The Valentine Affair

‘Of course, I’ve nothing against young men sowing their wild oats.’

‘I should think not,’ Leo grinned. ‘Especially when, according to my mother, you painted the town red in your younger days.’

‘Yes, well...that was a long time ago.’ The older man gave his nephew a slightly sheepish smile. ‘As you know, I’ve been happily married to your aunt Emily for the past thirty years. Which is why,’ he added firmly, ‘I’m relieved to know that you’ve clearly decided to settle down and put that sort of life well behind you.’

Wishing that he didn’t feel quite so mentally sluggish, and wondering how to explain that his future wasn’t quite as clear-cut as his uncle seemed to think, Leo was forestalled as Lord Hamilton rose to his feet.

‘The thing is, dear boy, for some time I’ve been wanting to make you a full partner and director of this bank. So, following the good news this morning, I’ve already had a few words with most of the other members of the board, and they’ve all agreed to your appointment.’

‘Hang on!’ Leo interjected swiftly. ‘I’d like to discuss this matter a lot more thoroughly before you take any action. The thing is, I’m not exactly... Well, the fact is...’

‘My doctors have been telling me that I should slow down and think about retirement,’ the older man continued, ignoring the younger man’s words as he walked over to the large window in his office and stared down at the traffic below. ‘And, having no children of my own, it’s a great relief to know that my own nephew will eventually be succeeding me as managing director.’

‘I’m really very flattered that you think I could do the job,’ Leo assured him. ‘And I do understand that you’d like a member of the family to continue as head of this bank. However, your colleagues may well feel—with a certain amount of justice—that I’m far too young for the job. Not to mention the fact that it could well appear to be a bad case of nepotism.’

‘Nonsense!’ His uncle turned around to face him. ‘You’ve worked very hard over the past few years, and fully earned your spurs.’

‘Surely there’s no need to make a decision straight away?’ Leo protested, desperately wishing that his head didn’t feel as if it was full of cotton wool. ‘I mean I’d like to have some time to think about it, and...’

“There’s nothing to think about,’ his uncle stated firmly, walking back to his desk and gathering papers together as his secretary came into the room, followed by two assistants. ’Now, I mustn’t keep the board waiting. Maybe we can have a word later this afternoon?’

‘But, I really do need to talk to you...’

‘Later, dear boy. Later...’ Lord Hamilton muttered, hurrying out of the room.

Swearing under his breath with baffled frustration, Leo wandered slowly back to his own office, quite unable to see how he was going to extricate himself from what was rapidly becoming a very complicated situation.

Alex glanced cautiously down the table, relieved to see that Mike Tanner was now leaning back in his chair, happily puffing on his second cigar of the morning, and regarding with satisfaction the pale faces and cowed figures around the table.

Her editor obviously believed that putting the fear of God into his staff helped to keep them on their toes in what was an ever-increasingly tough and competitive market. And, to be fair, he wasn’t far short of the mark. Threatened with the risk of losing their jobs, it was amazing how many new, creative and exciting ideas had been put forward during the past hour.

Unfortunately, Alex’s brain had obstinately refused to come up with anything that Mike would regard as creative, let alone interesting. The fact that she’d escaped unscathed so far didn’t mean a damn thing, since Alex knew that she would soon be in the firing line. Why else would Mike have demanded her attendance at this morning’s editorial meeting, when such conferences were only normally attended by the paper’s leading journalists?

Desperately sipping the dregs of her by now cold coffee, Alex waited for Armageddon to strike. And, sure enough, it wasn’t long in coming.

‘Now, Miss Pemberton,’ the editor growled from his position at the head of the table. ‘I don’t think we’ve heard from you this morning. Have you, by any chance, got some new articles in the pipeline?’

‘Well, er...no, not really,’ she confessed. ‘I’m still working on the St Valentine’s Day feature, of course, but...’

‘Ah, yes...I’ve had some thoughts on that subject.’ Mike drew deeply on his cigar. ‘Since the fourteenth of February falls on a Thursday this year, I’ve decided that the whole of that Saturday’s magazine will be devoted to the subject of love and romance. You know the sort of thing...’ He waved expansively in the air. ‘Why women expect men to propose to them on that day, some sexy fashion articles, how to cook a wonderful dinner for the man of your dreams, et cetera, et cetera.’

There was a general chorus of approval around the table, with the more sycophantic journalists crying, ‘Great,’ ‘Brilliant,’ ‘A real winner.’ The only dissenting voice was that of Imogen Hall-Knightly, clearly furious at the way Mike was hijacking her editorial control of the magazine supplement.

‘It sounds just the sort of rubbish you’d find in those awful women’s magazines—or in the worst of the down-market tabloids,’ she rasped. ‘And, I find it very offensive that you should wish to promote such a stereotyped view of women—reinforcing their role as mere playthings of the male species!’

There was a startled hush following her words, during which everyone held their breath, fully expecting their editor to verbally rip the deeply disliked Imogen into small, tiny pieces.

However, they were startled when Mike merely leaned back in his seat and, quite astonishingly, gave the rigidly angry woman a bland smile.

‘Well, you may be right. We certainly don’t want to be accused of being politically incorrect, or of discrimination against men—do we?’

‘Er...yes...no...I mean...’ Imogen gasped, frantically waving away the thick cloud of evil-smelling cigar smoke which the editor had just puffed in her direction.

‘Which is why,’ Mike continued imperturbably, ‘I’ve decided to include a feature, written by Alex Pemberton, which will be solely devoted to the male point of view. I rather fancy the title, “Sex and the single man.” How does that grab you?’

‘By the throat!’ Imogen ground out angrily, amidst the sound of general laughter.

‘That can be arranged,’ her editor drawled menacingly, pausing for a moment before turning to look down the table. ‘OK, Alex, what have you got so far?’

Stunned by the abrupt turn of events, Alex struggled to pull herself together. Was this the chance of a lifetime, or what? There was a small problem, of course, because her outline wasn’t nearly complete. But maybe she could skim over the gaps? It was definitely worth a try, she decided quickly, taking a deep breath and hoping for the best.

‘I love the title,’ she told Mike with a grin. ‘And everything I’ve done so far will fit in very well with what you want. As you know, before being struck down by flu I was working on a St Valentine’s Day feature...’

‘We’ve gathered that much,’ Mike snapped irritably. ‘Get on with it!’

‘OK...OK.’ Alex muttered nervously. ‘Well, I decided to write about three couples—working-class, middle-class, and upper-class, rich socialites—pointing out the differences in their romantic lifestyles. I’ve already got a plumber and his girlfriend, plus a tax inspector and his fiancée who are all quite happy to cooperate on the feature. The idea is to examine, in depth, what Imogen might well refer to as their “mating rituals”.’

Ignoring the general laughter, Imogen scowled down the table at Alex—a fact which didn’t disturb the younger girl in the slightest. She was fed up to the back teeth with Imogen’s continual sniping comments—mainly concerned with what she regarded as Alex’s rich, privileged background—and deeply resented the older woman’s inability to judge her work on its merits.

‘I’m planning to interview them all separately, as well as together,’ Alex continued blithely, before being struck by a sudden idea. ‘By the way, it’s just occurred to me that I might be able to take them all to a posh, up-market St Valentine’s Day Ball—which is usually held in one of the grand London hotels. What do you think?’ she asked Mike with a hopeful smile.

‘The organisers always hold these balls on the actual day itself, which means it would be perfect for the following Saturday’s supplement. So, I could write a second piece, mainly about what a good time they had in celebrating their romance.’

‘Yeah...that’s not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.’ Her editor nodded. ‘In fact, I reckon your idea for two bites at the cherry sounds very promising. I particularly like the idea of a plumber rubbing shoulders on an equal footing with some toffee-nosed Hooray Henry,’ he added with a chuckle, gathering up his papers and announcing the close of the meeting.

As the other members of staff began leaving the room, Imogen—who, as an experienced journalist, never missed a trick—quickly seized an opportunity to cut the younger girl down to size.

‘I’m quite sure that Miss Pemberton has done her homework,’ she said with a cold, malicious smile. ‘But I don’t recall her mentioning any details about the third, upper-class couple...’

Alex, who’d been happily basking in the warmth of Mike’s rare praise, felt a cold, hard lump of apprehension filling her stomach. Trust Imogen to wield the poisoned dagger!

‘No, well...I hadn’t quite sorted out the final details before being struck down by the flu,’ she told him briskly, doing her best to sound businesslike and confident. ‘It’s just a matter of tying up a few loose ends, and—’

‘We’ll have to insist on knowing exactly who you’ve lined up,’ Imogen interjected sharply, before turning to the editor. ‘For this feature to work she’s going to need a wealthy, well-known and socially prominent couple. It’s really no good dear Alex relying, as she does so often, on the last-minute help of some of her idle, rich layabout friends...is it?’

‘That woman’s an absolute bitch!’ Tessa muttered sympathetically as she rose from the table. ‘Go for it, kid. Smash her in the eyes with some really glamorous names.’

Unfortunately Alex—only too well aware that she hadn’t yet come up with any ideas for the upper-class pair of lovers—could only desperately pray for divine guidance, frantically cudgelling her brain in an effort to provide a satisfactory answer.

‘Well?’ her editor barked impatiently. ‘Hurry up! We can’t sit around here all morning, you know.’

Thinking about the episode later, Alex could only imagine that she’d been blindly trapped within the coils of some evil, malign influence. What else could have led her to commit an act of such folly? However, with her mind completely blank and just about to admit defeat, she found herself staring down at the newspaper open on the table in front of her.

Even as she raised her hand—pointing with a trembling finger to the picture of the man about whom Tessa had made such a crude joke—she could hear loud warning bells echoing in her head. But, as she ruefully acknowledged to herself later, both the sin of pride and an overwhelming, urgent need to escape from such a sticky situation proved to be irresistible.

‘It’s this man,’ she said defiantly. ‘I’m going to be featuring Leo Hamilton and his fiancée, Fiona Bliss.’

‘Do me a favour!’ James Boswell laughed scornfully, gathering up his papers and walking towards the door. ‘You’ll never get him to go along with it. Not in a month of Sundays!’