Page 25 of Wife After Wife

•••

Harry’s assistant buzzed to tell him Terri Robbins-More had arrived.

“Send her in.”

“Right you are, boss,” came Ben’s voice.

Right you are, boss?Harry made a mental note to speak to human resources about a replacement for Ben. He’d thought having a male secretary would fit with Rose Corp.’s well-publicized equality goals, but it wasn’t working out.

It was two years since theSunday Timescover story, and Harry had been watching Terri’s journalistic star rise. She was known in press circles as Baskin-Robbins, thanks to her instinct for a good scoop.

Harry braced himself. Terri was fearless, didn’t give a toss whom she upset, and in normal life he’d have gone out of his way to avoid her. He still thanked the God of Secrets she hadn’t accompanied them on the zoo photo session.

Terri was a hugely popular writer, especially with the liberal left, and was a regular onQuestion TimeandNewsnight, where she sometimes stood in for Jeremy Paxman. She was a champion of the people(especially northerners), fighting for the little guy, sniffing out corruption, exposing fat-cat chief executives and MPs with salacious secrets. She could spot bullshit from a thousand paces. Corporate and political empires had come tumbling down courtesy of Terri. Once she had you in her sights, it was like being a lumbering frigate in the crosshairs of an Exocet missile.

She still worked mostly for theSunday Times, but Harry wanted Terri on his team, for two reasons. One, she had a way of finding out everything about newsworthy people. That included him, and it was only a matter of time before she turned her sharp eyes and matching pencil in his direction. He needed to keep this potential enemy close.

And two, she’d be perfect to head up the magazine he was planning to launch.

Terri strutted into the room on a pair of stilettos that could easily have served as weapons. Useful, considering how many people probably wanted to kill her. She still had her trademark sleek, jet-black bob, its razor-sharp edge mirroring her cutthroat jawline, but now there was a long fringe swept across at an angle, half hiding one eye. It gave her a piratical look.

“Terri, super to see you again. Ben, can we have coffee, please? Or tea if you’d rather, Terri?”

“Coffee,” she said, sitting down on the office sofa. “It’s been a while, Harry. What’s all this about, then?”

“Straight to the point, I see.” Harry slipped off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his chair, then perched on the edge of his desk, crossing one ankle over the other.

“All right, let’s cut to the chase. I’m starting up a new magazine, and I want you to be its editor.”

“Seriously? What magazine?”

“It’ll be likeHooray!’s evil twin, if you like. Still all about celebrities, high-profile figures, but the truth, not the airbrushed version. There’ll be no spin—it’ll be street-smart and hard-hitting. Most importantly, every week we’ll do an in-depth cover story about someone highlynewsworthy—the cool people, the movers and shakers. Movie stars, politicians, top businesspeople. The photographs will be iconic. But there’ll be no helpful lighting. Raw, exposed pictures, maybe black and white. Getting to the heart of the person, like the interviews. And in return for being the lead story in the UK’s hottest magazine—think a combo ofRolling StoneandVanity Fair—there’ll be no PRs allowed, and there will be no restrictions on what we can ask them. Everything will be fair game.”

“Tsh!” snorted Terri. “As if anyone who matters will agree to that!”

“Oh, but they will,” said Harry. “It will always be the case that the famous need us more than we need them. And if our circulation is as enormous as I intend it to be, they’ll be queuing up to be in it. As you know, celebrities get to a stage where they believe their own hype. They think they’re infallible; clever enough to control their image, steer things their way. But you, Terri, will be like a human truth serum.”

“Everyone has secrets, Harry. And yes, I’m the one who finds them out. But people know that. So who the fook would agree to be in... what are you even calling it?”

“I thought theRack.”

Terri snorted again. “I like it. They can’t complain if they get grilled, eh?”

“Right. But while it would be good to dig up the occasional skeleton, it won’t be grubby. We’re going to reveal the real person behind the facade. That’s what Joe Public wants. They don’t give a toss about Mr. Bigshot Movie Star’s take on his new film, but they sure as hell care about his love life and his battle with drugs and alcohol. No checkbook journalism, though. No doorstepping, no kiss ’n’ tells. This will be a whole new way of doing things, Terri.”

He stopped to gauge her reaction. Terri was tapping her pencil against her notepad and frowning at the floor, her eyes all but hidden behind her dark fringe.

“Who’ve you got in mind for issue one?” she said finally.

“To be decided. Princess Diana would be perfect, but unlikely. Bono?George Michael? Or that new model everyone’s talking about—Kate Moss?”

The meeting went on for another hour or so. Terri was a tough nut to crack, but he could see her warming to the idea of doing pretty much what she’d done at theSunday Times, but with more of a free rein—and more money.

By the time she left, Harry was fairly sure he had his new editor.

He sat back in his chair, his hands behind his head and a contented smile on his face. Rose Corp. was well and truly blooming.

CHAPTER 11