Perfect on Paper by Gillian Harvey (top 20 books to read txt) 📕

word otherwise. But with two children at home, and his needing to be in London more. Well, it’s obvious who’s going to end up picking up the slack.’

Clare had grimaced. ‘Well, you know how it is. I mean, I don’t mind. He’s very supportive of my career. And the kids are older now.’

‘But it’s hard.’

‘It can be.’

‘And it’s not as if you have a lot of time on your hands. I imagine you’re up to your neck at work sometimes.’

‘Oh, just every day!’ Clare had grinned.

‘Well, I really hope I haven’t made things harder.’

‘Oh, no. Honestly, it’s not so bad. It’s …’

‘It annoys me though,’ Hatty had said, decisively, setting her cup down and accidentally splashing coffee on the kitchen table. ‘Because, well, it’s the assumption of it, isn’t it? The way men can take on more in their jobs and we’re all meant to celebrate. But when we want to, we end up apologising for it.’

‘Well … yes.’ Clare had thought of her nights out with Eezee Troupe and how difficult it had been to find the time. Whereas Toby would call to say he’d be late and know that she would cover for him without question.

‘I missed my chance, you know,’ Hatty had said, her eyes looking suddenly misty.

‘You did? But you’ve got a great career.’

‘Yes, but it’s someone else’s great career. Not what I … well, not my first choice.’

‘Oh.’

‘I loved presenting,’ she’d continued, ‘loved the interaction, the buzz of live TV. And I was good at it, too! Then a few years off raising the kids, a bit of part-time work, the breakdown, which I’m sure you saw splashed in the papers. It was postnatal depression actually, but people weren’t quite as “woke” when it came to mental health a decade ago. And suddenly when I came back, with a few more wrinkles and eye-bags than they preferred, I was shoved to the side. Promoted off people’s screens.’

‘I’m sure that’s not—’

‘Oh, believe me. It was made pretty clear to me when it happened. They appreciated my talent, my eye for a good story. But didn’t want this old bag to deliver it.’

‘That’s awful!’

‘There was a moment the other day,’ Hatty had said, ‘when I thought … Well, when the director asked me for ideas of who might make a good presenter. And I thought he was asking me in a roundabout way. You know, seeing if I’d be up for the job!’

‘Oh, you’d be brilliant at it!’

‘Tell them that,’ Hatty had said. ‘Toby’s great. He deserves a break, I really believe that. And I’m pleased for him. But I suppose I hoped they’d give me a shot at it.’

‘And you didn’t say?’

‘I hinted as much as I dared.’

At that moment, the men had clattered back into the kitchen. ‘Three coats of emulsion!’ Toby had been saying, as Bill shook his head in apparent amazement.

‘Are you OK?’ Bill had said, noticing Hatty’s slightly red eyes.

‘Oh yes, don’t worry about me,’ Hatty had said, suddenly back to her old self. ‘Just talking about … well …’

‘Women’s problems,’ Clare had interjected, truthfully.

‘Ah.’ Both Toby and Bill had looked uncomfortable and for a moment Clare had been tempted to mention uteruses or periods or vaginas just to make them squirm.

But she wasn’t that petty. Not quite.

Later, when they’d washed up together before popping out for lunch, Toby had asked her if she’d support him.

‘I do support you,’ she’d said, quite affronted.

‘No, I mean … next week. With this Martha B. character. She’s agreed to meet me. And to be honest, Clare, I’m terrified.’

‘Terrified?’

‘Yes, she looks so intimidating, so confident you know? All that colour. That, that hair. All the hashtag business.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, and her music. Her lyrics really speak to people. It’s like meeting Madonna, you know? Or Beyoncé, or, or … Big Narstie.’

‘Big Narstie?’

‘Yeah, you know. Powerful, right? But kind of … well, sexy at the same time.’

‘Oh.’

‘So, will you come?’

‘I’ll think about it …’ she’d said. Which at least was true. She’d be thinking about it most of the week. What would she say? Would Toby recognise her close-up? And could she get out of it somehow?

‘Sandwich?’ Will asked now, appearing at her side and interrupting her reverie. ‘Looks like you’ve made a good start.’ He nodded at the desk.

She looked down at the pad on which she’d been doodling subconsciously and saw the words.

Go to work. Get paid. Powerful, but sexy.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

‘Hello, Stefan, how are you?’ Clare asked nervously after Ann put the call from Camberwaddle through.

‘Not too bad, thank you,’ he replied in a voice that didn’t quite sound as robust as usual. ‘Still in the hospital, of course. Having the pipes flushed out this afternoon, apparently.’

‘Oh, I see …’

‘Arteries, I mean. Bypass apparently.’

‘Right.’

‘Too much good living, my wife says, heh.’ He tried to laugh but was stalled by a coughing fit.

‘Gosh,’ she said. ‘Well, we’ll all be thinking of you here. But should you really be on the phone? I’m sure your assistant said—’

‘Yes, yes, I know the conveyancing’s all under control,’ he said, ‘but I was going to ask you about your litigation team.’

‘Right?’

‘Yes, I mean, I’m not a litigious man, per se. But this whole brush with death business has left me, not angry as such, but well, indignant as a consumer.’

‘You want to sue the hospital?’

‘Oh, no. They’ve been marvellous. Got the ticker restarted, all that. I mean the bastards who got me in this shape in the first place.’

‘Who are …?’

‘It’s more of a question of who it isn’t than who it is. Crisp manufacturers, oil producers, chocolate makers, bakeries, pizza restaurants, that clown chap – you know – Ronald … the list is extensive!’

‘But … what would you be suing them for?’

‘For clogging up my arteries of course. And do you know the beauty of it, Clare?’

‘The beauty?’

‘It’s a limitless suit. Imagine when I win how many other suits we can line up. It’ll be the ultimate class action. We can set up phone lines, take the bastards down.’

‘The crisp