The Model Wife Part 15

'All done,' he said briskly, after viewing the package for the second time. 'Nice work. I'm going to phone Stephanie and then I'll have a quick kip. See you later.'

'Be back at the village green at six fifteen,' Thea warned him as he headed to the door.

'Six fifteen? Don't be silly, that's miles too early. I'll be there for six thirty.'

'Six fifteen, Marco.'

'To stand around in the rain for an hour? What for?'

Thea smiled sweetly. 'Marco, in these conditions all sorts of technical things could go wrong. Six fifteen.'

'Whatever.' He shut the door just a little too loudly behind him. Thea stared at it with dislike. When she'd left for the States, Marco had been an eager beaver, volunteering to work weekends, Christmas day, bank holidays and his mother's funeral in order to get a leg-up the ladder. Now he did the occasional presenting he'd trans.m.u.ted into a prima donna who'd give Mariah Carey a run for her money. Once again, Thea was struck by a wave of weariness. Not so long ago she'd adored this life: the never knowing where she might end up that night, the challenge of getting the right interviewees, even the arguments with the reporters. Yet increasingly, she was thinking she'd seen and done it all before. She was turning into George minus the beer belly and the rather dubious Clark Gable 'tache. But where did you go from the best job in the world? Anything else would be a come down.

Perhaps she should book a holiday. Have something to look forward to. Egypt could be good this time of year; she could do some diving. Only a year ago, she'd have called Rachel and asked if she fancied a break, but now of course that was impossible. Thea was going to be one of those women people pitied who ate dinner alone with a book and had to wear a wedding ring to fend off the attentions of amorous waiters wanting a British pa.s.sport. Still, too bad. She'd always wanted to see the sphinx and pyramids. The thought of ancient Egypt took her mind back to the bimbo and b.u.mping into her in the British Museum the other day. Thea often went there when she wanted a break from the office, but finding Poppy Norton there had seemed about as likely as stumbling across Paris Hilton at a brain surgeon's convention.

Thea wondered how on earth she filled her days. Dean had mentioned in pa.s.sing that she'd hired his nanny, so she didn't even have to look after her child any more. How could any woman stand not to have a career? It was a concept as far removed from Thea's understanding as women who had little pictures of ponies painted on their nails or wore jeans endorsed by Victoria Beckham. Mind you, the bimbo probably did both of those things. How could she have wasted so much time on a man who liked that kind of thing? Thea berated herself, slamming shut her laptop. Thank G.o.d, she had finally seen the light.

No point sitting brooding in this dingy room. She pulled on her rainwear and went down to the bar, where, sure enough, George was nursing a pint and chatting up the barmaid.

'Sorry to break this up, but it's time to get down to the village green and set up for the live.'

'Okey-dokey.' George downed his pint in one. 'Truth be told I was getting a bit paranoid in here, Thea. Everyone else is still working. It's making me nervous, as if we're missing something.'

'We're not missing anything, we're just super-efficient,' she replied. 'But that's why we want to set up now, in plenty of time.'

It was just a five-minute wet walk from the hotel to the village green, hidden under three feet of water. All the other networks were already in place: the BBC, Sky, ITN, Channel 4 4. Thea waved at them, as she and George splashed towards the corner they had designated as theirs.

'It's twenty past six,' George warned her once everything was in place. 'Shouldn't Marco be here by now?'

'Yes, he b.l.o.o.d.y should,' Thea said. 'I told him six fifteen, but I'm sure he's on his way. He's just got a few sweet nothings to whisper down the phone to his girlfriend.'

'Maybe you should raise him.'

'I will, I'll call him.'

But Marco's phone went straight to voicemail. Thea left a message telling him to hurry up, then continued checking everything was in place. Five minutes later, she called again. Five minutes later, a third time.

'f.u.c.king h.e.l.l, he's cutting it fine.'

'He's only a five-minute walk away,' Thea said, determined not to reveal how much she was inwardly fuming. 'If he doesn't turn up by six forty-five I'll just run to the pub and physically drag him here.'

As she spoke, there was a shout from behind them. Thea whipped her head round and her jaw dropped like a cartoon character's. Just a few yards behind them stood the prime minister wearing waders. A small team of minders stood round him as he held both Mr Willis's hands in his and listened to his concerns.

'f.u.c.k! What the h.e.l.l is he doing here?'

'Making a frigging flying visit,' George said, picking up his camera and starting to wade towards him. 's.h.i.+t, look. Everyone's descending on him.'

Sure enough, all the other teams were splas.h.i.+ng across the green, brandis.h.i.+ng cameras and waving microphones in a race to be first to talk to the main man.

'b.u.g.g.e.roony!' Thea yelped. All right, her home hadn't disappeared under five feet of water, but in her eyes this was still a disaster. When the prime minister appeared it was a chance for the reporter to tackle him fiercely about how and why the government had managed so spectacularly to c.o.c.k up. It was the kind of thing that gave a programme its reputation the knowledge that its reporters weren't afraid to ask frank and fearless questions. But if Marco wasn't there, then there was nothing she could do. She jabbed at his number, but the phone was still switching to voicemail. 's.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t. This is a nightmare,' she hissed. Francesca Broome from Sky had her b.l.o.o.d.y microphone under the Prime Minister's nose and was nodding energetically.

'... appalled at the situation here. Promising a full aid package and an enquiry...'

Thea's phone started ringing. 'Marco!' she yelled.

'No, this is not f.u.c.king Marco, it's Dean. Where is is Marco? We can't see him anywhere.' Marco? We can't see him anywhere.'

s.h.i.+t. That was the problem with b.l.o.o.d.y Sky. It ran 24/7 in the office, so whenever you were out on a job with the pack, which was more than 90 90 per cent of the time, your bosses could easily keep an eye on you. per cent of the time, your bosses could easily keep an eye on you.

'Marco's gone AWOL,' Thea snapped at Dean. 'We're trying to raise him.'

'A professional like Marco? Not like him not to be on the spot.'

'He'll be here any second.' Thea hung up and grabbed the arm of a skinny young man she took to be a press officer. 'What the h.e.l.l is going on? Why didn't anyone warn us the PM was coming?'

'It was meant to be a surprise visit. We knew you'd all be here anyway.'

's.h.i.+t!' This was hideously embarra.s.sing. They couldn't have all the other news networks tackling the PM and nothing on Channel 6 6. It would look ridiculous. Heads would roll.

'Will he be having a word with all of us?' she asked the press officer, as Lola Brindleman from the BBC stood forward to take her turn.

'Of course. But he's only going to be here for the next ten minutes. The helicopter's waiting to take him to Brize Norton, then he's flying straight to Germany for a banquet with the heads of the EU.'

'Marco,' Thea hissed into his voicemail for the fourth time, 'where the h.e.l.l are you? b.l.o.o.d.y hurry up.'

'I'm sorry,' the press officer said, 'he's really got to go now.'

'OK, OK! I'll do the interview!' Fumbling with the microphone, Thea stepped forward. 'Prime Minister, Thea Mackharven, Seven Thirty News.' Seven Thirty News.'

Seeing her sodden hair and streaked mascara, the prime minister took a nervous step backwards.

'Just wondering how the government can possibly justify introducing this aid package so late. After all, this is the third time in three years this area has flooded.'

George was a pro. He kept the camera steadily focused on the prime minister's face, as despite his alarm at being accosted by a mad gypsy woman who might try to pin some lucky heather to his lapel he still smoothly spun out the usual array of plat.i.tudes.

'Thea!' shouted a voice behind them. Thea glanced over her shoulder. Marco was galumphing towards them, the collar of his raincoat turned up so he looked like a glamorous private eye.

'It's OK, Marco's here,' she said to the press officer. 'Quick, can we do it just one more time with him asking the questions?'

'No, no, sorry. Got to go now.' And the prime minister was ushered away to dry land in a flurry of crackling radios.

'Where the f.u.c.k have you been?' Thea yelled.

'You know where I've been. In the hotel. Why the f.u.c.k didn't you raise me?'

'I did did raise you. I've been calling and calling.' raise you. I've been calling and calling.'

'No you haven't.' But Marco's face made it clear he was lying. He'd b.l.o.o.d.y been on the phone to Stephanie and had been ignoring the bleep of his call waiting. Thea knew better than actually to tell him he was a liar.

'Whatever. You should have been here already.'

'You told me I didn't have to get here until six forty-five.'

Thea stared at him coldly. 'No, I didn't,' she said with slow deliberation. 'I said six fifteen.'

'You said six forty-five.' They eyed each other like two dogs about to go for each other's throats. Marco was going to lie, Thea realized with a pang. The s.h.i.+t was going to hit the fan and Marco was going to make out it was all her fault.

Already her phone was ringing. Recriminations had begun.

'Thea!' said Dean's voice menacingly. 'What the f.u.c.k has been going on?'

21.

Dean wasn't just angry. He was livid, furious, choleric, enraged, incensed, riled, splenetic or as he put it 'f.u.c.king p.i.s.sed off!'

'I am about as happy as a rhinoceros on a date with a big-game hunter. Last night's c.o.c.k-up was inexcusable. We looked like total t.i.ts in front of all the other networks.'

Jammed into his office for morning conference, the staff of the Seven Thirty News Seven Thirty News looked at their feet, their fingernails, anywhere but at Thea. looked at their feet, their fingernails, anywhere but at Thea.

Dean lifted his finger and pointed like a Roman emperor ordering the lions to be let loose on the Christians. 'Thea! You were responsible for this lumpen t.u.r.d. I'd sack you if I could, but Roxanne says I've got to give you an official warning first. So here you go, Thea, you are officially warned. f.u.c.k up again and you swim with the fishes.'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

'OK,' Thea said eventually. She looked meaningfully at Marco, still hoping despite herself he might shoulder just a milligram of the blame, but he was staring into s.p.a.ce. Only his left foot twitching in his Prada loafers hinted that he might be experiencing even a smidgeon of guilt.

'Good.' Dean turned to that day's programme editor. 'Sunil! I want tonight's show improved fifteen trillion per cent. And I want the Cancer Dad.'

'Excuse me?' Sunil Syal pushed his gla.s.ses up his sweaty nose.

'Get with the programme! The f.u.c.king Cancer Dad. It's page five in today's Express Express. He's a single father of three, because his wife died in childbirth with twins and he's just been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Having never smoked. Isn't that great? We need to get an interview with him.'

'Oh the Cancer Dad Cancer Dad. Of course. Rhys is on the case already. Aren't you Aren't you, Rhys?'

'No. I-' A look from Sunil silenced him. Fortunately, Dean didn't notice so carried away was he with his vision.

'We want him weeping; all the kids round him, their little faces distorted with grief. It'll be great.'

'No worries,' Rhys gabbled.

'It's still not enough,' Dean warned them all. 'I'm looking for something extra special. Thea, I can't have you horsewhipped, unfortunately, but I'm going to look into buying a rack to spreadeagle you on. I brought you back from the States because I thought you were talented. So after last night's c.o.c.k-up I am going to be looking for a super-duper scoop from you and I don't mean of dog p.o.o.p. A revelation that brings the government down. Or better... a s...o...b..z exclusive. An interview with Tom Cruise where he confesses he's really a woman. Elvis revealed to be working as a lift operator in Harrod's. Prince Philip admitting he murdered Princess Diana. In other words, something really f.u.c.king special. Capeesh?'

'No problem,' Thea said, as smooth as a duck pond on a windless day.

Inside, however, she was a raft on the Atlantic tossed by a force-ten gale. Thea had never had such a public dressing-down. The injustice of it all made her want to throw something hard against a wall. All the way back to London the previous night (Dean had ordered them home for the inquest) they'd argued about who'd been at fault. Marco had simply denied she'd asked him to be in place for six fifteen. It was his word against hers and she was merely the producer, while Marco was the talent. And, as all behind-the-scenes players knew, the talent always got the benefit of the doubt. Channel 6 6 might miss Thea if she left, but the outside world would know nothing about it. If Marco departed Women's Inst.i.tutes across the land would commit ma.s.s suicide. She could do nothing, just repeatedly tell herself she'd been in the right. might miss Thea if she left, but the outside world would know nothing about it. If Marco departed Women's Inst.i.tutes across the land would commit ma.s.s suicide. She could do nothing, just repeatedly tell herself she'd been in the right.

What made things worse was that no one outside the news industry would ever understand what all the fuss was about. After all, the package had run smoothly. Marco had still been in place for the 'live' to the studio, in fact the only element that had been dodgy had been the interview with the PM. They'd still managed to drop it in as an extra half minute of 'breaking news since we came on air' but while the other networks all had a slot where their reporters ferociously grilled him for his government's lack of foresight and not caring about the countryside, Seven Thirty News Seven Thirty News viewers had just got thirty seconds of footage of bland remarks about how this was a terrible disaster and the government would do its utmost to help. Either way, Thea knew, it wasn't going to change the history of journalism, but in offices where they prided themselves on perfection, it was an almighty c.o.c.k-up. viewers had just got thirty seconds of footage of bland remarks about how this was a terrible disaster and the government would do its utmost to help. Either way, Thea knew, it wasn't going to change the history of journalism, but in offices where they prided themselves on perfection, it was an almighty c.o.c.k-up.

Having been dismissed, she returned to her desk, head held high, back straight. Everyone was avoiding her gaze. She stared at her screen, unable to focus because of the tears swimming in her eyes. Find a scoop. Yes, fine, Dean, she'd just order one on the internet. She needed a sympathetic ear. Picking up her phone she dialled Rachel.

'Hi, I'm busy right now. If you-'

Thea hung up and dialled Dumberley.

'Dumberley, six six nine nine oh oh two seven.' two seven.'

'Hi, Mum, it's me.'

'Thea?' Jan sounded thrilled, but then an anxious note crept in. 'Won't you get in trouble calling from work?'

'No, it's fine.' She paused, wanting to tell her mother how bruised she felt, but as always wanting to protect her feelings. 'How are you?'

'Really well. Are you watching that Andrew Lloyd Webber show? All competing for parts in his musical. Oh, Thea, it's marvellous. They're all so good, I don't know who to single out, though if I was forced to choose...'

Thea was overwhelmed with an unexpected rush of affection. 'Would you like me to book you tickets for the show? We could go together. You could come up to London and stay the night.'

'Oh, thank you, darling, but no thanks. Who would cook Trevor's tea?'

'Can't he microwave it for once?' Thea felt very alone. Gran would have understood. She sensed a presence behind her. She glanced round to see Luke.

'Hi,' he said.

Her face turned terracotta. 'Hi,' she mouthed, then, 'Just a minute.' She turned back to the phone, cutting her mother off mid-sentence. 'Mum, Mum, I'm really sorry, but I've got to go. Work problem. I just wanted to check you were OK. I'll call you soon... Yes... Great... all right, see you then. Bye! Bye!' She hung up and tried to smile.

'So,' he said, 'how are you doing?'

'Fine, thanks. You?'

'Great.' Luke smiled, then lowered his voice. 'That was out of order. Dean's an a.r.s.ehole. He completely overreacted.'

Thea smiled faintly. 'Thanks, Luke.'

'Well, it's true.' Luke looked at her. Direct eye contact. Thea felt like b.u.t.ter being spread on hot toast. 'Look,' he said under his breath, 'everyone knows that that little prat Jensen landed you in it. George is putting the word about. Don't worry; it'll get back to Dean quickly enough. In any case, how about a drink tonight?'

Thea's stomach swooped, like when she skied a black run. She'd often fantasized about this moment, how she would turn Luke down flat, tell him she was too busy eloping with Sir Trevor McDonald. But now the moment had arrived all she could come out with was. 'I... ah...'

Luke started to move away. 'If you're busy don't worry.'

'No! I'm not busy!' she said, just as Rhys appeared behind him. 'That would be great.'

'Don't let the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds grind you down. See you later, then. And sod the idea of a drink, let's make it dinner.' He walked off. For a second, Thea stared after him, then said, 'Hi, Rhys. What can I do for you?'

'Um, sorry about what happened to you.'