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Mattie was incredulous. You can't seriously believe that the Prime Minister took the incredible risk of ordering the party headquarters' computer file to be altered just to falsify the evidence - after he had already announced his resignation.'
'Mattie, think back. Watergate. Files were burnt and tapes erased - by the President. During Irangate, incriminating material was shredded and smuggled out of the White House by a secretary in her underwear. Scores of presidential aides and US Cabinet ministers have gone to prison in recent years. And in this country, Jeremy Thorpe was put on trial for attempted murder, John Stonehouse went to gaol after faking his own suicide and Lloyd George sold peerages from Downing Street while he screwed his secretary on the Cabinet table. Things much stranger than fiction have happened in politics.' Preston was warming to his theme now. 'Power is a drug, like a candle to a moth. They are drawn towards it, no matter what the dangers, They would rather risk everything, including their lives and careers, than do without it. So it's still easier to believe that the Collingridges got caught with their hands in the till and are trying to cover up than to accept there was a great conspiracy against the Prime Minister.'
'So you won't run it!' she accused sharply.
'No, I'm not saying that' Preston continued, smiling in a manner which betrayed not a shred of sympathy. I'm saying you haven't yet got enough for the story to stand up. We have to be careful not to make ourselves look ridiculous. You need to do some more work on it.'
He meant it as a dismissal, but Mattie had been at the receiving end of too many of his dismissals. She had spent every waking hour since running out on Johnnie working on this story, chasing the details and trying to drown her private pain, knowing that only by uncovering the truth would she find any release from the emotions which were twisted in a state of perpetual warfare deep inside her. She would not leave it there. She felt like screaming at him, but she was determined not to lose her self-control. She took a deep breath, lowered her eyes for a moment to help herself relax, and was almost smiling when she looked at him once again.
'Grev. Just explain it to me so I can understand. Either somebody set the Collingridges up, or the Prime Minister of this country has established his guilt by falsifying evidence. One way or the other, we have enough to lead the paper for a week.'
'Er, yes. But which is it? We have to be sure. Particularly in the middle of a leadership contest we cannot afford to make a mistake on something so important.'
'Doesn't Collingridge deserve the chance to establish his innocence? Are you telling me that the story has to be left until after the contest has finished—until after the damage has been done?'
Preston had run out of logic. Once again he was discovering that this inexperienced woman, one of his most junior members of staff, was slipping every argument he could throw at her. As she suspected he would, he sought refuge in bluster and bullying.
'Look!' he snapped, pointing an accusatory finger in her direction. You burst into my office with a story so fantastic, demanding that I scrap the front page for it... But you haven't written any copy yet! How the devil can I tell whether you've got a good story or simply had a good lunch?'
Her blue eyes glinted like polar ice, her mind tumbling with the many slights she wanted to throw back at him. Instead, a frosty calm settled over her.
'You will have your copy in thirty minutes,' she said as she walked out, barely able to resist the temptation to slam the door off its hinges.
It was actually nearer forty minutes when she walked back in, without knocking, six pages of double-spaced copy clutched in her hand. Without comment she dropped them on the desk, standing directly in front of Preston to make it clear that she would not budge until she had her answer.
He left her standing while slowly he read through the pages, trying to look as if he were struggling with an important decision. But it was a sham. The decision had already been made just a few minutes after Mattie had left his office and seconds after he had managed to reach the newspaper's owner on the phone.
'She's determined, Mr Landless. She knows she's got the makings of a good story and she won't take no for an answer. What the hell do I do?'
'Persuade her she's wrong. Put her on the cookery page. Send her on holiday. Promote her to editor, for all I care. But keep her quiet!'
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