LITMIR.BIZ

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give her plenty of time to be word-perfect for the meeting at ten o’clock.

      It was a beautiful morning, the streets already spangled by sunlight but the chill of the night causing the city air to smell clean and fresh for once. It was on mornings like these that she and Taylor had eaten breakfast in their bathrobes on the patio, the twitter of the birds and the drone of the odd aircraft overhead mingling with their laughter and the smell of warm croissants, fresh from Hannah’s oven. She hadn’t been able to enjoy a croissant since she had left.

      She frowned, annoyed with herself for letting the memory intrude on the morning. She had to be focused on her work and nothing else, she knew that, so no more mawkish thoughts. She nodded determinedly at the declaration, striding out with renewed purpose.

      Her steps slowed fractionally as she approached the television building, inner turmoil reasserting itself as she faced the prospect that her marriage would soon be the current news on the gossip grapevine. But she couldn’t worry about that, and it was no one’s business but hers after all. She would explain to Nicki, she owed the other woman that, but other than with her secretary she would not discuss the matter, should anyone have the temerity to raise it.

      Once in her office she kicked off her high-heeled shoes, hung her jacket on the back of her chair, and within moments had become immersed in all the Baxter paperwork.

      Nicki arrived prompt at eight-thirty, at which time Marsha suggested they lunch together and have a chat, but other than that she continued to pore over the files on her desk.

      At ten she sailed into the meeting, looking confident and self-assured, and by half-past she knew she had won everyone over—everyone except Penelope, that was. The other woman’s cold blue eyes had been the first thing she’d seen when she had entered the boardroom, and after Penelope had cut her dead when she had smiled at her, Marsha knew she wasn’t the flavour of the month.

      ‘I just don’t know if we should take on a conglomerate like Manning Dale on such… scant information.’ Penelope looked round the table reflectively, her thin eyebrows raised. ‘We don’t want another lawsuit thrown at us so soon after the last one. I mean, how do we know the big boys stepped on Charles Baxter to make him sign away his business? And even if—if,’ she emphasised, her scarlet-painted lips lingering on the word for a moment, ‘they did, it doesn’t necessarily follow they’ve done the same thing before. What we have here is a number of statements, all from people with axes to grind.’

      ‘I disagree,’ Jeff North said firmly, his face rather than his voice expressing some surprise that Penelope was taking this tack on what to him was a cut and dried matter. ‘From the facts and figures Marsha has presented this morning it’s obvious dirty deals have shadowed Manning Dale’s success from day one, but this last scam with Baxter ended in a man’s death. We need to bring this into the public arena. That’s what we’re here for.’

      ‘Hmmm.’ Penelope glanced at the other top executive in the room, who was effectively Jeff’s boss. ‘Do you think Marsha has collected enough data, Tim? My fear is that her… enthusiasm for the story has made her a little slapdash.’

      Timothy Cassell joined his hands in front of him on the table, studying them for a second or two before he looked up. He had worked with Penelope for more than a decade and knew her very well. For some reason she was gunning for Jeff’s assistant, and when she was like this she could be as awkward as blazes. The story was a good one, and they all knew it, but delaying it for a week or two on the pretext of collecting more information wouldn’t be the end of the world. Certainly he had no wish to get on Penelope’s bad side. They had a policy of ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ which had worked exceedingly well over the years.

      He cleared his throat, avoiding looking at Marsha’s burning face as he said, ‘See what else you can find out, by all means, and we’ll look at it again in a couple of weeks. Now, is there anything else while we’re all together?’

      ‘Well, yes, this new equipment we’ve been looking at? I’ve got the quotes in now, and one in particular is most attractive. Kane International?’ And then, as if suddenly realising she was speaking out of turn, Penelope turned to the others in the room, saying sweetly, ‘Thank you, everyone. I don’t think we need to keep you any longer.’

      ‘What was all that about?’ Once they were in the lift, returning to their more lowly floor, Jeff scratched his head in bewilderment as he glanced at Marsha’s hot face. ‘There’s enough information in this lot to satisfy anyone.’

      ‘I think it’s my fault.’ Marsha had decided that prevarication was pointless. ‘Penelope found out I was married yesterday, and was offended she hadn’t been informed of the full situation before.’

      ‘You told her?’

      ‘Not exactly.’ Marsha took a deep breath. ‘The Kane of Kane International is my husband, Jeff. He was here yesterday with Penelope.’

      ‘Ah…’

      Much as she would have liked to say Penelope’s spite had not affected her, Marsha sat and seethed for the rest of the morning. She had been unfairly criticised and held up as negligent and it was all Taylor’s fault, she told herself furiously, refusing to acknowledge the little voice inside which said she was being a mite unfair. But if he hadn’t announced they were married yesterday to all and sundry Penelope wouldn’t be any the wiser right now and the Baxter story—the first project Jeff had given her sole responsibility for—would be in the bag. His pique at her attempt to cold-shoulder him at the cocktail party yesterday had resulted in her looking a fool this morning in front of everyone. It just wasn’t fair. But then when had fairness ever been in Taylor’s vocabulary? She loathed him, absolutely and utterly loathed him. Penelope too. If ever a pair were made for each other, they were.

      By lunchtime Marsha had the beginnings of a major headache drumming away behind her eyes, and was as tense as piano wire. She was aware of the small hurried glances Nicki had been giving her ever since she and Jeff had returned from the meeting, but hadn’t given her secretary a chance to engage her in conversation once she had informed her that the Baxter story was not yet approved.

      Now, as Nicki said carefully, ‘We can do lunch another day if you’d rather, Marsha?’ she suddenly felt enormously guilty.

      ‘No, not at all.’ She forced a smile. ‘And I’m sorry for being like a bear with a sore head all morning. Come on, let’s go now—and if we’re late back, who cares?’

      ‘Fighting talk.’ Nicki grinned at her.

      To make up for her reluctance, Marsha decided to treat Nicki to lunch at Lyndons—a plush little restaurant a short taxi ride away. Once they had arrived, and were seated at a table for two with an open bottle of wine between them, Marsha relaxed back in her seat with a long sigh. ‘Wine in the lunch hour,’ she said ruefully. ‘I’m slipping, and dragging you down with me.’

      ‘Drag away,’ Nicki said with relish as she took a hefty swig at her glass. ‘And don’t worry about the Baxter story. Everyone knows it’s a good one and that Penelope is just having one of her turns.’

      ‘It’s the reason for the turn that’s bothering me more than the story,’ Marsha said soberly.

      ‘Him?’ Nicki was nothing if not intuitive.

      Marsha nodded. Suddenly she found herself telling Nicki all of it—something she hadn’t planned to do at all. She even related her upbringing in the children’s home, the two failed attempts at being adopted, which had occurred mainly because she had been convinced her mother would come back for her, her inability to make close friends after her best friend at the home had been adopted and had never contacted her again—the whole story. This between mouthfuls of smoked salmon salad with potato rosti and horseradish cream, followed by lemon chicken and wild rice with courgette strips and peppers. She finished as they were waiting for the dessert menu.

      ‘Wow…’ Nicki had shaken her head at regular intervals throughout the account. Now she astounded Marsha by leaning over the table and hugging her with

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