My Magazine

Rhonda went straight to work from where she'd spent the night, on a yacht with a young engineer from Denmark. Her two friends had been with her, one attracting the owner of the vessel and the other a friend of the owner who helped sail the boat. .

The six of them had a wild night.

Fortunately Rhonda kept a full change of clothes and a full make-up kit in her cubicle. She unlocked the doors into the offices of JJ Publications looking a fresh as a daisy but suffering post-alcoholic binging remorse.

Soon after changing her clothes a female courier girl staggered into the room carrying a bulging sack of mail.

"Goodness," said Rhonda, focusing her gaze, "That's a lot of mail for us?"

"I have another bag almost as full in the van," said the girl. "What have you folk been up to - offering free holidays to Disneyland or something?"

"No it's just our delightful editor talking ever so delightfully to the people of the nation and mainly females writing to say kind things to her," groaned Rhonda, realising she had hundreds of letters to open. She knew Jenni would want every one opened and read in case a reply was necessary.

"Couldn't you just take these bags full of mail and dump them?"

"Miss it's a serious offence to interfere with the delivery of mail or try to dispose of it in an illegal manner."

"Perhaps you could accept some money so that no one will ever know?"

"Miss attempting to bribe an agent with responsibility for the carriage of mail is a criminal offence. Offer me money and I shall report you."

That shocked Rhonda.

"Oh I was kidding; I wouldn't incriminate myself like that. Thanks for those warnings. Now please fetch me the other bag of mail that I shall cherish."

The courier worked for Rhonda's father. She went to the window and noted details of the courier van. She would the meritorious behaviour of this particular employee to her father.

The courier came back with the other sack of mail. She scratched her head, looked around quickly, and looked back at Rhonda.

"How much money miss?"

"I should report you for being prepared to accept a bribe. Never, never do that again, you bad girl," admonished Rhonda to the young woman about her own age.

The courier, deeply embarrassed, hurried away.

Jenni swept into the office just before starting time of 9:00 greeting everyone brightly.

"Is everyone here?"

"Everyone except Brenda and Ali doing those interviews in Sussex," reported Vivian.

"That's good, everyone have a nice day."

Jenni popped her head around the screen to Rhonda's enclosure. Rhonda, looking pale and suffering from a night of excessive behaviour, was partly buried by a pile of mail.

Jenni stared at it in disbelief. "Oh my goodness," she said, calling, "Vivian!"

"Oh my goodness," echoed the deputy-editor and editor designate. "Reinforcements are needed. I'll get everyone to stop work to help deal with this avalanche of mail. I sincerely hope this is the peak."

"Rhonda I'm sorry but it's only proper that you should stay and help out. But as soon as the mail is cleared you take a taxi home and go to bed. I fear there will be enough alcohol in your system to have you declared a drunk driver. I'll ask Janus if we can leave your car in his vehicle dock overnight and you go home by taxi."

"Thank you Jenni. I'll do that. I made the mistake of drinking shooters when we got back on to the yacht."

"Oh Rhonda, you finished up on a yacht. What if they sailed away with you?"

"They wouldn't do that - the owner is a solicitor, the guy I was with is an engineer and Mary-Anne's guy is a journalist."

"Do you think random male lovers being a solicitor or engineer automatically makes you safe?"

"Not necessarily Jenni but there was a journalist with them."

Jenni shook her head, saying, "Oh, Rhonda."

She left the suffering young women opening envelopes and taking a huge pile into her own office to open.

Jenni opened the first one and was surprised to find it was written by a man, a John Charles Stokes. She read this letter with interest. The writer, who said he was aged seventy-two, praised Jenni for the article about Lady Barcote but especially thanked her for her sincerity when interviewed on TV. 'I thought you would automatically duck that stiff question that Charmaine put to you, but you never so much as blinked. You answered it without hesitation and I admire you for that'.

In the second letter a Mrs Hope wrote similar sentiments and after two more letters of general wording another man said it was encouraging to find that some people working under the spotlight still had the courage to be steadfast when coming under fire.

Jenni opened another letter and that writer also said it was amazing she hadn't buckled when Charmaine went for her throat.

She walked into Rhonda's office.

"Rhonda when our first issue was published and after I appeared on TV, how many letters did we get relating to those events?"

"Around two-fifty."

"But you only left four or five for me to read."

"Yes five. They were representative of what everyone wrote about - complimenting us for a fine new magazine and thanking you for potting Lord Barcote to the public. Two of them commented on you appearing on TV - one agreeing with what you had said and the other saying you had no right to appear on TV and say such things about a Lord. Those letters summarised all the others - I felt sure I told you that."

"I am sure you did, Rhonda. I apologise for not taking it all in. These have been such euphoric recent times for me and indeed for you all."

"But I've only had time to read a few from this new lot of letters and they really don't seem to be saying much about the magazine - they say that Lady Barcote was wonderful in the things she said and then quite a few of them go on about Charmaine asking me about my own attitude to marriage. It's funny that they should dwell on that."

Nico was standing just behind Jenni.

"I can answer that Jenni."

She turned, "Hello our office boy has arrived. Good morning Nico."

"Good morning and I'm serious about what I just said. Let me tell you what my Katarina said.

"We were watching with most of the family. She said, 'My word, that Jenni Giles is a fine woman. Most people would have ducked that question, especially when Charmaine opened the door to allow that to happen. But no, your Jenni just tells it as it is. She's a brave and good woman.' That's what Katarina said."

"Everyone agreed, but do you know what? My daughter Gina's mother was there. She said you know what? 'I want Gina to be influenced greatly by Jenni Giles. Our country needs strong and true people like that.' I do not speak falsely. That was what my daughter said."

"Thank you Nico. It is gratifying that you and your family think like that. I must try to meet your oldest daughter some time. Sorry, I must go."

She'd seen Timothy waiting to talk to her.

"We've opened quite a pile of these letters," he said. "We thought you might like to know what we are finding. People praise the magazine while some don't mention it at all. In general they dwell on your comments to Charmaine about why you never have married. One woman writes that your answer made her cry and cry."

"Some say they were astonished to hear you tell her that it was a fair question when she was trying to 'disembowel you' as one of them colourfully phrased it."

"Writers apparently thought you would wriggle your way out of her attack, but instead they heard you explain your stand in what they seem to think was in an unequivocal manner. They appear it be motivated to write to congratulate you for being truthful, even though you chose to admit you had commercial reasons for publishing the original article and gave reasons for doing so."

"Finally, many of them think England needs more people in the media and in public life with your principles and courage. I can say I agree with all of that."

"Thank you Timothy, and thank the other guys as well."

"Nico!" she called.

Nico who'd been helping Rhonda open mail hurried to her.

"Please call Kitchen at Leo's and order fifteen sandwiches for 10:30, ten bacon and five cheese and onion. Then ask if they can send up a small urn of good strong coffee as well but if they can't we'll make our own instant coffee. I'll have a cheque ready for the delivery person."

"I will phone Kitchen right away boss."

At 10:30 Gina and a kitchen hand arrived with the sandwiches and coffee in two big insulated flasks. Jenni handed her a signed cheque and asked Gina to fill in the amount, but the cheque was handed back.

"I wish to pay this amount for this morning tea today if you will allow because I'm so happy knowing I'm coming to work here."

"That's lovely of you Gina. Please stay and have morning tea if you can."

Gina sent Peter the kitchen-hand away in the van and phoned the restaurant to tell her father she'd been invited to stay for morning tea.

"He's happy, very happy for me to do that. He told me that if I don't want to be a restaurateur then he wants me to become a journalist. He also said to tell you Jenni that for the rest of this month, whenever you eat at his restaurant, there will be no charge for your meal and he hopes you eat there many times."

"Ahhh," chorused everyone heading to the lunchroom, lured by the smell of cooked bacon and strong coffee.

The afternoon mail was smaller, and many fewer letters were received the next day and by the next the mail was almost back to normal. Altogether 2070 letters were received about the Lady Barcode interview and Jenni's second appearance on TV.

Two complimentary letters of the J.W. interview with Jenni were published in that newspaper. One correspondent compliment J.W. for 'a workmanlike interview and piece of good writing' but berated Jenni for being unladylike in not dressing up properly for the press photographer. That letter remained pinned on the staff notice board until Jenni's operation shifted to South London.

* * *

Later that afternoon Timothy did what he liked doing best - getting his hands on well-written copy of a strong story. The first story filed came from the weakest writer - Rae Inwood, who was consistently the fastest producer which made up for that basic deficiency when the pressure was on. Her fact-gathering was good so it was always possible to enhance her submissions.

Pulling up on to his computer screen that first story lodged in the March Issue: MP Wives folder in the subeditor's section on the office server, he read it quickly then lightly subbed it. He saved that completed file back to the server. In turn, at 8:00 that evening every new or amended file on the server would be automatically copied on-line to an agency's remote-located server and held as a secure off-site back-up in case anything should happen such as fire, theft, water damage or whatever to the computer system at JJ Publications Ltd.

Four days later all but one of the assigned interviews had filed, a day ahead of schedule.

Sybil Chatsworth, wife of the Minister of Energy, had postponed the interview arranged with her but would be back at her home in East Anglia and tomorrow and available for a 9 a.m. to be interviewed.

Grabbing his laptop Timothy went down below to Nico's former office to begin assembling the feature story and arranging the fall of submissions and detailing which graphics went with each article...

The space had been ear-marked for a reader who had not yet been appointed, and now would not be recruited. Instead their articles had been emailed to a freelance reader working from her home and later Jenni, Rhonda and subeditors would share the reading and signed off page imaged proofs.

Being fussy and preferring to have pages read as the readers would read them, Jenni insisted on using these she proofs called 'stats' instead of electronic copies that could be proofed onscreen.

All the articles for the lead story had already been lightly subbed by Timothy he combed through them for any missed spelling mistakes and literals, awkward phrasing or faulty sentence construction, highlighted suspected errors of fact that would remain highlighted until the request for verification/correction had been satisfied.

Now he wriggled his fingers over his keyboard, with words streaming through his mind of key phrases he'd memorised from his latest quick read of all submissions. In less than a minute something clicked and although he actually was not visualising what he was about to write in detail, his thoughts had been refined. Using that memory cache in his brain, he began typing.

If the thought process faltered, he'd look out of the window, really not seeing anything, until another thought stream was produced and he was off typing again. In very quick time the first three paragraphs of introduction - the so-called 'lead' to the article - had been written, with one literal corrected and one sentence being re-written.

When he completed that work the draft would be posted via the network to the computer of designer Mae Cheung.

He'd used the software's ability to split his screen into two sections, allowing him to drag the copy of Brenda's article on Carole Urquhart, an MP's wife living in the north across with the mouse to position the article immediately under the introduction he'd written.

Although it was 'sweet Brenda's' article, this was not favouritism. In his opinion it was simply the best article to go into the position - solid in substance and fairly emotional with some excellent quotes. But what appealed to him was the simplicity in which Carol Urquhart expressed herself, for example:

'Being married to a home-today-away-tomorrow MP is entirely acceptable - at least it is to me. But you have to be prepared to tough it out. We went into this venture for Robin to carve out a political career with our eyes open. We were pragmatic, very pragmatic as I recall.'

'Do I have any regrets? Yes, one small one: I've lost a big chunk of living a married life without Robin at my side. I say it was a small regret because to tell the truth both Robin and I have independent streaks and enjoy being alone at times, though we both would prefer having the choice of when that should happen. I like to ride my horse - and do so, now more than ever. Robin's great passion is to fly his glider. Regrettably, the time for doing that is now limited, but at least occasionally he gets up there to soar while whistling loudly in ecstasy.'

'You haven't said so but I suspect this interview has something to do with the Barcote scandal. I guess having an affair is a bit like the prelude to marriage: expect a proposal and you probably will get one. I haven't anticipated ever having an extramarital affair. I can't really speak for Robin on this matter simply because we haven't discussed it, although I would be surprised if he wandered because I am but a short plane flight away if he needs me.'

Blimey, thought, Timothy, re-reading that piece that was essentially what Brenda had written but with some surplus wording removed. Two sentences had been cut into two, both actions designed to make the narrative read slightly more dynamically. That last comment will be a bit of a tear-jerker for some readers, he smiled. They'll love that woman who came across sounding like a nice chick or rather matron judging by her photograph. Ah, yes, her age was in Brenda's caption. That should go instead into the main body of text in brackets after her name.

He worked steadily, forgoing lunch.

Brenda arrived.

"How's it going Timmy?"

"Well, very well actually but sorry I can't lunch with you. I want to work through to the finish while I've got this thing beating within me."

"What do you think of my interviews?"

"Adequate to say the least. If I said any more you'd be all over me."

"It's quiet down here, isn't it? Pity there are no blinds otherwise we could ..."

"You go to lunch, Brenda. I need to press on, really I do."

"Okay I know when I'm not wanted," she pouted, leaving with a smile. Her Timmy was no sloth, not when he had something to get his teeth into.

"Grrrrrr," she growled.

"Are you all right, Brenda?" asked Rae coming down the stairs.

"I'm fine and I am expecting a good evening."

"What, is it expected to be fine?"

"Yes really fine, Rae," said Brenda.

Timothy had accepted an invitation to have dinner at her flat. Her flatmate was away at a university short course. She would ask Timothy to stay the night; it was time to lift their relationship a further notch.

"If you don't act, things usually don't happen."

"What was that Brenda?" asked Jenni, on the landing at the top of the stairs.

"I was saying to myself, if you don't act, things usually don't happen."

"Quite right Brenda; I should have that as my motto."

Brenda thought that already served as Jenni's motto whether or not she knew it.

Feeling a little embarrassed at going to Leo's for a free lunch, Jenni was waiting for her tuna salad and coffee to arrive when a tall thin man dressed in dark trousers, a white shirt and elegant tie approached her table.

"Good afternoon Leonardo," she greeted.

"You know me?" he asked in surprise.

"It was a matter of deduction," Jenni smiled. "Although I haven't seen you before, you came out of the restaurant, you came over to this table and I see something of Gina in your facial features. It wasn't all that difficult."

"True and it also confirms what Nico says about you."

"You call him Nico, which is to be expected. But Gina, his granddaughter, she calls him Nico. I was under the impression that older people living in a European family way were rather strict about being properly addressed."

"Ah yes, I worked for many years in Europe and lived very much the Italian way in Australia where I was born. Ways have changed in Europe, but perhaps many older people have not changed. But Nico, do you really think he's an old man - at least in attitude?"

"No I really don't, quite honestly."

"In that case you'll be able to imagine that same man, then in mid-age, saying to his little granddaughter aged, hmmm, perhaps coming up to her fourth birthday, if she called him grandpa ever again he would not talk to her - that she should call him Nico like everyone else. This pretty little child with dark eyes as large as saucers looked very afraid because she adored her grandpa. "You are Nico, Nico, Nico," she said, clapping her hands and dancing around him. He stood there a proud and very happy man."

"Oh that was a lovely story Leonardo. Please sit with me."

"Well only for a minute. We are becoming busier as peak lunchtime approaches."

But he stayed chatting, calling Gina over and ordered a bottle of wine.

"I am glad you two have met at last," Gina said happily. "You'll enjoy the company of each other. Then Jenni must meet my mother, and my paternal nanna who lives with us, and then there are the aunties and uncles, and cousins ..."

"Steady on, Gina. She and I are simply new friends. She is not about to propose to me."

"Oh you men," Gina snapped. "Your egos are so large which is the reason why your brains of so small."

"Gina my pet; you should not insult your beloved father like that, embarrassing me in front of our guest."

"I'm sorry papa."

Then, eyes flashing, she said to Jenni, "See how easy it is to manipulate Italian men?"

"Yes if you wish to rile them!"

"Oh that; he and I just like to spar. We do it all the time and that makes my mother cross. Don't you think Jenni would have made a marvellous mother?"

"That's not nice my pet. You don't mention children in that way to a woman who is not married."

"It's fine Leonardo. I am perfectly relaxed about my situation and I assure you it is a situation of my choice. Anyway in early spring I'll become a godmother."