‘What is it?’
‘You’ll find out tonight.’
‘What time are you coming home?’
‘I’ll get out of work early. Have you had fun with Daddy and Claudia?’
‘Yes. And with Josie too.’
Amy’s hand clutched the handle of her wheelie case tighter.
‘Josie?’ she said more slowly.
‘She came to the house last night. She told me some jokes and brought me chocolate.’
‘Did she?’ She could barely get the words out.
‘Should I take that, miss?’ asked the driver, trying to pick up her case.
‘Tilly, what was Josie doing at the house?’
‘I don’t know. Claudia went home. Josie was talking to Daddy.’
Amy’s head started to spin, and it wasn’t through jet lag or tiredness. She didn’t know how she got into the car, but she found herself sitting silently in the back seat, replaying Tilly’s words over and over again.
She thought about calling David, but stopped herself. There would only be more lies. At least when she saw him face to face she would be able to read him better. Only then would she get a sense of why Josie had come round.
‘Can you drop me off outside the coffee shop,’ she said when they got to the South Bank.
She ordered a black Americano and stood by the counter for a minute taking a few fortifying sips before she went into the Genesis offices. As she rode up in the lift, she stared at her own reflection in the mirrored walls, and for a moment she felt calm as if life was on pause for just one fleeting second.
Focus on the job, she told herself as the lift pinged open. She hadn’t been able to keep a watchful eye on her husband when she had been in New York, but at least she had managed to salvage her career.
As she stepped into the office, she could hear the low, industrious buzz of a team already deep into their week’s work. At least she had that to be thankful for: colleagues she trusted and who didn’t need the boss to be there to get the job done.
‘New issue,’ beamed Gemma, her art director, as she walked past the desk.
Amy took a moment to admire it. The way her luck had been going recently, she wouldn’t have been surprised if the cover had come out blank, but it hadn’t; it was glossy and beautiful, Miranda Pilley’s face staring back at her with her direct grey-eyed gaze, the primrose-yellow gown she had worn on the day of the shoot softened so that she looked as though she was draped in an ivory cloud: every inch the blushing bride-to-be.
‘This is stunning,’ Amy said. ‘It’s going to be our biggest seller of the year.’
‘Try the past five years. I went to Smith’s at Waterloo this morning and they’d already sold out.’
Amy felt a flutter of excitement, the shock of Josie having been round to her house the night before fleetingly forgotten. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt like this, giddy and energised. The past two years, spent firefighting one thing after another – poor sales, irate celebrities, budget cuts – had been enough to make her file for early retirement.
‘I’ll just take this through to my office,’ she said. ‘Chrissie, I would love a coffee.’
She went into her room and closed the door behind her, leaving her wheelie case in the corner. Sitting at the desk, she began to flick through the pages. It was a good issue. Such a good issue, she thought with a sense of relief. And so well timed, after Miranda had officially announcd her engagement on Instagram two weeks earlier. Douglas Proctor, Denton Scoles, Marv Schultz – no one could deny it didn’t tick all the boxes. The Love Issue had been a last-minute idea but it was as if they had planned it from the get-go. The fashion was breezy and romantic; a hard-news story about an initiative in the Sudan to distribute microloans was topical but heartfelt. But most of all, everyone would be intrigued by what Miranda had to say about bad boy fiancé Leif Tappen. That was the only downside – she hadn’t actually said anything, although Liz Stewart’s piece had referenced their cloak-and-dagger relationship.
Amy took a moment to wonder if her readers would feel short-changed, but then dismissed it. The pictures of Miranda on three double-page spreads were better than any indiscreet interview. It was inconceivable that a publicity-shy couple like Miranda and Leif would do a Hello!-style wedding shoot, but reading the October issue of Verve was like peeking behind a curtain, allowing people to imagine what the wedding would be like.
There was a knock at her door and Amy looked up, expecting to see Chrissie with a mug of coffee. Instead, it was Tracey, her deputy.
‘I know you’ve just got in,’ she said, ‘but do you have a minute?’
‘Of course,’ said Amy, gesturing to the sofa.
‘Have you been on Twitter this morning?’