Preston
had
run
out
of
logic.
Once
again
he
was
discovering
that
this
inexperienced
woman,
one
of
his
most
junior members
of
staff,
was
slipping
every
argument
he
could throw
at
her.
As
she
suspected
he
would,
he
sought
refuge in
bluster
and
bullying.
'Look!'
he
snapped,
pointing
an
accusatory
finger
in
her direction.
You
burst
into
my
office
with
a
story
so
fantastic,
demanding
that
I
scrap
the
front
page
for
it
...
But
you haven't
written
any
copy
yet!
How
the
devil
can
I
tell whether
you've
got
a
good
story
or
simply
had
a
good lunch?'
Her
blue
eyes
glinted
like
polar
ice,
her
mind
tumbling with
the
many
slights
she
wanted
to
throw
back
at
him. Instead,
a
frosty
calm
settled
over
her.
'You
will
have
your
copy
in
thirty
minutes,'
she
said
as she
walked
out,
barely
able
to
resist
the
temptation
to
slam the
door
off
its
hinges.
It
was
actually
nearer
forty
minutes
when
she
walked back
in,
without
knocking,
six
pages
of
double-spaced
copy clutched
in
her
hand.
Without
comment
she
dropped
them on
the
desk,
standing
directly
in
front
of
Preston
to
make
it clear
that
she
would
not
budge
until
she
had
her
answer.
He
left
her
standing
while
slowly
he
read
through
the pages,
trying
to
look
as
if
he
were
struggling
with
an important
decision.
But
it
was
a
sham.
The
decision
had already
been
made
just
a
few
minutes
after
Mattie
had
left his
office
and
seconds
after
he
had
managed
to
reach
the newspaper's
owner
on
the
phone.
'She's
determined,
Mr
Landless.
She
knows
she's
got
the makings
of
a
good
story
and
she
won't
take
no
for
an answer.
What
the
hell
do
I
do?'
'Persuade
her
she's
wrong.
Put
her
on
the
cookery
page. Send
her
on
holiday.
Promote
her
to
editor,
for
all
I
care.
But keep
her
quiet!'
It's
not
that
simple.
She's
not
only
stubborn
as
hell, she's
one
of
the
best
political
brains
we've
got.'
'Preston,
you
already
have
the
best
political
brains
in
the business.
Mine!
All
I
am
asking
you
to
do
is
to
control
your staff.
Are
you
telling
me
you
can't
do
even
that?'
Landless asked
in
a
tone
full
of
menace.
'There
are
scarcely
two weeks
before
the
leadership
race
is
over,'
he
continued. There
are
great
things
at
stake,
the
whole
future
of
the country,
my
business
-
your
job.
Do
whatever
you
have
to do
to
keep
her
quiet.
Just
don't
screw
up!'
The
proprietor's
words
were
still
ringing
in
Preston's ears
as
he
continued
to
shuffle
the
pieces
of
paper,
no
longer reading
them,
concentrating
instead
on
what
he
was
about to
say.
Normally
he
enjoyed
his
power
as
editorial
executioner,
but
he
knew
she
would
never
fit
the
typecast role
of
whimpering
victim.
He
was
unsure
how
he
should handle
her.
Finally
he
put
Mattie's
story
down,
and
pushed
himself back
into
his
chair.
He
felt
more
comfortable
with
the support
of
the
chair
behind
his
back.
‘W
e
can't
run
it.
It's
too
risky,
and
I'm
not
willing
to
blow the
leadership
contest
apart
on
the
basis
of
speculation.'
It
was
what
she
had
expected
all
along.
She
replied
in
a whisper,
but
her
soft
words
hit
Preston
like
a
boxing
glove.
‘I
will
not
take
no
for
an
answer
’
Dammit.
Why
didn't
she
just
accept
it,
shrug
it
off
or
just burst
into
tears
like
the
others?
The
quiet
insolence
behind her
words
and
his
inability
to
handle
it
made
him
feel nervous.
He
started
to
sweat;
he
knew
that
she
had
noticed this
sign
of
tension,
and
he
began
to
stumble
over
his carefully
prepared
words.
‘I
...
cannot
run
the
story.
I
am
the
editor,
and
that's
my decision.'
He
wasn't
even
convincing
himself.
You
have
to accept
it,
or
..
‘
'Or
what,Grev?'
'...
or
realise
that
you
have
no
future
on
our
political staff.'
'You're
firing
me?'
This
did
surprise
her.
How
could
he afford
to
let
her
go,
particularly
in
the
middle
of
the leadership
contest?
'No.
I'm
moving
you
to
women's
features,
starting
right now.
Frankly,
I
don't
think
you
have
developed
the judgement
for
our
political
columns.'