long-stemmed glasses. Gulping back the champagne she tried once more to
talk, to tell him what she’d just done.
‘Not now,’ he mumbled, taking the glass from her hand and putting it on the bedside table.
She started taking off her suit.
‘No. Leave it on,’ he commanded, his breath short and heavy. She could feel his excitement, barely contained now, as he laid her on the bed, roughly pushing the skirt of her suit out
of the way. And just as suddenly he rolled over, lifting her with him so that in one swift moment he was no longer on top but she was astride
him
, her skirt around her waist, still dressed
as she had been for her interviews.
He was more aroused than she had ever seen him. And looking down at him she thought she knew why. It was her success that was turning him on, the thought of David Ward,
working-class-boy-made-good making love to his powerful wife. For a moment she was touched by his naivety, his uncomplicated belief in the fruits of success. She knew it was this that drove him and
gave him his energy. It was his strength. But she worried that it might also blind him to reality, to the fact that there was a price-tag on their success and that she was the one who was paying
it. She and the children.
She looked down into his handsome face as his body shuddered into orgasm and saw that unless she explained why she’d talked to Steffi Wilson a gulf would open up between them. And she knew
that she must talk to him now about her doubts and fears, before he picked up the
World
and read it for himself. Slowly she climbed off and lay beside him.
‘David,’ she said firmly, stroking his smooth back, ‘there’s something you ought to know. I’m not as happy about all this as you think. In fact in the last few days
I’ve been having doubts about the whole bloody charade and I’ve just told Steffi Wilson so. But I had no choice. David, I need you to understand. David?’
She leaned close to him and saw that his eyes were closed and that he was snoring slightly. He had fallen into a deep and contented sleep.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’ Conrad flung down a copy of the
Daily World
with such force that coffee spilled out of her cup on to
her desk.
In huge type, across the top of a whole page the headline shouted up at her: EVERYTIME I CLOSE MY DOOR IWEEP, SAYS TV MOGUL.
‘What is this crap?’ he shouted. She’d never seen him so angry, not even when he was ranting on his favourite subject of screwing the unions. ‘I hire you to be figurehead
of Metro TV, a tough, aggressive, confident woman who can carry this company through the nineties and I get this sob stuff about how hard it is to leave your kids. God knows what this will do for
our credibility in the City.’
He mimicked her voice. ‘“If I can’t handle career and family then I’ll just have to give up the job.” What the fuck were you
thinking
of?’
‘It’s the truth, Conrad, that’s all.’
‘So who’d be naive enough to tell the truth to Steffi Wilson? You’re not some little groupie who’s been conned into selling her story to the tabloids, for Christ’s
sake.’
‘I happen to think it’s an important issue.’
Suddenly he leaned towards her. ‘Is it true? This shit about weeping on the doorstep?’
‘Of course it isn’t true. I just said that leaving my kids can be tough sometimes.’
‘Well look, baby, if you can’t stand the heat get back in the kitchen.’
Liz began to feel as angry as he did. ‘I have no intention of going back to the kitchen, Conrad. That’s not the point.’
‘So what
is
the fucking point?’ For a moment they stood, eye to eye. Anger was something Conrad understood and respected. It was male.
‘The point is that you hired a woman because it suited you. You knew that having a woman Programme Controller was good PR. Now you have to live with it. I
am
a woman and I love my
kids. And I’m not prepared to pretend I don’t. But it doesn’t
talk, to tell him what she’d just done.
‘Not now,’ he mumbled, taking the glass from her hand and putting it on the bedside table.
She started taking off her suit.
‘No. Leave it on,’ he commanded, his breath short and heavy. She could feel his excitement, barely contained now, as he laid her on the bed, roughly pushing the skirt of her suit out
of the way. And just as suddenly he rolled over, lifting her with him so that in one swift moment he was no longer on top but she was astride
him
, her skirt around her waist, still dressed
as she had been for her interviews.
He was more aroused than she had ever seen him. And looking down at him she thought she knew why. It was her success that was turning him on, the thought of David Ward,
working-class-boy-made-good making love to his powerful wife. For a moment she was touched by his naivety, his uncomplicated belief in the fruits of success. She knew it was this that drove him and
gave him his energy. It was his strength. But she worried that it might also blind him to reality, to the fact that there was a price-tag on their success and that she was the one who was paying
it. She and the children.
She looked down into his handsome face as his body shuddered into orgasm and saw that unless she explained why she’d talked to Steffi Wilson a gulf would open up between them. And she knew
that she must talk to him now about her doubts and fears, before he picked up the
World
and read it for himself. Slowly she climbed off and lay beside him.
‘David,’ she said firmly, stroking his smooth back, ‘there’s something you ought to know. I’m not as happy about all this as you think. In fact in the last few days
I’ve been having doubts about the whole bloody charade and I’ve just told Steffi Wilson so. But I had no choice. David, I need you to understand. David?’
She leaned close to him and saw that his eyes were closed and that he was snoring slightly. He had fallen into a deep and contented sleep.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’ Conrad flung down a copy of the
Daily World
with such force that coffee spilled out of her cup on to
her desk.
In huge type, across the top of a whole page the headline shouted up at her: EVERYTIME I CLOSE MY DOOR IWEEP, SAYS TV MOGUL.
‘What is this crap?’ he shouted. She’d never seen him so angry, not even when he was ranting on his favourite subject of screwing the unions. ‘I hire you to be figurehead
of Metro TV, a tough, aggressive, confident woman who can carry this company through the nineties and I get this sob stuff about how hard it is to leave your kids. God knows what this will do for
our credibility in the City.’
He mimicked her voice. ‘“If I can’t handle career and family then I’ll just have to give up the job.” What the fuck were you
thinking
of?’
‘It’s the truth, Conrad, that’s all.’
‘So who’d be naive enough to tell the truth to Steffi Wilson? You’re not some little groupie who’s been conned into selling her story to the tabloids, for Christ’s
sake.’
‘I happen to think it’s an important issue.’
Suddenly he leaned towards her. ‘Is it true? This shit about weeping on the doorstep?’
‘Of course it isn’t true. I just said that leaving my kids can be tough sometimes.’
‘Well look, baby, if you can’t stand the heat get back in the kitchen.’
Liz began to feel as angry as he did. ‘I have no intention of going back to the kitchen, Conrad. That’s not the point.’
‘So what
is
the fucking point?’ For a moment they stood, eye to eye. Anger was something Conrad understood and respected. It was male.
‘The point is that you hired a woman because it suited you. You knew that having a woman Programme Controller was good PR. Now you have to live with it. I
am
a woman and I love my
kids. And I’m not prepared to pretend I don’t. But it doesn’t
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