate. 'But this is the game plan. We can't abandon it now or we'll have wasted everyone's time.'

'What's your Guatemala Children contact saying?'

Thea took a deep breath and told him about her and Jake's last conversation. Unsurprisingly, Dean was unamused.

'You're telling me the silly cow's going to talk to Bashir first?'

'I don't know. Hopefully not. It depends which country she's in.'

'She mustn't talk to Bashir first.' Between each word Dean jabbed his finger in the air. 'I want the world exclusive on this, Thea.' Noisily, he left the narrow, dark room.

'Well, I think it's a brilliant report,' Jayne said, never taking her eyes off her stopwatch. 'We should be running this kind of thing regardless of what Minnie says or does.'

'Thanks Jayne.' Thea's phone started ringing. She picked it up.

'Hi.'

'Thea!' yelled Greg Andrews, the Westminster producer. 'I've got a hot one for you. The Home Secretary's going to resign in the next twenty minutes.'

'Really?' Thea sat up, heart thundering. In the past couple of days there'd been a handful of prison breakouts. Everyone had been demanding a resignation, but the government kept saying it wasn't going to happen. 'Are you sure it's not just a rumour?'

'Yes, but we're getting confirmation anyway. Be back to you in five.'

's.h.i.t! Have you got a package prepared?'

'Amazingly, we do.'

'You darlings!' In theory, the political team were meant to spend quiet afternoons preparing packages summing up the careers of senior politicians to have them ready to run in exactly these circ.u.mstances. In practice, they almost never bothered, preferring to use their rare spare time in Annie's Bar or doing their expenses, but for once someone had been diligent. Thea thanked the G.o.d she didn't believe in.

Mouth dry, she called down to the newsroom and ordered a photo of the Home Secretary to display in the background when Marco announced the news. As she instructed Bill, the news editor, she checked the rivals' websites. Nothing there, but that didn't mean they weren't on the case. In the studio, Marco was in the middle of a two-way with the arts correspondent about the shortlist for a literary prize. The plan was to finish with an item about a dog who'd fallen over a cliff and been found alive three months later. But Thea didn't want that. Thea wanted a good old-fashioned scoop. She looked at the clock. Why hadn't Greg called back? She dialled his mobile. Busy. Good.

'Five minutes to go, Thea...' Jayne warned.

Thea called Greg again. 'It's tight, but... he's just outside... we're going to get it... Hey, Gordon, put your earpiece in.' There were m.u.f.fled sounds, then Gordon the political editor came on the line.

'Confirmed. He's going.'

'For sure?'

'One hundred per cent. But Sky are on to it too. Get me on air now.'

'Live in forty seconds. Live to Westminster in forty,' Jayne calmly told the studio. 'Marco, newsflash in ten.'

A few miles away Greg was hammering an intro into the system. Before he'd even finished typing, Marco was reading it from the autocue.

'And now over to Westminster for some breaking news. The Seven Thirty News Seven Thirty News understands that the Home Secretary is to resign today.' A red strap line flashed up on the screen beneath him, echoing his words. Gordon, Gordon, please let this be true, Thea thought. If they got this wrong her job would be right on the line. understands that the Home Secretary is to resign today.' A red strap line flashed up on the screen beneath him, echoing his words. Gordon, Gordon, please let this be true, Thea thought. If they got this wrong her job would be right on the line.

'Our political editor Gordon Cray is with us now. Gordon, I understand that you're the first journalist to confirm-'

'That's right, Marco,' gasped lanky Gordon, grinning as if all his numbers had come up on the lottery.

Thea imagined the fury at the BBC, the hissy fits at ITN, the tantrums at Sky. There was nothing better than knowing you'd scooped your rivals. She imagined the b.o.l.l.o.c.kings in their newsrooms, the 'Why didn't we have this?' and blew her onscreen colleague a kiss.

'I love you, Gordon Cray,' she whispered. 'I want to have your babies.' She looked at the red studio clock. Four minutes left. Thea hugged herself.

'I think I've just redeemed myself,' she whispered, her face lighting up like the Blackpool illuminations.

'Brilliant work,' Dean said, clapping her on the shoulder. 'Maybe you should be programme editing full time?'

'Mmm.' Thea smiled. She didn't want to be a programme editor, even though technically it was a promotion. Editors sat at a desk all day, getting bedsores and grief. She changed the subject. 'What can I get you, Dean?'

'Don't be silly, this one's on me.'

'Thank you, I'll have a red wine,' she said.

They were leaning against the polished bar of the Bricklayers, the Seven Thirty Seven Thirty's local. Before Thea had gone to New York, nearly every evening had started here with a few drinks before a crowd of them moved on to the Groucho or Soho House. Since her return Thea had only been in a couple of times for a quick snifter. Tonight, however, Dean had announced he was buying everyone a round and the place was bursting at the seams. Emma Waters had announced for once she'd skip her children's bedtime. Marco had called Stephanie and said not to wait up. Even Roxanne Fox had deigned to come and was sipping Perrier in the corner, talking to Rhys, who was virtually salivating at this chance to curry favour.

Gla.s.s in hand, she turned back to her colleagues who were laughing, gossiping, congratulating each other on their triumph. There was nothing like that sense of team spirit when they'd all worked together to pull off a big story. Shame it happened so rarely. Thea was suffused with well-being, in the way she used to be after a night with Luke.

'We made all the others look like nincomp.o.o.ps,' Dean crowed for the umpteenth time.

'I can't believe we were so prepared,' said lazy Bryn Darwin. 'Totally unlike us.'

'Remember the Queen Mother?' Emma Waters chimed in.

'Oh Christ.' There was general laughter. The death of the Queen Mother had been the most over-antic.i.p.ated incident in the history of journalism. Packages had been prepared decades in advance; there was an annual rehearsal of how the inevitable event would be covered.

'Happened on a b.l.o.o.d.y Easter Sat.u.r.day when there were only three people in the office.' Jayne giggled. 'We'd got a black suit in the cupboard for a male presenter to wear...'

'But the only bloke in was me and I had a broken arm from that story I did about army recruitment.' Bryn smiled happily.

'So the buck pa.s.sed to me and I was wearing a bright pink dress.' Emma chortled, her collarbone crimson from her third gin and tonic. 'Couldn't have been less suitable.'

'And then we paged everyone to try to get them to come in and Greg Andrews called and I thought he was offering to do a live but it turned out he was at Thorpe Park with his family,' Sunil recalled. 'He ended up having to do a two-way from the monkey house.'

'Disaster,' everyone agreed happily.

'Talking of disasters,' said Marco, looking put out. 'Has anyone seen this?'

He reached for his briefcase and brought out a tacky-looking woman's magazine, emblazoned with Day-Glo pictures of C-list celebrities.

'Wicked!' Thea said with disdain. 'Funnily enough, it wasn't on my reading pile this week.'

'Then it should have been.' Like a magician producing a rabbit from a hat, Marco revealed Poppy's page.

'Ta-dah! "The Bimbo Bites Back". It's hilarious. Mrs Norton's views on Gwyneth's appalling dress sense, the waste of time that is potty training and best of all the haggard witchery that is Hannah Creighton.'

'Let me see.' Dean grabbed it and scanned the page hastily. Then he slammed it down on the bar. 'Oh f.u.c.king h.e.l.l, this is all we need. Luke's wife starting a catfight with Hannah. She'll never let this one go quietly.'

'It's got nothing to do with us,' Thea pointed out, compelled though she didn't quite know why to defend Luke. 'Poppy has no connection with the show.'

'Oh no, Thea, none at all. She's only married to its anchorman.' He put on a silly girly voice. "'Until I saw Denise's orange dress I'd no idea how much you could do with a sewing machine and a pair of curtains." Christ on a bike, I hope she's been commissioned to write the introduction to Luke's book on what is it again? the history of the Balkans.'

'Poor girl's got to do something with her time,' Marco pointed out. 'After all, Luke is is away a lot.' away a lot.'

They all t.i.ttered. Thea felt another one of her unaccountable flashes of sympathy for Poppy, as Roxanne tapped her on the shoulder.

'Thea, do you mind? Just had a question. You haven't been working on any religious stories lately?'

'Religious? No, I don't think so.'

'Nothing involving the Bishop of Bellchester?'

'Not that I recall.' Before Thea could ask why, her phone began vibrating in her pocket. 'Oh excuse me.' A number beginning +502. Guatemala calling.

'h.e.l.lo?' she shouted above the din of the jukebox and her colleagues' chatter.

'Is that Thea Mackharven?' An American woman's voice. Nasal. Sounded as if she'd last laughed circa the sinking of the t.i.tanic. t.i.tanic.

'Yes.'

'Please hold, I have Leanne Martines for you.'

Leanne Martines? But now it was a different voice. Equally nasal, rather weary.

'Thea? h.e.l.lo. This is Leanne, Minnie Maltravers's personal a.s.sistant. Just to congratulate your show on its fantastic work and to let you know Minnie would like to give you an interview on Sat.u.r.day to discuss the motivation behind her adoption of Cristiano.'

Thea's heart almost stopped with excitement.

'That's fantastic news!' she shouted. Dean banged his pint down on the bar.