reveal her high cheekbones and wickedly curvaceous mouth. Daisy realised with a wild feeling of hilarity that the man-hungry reporter was making the first pitch for the newcomer. Ben Gillies, her prey just a few days ago, had already been supplanted by a bigger and better quarry. ‘Welcome to The Herald , Mr Bond. I’m Sharon Eddy, chief reporter. Perhaps I can introduce you to everyone?’
And then the phones began to ring, the tableau unfroze, and the deadlines that govern every small newspaper office became pressing. Cosmo Fleming, muttering something about ‘Mother, urgent, must dash, sorry,’ cast a faintly harrowed glance in Sharon’s direction and edged towards the door. Murdoch grunted, ‘… dog poo … devilish stuff … up in arms …’ and swung back to his screen. And Daisy realised that she was due at a photo shoot in the High Street, where the local butcher was finally being forced to close his shop, a victim of the credit crunch and the new supermarket on the outskirts of Hailesbank. Jay Bond, in all his glory, would have to take a back seat while she figured out how to frame a photograph that told the shop closure story without being too grisly. New editor or not, the day had to go on.
As she grabbed her camera gear and headed for the door with Dishy Dave, who was down to interview the butcher, it occurred to Daisy that redecoration was the last job on the list of priorities for the small staff at
The Herald
. But their new editor would be aware of that, surely?
Chapter Eight
It was not an easy day. Jay Bond spent most of it closeted in the glass enclosure laughingly called the Editor’s Office – the space where Angus had toppled majestically to his death. Daisy wondered whether he was aware of that. Did he have any sense at all of the Big Man’s feisty spirit still lingering in the air? There was still a faint odour of cigarette smoke, that was for sure.
For most of the morning, so far as they could see, he had his feet up on the desk and the phone clamped to his ear, though it was impossible to tell who he was talking to or what about. He emerged at lunchtime, asked where he could get a sandwich, and when Sharon immediately offered to show him the local offerings, smilingly accepted.
Everyone was unsettled. They were still reeling from Big Angus’s death and no one had yet got the measure of Mr Jay Bond. What would he do to start turning the fortunes of the paper round? Were their jobs safe? At least no one got fired and Ben, coming in for the appointment Ma had put in the book last week, was duly hired on a short-term freelance contract. By six they were all ready to escape and by common assent they migrated, as one, to their favourite watering hole, The Duke of Atholl.
Young Dave was still high on the butcher closure largely because, thanks to Daisy’s ingenuity, the photo was probably good enough to get his story onto the front page. ‘We’ll headline it “The Last Link in the Chain”,’ he said, carrying four pints and trying not to spill them.
‘Good one, Davy,’ Murdoch grunted. ‘Except, of course, he was a sole trader, not part of a chain.’
‘Sausages, mate,’ Dave explained. Murdoch just grinned.
Competition for the front page was always strong. Sharon liked to reserve the honour for herself but it would be Ben, in his new role as chief sub who would make the final decision – unless Jay overruled him.
‘Last Link?’ Sharon scoffed.
Davy’s confidence was undiminished by these criticisms. ‘Honest Shar, you should see Daisy’s pic, it’s brilliant.’
Daisy blushed. Mindful of Lizzie’s three points, she was doing her best to do her bit. The shoot had worked out well, even though it had all seemed a bit desperate at first. Knives were too graphic, Bert had been determined to look jolly in the face of adversity, which was not the image she wanted, and she’d been almost at screaming point when one of the other butchers had emerged onto the High
And then the phones began to ring, the tableau unfroze, and the deadlines that govern every small newspaper office became pressing. Cosmo Fleming, muttering something about ‘Mother, urgent, must dash, sorry,’ cast a faintly harrowed glance in Sharon’s direction and edged towards the door. Murdoch grunted, ‘… dog poo … devilish stuff … up in arms …’ and swung back to his screen. And Daisy realised that she was due at a photo shoot in the High Street, where the local butcher was finally being forced to close his shop, a victim of the credit crunch and the new supermarket on the outskirts of Hailesbank. Jay Bond, in all his glory, would have to take a back seat while she figured out how to frame a photograph that told the shop closure story without being too grisly. New editor or not, the day had to go on.
As she grabbed her camera gear and headed for the door with Dishy Dave, who was down to interview the butcher, it occurred to Daisy that redecoration was the last job on the list of priorities for the small staff at
The Herald
. But their new editor would be aware of that, surely?
Chapter Eight
It was not an easy day. Jay Bond spent most of it closeted in the glass enclosure laughingly called the Editor’s Office – the space where Angus had toppled majestically to his death. Daisy wondered whether he was aware of that. Did he have any sense at all of the Big Man’s feisty spirit still lingering in the air? There was still a faint odour of cigarette smoke, that was for sure.
For most of the morning, so far as they could see, he had his feet up on the desk and the phone clamped to his ear, though it was impossible to tell who he was talking to or what about. He emerged at lunchtime, asked where he could get a sandwich, and when Sharon immediately offered to show him the local offerings, smilingly accepted.
Everyone was unsettled. They were still reeling from Big Angus’s death and no one had yet got the measure of Mr Jay Bond. What would he do to start turning the fortunes of the paper round? Were their jobs safe? At least no one got fired and Ben, coming in for the appointment Ma had put in the book last week, was duly hired on a short-term freelance contract. By six they were all ready to escape and by common assent they migrated, as one, to their favourite watering hole, The Duke of Atholl.
Young Dave was still high on the butcher closure largely because, thanks to Daisy’s ingenuity, the photo was probably good enough to get his story onto the front page. ‘We’ll headline it “The Last Link in the Chain”,’ he said, carrying four pints and trying not to spill them.
‘Good one, Davy,’ Murdoch grunted. ‘Except, of course, he was a sole trader, not part of a chain.’
‘Sausages, mate,’ Dave explained. Murdoch just grinned.
Competition for the front page was always strong. Sharon liked to reserve the honour for herself but it would be Ben, in his new role as chief sub who would make the final decision – unless Jay overruled him.
‘Last Link?’ Sharon scoffed.
Davy’s confidence was undiminished by these criticisms. ‘Honest Shar, you should see Daisy’s pic, it’s brilliant.’
Daisy blushed. Mindful of Lizzie’s three points, she was doing her best to do her bit. The shoot had worked out well, even though it had all seemed a bit desperate at first. Knives were too graphic, Bert had been determined to look jolly in the face of adversity, which was not the image she wanted, and she’d been almost at screaming point when one of the other butchers had emerged onto the High
Similar Books
