heard something?’ Shelley asked, immediately regretting it. If there was something Freya loved even more than Harry, it was knowing something that other people didn’t.
‘I’ve heard a few things, Shelley,’ she said. ‘But I’ve been asked not to share them with anyone else for now.’
Shelley didn’t believe a word of it, and slumped down back at her desk. Briony arched an eyebrow.
‘I wonder who’s going to take over?’ Shelley said. ‘They might close us down altogether.’
‘Oh don’t worry about that,’ Briony said, putting down her magazine, which Shelley couldn’t help but notice was a rival publication with considerably higher circulation. ‘They’ll just get a new editor in who’ll make a big fuss about New Beginnings and a Radical New Focus before changing the logo slightly, adjusting the font size and putting the handbags section on page 240 instead of page 170.’
‘Really?’ Shelley asked hopefully. ‘No redundancies?’
‘Nooooo,’ Briony said, shaking her head vigorously. ‘Apart from firing a couple of columnists, maybe.’
‘Briony!’
‘What?’
‘I’m a columnist!’
Briony paused. ‘Oh, yes. So you are. Oh don’t worry; I think there’s at least two columnists more likely to go than you.’
‘Who?’ Shelley asked, coolly.
‘Oh erm, Robin and, um … um …’ Briony cast her eyes around the open plan office desperately. ‘Erm, and Toni.’
‘Toni left three months ago.’
‘Really? Oh …’
‘Never mind,’ Shelley said, saving her from further embarrassment. ‘Maybe redundancy is exactly what I need. Sometimes one needs a kick up the bum to make one sort one’s life out.’
‘Oh does one?’ Briony asked. ‘What needs to change in your life then?’
Shelley thought it over. She was twenty-five and had only ever had one job. She wasn’t at all sure she was particularly good at being a columnist. How could she have anything important to say to women when she’d never done anything with her life? She’d postponed her gap year until she had some money, and had never got around to going now that she had. She’d never really had a proper long-term boyfriend, unless you counted Rob at university who she went out with for six months before sleeping with him, only to discover the next day that he’d been having a string of affairs, including a quick shag with her best friend in the toilet while Shelley was in the kitchen studying for her Eng Lit exam.
She rarely went out and had no romantic interests, apart from a crush on the fit South African behind the bar at The Crown where they drank after work. In two years she’d ordered fifty-seven bottles of Pinot Grigio from him but never plucked up the courage to ask his name. She was sure she wouldn’t be his type anyway. Antipodeans were used to wildcat lovers with bodies supple as springboks, according to Briony’s magazine. Shelley was as timid as a springbok and the only thing wild about her was her tousled, shoulder-length hair.
‘You just need a good shag,’ Briony said, interrupting the reverie. ‘You need to be fucked till you fart.’
Shelley went bright red. ‘Briony!’ she hissed.
‘You’re hung up on sex. You need to face your fears.’
‘I don’t have a hang-up about sex,’ Shelley said, primly.
‘Sure,’ Briony said. ‘Have you ever thought about therapy?’
Shelley looked up at her friend sharply. ‘Read my lips, Briony. I. Do. Not. Need. Therapy! We’ve had this before.’
‘Mmm, touched a raw nerve I think,’ Briony said, tight-lipped.
She would have gone on but was interrupted by the arrival of Sonia Bailey. The Chief Operating Officer came bustling in, exuding a no-nonsense, bottom-line kind of attitude.
Bailey was the sort of person, and Shelley suspected there was one in every large organisation, who was never happier than when delivering really bad news, and her heart sank as she saw a glint of joy in the COO’s eye. Cutting out ‘dead wood’ and hiving off unsuccessful parts of the business were what she excelled in, having little knowledge of the actual business of publishing magazines. Briony claimed she got off on it and could only gain sexual satisfaction when she was firing people.
Bailey cleared her throat to get the room’s attention, which was unnecessary as everyone was waiting, hearts in mouths, wondering if they’d have time to gather the photos off their desks before being shown to the lifts. Shelley had looked up the employment terms last week when the latest circulation figures had come through. ‘One week’s pay for every year I’ve worked here, plus one month’s notice period, plus unused holiday …’
‘Now people,’ Bailey began, ‘I have some bad news. Kate Hurley has taken early retirement with immediate effect. The Board of West End Magazines were saddened to hear of this …’
Briony snorted, then fought to disguise it as a cough.
‘… but we have accepted her decision. Kate’s contribution to this magazine and to West End has been immense over the last 25 years and she will be sorely missed, but …’ and at this Bailey’s eyes narrowed ‘… it has been evident for some time that Female Intuition has been haemorrhaging readers and making a net loss for the Group which is deepening month on month, year on year.’
As she spoke, Shelley noticed Bailey’s breath getting heavier. She was almost panting now.
‘From a height of nearly one million in 1986, the circulation has dropped to less than seventy thousand, and many of those are giveaways. People just don’t know what the magazine is trying to do anymore. It has lost focus and the numbers don’t add up.’
She took a deep breath, taking her time, cheeks slightly flushed.
‘This magazine has become no longer sustainable and the Group can no longer support it.’ Her eyes were nearly closed as she reached the climax of her speech. ‘And so it has been decided that …’ but at this point she paused and came back from the brink. When she opened her eyes, Shelley saw with interest that the glint was suddenly gone. Bailey looked disappointed. Deflated. This is the part of the speech she hadn’t wanted to make.
‘… the magazine will be re-branded, with a radical new focus.’ Briony gave a flourish and a bow in Shelley’s direction. ‘Female Intuition will be given one last chance to re-invent itself.’
Bailey picked up a phone on the desk next to her, dialled and spoke. ‘Could you come down now please?’ she asked and returned the receiver. ‘We’re going to discuss the new direction of the magazine. I wish you all the best and know you can make this work.’
Bailey made a gesture with her hand.
‘Was that a fist pump?’ hissed Briony.
There followed a couple of minutes of awkward silence, then the door opened and in walked Aidan Carter. Shelley frowned. Aidan was the Marketing Director for the Group.
Only fair to consult on the new direction, I suppose.
Not that she was disappointed. Aidan was easy on the eye and so, well … big. The way he carried himself made him seem even taller then he was, and he must have been 6′ 3′′. Carter was notorious for his brash management style and forceful opinions and had apparently had several stand-up rows with other board members, at the actual conference table. He was the sort of man who, when he came storming into a room, eyes flashing, you both feared and at the same time secretly hoped he was coming for you.
Shelley watched as he walked over to Sonia, confident and long-limbed. Freya just happened to be in his way and simpered sweetly at him as she moved aside. Carter took the COO’s proffered