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It's not that simple. She's not only stubborn as hell, she's one of the best political brains we've got.'
'Preston, you already have the best political brains in the business. Mine! All I am asking you to do is to control your staff. Are you telling me you can't do even that?' Landless asked in a tone full of menace. 'There are scarcely two weeks before the leadership race is over,' he continued. There are great things at stake, the whole future of the country, my business - your job. Do whatever you have to do to keep her quiet. Just don't screw up!'
The proprietor's words were still ringing in Preston's ears as he continued to shuffle the pieces of paper, no longer reading them, concentrating instead on what he was about to say. Normally he enjoyed his power as editorial executioner, but he knew she would never fit the typecast role of whimpering victim. He was unsure how he should handle her.
Finally he put Mattie's story down, and pushed himself back into his chair. He felt more comfortable with the support of the chair behind his back.
'We can't run it. It's too risky, and I'm not willing to blow the leadership contest apart on the basis of speculation.'
It was what she had expected all along. She replied in a whisper, but her soft words hit Preston like a boxing glove.
'I will not take no for an answer'
Dammit. Why didn't she just accept it, shrug it off or just burst into tears like the others? The quiet insolence behind her words and his inability to handle it made him feel nervous. He started to sweat; he knew that she had noticed this sign of tension, and he began to stumble over his carefully prepared words.
'I... cannot run the story. I am the editor, and that's my decision.' He wasn't even convincing himself. You have to accept it, or.. '
'Or what,Grev?'
'... or realise that you have no future on our political staff.'
'You're firing me?' This did surprise her. How could he afford to let her go, particularly in the middle of the leadership contest?
'No. I'm moving you to women's features, starting right now. Frankly, I don't think you have developed the judgement for our political columns.'
'Who has nobbled you, Grev?'
'What the hell do you mean... ?'
You normally have trouble making up your mind whether you want tea or coffee. Deciding to fire me from this story is somebody else's decision, isn't it?'
I'm not firing you! You're being transferred...'
He was losing control now, eyes bulging in anger and with a complexion which looked as if he had been holding his bream for three minutes.
Then, dear editor, I have some disappointing news for you. I quit!'
God, he hadn't expected this. He was scrambling now to regain his authority and the initiative. He had to keep her at the Telegraph, it was the only way to control her. But what the hell was he to do? He forced a smile, and spread his hands wide in an attempt to imitate a gesture of generosity.
'Look, Mattie. Let's not be hasty. Let's be mature about this - friends! I want you to get wider experience on the paper, you've got talent, even if I think you haven't quite fitted in on the political side. We want to keep you here, so think over the weekend what other part of the paper you might like to work on.' He saw her steely, determined eyes and knew it wasn't working. 'But if you really feel you must go, don't rush into anything. Sort out what you want to do, let me know, we'll try to assist you and give you six months' salary to help you on your way. I don't want any hard feelings. Think about it.'
I've thought about it. And if you are not printing my story, I'm resigning. Here and now.'
She had never seen him so apoplectic. His words came spitting out. In which case I must remind you that your contract of employment stipulates that you must give me three months' notice of departure, and that until that time has elapsed we retain exclusive rights over all your journalistic work If you insist, we shall rigidly enforce that provision, in the courts if necessary which would ruin your career once and for all. Face it, your copy isn't going to get printed here or anywhere else. Wise up, Mattie, accept the offer. It's the best one you are going to get!'
She knew now what her grandfather must have felt as he set out from his fishing village on the Norwegian fjord, knowing that once he had started he could never turn back even though ahead of him lay enemy patrol boats, mine fields, and nearly a thousand miles of hostile, stormy seas. She would need some of his courage, and his good fortune.
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