‘Then cheer up,’ Old growled. ‘There’s another one inside, on page three, appropriately enough, with you looking over your shoulder, as if to make it crystal clear that there is somebody else in the room with you. There’s a lot more of you on show there, and they haven’t covered that up.’
‘Who wrote the story?’
‘Marguerite Hatton. She’s on their political staff. They flew her up from London overnight.’
‘That’s the bitch that gave Bob trouble earlier on at his press conference. She’ll rub his nose in it now.’
‘Or he will rub yours.’
‘I couldn’t care less about him. Why do you think I’m at Joey’s?’ As she spoke, she became aware of a figure in the doorway, holding a plate in each hand. ‘I’ve got some apologising to do to him.’
‘Well, do it on the way to the emergency exit. You have to get out of there, for a fucking army’s going to land on his doorstep as soon as the telly news breaks. Get your bodyguards to pull right up to his door, jump in their car and have them get you the hell out of there.’
‘To where, though?’ Joey had moved in behind her and was studying the image on the laptop. ‘It’ll be just as bad at my place.’
‘To Gullane?’ Old suggested. ‘Give yourself time to come up with a cover story? Maybe even do a happy families shot tomorrow.’
‘Not a fucking chance. I tell you, we’re history. Anyway, I’m going to be in Glasgow tomorrow.’
‘Eh?’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re not going ahead with the press conference, are you?’
She gasped. ‘Of course, man. We’ll never have a bigger crowd. I will not back down from this. It’s not going to kill me, any more than that guy did last night, so it can only make me stronger.’
‘Then go to my place. Nobody will think to look there. I’ll call Justine and tell her you’re coming.’
Nineteen
‘She’s done what?’ Sarah looked at him, astonished. ‘Let herself be photographed in a lover’s bedroom the morning after she’s come within an inch of her life?’
‘That’s what they’re going to say,’ Bob acknowledged.
‘She will argue, of course, that Morocco’s an old family friend and that his girlfriend was there too.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he replied. ‘She won’t lie her way out of it; too big a downside if she’s caught, as many a politician’s found out to their cost. She’ll front it up; I know her.’
‘And blacken your name in the process?’
He shook his head. ‘She’ll have a tough time doing that. She doesn’t realise it but I have more friends in the media than she has. Speaking of whom, I expect that some of them will be calling me in the next hour or so, on my mobile and at Gullane. I think it would be best if I go home, so that I’m there to answer them.’
‘Aww!’ she moaned. ‘I was looking forward to you staying.’
‘Me too, but if I do, there’s an outside chance that someone might doorstep me here in the morning. I don’t want you and the kids caught up in this, in any way.’
She stood with him as he rose to leave, picking up his jacket from the back of the sofa. ‘How do you feel about this?’ she asked. ‘Her being all over the tabloids.’
‘I’ve had some of that myself in my career,’ he answered, ‘and I didn’t like it. Am I embarrassed by it? Not a bit. People may talk about me behind my back, but none will to my face, so fuck ’em. Am I angry? No, because I don’t have a right to be. It could have been me looking out of your bedroom window and all over the papers in the morning.’
‘Are you sorry for her?’ she murmured.
‘Only if he’s a lousy fuck, and not worth it. She will win out of this. I don’t know how, but she will.’
She walked him to the door and hugged him there, looking up into his eyes. ‘So what do we do?’
‘Tomorrow we go to work, each of us, and Trish takes care of the kids as usual. I’m going to be as busy as the Devil’s apprentice all this week, so we’ll see each other when we can. With a bit of luck we’ll be able to keep the weekend free.’
She kissed him. ‘That’s a plan,’ she said. ‘Now be on with your way and answer those phone calls.’
The first came, on his work mobile. . he had switched his personal phone off as he left Sarah’s. . as he was turning on to the Edinburgh bypass. He had been expecting it.
‘Bob.’ The voice that filled the car through its speaker system was no longer aggressive, as it had been the last time he had heard it, but there was nothing fearful or tentative about it. ‘I have something to tell you.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he replied, speaking louder than usual, to allow for road noise.
‘You’ve heard, then.’
‘Of course I have. The editor of the News called my people. I don’t know him but he said that he’d given you advance warning and was offering me the same courtesy. Of course, he also asked me for a comment.’
‘And did you give him one?’
Skinner laughed. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that question, in a different context? Not that I need to; from what I’ve been told the answer’s pretty fucking obvious. Oops, sorry, unfortunate choice of word. Bet you’re glad now I persuaded you to spend that time in the gym.’
‘Bob!’ she snapped. ‘Did you give the man a quote?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he retorted. ‘Of course I didn’t. Nor will I to anyone else, and I’m bloody sure quite a few people will be asking over the next couple of hours. What about you?’
‘Nothing so far; they don’t know where I am now. But I’m seeing the press tomorrow morning.’
‘How about Joey? What’s he going to be saying?’
‘That I’m an old friend and that he offered me a place where I could recover from my ordeal in private.’
‘Is he going to refer to me?’
‘What would he say about you?’
‘Not about me: to me. Some people might expect him to say “Sorry”. That’s the big media word these days, isn’t it? People under the spotlight all have to utter the “S” word, whether they are or not.’
‘Do you expect that?’
‘Hell no. I’m sorry for him, if anything. He didn’t bargain for all this crap.’
‘Well,’ she said, beginning to sound exasperated, as if she thought he was playing with her, as he was to a degree, ‘what are you going to say?’
‘Tonight, nothing. Not a fucking word, about you or against you, or anything else. What time’s your press briefing tomorrow?’
‘Eleven thirty.’
‘In that case,’ he declared, ‘at ten o’clock, we’re going to issue a joint statement through Mitchell Laidlaw, my lawyer at Curle Anthony Jarvis. It will say something along these lines: on Thursday. . or whenever, you pick the day. . you and I agreed to separate permanently because of profound and irreconcilable differences that have developed between us. You draft it, let me see it and we’ll take it from there. You okay with that?’
‘Mmm.’ The car was silent, for long enough to make him wonder if the connection had been lost.
‘Aileen?’ he exclaimed into the darkness.
‘I’m still here,’ she replied. ‘Thinking, that’s all. I’m not sure I want it going out through your daughter’s law firm.’
‘Listen,’ he retorted. ‘You don’t have a regular bloody lawyer that I know of. I can hardly use the Strathclyde Police press office for this, and I’ll be damned if I’ll have the end of my marriage announced by the Labour Party. Alex will have no sight of the statement, I promise.’
She drew in a deep breath, loudly enough for him to hear it clearly. ‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘What else do you want to put in it?’
‘The minimum.’
‘Should I say that we intend to divorce?’
‘I include that among the minimum. Don’t you? If you want you can say that we’ll do it when we’ve completed the legal period of separation. Unless you want to marry Joey straight away, that is.’
‘Don’t be funny.’
‘Sorry. How’s the guy taking it anyway?’
‘He’s been lovely,’ she said.
‘I’m assuming that you and he had been over the course in the past. Yes?’