The night before, he’d signed and posted the employment contract back to theHeraldrecruitment team. That very morning he had brought a copy of the agreement into work with him, together with the covering offer letter. As soon as he had logged on, he had written, printed, and signed a resignation letter ready to hand to Muriel. The good-luck soundbite he had picked up from Marshall—Spencer had naturally texted him about his impending meeting with Muriel—telling him to be brave, then going into lurid detail about how he planned to reward him on his return, had made Spencer smile all the way to the station. By nine o’clock, he’d had everything ready to go, but he had to hang around until he heard from the woman herself.
Clicking through news channels to pass the time, he came upon a site showing preparations for the presidential inauguration in Kryszytonia. The whole square in front of the parliament building had been sectioned off. Three banks of empty seats around rows of seating on the ground faced the stage where the new president would be sworn in. Regimented rows of the national flag in blue, gold and ochre hung at regular intervals. Another site showed an ornate hall in the presidential palace where the formal dinner would be held, withan impressively long table of silverware, crystal glasses and elaborate flower arrangements in the national colours, the event catering for at least a sixty.
Right then, Spencer’s desk phone rang.
“Morning, Spencer,” came Alice’s voice. “Muriel asked me to call you about your ten o’clock appointment. She wants to know if it’s urgent. Told me to tell you she’s extremely busy today. Between you and me, Spencer, I believe she thinks you want to see her about the staff Christmas party.”
“It’s not about that, Alice. This is about me?”
“I see. And—um—anything you can share?”
“Not really. This matter is personal and a little delicate, if you know what I mean?”
“Of course. Yes. No, I see. Sorry, you know what she’s like. Asked me to try and find out before you got here. And she’s in one ofthosemoods this morning, I’m afraid. Okay, sorry, I’ll let her know. Come over just before ten.”
Almost exactly a month to the day, Spencer found himself once again seated opposite Muriel, in the chair that sank lower as he sat there. On the last occasion, he had been hoodwinked into taking on Clarissa’s responsibilities. Digging his fingernails into the fleshy part of his thighs above each knee, he made sure he would stay focused this time.
“Can we make this quick, Spencer?” said Muriel, snapping down the lid of her laptop. “I’ve a lot on my plate today and I need to get cracking.”
Spencer smiled, settled back and decided to wade in gently.
“The client party went rather well, don’t you think? I know it was only last Friday, but I’ve already heard a lot of positive noises from clients. Particularly about the interview with you and Lord Moresby.”
Muriel appeared to relax. No doubt she had heard many good things, but Spencer figured that dishing out a few complimentsof his own couldn’t do any harm and might even soften the news of his resignation.
“Have you?” she replied, looking out of the window. “That’s good to hear. Yes, I’ve had some lovely messages. I was extremely pleased with the outcome, considering everything. Ms Salvatore did a sterling job. As did Prince, given the amount of time they had to bring everything together.”
Spencer didn’t expect to get any credit from Muriel but thought someone else ought to.
“Marshall Highlander recommended the company, you know? VIP? Don’t you think his involvement not only helped to save the day but took the event to a whole new level?”
Muriel’s gaze swung back then. In true Muriel style, she straightened up, pursed her lips and folded her arms.
“Mr Highlander did a very competent job. Apart from asking a few unscheduled and frankly inappropriate questions. Now what is it you wanted, Spencer?”
The moment of truth. He pulled the offer sheet from his inside jacket pocket and passed the paper across the desk. Muriel hesitated a moment before scooping up the letter and reading the contents.
“I’m here to hand in my resignation, Muriel. TheNational Heraldhas offered me a position at their newspaper. Starting as an assistant reporter.”
“I see,” she said in her usual haughty, waspish way. Without looking at him, she continued to read the letter. “And you consider this a good career move, do you? Why on earth would you want to jump into the lion’s den with these people?”
“Because that’s where my passion lies. And where I feel my talents might be recognised and appreciated.”
“They will eat you alive,” she said, passing the letter back across the desk to him. “Well, if that’s your decision, so be it. ButI’m afraid you’re going to have to work out the full three months’ notice—”
“One month.”
Finally he managed to get her attention. She glowered at him as though he had just slapped her across the face.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My notice period is one month.”
“I think you’ll find you’re mistaken. The senior editing manager role carries a notice period of—”
“That may well be the case. But, contractually, I don’t have that role. I amactingsenior editing manager. You never elevated me officially or got me to sign anything, although you did offer a small compensation for—what is it you called it—oh yes,caretakingthe role. I agreed to take on the duties out of a sense of duty. Anyway, I’ve already checked with the Human Resources department and, contractually, I am still a junior editor. My notice period is one month from today. With the twelve days annual leave I have outstanding, that allows me to leave here at the end of the year and take up my new position at theHeraldon the fourth of January. I’ve done my homework, Muriel, and if nothing else, you must know by now that I am thorough.”
The blood had drained from her face. Bev had suggested bringing in his mobile phone to videotape the meeting covertly, and he was beginning to regret not having done so.
