flu, fainted half an hour before air time.
Out of the chaos, Bridget was chosen to replace her. In the normal course of events it would most likely have been Julia chosen to do it, but it was her day off. There were several reasons to choose Bridget. She spoke well, with good modulation—she’d belonged to her university dramatic society—and she was familiar with the autocue as she’d occasionally filled in for the weather presenter.
‘You’ve also proofed a lot of the stuff, so you’re familiar with it. We can find you something more formal to wear,’ Megan’s producer said to her. ‘Make-up!’ he yelled.
It was a miracle Bridget managed to speak at all, considering the emotion-charged atmosphere of the newsroom. Even more than that, her own inner turmoilwas mind-boggling. She hadn’t been able to come to grips in any way with the fact that she was carrying Adam Beaumont’s baby. If anyone should be fainting, she should…
But she actually got through reading the news with only a few stumbles. And she had no idea who would be in the unseen audience for that particular broadcast…
Adam Beaumont unlocked the door to his suite in the luxury Gold Coast hotel and threw the keycard onto the hall table. He walked through to the lounge, shrugging off his jacket and tie, and switched on one table lamp.
The view through the filmy curtains was fabulous. The long finger known as Surfers Paradise stretched before and below him like a fairyland of lights, bordered by a faint line of white breakers on the beach and the midnight-blue of the Pacific Ocean, with a silver moon hanging in the sky.
He didn’t give it more than a cursory glance as he got a beer from the bar and poured it into a frosted glass. He’d been overseas, and he was feeling jet-lagged and annoyed. One of his PAs had met him at the airport and given him a run-down of events that had occurred in his absence. One of them was a newspaper article described by his PA as a ‘fishing expedition’, to do with the board of directors at Beaumonts and a carefully worded suggestion that there was some unrest on the board.
Where the hell had that come from? he’d asked, but had not received a satisfactory answer.
The Beaumont board, he thought, standing in themiddle of the lounge, staring at nothing in particular. Ever since he could remember the family circumstances that had contributed to his distance from the board had galled him almost unbearably. And that had contributed, along with his faithless sister-in-law, to his determination to unseat his brother, Henry. But it so happened he hadn’t done anything to create the rumours.
He put his beer on a side-table and looked around for the TV remote before he sank down into an armchair.
He was flicking through the channels when his finger was arrested, and he sat up with an unexpectedly indrawn breath as he stared at Bridget, reading the news.
She was wearing an elegant lime-green linen jacket, and her coppery hair was still short but obviously styled. Her eye make-up emphasised her green eyes, and her lips were painted a lustrous pink.
She looked, in two words, extremely attractive, he thought. But what the hell was this?
She paused, then launched into a piece she happened not to have proofed. Of all things, she stumbled on the Beaumont name. But she collected herself and went on to detail the fact that the rumours circulating were suggesting Henry Beaumont was about to be ousted from the Beaumont board by his brother, in a bitter power struggle.
It was the last item before a commercial break, and as had been agreed, to save viewers any confusion, Bridget said, ‘I’m Bridget Tully-Smith, filling in for Megan Winslow tonight. Please stay with us for all the latest sporting news.’
Adam Beaumont stared at the television long after anadvertisement had replaced Bridget’s image. Tully -Smith, he thought incredulously. You didn’t tell me that , Mrs Smith. His mind ranged back. Although you did
Out of the chaos, Bridget was chosen to replace her. In the normal course of events it would most likely have been Julia chosen to do it, but it was her day off. There were several reasons to choose Bridget. She spoke well, with good modulation—she’d belonged to her university dramatic society—and she was familiar with the autocue as she’d occasionally filled in for the weather presenter.
‘You’ve also proofed a lot of the stuff, so you’re familiar with it. We can find you something more formal to wear,’ Megan’s producer said to her. ‘Make-up!’ he yelled.
It was a miracle Bridget managed to speak at all, considering the emotion-charged atmosphere of the newsroom. Even more than that, her own inner turmoilwas mind-boggling. She hadn’t been able to come to grips in any way with the fact that she was carrying Adam Beaumont’s baby. If anyone should be fainting, she should…
But she actually got through reading the news with only a few stumbles. And she had no idea who would be in the unseen audience for that particular broadcast…
Adam Beaumont unlocked the door to his suite in the luxury Gold Coast hotel and threw the keycard onto the hall table. He walked through to the lounge, shrugging off his jacket and tie, and switched on one table lamp.
The view through the filmy curtains was fabulous. The long finger known as Surfers Paradise stretched before and below him like a fairyland of lights, bordered by a faint line of white breakers on the beach and the midnight-blue of the Pacific Ocean, with a silver moon hanging in the sky.
He didn’t give it more than a cursory glance as he got a beer from the bar and poured it into a frosted glass. He’d been overseas, and he was feeling jet-lagged and annoyed. One of his PAs had met him at the airport and given him a run-down of events that had occurred in his absence. One of them was a newspaper article described by his PA as a ‘fishing expedition’, to do with the board of directors at Beaumonts and a carefully worded suggestion that there was some unrest on the board.
Where the hell had that come from? he’d asked, but had not received a satisfactory answer.
The Beaumont board, he thought, standing in themiddle of the lounge, staring at nothing in particular. Ever since he could remember the family circumstances that had contributed to his distance from the board had galled him almost unbearably. And that had contributed, along with his faithless sister-in-law, to his determination to unseat his brother, Henry. But it so happened he hadn’t done anything to create the rumours.
He put his beer on a side-table and looked around for the TV remote before he sank down into an armchair.
He was flicking through the channels when his finger was arrested, and he sat up with an unexpectedly indrawn breath as he stared at Bridget, reading the news.
She was wearing an elegant lime-green linen jacket, and her coppery hair was still short but obviously styled. Her eye make-up emphasised her green eyes, and her lips were painted a lustrous pink.
She looked, in two words, extremely attractive, he thought. But what the hell was this?
She paused, then launched into a piece she happened not to have proofed. Of all things, she stumbled on the Beaumont name. But she collected herself and went on to detail the fact that the rumours circulating were suggesting Henry Beaumont was about to be ousted from the Beaumont board by his brother, in a bitter power struggle.
It was the last item before a commercial break, and as had been agreed, to save viewers any confusion, Bridget said, ‘I’m Bridget Tully-Smith, filling in for Megan Winslow tonight. Please stay with us for all the latest sporting news.’
Adam Beaumont stared at the television long after anadvertisement had replaced Bridget’s image. Tully -Smith, he thought incredulously. You didn’t tell me that , Mrs Smith. His mind ranged back. Although you did
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