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Authors: Sharon Owens
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could get it without paying Daisy a massive fee. This is grossly unfair to me. Not to mention a right slap in the face for Daisy Churchill.’
There were more giggles then as everyone suddenly remembered Daisy had been bitch-slapped the week before by some super-possessive WAG outside a bar in Liverpool, after she’d posed for pictures with a group of Premier League footballers.
‘I’m really sorry, Jane, but you do know that our last six covers have been very successful? And they’ve all had an old-fashioned feel to them. It is an antiques-based magazine, you know. Our readers won’t be expecting a glamour model with a pout on her like two slugs mating in a bowl of jelly.’
Jane looked as if she might be about to thump Emily.
‘Arabella did say the Daisy feature would have to suit the magazine’s profile, didn’t she? If you went ahead with it, that is. You know that Arabella wanted pictures of Daisy without her heavy make-up on – just sitting in her kitchen, drinking tea.’
Emily did her best to sound sympathetic, but sometimes she wondered why Jane didn’t just decamp to the gossip titles and be done with it. She clearly had no interest in antiques – or even in ordinary people.
‘Slugs for lips! Well, that takes the biscuit. I’m going to phone Arabella right this minute for a second opinion,’ Jane said defiantly.
‘You can’t do that. Arabella’s busy today, she’s got things to do,’ Emily said quickly.
‘What are you – her mother?’ Jane said.
‘Please, Jane, I just want to get the cover sorted,’ Emily said firmly.
‘Let’s do it the old-fashioned way,’ Petra interjected. ‘Show of hands, please? All those in favour of the button-maker for the front cover, please put your hands up.’
Slowly everyone raised their hands – except Jane, who was so angry her lips had disappeared into a tight knot of suppressed rage.
‘Actually, the Daisy feature is very lengthy. So it won’t fit into this issue, anyway,’ Petra added.
‘Good point, Petra. Do you know, I think the Daisy feature might suit next month’s bathroom supplement better?’ Emily said, trying to be fair. ‘We still have twelve pages to fill there – and all the bikini shots might be more appropriate in a bathroom setting. Hasn’t she got a massive loofah, by the way?’
There was another round of sniggers.
‘Forget about it. Don’t bother doing me any special favours,’ Jane said bitterly.
She left her other submissions in a neat pile in front of Emily, made her excuses and left the office. For a few seconds after she’d gone there was an uncomfortable silence. Then the meeting exploded into peals of laughter, and lots of derision was expressed for Daisy’s white fur bikini.
‘Good for you, Emily,’ said Petra, clapping her hands loudly. ‘Daisy Churchill is a shameless self-publicist who has no more interest in interiors and antiques than I have in nuclear physics. Dozy trollop! The truth is, every other magazine in the country is sick of the sight of her. There’s not a single thing left to say about the personal life of that silly woman. So she’s now targeting the niche magazines such as ours. It’ll be the fishing quarterlies next: Daisy Churchill Likes A Big Rod ! And if anybody takes the biscuit, Jane does. Greedy cow scoffed half that tin of shortbread.’
More laughter filled the office.
‘Thanks, Petra,’ Emily said gratefully.
‘It’s true. I mean, just look at these pictures. There’s hardly any background in them at all – just Daisy in a succession of her ludicrous lingerie. And look at the kitchen pictures. There’s just a toaster and a kettle on the counter, nothing personal whatsoever. If I were you, I wouldn’t put this feature in at all.’
‘Well, let’s see what Arabella says when she comes back tomorrow. And if there’s enough room, maybe we could put Daisy in next month? But definitely not that shot of her in the rubber corset. I feel a bit ill just looking
There were more giggles then as everyone suddenly remembered Daisy had been bitch-slapped the week before by some super-possessive WAG outside a bar in Liverpool, after she’d posed for pictures with a group of Premier League footballers.
‘I’m really sorry, Jane, but you do know that our last six covers have been very successful? And they’ve all had an old-fashioned feel to them. It is an antiques-based magazine, you know. Our readers won’t be expecting a glamour model with a pout on her like two slugs mating in a bowl of jelly.’
Jane looked as if she might be about to thump Emily.
‘Arabella did say the Daisy feature would have to suit the magazine’s profile, didn’t she? If you went ahead with it, that is. You know that Arabella wanted pictures of Daisy without her heavy make-up on – just sitting in her kitchen, drinking tea.’
Emily did her best to sound sympathetic, but sometimes she wondered why Jane didn’t just decamp to the gossip titles and be done with it. She clearly had no interest in antiques – or even in ordinary people.
‘Slugs for lips! Well, that takes the biscuit. I’m going to phone Arabella right this minute for a second opinion,’ Jane said defiantly.
‘You can’t do that. Arabella’s busy today, she’s got things to do,’ Emily said quickly.
‘What are you – her mother?’ Jane said.
‘Please, Jane, I just want to get the cover sorted,’ Emily said firmly.
‘Let’s do it the old-fashioned way,’ Petra interjected. ‘Show of hands, please? All those in favour of the button-maker for the front cover, please put your hands up.’
Slowly everyone raised their hands – except Jane, who was so angry her lips had disappeared into a tight knot of suppressed rage.
‘Actually, the Daisy feature is very lengthy. So it won’t fit into this issue, anyway,’ Petra added.
‘Good point, Petra. Do you know, I think the Daisy feature might suit next month’s bathroom supplement better?’ Emily said, trying to be fair. ‘We still have twelve pages to fill there – and all the bikini shots might be more appropriate in a bathroom setting. Hasn’t she got a massive loofah, by the way?’
There was another round of sniggers.
‘Forget about it. Don’t bother doing me any special favours,’ Jane said bitterly.
She left her other submissions in a neat pile in front of Emily, made her excuses and left the office. For a few seconds after she’d gone there was an uncomfortable silence. Then the meeting exploded into peals of laughter, and lots of derision was expressed for Daisy’s white fur bikini.
‘Good for you, Emily,’ said Petra, clapping her hands loudly. ‘Daisy Churchill is a shameless self-publicist who has no more interest in interiors and antiques than I have in nuclear physics. Dozy trollop! The truth is, every other magazine in the country is sick of the sight of her. There’s not a single thing left to say about the personal life of that silly woman. So she’s now targeting the niche magazines such as ours. It’ll be the fishing quarterlies next: Daisy Churchill Likes A Big Rod ! And if anybody takes the biscuit, Jane does. Greedy cow scoffed half that tin of shortbread.’
More laughter filled the office.
‘Thanks, Petra,’ Emily said gratefully.
‘It’s true. I mean, just look at these pictures. There’s hardly any background in them at all – just Daisy in a succession of her ludicrous lingerie. And look at the kitchen pictures. There’s just a toaster and a kettle on the counter, nothing personal whatsoever. If I were you, I wouldn’t put this feature in at all.’
‘Well, let’s see what Arabella says when she comes back tomorrow. And if there’s enough room, maybe we could put Daisy in next month? But definitely not that shot of her in the rubber corset. I feel a bit ill just looking
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