into the make-up room and help you get ready.”
Andie glanced at Ryan.
“I’ll be in the control booth. You’ll be fine.” He ran his hand down her back, then turned and walked away.
She watched him go, unable to look away until he turned the corner, out of sight. The borrowed blue blazer and the careful attentions of the make-up artist lent Andie some well-needed confidence.
She still couldn’t understand why on earth the world should care what she thought about Emily’s death. She supposed it was because Emily was so famous, yet her innate privacy had led the world to believe she was single and childless. The revelation she was a mother had been almost as newsworthy as her murder. No doubt the world’s capacity for feeding on the misery of those left behind had to be assuaged somehow, but it seemed voyeuristic of the general public. Andie was determined not to let Emily’s memory down. Not to be yet another crying victim of the Bekostani regime. Ryan was nowhere to be seen, but knowing he was watching gave her courage.
The interview flowed smoothly until Joe lobbed an unexpected verbal hand-grenade. “Do you want vengeance for your mother’s murder?”
Andie stifled her gut-felt response. She did want vengeance. Wanted someone to pay for the loss of the mother she’d spent so little time with, but now wasn’t the time to admit to it.
“Many people have lost a loved one,” she answered slowly. “I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone.” She pulled in a deep breath. “My mother spent her life bringing injustice to the attention of the world, and if there is to be a legacy from her untimely death, it should be that the world pays attention to the causes that consumed her.”
The man standing beside the camera waved a hand across his throat, and Joe relaxed. “That’s a cut, Andie. Thank you.”
A technician unclipped the tiny radio mike from the lapel of the jacket.
Was she a complete hypocrite? She’d never watched Emily’s bulletins on television; never read any of her articles. Even though she was telling everyone else to. Ryan had brought all her mother’s papers, and she hadn’t even been planning to read them.
The anchorman rose. Freed from the mike, Andie placed a hand on his jacket sleeve.
“Joe, I wonder if you could do me a favor.”
He listened intently as she asked for something she should have asked for years ago. The chance to learn more about Emily.
*****
“So, I heard you were here.” The words were accompanied by a solid thump on the back.
Ryan turned to see the head of the network, his friend, Ben Fitzgerald.
“Nothing gets past you.” He smiled. “You have spies everywhere.”
“Hey, it’s in the job description. Got a minute?”
Ryan glanced through the glass. Andie was chatting with Joe—she probably wasn’t even aware he was watching, and wouldn’t miss him for a while. “Sure.”
In Ben’s corner office, the sun streamed through the floor to ceiling windows overlooking a patch of London’s green. Ben sat on one of the large black leather chairs in a casual area, and gestured to another. “So, what’s up?”
“I brought Andie in for a segment.”
“Good idea. I appreciate you giving us an exclusive.”
Ryan stretched out his legs. An exclusive for the station hadn’t even crossed his mind. It had just seemed important to get the whole thing finished. To move everything on to the next level. It was too difficult to explain all that, so he brushed it off. “No problem.”
“You want a drink?”
“I’m fine.” Ryan’s gaze flicked to the clock on Ben’s wall.
“I wanted to talk to you, so I’m glad you’re here.” Ben linked his hands behind his head. “There’s a shake-up on the cards. The head of foreign news handed in his resignation. He wants to retire.”
Ryan felt his eyebrows rise. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“Neither did we.” Ben’s hands dropped to rub his thighs. “To be honest, it’s left us in a
Andie glanced at Ryan.
“I’ll be in the control booth. You’ll be fine.” He ran his hand down her back, then turned and walked away.
She watched him go, unable to look away until he turned the corner, out of sight. The borrowed blue blazer and the careful attentions of the make-up artist lent Andie some well-needed confidence.
She still couldn’t understand why on earth the world should care what she thought about Emily’s death. She supposed it was because Emily was so famous, yet her innate privacy had led the world to believe she was single and childless. The revelation she was a mother had been almost as newsworthy as her murder. No doubt the world’s capacity for feeding on the misery of those left behind had to be assuaged somehow, but it seemed voyeuristic of the general public. Andie was determined not to let Emily’s memory down. Not to be yet another crying victim of the Bekostani regime. Ryan was nowhere to be seen, but knowing he was watching gave her courage.
The interview flowed smoothly until Joe lobbed an unexpected verbal hand-grenade. “Do you want vengeance for your mother’s murder?”
Andie stifled her gut-felt response. She did want vengeance. Wanted someone to pay for the loss of the mother she’d spent so little time with, but now wasn’t the time to admit to it.
“Many people have lost a loved one,” she answered slowly. “I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone.” She pulled in a deep breath. “My mother spent her life bringing injustice to the attention of the world, and if there is to be a legacy from her untimely death, it should be that the world pays attention to the causes that consumed her.”
The man standing beside the camera waved a hand across his throat, and Joe relaxed. “That’s a cut, Andie. Thank you.”
A technician unclipped the tiny radio mike from the lapel of the jacket.
Was she a complete hypocrite? She’d never watched Emily’s bulletins on television; never read any of her articles. Even though she was telling everyone else to. Ryan had brought all her mother’s papers, and she hadn’t even been planning to read them.
The anchorman rose. Freed from the mike, Andie placed a hand on his jacket sleeve.
“Joe, I wonder if you could do me a favor.”
He listened intently as she asked for something she should have asked for years ago. The chance to learn more about Emily.
*****
“So, I heard you were here.” The words were accompanied by a solid thump on the back.
Ryan turned to see the head of the network, his friend, Ben Fitzgerald.
“Nothing gets past you.” He smiled. “You have spies everywhere.”
“Hey, it’s in the job description. Got a minute?”
Ryan glanced through the glass. Andie was chatting with Joe—she probably wasn’t even aware he was watching, and wouldn’t miss him for a while. “Sure.”
In Ben’s corner office, the sun streamed through the floor to ceiling windows overlooking a patch of London’s green. Ben sat on one of the large black leather chairs in a casual area, and gestured to another. “So, what’s up?”
“I brought Andie in for a segment.”
“Good idea. I appreciate you giving us an exclusive.”
Ryan stretched out his legs. An exclusive for the station hadn’t even crossed his mind. It had just seemed important to get the whole thing finished. To move everything on to the next level. It was too difficult to explain all that, so he brushed it off. “No problem.”
“You want a drink?”
“I’m fine.” Ryan’s gaze flicked to the clock on Ben’s wall.
“I wanted to talk to you, so I’m glad you’re here.” Ben linked his hands behind his head. “There’s a shake-up on the cards. The head of foreign news handed in his resignation. He wants to retire.”
Ryan felt his eyebrows rise. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“Neither did we.” Ben’s hands dropped to rub his thighs. “To be honest, it’s left us in a
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