no’ exactly what you’d call a team player. She likes her own company too much. Half the baby dykes in here are in love with her, but she never takes advantage. See Rory? She figures out what she wants and goes for it, and hell mend the hindmost. And people see that, and they trust her because of it.’
‘So you’d recommend working with her?’
‘You could do a lot worse.’ Annie took a long swallow of her drink and put the can down behind the counter as another customer approached.
‘I’ll let you get on,’ Lindsay said, sliding off her bar stool and making her way through to Rory’s booth. She smiled at the ‘Reserved’ sign on the table, eased herself on to the padded bench seat and stared at the pile of morning papers neatly stacked against the wall. Her morning’s research had been productive, and Annie’s responses had confirmed her half-made decision.
The first journalist she’d spoken to had been a former colleague on the Standard. Gus was now news editor for BBC Radio Scotland and, although their relationship had been closer to that of sparring partners than friends, he’d seemed pleased enough to hear from her.
Gus didn’t like Rory. He thought she was a chancer who pushed the very limits with her stories and who didn’t care whose toes she trampled on when she was on the chase. But then, Gus had never liked women, least of all dykes. If that was the worst he could find to say about Rory, Lindsay reckoned her potential workmate was probably almost as good as she’d said she was.
Lindsay’s second call was to Mary Salmond. They’d both been active in the Journalists’ Union at the same time, and Mary was now Women’s Editor of the Reporter. She’d sounded positively delighted to hear Lindsay’s voice and immediately insisted they have lunch together to catch up. Lindsay reluctantly agreed; she’d always found Mary far too Edinburgh earnest for her taste. But she wanted information, and she’d have to pay for it.
Mary had gushed at the mention of Rory’s name. ‘She’s done awfully well since she went freelance,’ she said. ‘Awfully well indeed. She’s done the odd piece for me, always her own ideas, and her copy’s a joy. She writes to length, she pitches it at the right level for my readers and she’s got the knack of getting doors to open for her.’
‘What’s she like personally?’
‘I wouldn’t say I knew her that well. She seems very private, never really gives much away. She’s not one of those freelances who’s always trying to freeload in the pub, you know the kind?’
Lindsay knew the kind. ‘But you like her?’
‘Oh yes, I like her fine. She’s very pally with Giles Graham. You know Giles? Such a sweetie. If Giles likes her, she must have something going for her; I’ve always thought he’s an awfully good judge of character. I’ve seen her about with Sandra Singh as well. You won’t know Sandra, she’s a factual programmes producer at STV, after your time. Does that help?’
It had helped. Lindsay had instinctively liked Rory, but she was too shrewd an operator herself to trust her future to someone she knew nothing about. Now she knew enough to take a chance. She picked the top paper off the pile and began browsing. After an hour, she ordered a burger and fries. The burger turned out to be a very poor relation of what she was accustomed to in California, but the chips were glorious – fat chunks of real potato, golden brown and crunchy, the way she liked them and had seldom found them in America. That would be how I stayed so slim over there, she thought. She decided she’d give Rory till she’d finished her lunch, then she’d leave her a note and go. It really didn’t do to seem too keen, after all.
A shadow crossed the page she was reading and Lindsay looked up to see Rory standing before her, laptop slung over one shoulder, a delighted grin on her face. ‘Couldn’t stay away, huh?’ Rory asked, sliding into the seat opposite Lindsay.
‘Well, I could hardly go running, could I?’
Rory winced. ‘How is the ankle?’
‘Sore. But not as swollen as it was. A week or so and it’ll be back to normal.’
‘That’s the official clinical view from the resident medic?’
Lindsay snorted. ‘Given Sophie’s area of expertise, she’d take one look at a swollen ankle and probably tell me I was suffering from pre-eclampsia.’
Annie arrived carrying a couple of cappuccinos. ‘There youse go. You want something to eat, Rory?’
‘I’ll take a plate of stovies, Annie.’
The barmaid nodded and left them to it.
‘Three cappuccinos in one day. I’ll be jazzed till bedtime at this rate,’ Lindsay said.
‘Would you rather have something else? Only, Annie said that’s what you were on.’ Rory looked momentarily anxious.
She’s trying to make an impression, Lindsay thought wryly. ‘No, that’s fine. I suspect I’m going to have to have my wits about me to deal with you anyway.’
‘So, you’ve decided to take me up on my suggestion?’ Rory kept her eyes on her coffee, but Lindsay could sense the eagerness underlying the question.
‘I’m giving it serious consideration. But if it’s going to stand any chance of working, we’ve got to be up front with each other.’ Rory’s head came up as she registered the seriousness of Lindsay’s tone. The banter was over, and it was time to get down to business.
‘Point taken. So, what do you want to know?’
Lindsay sucked some foam off her cappuccino and wiped her top lip clean. ‘My big reservation is that, initially, stories would only be coming my way on the basis of your reputation. Which obviously means you get first pick of whatever lands on the table. I have no idea what that means for me. If I’m just going to be running around doing the dross that doesn’t interest you or that you think isn’t worth your time and attention, then, frankly, I’m not interested.’
Rory looked wounded. ‘No, that’s not how I see it at all. See, the thing is, I already get more stuff coming to me than I can deal with. I end up selling stuff on as tips that I’d rather work myself, but if I’m in the middle of something big and I get a lead on a story that’s time-sensitive, I have to let it go. The way I see it, when a story comes in, whichever one of us is free to take it runs with it. Anyway, the reputation you’ve got, you’ll be pulling stories in yourself in no time.’
Lindsay’s eyebrows shot up. ‘The reputation I’ve got? Come on, Rory, I’m hardly a household name.’
‘I’ve just been in at the Standard, passing a tip on to Giles Graham. He remembers exactly who you are. And you didn’t even work together. Your by-line will sell stories that I’d struggle to place. Lindsay, I’m not handing out charity here. You’d be doing me a favour by coming in with me.’
Lindsay gave Rory a long, considering look. Sure, the kid was probably a bit starry-eyed about her, imagining a past crammed with glory days and 22-point by-lines. But surely that had to be better than trying single-handed to carve out a niche among the sceptical new faces that were running the newsdesks and magazine supplements these days?
It wasn’t the hardest decision of her life. ‘OK. Let’s give it a go. A month’s trial, and at the end of it, either of us can walk away if it’s not working out.’
Rory punched the air. ‘Yes! That’s brilliant, Lindsay. Hey, you won’t regret this, you know.’
I sincerely hope not, Lindsay thought. But she stifled her remaining reservations and extended a hand across the table. ‘Nor will you,’ she said.
‘So, when do we start?’
Kevin followed Michael out into the street and sniffed