Name & Address Withheld (43 page)

There was a smile in her voice and this time she got a thumbs-up from Ben, who seemed to have forgiven her for her vacant moment at the top of the link. Lizzie was in good spirits. The mystery man thanked her as they came off the air for the news, but she had really only been half speaking to him.

For the first time in weeks Lizzie was talking to him; Matt was sure of it. He grabbed his mobile from the passenger seat
and pressed ‘call’. Engaged. ‘Redial’. Still no joy. He dialled Lizzie’s mobile and it went straight to answer-phone. He swung his car into a U-turn and, leaving a symphony of horns in his wake, put his foot down as he accelerated towards the studios. He knew the other drivers were probably calling him all sorts of names—and, yes, they were right, he probably did look like a poseur in his white T-shirt, sunglasses and classic convertible. But what did he have to lose? Traffic permitting, he’d find out soon enough.

The news was over and according to the running order they had another two minutes of ads. Ben was giving Lizzie the lowdown on the next couple of callers while the researcher who’d vetted Robbie had gone to chainsmoke herself into the recovery position.

Ben stopped mid-sentence as the white light on the wall started flashing silently. The private studio phone was ringing, which usually only meant one thing. Richard Drake had been listening and had a pearl of wisdom that he wished to impart on ‘his’ team. He only called at inopportune moments and always expected undivided attention. He didn’t seem to understand the way live radio worked, even though he proudly told anyone who wanted to know—and quite a few others—that he’d worked his way to the top from the very bottom.

Phil answered it in the sound gallery. The team could see him through the soundproof glass studio divider, and although they couldn’t hear what he was saying his face was definitely registering concern.

There was a click as he opened up studio talkback and pointed at Lizzie through the window. ‘Hey, Ford, it’s for you.’

Ben’s shoulders visibly relaxed as the tension passed on to his presenter.

‘Who is it?’ Lizzie folded her arms across her chest defensively. Still seated, she propelled herself to the private phone
courtesy of her executive chair, and while she waited for Phil to patch it through she braced herself for the worst.

Thinking back, she knew she shouldn’t have been quite so tetchy with that Robbie bloke. But she could have been a lot worse, and she certainly didn’t want to have to make some gormless apology on air. Shit. Why did Richard have to be listening tonight? She really didn’t want to have to do the humble pie, yes sir, no sir routine… She wasn’t in the mood.

She was about to pick up the receiver when Phil’s voice cut into the studio again. ‘They’ve gone. It was Security. Apparently you’ve got a visitor. Male. White. Um…that’s about all they could tell me. A guy asked for you at the front desk, then it seems got bored of the whole red tape thing and just jumped the gate and headed straight for the lifts. They just wanted to warn you in case he gets here before they do. They’re going to try and intercept him at fourth floor reception.’

Lizzie’s pulse raced. Maybe Robbie had been some sort of psycho caller.

‘Thirty seconds.’ Apparently unperturbed that his presenter’s life might be in danger, Ben reminded Lizzie that she still had a show to do.

Nervously she put on her headphones, shutting out the outside world. She didn’t have a lot of faith in station security. They never seemed to be even remotely on the ball. She wondered whether the studio window into the corridor was bullet-proof as well as soundproof, and wished she hadn’t stayed up watching some trigger-happy-good-guy-gets-shot American-made-for-TV-action-movie last night.

‘Coming to you in ten, nine, eight…’ the studio clock was ominously counting down in red seconds ‘…seven, six…fuck…nutter alert.’

Lizzie swung round in her chair and was about to throw herself to the floor with her hands over her head to protect her from the now almost inevitable—in her overactive imagination, at least—spray of bullets, when her heart stopped. There on the other side of the soundproof glass was a very familiar
face, shortly joined by two security guards who grabbed an arm each. Lizzie squealed.

‘Two, one…cue Lizzie.’

She was on air and speechless. Not a winning combination. Her eyes fixed on Matt, she found her voice a few seconds later and luckily for her career something vaguely appropriate came out before all the listeners fiddled with their radios in search of a station which actually had some output. Ben looked as if he was watching Wimbledon as he desperately tried to work out what the hell was going on and why it had to happen during his show.

‘Um…sorry about that…everything seems to have gone a bit haywire at our end. Right…welcome back. I’m Lizzie Ford and this is City FM…’ Lizzie took a deep breath. Her chest was tight with a cocktail of excitement, fear and emotion. Now she could understand how people had heart attacks from shock. ‘More calls and music in a minute, but first of all let me share something with you. Phil, mike up my visitor, will you?’

She winked at Matt, who was now face to face with her, give or take several inches of glass. He was smiling apprehensively. He couldn’t believe he was actually standing there, but he was ecstatic to see that Lizzie looked pleased—make that
very
pleased—to see him.

Security loosened their grip and he walked to the studio door as fast as his suddenly shaky legs would allow.

‘Now, I know some of you are familiar with the events of my love life over recent months. By no means my finest hour in terms of doing the right thing, but for a few precious weeks the best example I will probably ever be able to find of following your heart…’

Matt could feel himself melting. He wanted to have his arms full of Lizzie, but instead he had some guy clipping a microphone onto his T-shirt a few frustrating metres from where he wanted to be. He took a deep breath.

‘As you know it was all over—for the best, I told myself. I told him to go and he disappeared…back to his wife, I presumed. I heard nothing. I dealt with the overwhelming disappointment as best I could, did my best to move on, and then
today I discovered that he’s been sending me flowers for weeks. My flatmate had been intercepting them. To protect me from myself. But I found out. And now, just a minute ago, he arrived here at the studio, out of the blue…’

Lizzie wished she could find a modicum of privacy for her and Matt. She looked across to Ben, who was just staring at her, as was Phil, as were the researchers from the phone gallery. It was like something out of a Musical Statues masterclass. She was going to have to carry on. Against her better judgement, she was going to have to finish what she’d started.

‘I’m not sure what he wants, or what’s changed, but I just have to find out. So please excuse me for this moment of total self-indulgence and let me introduce you to him. Matt—hello.’

‘Hi…’

He said it really slowly. Lizzie had an overwhelming urge to tear her headphones off and kiss him.

It was just like a scene from a film. Matt wondered who he’d want to play his character… He wasn’t sure about this whole live on the radio thing, but he didn’t really have much choice now. ‘I’m not sure what I’m doing here, but something made me come. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for weeks. So much has changed…’

Lizzie smiled at him, her eyes searching his, begging him to say what she wanted to hear. His surroundings blurred into insignificance. As far as he was concerned there was only one person he wanted to speak to and she was right in front of him. This was his chance.

Clare’s mobile rang in her bag. She blushed as she rummaged for the source of the noise and wished she had opted for the original ring rather than the electronic version of the
Happy Days
theme tune which had seemed such a good idea at the time. She was sure she’d turned if off when they’d sat down. As she reached to silence it she spotted the caller ID and, apologetically mouthing ‘sorry’ to Ed, answered it as discreetly as she could, willing none of the other diners or waiting staff to lynch her at the table.

‘Hello? Annie? Is everything OK?’

‘Are you listening?’

‘Yup. Go ahead.’ Clare half covered her mouth with her hand in an attempt to keep the noise to a minimum.

‘No. Are you
listening
? To her show?’

‘No. I’m in a restaurant.’ God, Annie could be demanding. Clare was a person in her own right, and her life continued on Tuesday and Thursday evenings whether she liked it or not. She might share a flat with her daughter but she wasn’t married to her.

‘Well, get yourself to a radio now. He’s on—with her. It’s—well…it’s gripping. Do you know? I think it all might work out.’

‘Who’s on…?’ And then it dawned on her ‘Matt…on the radio…with Lizzie?’ Clare forgot about being quiet. Her volume settings were suddenly all over the place. ‘How? When?’ She stood up without thinking and then sat down again very quickly, her voice a whisper as her cheeks reddened. ‘What’s he said so far?’

‘He just turned up while she was doing her show. Seems keen. I haven’t been able to get through. But anyway, I’m sure I’m the last person she wants to speak to right now. I think little Lizzie has got her hands quite full enough at the moment.’

‘I don’t believe it.’ Clare was genuinely excited for Lizzie. ‘Has he left Rachel? Has he said?’ Talk about timing. A couple of minutes ago she’d been on a genuine date for the first time in years, and now she was going to have leave before it had even started.

Ed, who to Clare’s amusement up until now had been trying to pretend that he was absorbed in his menu and not really listening, finally gave up and cocked an eyebrow inquisitively. Clare nodded to confirm that his hearing had indeed been perfect and, still on the phone, instinctively stood up to go. Apparently unruffled by the unorthodox behaviour of his date, Ed slipped a credit card to the waiter, told him they’d be back, and then, taking Clare’s hand, led her out of the restaurant. She relaxed at his touch. It was great to have someone else taking charge for a change.

‘Listen, Clare, I’ve got to go. I don’t want to miss any of it.’

‘Thanks for letting me know. We’re on our way to the car to listen now.’ But Annie had already gone.

As she sat in the passenger seat of Ed’s car on the second floor of the NCP car park on Brewer Street she couldn’t help but beam at the world around her. It was all working out perfectly.

The incoming lines were flashing madly. Ben wasn’t surprised; the atmosphere in the studio was electric. Relieved to have a purpose, he went into the phone gallery to see what they wanted. A few seconds later he flicked his mike on and whispered into Lizzie’s ear. ‘Terrific stuff. Listeners desperate to speak to you. Lines two and three cued up. Take them as and when.’ He scrunched his running order into a ball and tossed it into the bin. You couldn’t plan radio like this.

‘So, you see, I have so much to thank you for…’ Matt paused. Lizzie was motionless. Suspended in time. He was hers. He had left. Weeks ago. She allowed herself to dream the happy ending. Warning bells sounded all over her body. If he let her down again she wasn’t sure that she’d recover. Mind you, neither would he if Clare got to him first. What happened now? She couldn’t find words. Thankfully Ben was paying attention and helped her out with a timely interjection.

‘Phil on standby with music and ads, and callers on line two and three for you. Two is someone who claims to know you. Clare from Putney, is it? Anyway, she says “Go for it”.’

Lizzie nodded silently as her heart soared. A lone tear escaped and hit the top of her smile as she clamped her lips together to prevent a full-blown sob escaping. To Ben’s horror she took her headphones off and leaned across, away from the mike, ready to receive the kiss that Matt was about to give her. She melted into his lips. It was time for Ben to take the initiative and earn his salary.

At 8:46 and twenty-one seconds the listeners of
The Agony and the Ecstasy
were treated to a medley of jingles followed by three songs in a row, thanks to the humane spontaneity and
whizz-kid versatility of Phil, who could see that their resident agony aunt was in no fit state to speak to anyone.

He’d worked on the show for long enough to know how much Lizzie valued her own space, and by the look of it Lizzie and Matt needed a couple of minutes to themselves. Not that they’d really noticed that there was anyone around anyway. They were caught up in a moment—a moment Lizzie deserved—and Phil wasn’t going to be the one to spoil it.

Neither was Ben. His lips were working overtime, but unknown to him Phil had faded his microphone to nothing while he concentrated on picking a handful of suitable tunes to take them through to the news.

NAME & ADDRESS WITHHELD

A Red Dress Ink novel

ISBN: 978-1-4592-4857-1

© 2002 by Jane Sigaloff.

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