said?’
Susie casts her mind back feverishly. ‘I did ask questions about the accounts. There were weaknesses. Ricky said he was changing the auditors again.’
‘You didn’t think that was odd?’
‘Yes, I—’ She did think that, but her head was full of other things and she didn’t challenge Ricky in the way she probably should. ‘How’s he got hold of this story?’
‘He must have a mole. Any idea who it could be?’
June Mackintosh, Susie thinks. Out of character, perhaps, but she has a grudge, a justifiable one, and perhaps she thinks that by going to the Press she might be able to salvage something. ‘Maybe,’ she says slowly. ‘Listen, what’s in the story? Do any of the other papers have it?’
‘Not that I can see. It lists a whole load of so-called facts, castigates the Board, names you specifically—’
Susie groans.
‘—insinuates that you’ve done nothing more than take credit when times have been good but failed in your duty of trust—’
‘Damn. What do you want me to do?’
‘Are you coming in this morning?’
‘I’m almost on my way.’
‘We’ll discuss it when you get here then.’ Mo softens her briskness, ‘Don’t worry, Susie. It’s not the end of the world,’ before spoiling that by adding, ‘though Coopie’s face is thunder this morning.’
Her small snort might have been designed to show that this is a joke, but it does nothing to alleviate Susie’s mood. She toys for a moment with the idea of phoning Archie. On any other day in the past thirty years, that’s exactly what she would have done, but today it won’t help.
She is stopped as she enters the Garden Lobby by a reporter from the BBC. ‘Susie? Have you got a moment?’
‘Sure.’
‘The Rivo Trust appears to be in some trouble, have you any comment?’
Her lips tighten. ‘No,’ she says, ‘No comment.’ She sweeps past him, but he follows her. ‘As a Trustee, surely it’s your duty to—’
She manages to say, ‘You know that, as a Trustee, it’s my duty not to comment about confidential matters,’ then – with relief – she is through the secure door and safely in the private office area. Out of sight, she leans against the wall because her knees are trembling. She should have coped better with that.
Later, she works with Mo on her key words (‘Get these in, Susie, if you do nothing else.’). They think about the worst question she might get (an allegation of dereliction of duty at Rivo). Mo is, mercifully, unflappable. Calmness is her great strength, and a necessary one when all the heavy artillery of the media point in her direction.
In the scale of Mo’s workload it’s a tiny story. Today the Press Director has a cluster of superbug infections in Lanarkshire that have resulted in the deaths of a handful of pensioners, a threatened strike by railway workers and a gathering storm about a change in the school curriculum that is catapulting the Education Minister into the headlines in the least welcome way possible. These all come considerably higher in the ranking of stories to be handled than a side issue about a minor charity.
But this is Susie’s problem, her charity, her alleged incompetence and she doesn’t have her usual confidence to deal with it. For once, she is happy to consider Mo an ally.
Chapter Five
The clock governs her every action. Six thirty, wake up. Tick. Eight, in the office. Tock. Ten, Committee meeting. Tick. Twelve, constituent meeting. Tock. On and on, all through the day, every day. Sometimes Susie resents it – life before Parliament was so much freer. Time is capricious. She sees Time like a snotty-nosed child, sniggering at his ability to drag or fly at will – or to march on relentlessly, pulling aging generation after aging generation in its remorseless wake.
Today, all Susie wants to do is turn back the clock, to the moment before Elsie says, ‘This lady’s like you, Indira. She’s adopted.’ Then she’ll move aside instead, speak
Susie casts her mind back feverishly. ‘I did ask questions about the accounts. There were weaknesses. Ricky said he was changing the auditors again.’
‘You didn’t think that was odd?’
‘Yes, I—’ She did think that, but her head was full of other things and she didn’t challenge Ricky in the way she probably should. ‘How’s he got hold of this story?’
‘He must have a mole. Any idea who it could be?’
June Mackintosh, Susie thinks. Out of character, perhaps, but she has a grudge, a justifiable one, and perhaps she thinks that by going to the Press she might be able to salvage something. ‘Maybe,’ she says slowly. ‘Listen, what’s in the story? Do any of the other papers have it?’
‘Not that I can see. It lists a whole load of so-called facts, castigates the Board, names you specifically—’
Susie groans.
‘—insinuates that you’ve done nothing more than take credit when times have been good but failed in your duty of trust—’
‘Damn. What do you want me to do?’
‘Are you coming in this morning?’
‘I’m almost on my way.’
‘We’ll discuss it when you get here then.’ Mo softens her briskness, ‘Don’t worry, Susie. It’s not the end of the world,’ before spoiling that by adding, ‘though Coopie’s face is thunder this morning.’
Her small snort might have been designed to show that this is a joke, but it does nothing to alleviate Susie’s mood. She toys for a moment with the idea of phoning Archie. On any other day in the past thirty years, that’s exactly what she would have done, but today it won’t help.
She is stopped as she enters the Garden Lobby by a reporter from the BBC. ‘Susie? Have you got a moment?’
‘Sure.’
‘The Rivo Trust appears to be in some trouble, have you any comment?’
Her lips tighten. ‘No,’ she says, ‘No comment.’ She sweeps past him, but he follows her. ‘As a Trustee, surely it’s your duty to—’
She manages to say, ‘You know that, as a Trustee, it’s my duty not to comment about confidential matters,’ then – with relief – she is through the secure door and safely in the private office area. Out of sight, she leans against the wall because her knees are trembling. She should have coped better with that.
Later, she works with Mo on her key words (‘Get these in, Susie, if you do nothing else.’). They think about the worst question she might get (an allegation of dereliction of duty at Rivo). Mo is, mercifully, unflappable. Calmness is her great strength, and a necessary one when all the heavy artillery of the media point in her direction.
In the scale of Mo’s workload it’s a tiny story. Today the Press Director has a cluster of superbug infections in Lanarkshire that have resulted in the deaths of a handful of pensioners, a threatened strike by railway workers and a gathering storm about a change in the school curriculum that is catapulting the Education Minister into the headlines in the least welcome way possible. These all come considerably higher in the ranking of stories to be handled than a side issue about a minor charity.
But this is Susie’s problem, her charity, her alleged incompetence and she doesn’t have her usual confidence to deal with it. For once, she is happy to consider Mo an ally.
Chapter Five
The clock governs her every action. Six thirty, wake up. Tick. Eight, in the office. Tock. Ten, Committee meeting. Tick. Twelve, constituent meeting. Tock. On and on, all through the day, every day. Sometimes Susie resents it – life before Parliament was so much freer. Time is capricious. She sees Time like a snotty-nosed child, sniggering at his ability to drag or fly at will – or to march on relentlessly, pulling aging generation after aging generation in its remorseless wake.
Today, all Susie wants to do is turn back the clock, to the moment before Elsie says, ‘This lady’s like you, Indira. She’s adopted.’ Then she’ll move aside instead, speak
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