Liz Fielding: The Corporate Bridegroom

‘I’m married, Romana. Not dead.’

‘Well, you can put your eyes back in their sockets. He might be good to look at but I promise you he’s not nice to know. The man is dour. With a capital D. A real cold fish. His name is Niall Macaulay and he’s one of the Farraday clan—’

‘I didn’t know there were any real live Farradays.’

‘Unfortunately they’re as real and as live as you can get. This one is a dominant male of the species and he’s going to be shadowing my role with the company for the next month.’ And marking her out of ten for technique. She didn’t think he’d be interested in artistic merit.

‘You mean he’s the one being squeezed into your box at the gala tonight? You lucky cow! Do you think he’d like some coffee?’ she asked hopefully.

‘He needs something,’ she said, with feeling. ‘A charm implant would be a definite improvement. But I’d advise against offering him coffee if you value your life.’ She looked up at the crane and shivered. ‘One of us has to be at the gala this evening.’

‘You’ll be fine. Just don’t forget to smile for the cameras. It’ll probably be the cover picture, so when you put on that sweatshirt make sure the C&F logo is front and centre. I’d stay and help, but I have to meet the caterers at the theatre.’

Smile for the camera? Smile?

A teeth-baring grimace was all she could manage as she stared in the mirror and retouched her lipstick for the television camera which would follow her every move once she emerged from the caravan. She’d have bitten it all off long before she reached the jump platform. Not good. She put the lipstick in her pocket, along with her handbag mirror, for a last-minute touch-up. If she could keep her hand sufficiently steady.

She caught herself fluffing her hair. Again. Holding her arms firmly at her sides, she fixed a smile to her lips and emerged from the caravan to be met by the television director.

‘Great,’ she said absently as he ran through what would happen. But her mind was somewhere else. On Niall Macaulay, who was standing a few yards away. It was hard to tell if he was regretting his decision to join her. His expression gave nothing away. ‘Sure you won’t join me, Niall? A Farraday jumping would be the icing on the cake. And it would really prove your commitment.’

The director spun to look at him. ‘Hey, this is great. If you could just change as quickly as you can, Mr Farraday—’

‘The name is Macaulay.’ The director looked confused. ‘Niall Farraday Macaulay. And there are more than enough people around here desperate to fling themselves into space for a good cause. I don’t want to be selfish and hold things up.’ Romana gave him a look that suggested he wasn’t fooling her with his lack of selfishness. ‘I’ll sponsor Miss Claibourne instead.’

Romana was temporarily speechless. It was the second time he’d done that to her today, and she didn’t like it.

‘Niall Farraday Macaulay?’ she asked him as she went to weigh in. ‘You really are called that?’

‘It’s a family tradition. A reminder that our time will come.’

‘Not if I can help it,’ she said. Then turned away to take the card to be handed to the jump team. She took it in fingers that were losing any sense of feeling. Only her mouth was working, running away with her, joking to the camera about getting vertigo standing on a high kerb…

It avoided having to think about what was ahead.

She wasn’t thinking at all, or she might have distracted the photographer from Celebrity magazine when he wanted to take a picture of the two of them together. Yet, even numb with terror, the PR side of her brain was saying Go for it! This would get people talking, create a buzz…and wasn’t it vital to demonstrate her ability to take advantage of a photo opportunity?

‘Claibourne & Farraday working in partnership for deprived children everywhere,’ she prompted, offering a hand to Niall. Her jumping and him watching. Nothing new there.

He sketched a smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. He probably did, she realised, and felt instantly guilty; there might be some perfectly good reason for his lack of good humour. And for not taking part in the jump.

A solid grasp of the principles of gravity and plain good sense, perhaps?

‘Get really close, warm and caring…’ the photographer encouraged. Niall was surprisingly co-operative, putting his arm around her shoulders before she could reconsider. It felt almost shockingly good to be tucked up against him. ‘Lovely…big smile…’

Startled by the direction her thoughts were taking, she glanced up at him. The breeze from the river was whipping up his perfectly cut hair and feathering it across his forehead, and as he smiled to order it was plain that, physically, the man had everything. Style, good looks and a set of teeth any film star would pay a fortune for.

The minute the photographer finished, Niall let his arm drop. The smile, however, remained. A warning that she had indeed made a mistake by drawing attention to his presence. It was something the columnist at Celebrity would seize on and speculate about at length. And if his photograph appeared on the front cover India would never forgive her.

‘They’re waiting for you,’ he said, the smile turning into the smallest of frowns as she stepped onto the hoist with legs that didn’t appear to belong to her and made a grab for the safety rail as it began to rise. Had he realised how scared she was? Did it matter?

‘What’s the view like?’ The presenter’s voice in her ear prompted her.

Aware that the mini-cam would be picking up the fact that her eyes were tight shut, she managed to blurt out, ‘I’m saving it for a surprise when I get to the top.’

The sound of laughter reached her over the loudspeaker, and as the hoist came to a halt she instinctively opened her eyes as she stepped onto the platform. Big mistake. Behind her, her escape route returned to the ground. In front of her London seemed to shift beneath her feet and she felt the colour drain from her face.

‘I’d like to go home now,’ she said, grabbing the first solid object that came to hand. Everyone laughed.

She joined in, trying not to sound hysterical. But she was out of time. As the hoist came to a halt behind her, with its first load of paying jumpers, she said, ‘Could someone unpeel my fingers from this rail?’

‘I thought this was all in a day’s work for you.’

Niall Macaulay. Riding to her rescue. She knew he’d seen her fear… ‘You dropped this.’ He handed her the card with her name and weight on it. ‘I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the excitement.’

She glanced at the card, frowning at the implication that she had tried to get out of jumping. She would have turned and glared at him for being such a know-all, but she wasn’t prepared to move that much. Besides, this was a live broadcast.

‘Well, thanks. It’s good to see Claibourne & Farraday working together.’ Even in extremis she still remembered to mention the company name.

‘No problem. It’s what a shadow’s for. To pick up the mistakes. Can I offer some help there?’

More sarcasm, but Romana was beyond caring about the feud. Her knuckles were bone-white as she gripped the cold metal.

‘My hero,’ she said, as Niall peeled her fingers one by one from the rail.

The bungee-team, eager to get started, fixed up the bungee. When they’d finished, it was Niall who reached out a hand to help her to her feet. It was oddly comforting, and she kept her eyes fixed on his face. That way she wasn’t so conscious of the drop. There were creases at the corners of his eyes, she noticed, as if smiling hadn’t always been such a strain. ‘It’s quite normal to be scared,’ he said.