‘So are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?’ Melissa had borrowed a pair of too-big wellies and an oversized Barbour coat from the house, giving her the comical appearance of a child wearing its parents’ clothes as she and Sophie crunched together over the shingle.
Sophie pulled her own leather jacket around her. Although it was August, the temperature still dropped sharply in the evenings, producing a strong breeze that carried with it more than a hint of ice. She looked ahead at the rapidly setting sun, a fierce ball of orange melting into a slate-grey sea. Walking along this narrow strip of shingle, which rose mystically from the water with each low tide, Sophie had a sudden feeling that she was walking on water. That she was invincible. ‘I’m pregnant.’
She couldn’t be sure if it was the sound of the wind or a sharp intake of breath from Melissa that whipped past her ears. They crunched along without speaking until they reached the end and couldn’t walk any further without wading into the murky depths – the prospect of which Sophie found momentarily, desperately appealing. She hesitated, waiting for the temptation to pass, before turning. Ahead of them the clapperboard house rose up in its pale-blue painted splendour. The last of the sun’s tired rays glinted lazily off the latticed windows, giving the impression that the house was slowly but surely dropping off to sleep.
Melissa reached out and took Sophie’s hand in hers as they stood, still as statues while the wind continued to buffet them, causing their hair to blow around their faces. Her tiny hand felt strong and safe. ‘It’ll be OK, you know.’
Finally, Sophie turned to meet Melissa’s eye and wondered if the gleam of tears she saw there was a reflection of her own. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Why don’t you tell me what happened?’
Sophie looked up at the clock on the newsroom wall. It was 11.15 p.m. Her eyes felt gritty and sore through lack of sleep but her heart was still hammering with adrenaline. She had just produced her first ever news bulletin and the buzz it had given her was indescribable. She had felt as if she was literally flying as she heard her words being read out to the nation by one of the most familiar newscasters in Britain.
Gradually, the newsroom had thinned out as everyone else drifted home but Sophie didn’t want to go home just yet. To Steve. Who would probably be fast asleep and snoring by now. She wanted to celebrate.
‘So how was that for you, Sophie?’ It wasn’t just the face that was familiar, the voice was unmistakable too.
‘Oh, it was amazing! Thank you. I mean, I know you do this every night but my God, what a buzz!’
Matt Whitelaw laughed, revealing straight white teeth that looked even whiter next to his tanned skin. ‘Yeah, I do it every night but you know what? Every time is different and I never, ever take it for granted. It’s great to see someone so fired up, though. Some of the producers have been around for so long they seem as if they’re just going through the motions.’
Sophie nodded, knowing that he was talking about the two senior producers, Simon Tebbutt and Neil Marsh. Between them they had about thirty years under their belts at this company and while their experience was undoubtedly valuable, they were both a bit too comfortable in their roles and had been secretly described by some of the other producers as ‘bed-blockers’.
‘Still, I guess as long as we stay at the top, they won’t be going anywhere…’ Matt shrugged on his black leather biker jacket and picked up his crash helmet. ‘Listen, I don’t suppose you fancy a swift vino, do you?’
Sophie could feel herself reddening. She glanced around the newsroom to see if anyone had heard but by now it was deserted. ‘Won’t everywhere be closed?’
Matt tapped his nose. ‘I know a place… come on, I’ve got a spare helmet on the bike.’ He strode confidently towards the door of the newsroom, clearly expecting no objection from her.
Sophie hesitated, looking down at her Lycra mini-skirt and knee-length boots. Oh, what the hell? she thought, scooping up her bag and jacket and following him out of the door.
‘You looked great on the bike in that skirt and those boots.’ Matt eyed her legs appreciatively, as they sat opposite each other on soft red velvet chairs in the private members’ lounge he had taken her to. ‘Did you see that cab driver’s face when he pulled up alongside us? I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head.’ Matt took a long, slow drag on his cigarette and exhaled, his eyes narrowing behind the tiny wall of smoke, giving him the aura of a fifties matinee idol.
Sophie laughed, a little nervously. The evening had taken on a surreal quality. It was gone midnight and she knew that she shouldn’t be here, alone with another man. A man she had fantasized about ever since she’d started working for this company just over a year ago.
Matt Whitelaw was the main anchor of the late news show. He was arrogant and vain and had been known to have more than the odd petulant outburst behind the scenes, but he was also undeniably sexy. His pale blue shirt strained against the honey-coloured skin on his taut, flat stomach. His blue-grey eyes were framed by long, dark lashes that gave him a look of innocence, even when he was saying the most outrageous things, which meant that he could get away with just about anything. He had that rare quality that drew both men and women to him in droves and probably stemmed from his sharp intellect and fierce wit. They had been discussing the story about Bill Clinton and the White House intern that was just beginning to surface and Sophie was in thrall as he assessed the mounting evidence. ‘Watch this space. It’s going to cause him trouble, this one…’ he finished, with a knowing smile.
Sophie smiled back, alcohol dulling her ability to give a meaningful response. Matt then moved on to talking about the team at work, taking apart each character like a surgeon with a scalpel. ‘I dread to think what you say about me behind my back.’ Sophie’s comment was meant to be light-hearted but as she finished speaking, their eyes connected and Matt’s face took on an intense expression.
‘Oh, I do definitely talk about you behind your back.’ He spoke slowly and deliberately, rolling his words with his tongue. ‘But nothing for you to dread, I assure you.’
Sophie wished he would be the one to look away first, but he had dropped his head slightly and was looking up at her through those lashes in a way that told her he was going nowhere. With an effort, she pulled her gaze away from his and took a sip of her champagne. She felt woozy and slightly sick. She was out of her depth and they both knew it. ‘I think I’d better go home.’
Matt blinked sleepily, not betraying the faintest hint of disquiet. Still he watched her. ‘No, you don’t. The night’s only just begun…’
Suddenly Sophie’s senses, which seemed to have been floating in the ether above her all evening, snapped sharply back into focus. ‘Yes. I really do.’ She grabbed her bag and jacket and stood up. ‘You stay. I’ll get a cab. Thanks for the drink. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Her words came out like the rattle of a machine gun, nerves making her gabble. She glanced back over her shoulder as she headed for the door. Matt was watching her with a tiny smirk of surprise. And was it her imagination or did he look ever so slightly impressed?
‘So how come you were so late last night, gorgeous?’ Steve rolled over in bed and wrapped his arms around Sophie, who tensed instinctively, guilt swirling in her stomach. She had arrived back at the flat to find a card from Steve on the kitchen table saying, ‘Congratulations on a brilliant first show.’
‘I, er, went for a drink with some of the others after the programme.’
Steve planted a kiss on her bare shoulder, his bristles scratching her skin in a way that wasn’t unpleasant. ‘That’s nice. So how did the programme go?’
Sophie turned over to face him. She loved Steve’s ‘morning face’ before he’d had a shave, with his dark blue eyes still crinkly with sleep and his silky blond hair mussed up so that it flopped messily around his high cheekbones. ‘It went really well. Did you like it?’
‘I did.’ Steve kissed her gently on the mouth. ‘It looked great but I meant how did it go behind the scenes? Was Mr Handsome a pain in the arse?’
Sophie smiled at Steve’s description of Matt. They had often watched him deliver the news while commenting that he looked incredibly full of himself. ‘Nah, he was fine. Nice, actually. He came for a drink too.’ As soon as she said the words, Sophie could feel herself beginning to relax. She might not have told the whole truth but she hadn’t lied to Steve either. Already, she was beginning to wonder if she had imagined the sexual tension she had felt last night. Matt probably just wanted to unwind after the show and she was the only one available to go for a drink with him. It didn’t mean he had singled her out at all.
She lifted her hand and stroked Steve’s hair away from his face, enjoying the prickly sensation from his stubble on her palm. He took his cue and rolled on top of her, his mouth finding hers so effortlessly, his tongue exploring hers as if it was the first time they had ever kissed. Every nerve ending began to sing as Sophie guided him inside her, the feel of him so familiar yet each sensation so new. She threw her head back and groaned as he began to thrust faster, his mouth on her breasts, her neck, her stomach. Sophie could feel herself teetering on the edge of an orgasm when Matt’s face flashed in front of her closed lids. Suddenly it was Matt’s body above her, thrusting himself into her, pushing her closer and closer to the edge and she came with an almighty shudder.
‘Wow.’ Steve rolled off her and lay back on the bed, breathing heavily. ‘That was great.’
‘It was.’ Sophie was glad he wasn’t looking at her face because she felt sure he would know what she had been thinking in those final, climactic moments. A feeling of guilt began to gnaw at her. Already she had deceived Steve and worse, she had fantasized about someone else while he was making love to her.
‘I’d better get ready for work.’ She slipped her legs over the side of the bed and sat up.
‘Yeah, me too. Wish I didn’t have to, though. Wish I could stay in bed with you all day.’
Sophie looked at him over her shoulder and smiled. ‘Me too.’ She felt obliged to say it even though she didn’t really mean it. She loved her work with a passion and couldn’t wait to get there most days. She had thought it was just because she had fulfilled a long-held ambition when she became a TV producer but it was more than that. She loved the buzz, the excitement. The people. One person in particular.
Steve quite enjoyed his job as an HR officer for a City bank but it was a million miles from where his ambitions lay. He was a comedy writer and he dreamed of making it a career one day. For now, though, they had a mortgage to pay on their two-bedroom flat in Balham in south London and they couldn’t afford for one of them to give up work just yet. Sophie sometimes felt guilty about it but more and more recently, she had begun to question why he had settled for such a dull career when he could have gone for something more exciting. Like she had.
She still loved him so deeply and couldn’t imagine her life without him in it. It was as if her adulthood had only really begun once she met him. But in the newsroom each day, she was surrounded by ambitious, thrusting, handsome, funny men who sometimes made Steve seem a little, well, boring. Every time the insistent little thought niggled at a corner of her brain, she would try to push it away but it always returned.
Walking into the newsroom later that morning, she was lost in thought and mulling over what news stories might feature in her bulletin, when Keira, another of the junior producers she worked with, sidled up and fell into step beside her. ‘So, it looks like someone’s got an admirer.’
Sophie frowned. ‘Sorry?’
Keira nudged her. ‘You. And Matt. Jez saw you leaving the newsroom together last night.’
Sophie’s insides dropped instantly with fear. ‘What? No. I mean, there was nothing in it. We just went for a drink.’ She started to stutter and could feel her cheeks burning, making her look guilty as hell.
‘Hey, you don’t need to defend yourself to me,’ Keira nudged her gently. ‘Who wouldn’t, given half a chance?’
‘No! You don’t understand. I wouldn’t. I have a boyfriend I’m very happy with. Matt’s a player. He could have anyone. He doesn’t want or need to bother with me.’
Keira looked at her closely, as if weighing up whether to believe her. ‘Seriously? You turned down Matt Whitelaw?’
‘No!’ Sophie could feel the frustration bubbling up inside her as she reached her desk and dumped her bag on the floor, before slumping into her chair. ‘I didn’t turn him down because he didn’t try anything on! We had a drink and I got a cab home. End of story. I don’t remotely fancy him and I doubt very much whether he remotely fancies me.’ Her voice rose as she spoke and by the time she had finished, she was aware that she had an audience. She looked around to see that Matt had arrived in the newsroom just in time to hear the last sentence.
He smiled at her easily and headed for his own desk, where he sat down and began typing at his keyboard. Keira mouthed the word ‘Oops’ and edged away towards her own seat.
Sophie took a second to compose herself before she turned to her computer and logged in. They had just had new computers installed with an operating system called Outlook Express which meant they could send emails to one another. Immediately, an email flashed up.
MATT WHITELAW: ACTUALLY I DO REMOTELY FANCY YOU.