Because he had no other defence against the question, Briony thought angrily.
‘It was a very clever piece of reporting,’ Doug observed, joining the conversation, his words jarring a nerve Briony had thought long dead.
‘Clever?’ she burst out before she could stop herself, her eyes burning with resentment, a loathing in her voice she did nothing to hide. ‘Is that what you all think? That it’s “clever” to destroy someone’s life, just to get a front-page story? Well, I don’t. I think it’s despicable. Hateful!’ She broke off, realising that the others were exchanging puzzled and amused glances.
‘Come on, love, aren’t you taking it a bit personally?’ one of the other men commented. Briony knew Kieron was waiting for her to speak, but she couldn’t. How could these cynical, worldly people understand the effect of their sophisticated moral code on others less worldly? And Kieron’s attempts to pretend that he hadn’t known.… That he had actually cared.… God, how she hated him!
‘Something wrong, Briony?’ Kieron asked her smoothly, giving her name faint emphasis. ‘You don’t seem to be enjoying your lunch.’
‘The lunch is fine,’ she retorted bleakly, ‘but if you’ll all excuse me, I’ve got work to do.’ She glanced at Matt, not wanting to embarrass him in front of the others by offering to pay for her own lunch, and then shrugged the concern away. She could settle up with him later.
She had just walked past the table when she heard Gail say triumphantly, ‘Beth Walker—that was the girl’s name!’
Briony froze, her eyes dilating with fear, her hands cold and clammy.
‘Beth Walker,’ Kieron repeated softly, and Briony knew without looking at him that he was watching her.
She walked back to the office on legs which almost refused to support her, each breath a conscious effort. Her instinctive response was to grab her coat and leave before Doug and Kieron got back. But she could not.
On impulse she reached for a phone book, dialling the number of a well-known employment agency. The girl on the other end was helpful but regretful. In normal circumstances, she told Briony, they wouldn’t have the slightest difficulty in placing her, but the way things were at the moment it might be months before they could find her a job which came anywhere near approaching her present highly paid one.
She slumped in her chair, not entirely surprised, wondering what on earth she was going to do. She felt as though her life had suddenly turned into a horrendous nightmare. Beth Walker. When she had discarded that name she had discarded the past, or so she tried to persuade herself, but it hadn’t been easy. There were too many intrusive memories, too much that could not simply be forgotten. She had changed her name by deed poll after the attentions of the Press became too much to bear. It was ironic really that she should end up working for a newspaper. It had been from necessity rather than inclination. She had needed a job that paid well, and employers who were prepared to take her on without digging too deeply into her past. Doug had taken her completely on trust, and for that alone she felt she owed him a debt which could never be entirely repaid. One had to experience the contempt and loss in faith of others before one could appreciate fully the value of trust.
She had once trusted Kieron Blake. And not just trusted him. Even now it made her feel sick to think how gullible she had once been.
The first time she had seen him had been at the flat she shared with Susan Myers. He had come, so he told her, to interview Susan for a gossip column article, and she had not been surprised, because although she and Susan lived together, their life styles were entirely different.
They had been brought up in the same small village. Susan was the spoiled and petted daughter of the local ‘lord of the manor’, Sir Arthur Myers, and his wife, and Briony had got to know her through her father who was their doctor. They had gone to school together, although never particularly intimate—Susan moved in a different, faster crowd, and it was only the death of Briony’s parents within six months of one another—her father from a heart attack and her mother from a broken heart—that brought them together.
Briony’s father was not a wealthy man. There were some investments and the house, which on her solicitor’s recommendation Briony had sold. She had been contemplating going on to university after school, but fearing to use up her slender financial resources had decided instead to invest in a good secretarial course. It was then that Susan Myers, chaffing under the parental yoke, suggested that they ‘flat’ together. Not that Susan was contemplating a secretarial career. Her ambitions were nowhere near as modest. Her long-suffering parents paid for her to undergo an expensive modelling course from which she emerged sleek and soignée; the occasional modelling job and her father’s allowance giving her a far different life style from Briony’s steady nine-to-five routine. In fact long before her secretarial course was over Briony was regretting her decision to share with Susan. All-night parties; casual sexual morals; these had no place in her life, but she was unable to afford the expense of the flat without Susan and had perforce to endure her presence.