Shirley Jump - A Forever Family - Falling For You

He was here to make her pay, but so far she’d been doing all the running. It was time to bite back.

* * *

‘Okay, everyone. Can I have your attention for a moment?’ Jessica Dixon, the assistant editor, stood in the centre of the large open-plan newsroom and looked around. ‘As you all know we launched this year’s “Make a Wish” campaign last week and we’ve had lots of interesting suggestions.’ She glanced at the card she was holding. ‘A facelift for the Guildhall—’

‘That’ll be the mayor trying to get it done on the cheap.’

‘If it keeps the Council Tax down I’m all for that.’

‘The Mums & Minis group are pushing for an undercover children’s play area in Memorial Park and we’ve had several requests to restore the riverside gardens after last year’s bad weather,’ she continued determinedly, ignoring several more sarcastic remarks. ‘There have also been a lot of great ideas to help individual people in need. It will be our Fairy Godmother’s job to liaise with local youth groups and—’ she looked around ‘—the really good news is that this year we have a sponsor for the Make a Wish scheme.’

‘A sponsor? Does that mean our fairy will have to wear a company logo on her wings?’ someone joked.

‘No logo. Our sponsor isn’t a company, but a private individual and we have Claire to thank for that.’

Claire, busy on a piece of village-school closures, looked up when she heard her name.

‘What?’ she asked. ‘What have I done?’

‘Quite a lot, apparently,’ Tim said, with what could only be described as a snigger. ‘It seems that your one-woman campaign to rouse the community spirit of a new arrival in the area has borne fruit.’

It took her a moment to filter through the background sound. The guildhall…sponsorship…her campaign…new arrival…

Hal?

‘Are you saying that this year’s Make a Wish is going to be sponsored by Henry North?’

‘By George, I think she’s got it!’

Hal was getting involved with the Make a Wish scheme? Why did that make her nervous?

‘What exactly is he offering? His money, his time or his labour?’ she asked, trying not to think about the powerful muscles beneath that green coverall, the soft cashmere. ‘And, more to the point, what does he want in return?’

Jessica sketched the smallest of shrugs. ‘All I know is that in return for supporting whatever major “Wish” we decide to undertake this year, Mr North has asked for just two things. One, that we help him with a Wish of his own—’

‘A Wish? The man’s a multimillionaire, what can we do for him?’ someone asked.

‘Give Claire the sack?’ Tim suggested, dodging as she threw the latest edition of the paper at him. She missed him but clean-bowled his coffee cup, splattering him with cold dregs. A result.

Life was tough enough without him suggesting that she was surplus to requirements.

‘And two,’ Jessica continued, ‘since he’ll be working with her, he’s asked to be allowed to choose this year’s Fairy Godmother.’

‘I bet it’ll be some model he’s dating…’

‘Yes, please! That would guarantee us a mention in Celebrity magazine…’

‘No!’ Then as everyone turned to stare, Claire said, ‘He doesn’t do that kind of publicity.’

‘Oh? And how would you know?’

‘She’s the local authority on Henry North,’ Tim said again.

‘Actually, it can’t be an outsider,’ she said quickly as she once again became the centre of attention. ‘It has to be someone on the staff…’

Nooooooo… But even as the words left her lips she knew what was coming and instinctively slumped down in her chair, ducking behind her monitor.

‘Quite right, Claire,’ Jessica said, approvingly. ‘This isn’t a media circus, it’s about community so if you could spare a moment? Mrs Armstrong would like a word.’

Tim, mopping up the sunrise splatter of cold coffee dregs from his shirt, paused long enough to shout an ironic, ‘Goal!’

‘Claire’s been called out of the office,’ she said, from behind her computer. If she was going to be the office joke, she was entitled to the laughs.

‘Chasing down yet another investigative piece for the front page?’

Her trip to London on expenses had not gone unnoticed, or uncommented on.

‘Only if she’s investigating the dust under her desk.’

A ripple of laughter ran around the office and, straightening up, Claire held up a dust-coated finger. ‘Actually, it’s a vital and wide-ranging report on Health and Safety in the workplace.’

‘Shouldn’t that be “elf and safety”?’

‘Who needs a duster when you’ve got a magic wand?’

‘Everyone’s a comedian,’ she said, pushing her seat back and doing her best to put a brave face on things. ‘If Mr North has seen the error of his ways and is prepared to salve his conscience by helping with a project that benefits the town, let’s make it a good one. Something to make his eyes water.’

Toughen up, be ruthless…

Meanwhile, in return for sprinkling the fairy dust of publicity on local suppliers who supported the “Wish”—free promo in the paper in return for their generosity—and hours of extra unpaid work spent drumming up that support, chasing down grants, organising local youth groups, she was about to be working with Hal North. Given the choice, she wouldn’t have done it dressed in a tutu and wings.

She paused just before she reached the door and, having pasted on a broad grin for her colleagues, she turned to face them and was confronted by the display of the week’s front pages.

Mr Mean Targets Teddies leapt out at her.

Oh, well, brave face, Claire…

‘Ladies, gentlemen…’ She waved her ballpoint over them with a flourish before executing a low curtsey. ‘I leave you to fight over the front page while I don my wings and fly away to part Mr Mean from his money.’

She’d anticipated an ironic cheer. At the very least a laugh. What she got was dead silence. She flicked a glance in Tim’s direction. He was always good for a jeer, if nothing else. He’d paused in the act of mopping the coffee off his shirt but didn’t respond with as much as a twitch of an eyebrow and with a sudden sick feeling in the pit of her stomach she turned around.

Behind her, Willow Armstrong, the CEO of the Melchester-based Armstrong Newspaper Group which owned not only the Maybridge Observer, the County Chronicle and dozens of other titles in the region, but the local commercial radio station, was standing in the corridor.

With her, Hal North, a head taller, was looking down his long, not-quite-straight nose; piercing her with eyes that were of a blue so intense, so dark that it sucked the breath right out of her body.

‘Hal…’ Willow Armstrong, ignoring the pregnant silence said, ‘I believe you know Claire Thackeray?’

‘We have met,’ he said. His expression was grave, serious, but a gleam in the depths of those eyes suggested that he was enjoying the moment even if she was not.

No green coveralls today, not a trace of motor oil, but a lightweight grey tweed suit that was exactly right for the well-heeled gentleman about his business in a country town.

‘Claire, Mr North has read about our “Make A Wish for Maybridge” programme and has generously offered to support us this year. Since you’ve shown such a passionate interest in Cranbrook Park,’ she added smoothly, not suggesting by as much as a flicker of an eyelash that she’d seen that ‘Mr Mean’ headline, ‘he has asked to work with you on the flagship project.’

This was her prompt to say something, but clearly not the word that had momentarily threatened to slip from her lips. Fortunately, with his gaze holding her like a moth on a pin and the breathless silence of the editorial office behind her, words—as ridiculous as that seemed—had deserted her.