My Magazine Ch. 07

On that same day Jenni and Rhonda organised a party for all staff plus Nico and Janus and wives, Snowy and his wife Gracie, lawyer Sue Boyd and her husband and a big team from Zephyr Media who'd been associated with the publishing process were also invited as were real estate salesperson Tess Jordan who arrived with fellow property sales specialist Peter Upton instead of her husband.

The party began at 4:00 to allow everyone to be nicely primed by 6:00 when it was hoped scavenging reporters had produced a story to feature early in the news bulletin – perhaps even be the first item.

But they didn't have to wait till 6:00.

At 4:30 at the end of an ad break the promo for the evening news bulletin came on to the hired big screen hanging on the wall at the far end of the offices of Jenni and her team.

"God, look at it – there's the magazine!" Rhonda shrieked, looking striking in a yellow and blue dress and her bone blonde hair in a French roll.

The cover was entirely in black gloss, the masthead in gold and there was no other artwork or any photograph. The big bold type simply stated: Secret Life of a former Leader of the House of Lords and Lord Privy Seal Shocks Wife and Daughters.

"Catch tonight's bulletin for details," was the tantalising comment of the continuity announcer.

People crowded around Jenni to congratulate her: mission achieved. Yet she expressed disappointment.

"Really I'd rather had a launch story more in keeping with the concept of My Magazine – but this is how it's had to be."

Brenda had responded to a knock on the door.

"It's a TV crew – they would like to know after they set up if there will be any spare food and drink available? They are here to do a live interview of you at 6:00, Jenni. Snowy knows all about it."

"Oh dear, I'd better stop drinking," she said, and called to Brenda: "Yes invite everyone in.

"Rhonda help me redo my make-up. I fear my hands are shaking a little."

"Don't worry Jenni, I see they're got Colette with them, I asked for her," Snowy said. "She's the best."

"You asked for her Snowy? Then you told them where to find us?"

"Yes Jenni. You wouldn't want to miss the opportunity of telling viewers about your choice magazine would you?"

Jenni sighed – really she should have thought about that. That reminded her of something else.

"Rhonda – you can hand out copies of the first issue now – staff members first, please, as most of them have no idea what this fuss is all about."

Everyone flicked past the first eight pages of prestigious double-spread advertisements for products from international fashion and cosmetic houses. They flipped over the contents pages and there was the exposure article recording the visits of Lord Barcote, head of the Ministry of Homeland Security, to see his two illegitimate children.

The article stated that one boy – aged seven – was conceived by the Lord Barcote's former private secretary Mary Austin-Cooper, and the other – aged nineteen months – was conceived by Lindsey Morag Nairn. Both children lived with couples who'd adopted them, the names of whom were revealed in the investigation but were not being published in the interest of the welfare of the youngsters.

The writer, Paul Lobb explained how he sat in a car for up to four hours a night over two months outside the first house to record the arrival and after approximately one hour departure of Lord Barcote.

Lord Barcote arrived by taxi and made no attempt to conceal his identity. Three visits were recorded, all arrivals occurring at around 11:30, which made the vigils outside the second home a little less onerous. At similar times three visits over four weeks by Lord Barcote to that address were recorded.

Then followed the most astonishing statement.

Paul Lobb claimed that at the conclusion of the Lord Barcote's third visit to that second home to see his youngest son, he'd approached his Lordship outside that house and told him that he was a photo-journalist who had recorded these visits by Lord Barcote and knew the reasons for them.

According to the article, Lord Barcote asked the journalist to accompany him to talk to the foster parents. Paul Lobb agreed, and Lord Barcote dismissed the taxi and returned to the house with the journalist.

Initially the couple were most upset at being told that I was a journalist. But Lord Barcote calmed them down saying it would be all right. He told them that he wanted me to see that they were just a typical couple in their late thirties getting on with their life, unable to have children of their own, but now were the proud parents of their adopted son.

Paul Lobb wrote that it was a strange situation. The woman looked at Lord Barcote in obvious distress, and asked whether this discovery by the media meant their son would be taken away from them.

He replied certainly not, and indicated that he was prepared to take action to ensure they were not exposed to the media over this disclosure of his indiscretions.

'I'm hoping to do a deal with this young man,' announced Lord Barcote. 'I just wanted him to see you folk and to take a peep at your son, with your consent.'

Paul wrote that he saw the youngster in the bedroom that had been converted into a nursery –He looked to be a fine, good looking tot with pink cheeks and curly blond hair.

Lord Barcote was described as been calm and not at all upset about being found out.

"I knew my subterfuge must surely fail me one day and that day has arrived. But I'd expected to be the target of Whistle Blower related to the mothers rather than a snoopy and incredibly patient journalist. I now must act to try to limit the fallout.'

As the couple listening anxiously, Lord Barcote proposed relocating them and the other family who had adopted his older son to avoid them being found by super-sleuth journalists bribing people such as taxi drivers or responding to tip-offs. Both couples were in rented premises that perhaps made relocation a little easier.

Paul stated: In return for me agreeing to hold publication of his article until both families were transferred to safe locations of their choice, Lord Barcote said he would correct any incorrect facts or faulty assumptions in my article and then sign a properly executed affidavit as to the veracity of the article.

After some discussion I finally agreed to that proposal, as it seemed to serve the best interests of those two families. I actually drove Lord Barcote to his home.

Lord Barcote returned to London next day to discuss the situation with the Prime Minister and rejected a request that he resign his post but as yet there has been no publicity about that.

Later that week I met him at the offices of an eminent law firm where the senior partner, a Queen's Counsel, witnessed the signing of Lord Barcote's statement. His lordship swore that the appended document – which was my draft article about his secret life – was a true and fair account of his visitations to his two sons, the mothers of whom were unmarried women at the time as described in the appended document.

After the signing, I asked Lord Barcote if he had any further comment to be published with the article. He made a brief statement in the presence of his lawyer.

'Being a married man I have sinned, and always assumed that one day my indiscretions – or, if you wish, my wicked behaviour – would be exposed. I have confessed, to avoid two innocent families, both mothers now being married from being openly caught up in this scandal and it is to my regret that I cannot shield my own family from the fallout. They also are the victims of my indiscretions.'

'Historically I am at the bottom end of the scale of scandalous behaviour affecting people in High Places many of whom survived virtually unscathed and continued in their high positions. I await the outcome of final judgement on my situation. I shall not be offering to resign and shall not henceforth be discussing this matter with representatives of the news media.'

Three copies of Lord Barcote's affidavit were signed – he holds one, his lawyer hold one and I hold one. Mine one is now in safe custody along with all other material generated in the compilation and writing of this article.

I agreed to publication of this article in the belief that the morals of parliamentarians who pass laws to govern our behaviour and others in High Places must expect to have their own moral behaviour and beliefs put under public scrutiny if any significant misdemeanours should arise. In my opinion Lord Barcote's behaviour appears to have crossed the line of what normally is considered to be accepted behaviour, but whether is it reprehensible behaviour is a moot point, on which I offer no comment. Paul Lobb. JJ Publications Ltd©. All rights reserved.

A buzz rose in decibels as people attending the launch party finished reading the article and began to speculate. But opinion was divided.

"That's the end of Lord Barcote of Buckinghamshire but his title is heredity I believe."

"He ought to be horse-whipped."

"I wonder if he will resign now."

"I'd loved to have been there when he was confessing to his wife."

"He's politically astute and a hardened campaigner; he will survive."

Those were some of the opinions Jenni heard, and she smiled. She felt a little sad for Lord Barcote, knowing it was her publication that was swinging the axe, but she felt a lot more sympathy for his wife and daughters: they had been shamed.

Jenni watched as a smiling woman – her more voluptuous parts bulging to escape a vividly coloured dress two sizes too small for her - approach and virtually wobbled to a stop.

"A great party is building up here," Miss Giles. "You'll now be known by women as a ball-busting editor after this story. Hi, I'm Colette Illes – I just want to take a quick look at you. My no wonder you're still pretty with a facial bone structure like that. That hair – it's got to have more bounce. Can you come with me now? Rhonda's got me set up in your office."

If Rhonda hadn't told Jenni who Colette was she'd thought she was being assessed for embalming! Jenni giggled – this behaviour was quite consistent for her whenever she tipped down a couple of quick drinks on an empty stomach.

As she followed Colette she realised yet again who a girl's best friend was – a big, bouncy bust. Guys they were passing through ogled in unbelievably impolite fashion. Jenni giggled as she thought of doing the most unlikely thing of thrusting her own chest out and upwards, perhaps using her hands to be a bit of extra uplift – but she was outclassed by Colette upfront. Upfront! Jenni giggled at her unintentional pun.

Inside the shoulder-high partitioning that attempted to privatise her office space was Rhonda, and that was not unexpected, but sitting on the chairs against the wall with filled glasses and a full bottle of white wine at their feet were Viv and Brenda. They announced that they were there to pick up some tips. Colette obliged and provided a non-stop commentary.

A woman came rushing in with a clipboard.

"Hi Jenni I'm Maggie and will be producing this direct link-up. It's 5:40 and we have to be ready to go right on 6:00. If the PM hasn't announced the sacking of Lord Barcote we'll be first item. Could you come outside in a couple of minutes; we're setting up to interview you with the building in the background showing that lovely revolving sign on the roof. Mace Matthews will be going the interview, and wants to have a dry run to try to avoid any hiccups when we go live."

"I'm sorry but no warm-up," Jenni countered Jenni. "Rehearsals take the spontaneity out of what people say on TV. Matthews is known for his aggression and so I want to meet him head on and deal with him. If he thinks he's going to drop in a ball breaker 'Are you sorry you ran this despicable story that could ruin Lord Barcote's life?' then I need to be expecting the unexpected as soon as he opens his mouth to start the interrogation."

Maggie looked shocked.

"We call it an interview Jenni – interrogations occur in Police stations. We also require the dry run. I'm afraid there's no option."

"Oh yes there is," said Jenni, determined not to giggle. "Rhoda, be a darling and phone o of the other channels and ask if they are interested in sending a news film unit over here at the gallop."

Maggie's shoulders squared, her top lip lifted slightly and her eyes narrowed.

Jenni winked at her.

Maggie's shoulders dropped.

"Cancel that call, Rhonda," cried Maggie in defeat. "You're a tough cookie Jenni."

"The PM hasn't made any announcement," was the call with thirty seconds to go.

A thirty-year-old bachelor – and loving that status with so many females being fans – Mace Matthews stood with a microphone in one hand and patted his curls affectionately with the other. He ignored Jenni who'd pissed him off. Mace – his parents were puzzled as when he left for that job with TV his first name was Aaron – cleared his throat. He was very annoyed – Maggie had told him the warm-up had been cancelled and she warned him to watch the stupid bitch as she sounded dangerous.

After the fanfare, the TV monitor showed the serious-faced news presenter Adelaide Mercer who announced a just breaking news item.

The face of the smiling Prime Minister appeared, and the voice-over from Adelaide announced: "As we speak the Prime Minister with his advisers may well be considering the sacking of Lord Barcote as head of the recently established Ministry of Homeland Security with the sensational disclosure of his secrete private life in a new magazine due to go on sale tomorrow morning."

The cover of My Magazine came on screen and then was followed by quick scans of the five page article as Adelaide gave a brief description of Lord Barcote's 'wrongdoings' which she said were not allegations as the magazine was holding an affidavit signed by Lord Barcote in the presence of Alexander Stitch berry, QC.

"We now cross to the publishing headquarters of My Magazine where our award-winning journalist Mace Matthews talks to Jenni Giles, one of the UK's leading female journalists and editor/publisher of My Magazine."

Jenni could hear the cheers and stamping of feet on the upper floor of the building behind her as her staff and guests reacted to that introduction watching their TV screen.

Stung that this uppity editor had spurred the offer of a warm-up of the prepared questions, Mace decided not to stick to the script. He figured he'd turn up the heat and get her to make admissions that would leave her in tears if not tatters.

"Miss Giles, do you not concede that this is a very sad day for British journalism when a magazine that none of the public knows about should publish a spurious article designed to bring a senior head of a Government ministry to his knees?"

"You may have your sad days Mr Matthews, but I am very happy to own a new magazine with a very talented group of people working on it, to focus on issues of real interest to real women."

"That astounds me Miss Giles. How can an article aimed at bringing the Lord Barcote to his knees be of any benefit to women? I must be missing something here?"

"You are missing something Mr Matthews. Your focus of having Lord Barcote on his knees, as you so quaintly put it ignores the intent of our article, which is to reveal this secret life of a senior head of a Ministry that establishes a behaviour pattern that will astound many people. His family may regard our revelations as a betrayal, though they may well find it in themselves to forgive him."

"Why didn't you simply give the story to Lady Barcote, forgoing your right to publish it?"

"Would you be having this interview if I had done that Mr Matthews?"

"Miss Giles, do you regret publishing this story that could ruin Lord Barcote's career and deprive the country of one of its finest political representatives of the past fifty years?"

"I'm proud that My Magazine reveals this secret life of Lord Barcote and seek no personal credit. We have commenced to establish the calibre of our magazine, and expect an overwhelming response from this. You won't find us offering a single recipe, or crossword puzzle or pages of cute things grandchildren have said."

"Do you think Lady Bolt and her daughters should forgive Lord Barcote?"

"Yes."

"Thank you Miss Giles, editor of New Zealand's new magazine for women called My Magazine which will be on sale from news agencies from tomorrow. We now return to the studio."

"Not bad, not bad at all Miss Giles. I thought you would buckle. I have to respect you for that."

"Thank you for your honesty Mr Matthews ..."

"Please call me Mace.

"Well Mace, a nice man like you ought not to think that all women are bunnies. I'd like to think you won't take this as criticism, but you should realise that the confrontation style of interviewing only squeezes defensive comment out of people – establish rapport in the warm-up and then verbally massage them in the interview and more likely than not they will spill their brains to you."

"We get some of the best trainers in the business teaching us techniques Jenni and most of them say the same thing. But I know that the confrontational style suits me and I get results – look at my awards!"

"Mace, I bet your mother never gave you that name, your ego is interfering with your ability to hear and see yourself critically. Why don't you do a test interview – the first in your normal style and then using the same base questions do the second in a relaxed, non-confrontational style and bring the tape over here one morning and we'll watch it over a cup of tea. I then try to get you to look at it critically and with sensitivity."

"What? You're trying to take me back to the basics! To hell with that. I'm a seasoned award-winning reporter. Electronic visual journalism is a lot different to print journalism you know."

"You asked during the interview, 'Am I missing something?' Is the answer, humanity?"

"Oh piss off Jenni. You're beginning to bug me."

Maggie came hurrying over to them.

"Simon is angry about that plug you gave for the magazine in your wrap-up Mace. I thought I'd better warn you."

"Tell your Simon that his top reporter was just revealing he has a heart, ensuring when women who was listening to him know the name of the magazine when they rush out looking for it tomorrow," Jenni said softly.

"You wish," Maggie snorted.

Rhonda came rushing down the stairs and over to Jenni with a huge grin.

"TV's sending a car for you – it's less than two minutes away. They want you on Behind the Headlines at 7:30. You're famous."

"Oh I can't do it. I need a shower, fresh clothes."

"Your Irish green dress came back from the cleaners this morning. I'll get it and you can shower at the studio," said Rhonda, exuding excitement.

Mace called to Jenni.

"Watch Charmaine ... she signals that she's got a real nasty question when she checks her notes. She doesn't need notes for anything else."

"Thanks for the tip, Mace. Nice interview."

Rhonda came running with the dress just as the black car used to ferry television VIPs arrived.

"We'll all be watching you on TV Jenni," called Brenda, leaning out of the upstairs window.

"Yeah, good luck," Tim shouted, waving his beer bottle in his right hand. Jenni noticed his left arm was around Brenda, and smiled.

She always enjoyed watching an office romance – at least watching it till it peaked.

* * *

Lord Barcote Bolt sat at home on his favourite leather chair with his black Labrador Sam asleep at his feet. On the sofa sat his tearful wife Alice, with their elder and married daughter Hayley on one side of her and other daughter Marissa, a university student, on the other side, forming a tight and still hostile group.