Dialogues of the Dead by Reginald Hill Page B

presented herself for interview. 'I've come about the position,' she said, climbing on to his desk and spreading herself before him. 'How about this one for starters?' And under the doubtless approving gaze of the members of Unthank College old boys rugby fifteen whose photo, holding the Mid-Yorkshire Cup which they'd won some years ago under his captaincy, hung on the wall behind his chair, he accepted the invitation, after which she accepted the job. She'd learned quick and her rapid advancement was easily justifiable in terms of sheer talent, or so he reassured himself whenever, as now, he gave way to her wishes. There'd never been any hint of menace from Jax and she'd always behaved with the utmost discretion, but this didn't stop him from feeling that he had less control over his life, both professional and personal, than before her arrival. At least, thank God, he knew he didn't have to worry she was after his job. She had set her sights over the hills and faraway, in the greener pastures of Wood Lane, and if golden opinions from himself could speed her on her way, all the better. Maybe that was the explanation of her distraction today. He said, 'Big day next Monday, then. Getting nervous? No need. You'll piss it.' She said, 'What? Oh, the interview. No, I'll wait till I'm on the train before I get nervous.' He believed her. She was, he reckoned, that controlled. She might let herself get nervous as she drew near to her interview for the job with the national news service because taut nerves made you sharper, pitched you higher. But she'd know exactly how far to go. Yet, though Wingate didn't know it, he'd hit pretty close to the mark.
    13 Jax Ripley had a decision to make. Wingate's assurances that with her record and his recommendation she'd walk into the job were very comforting and she had no false modesty about her abilities. Sex she might use as a shortcut but only to get where she felt she deserved to be. Yet though she rated her talents high, she was not so arrogant as to rate them unique. It hadn't been difficult to come to the fore in the small show ring of MidYorkshire, but the provinces are full of thrusting talents and it would take something extra to stand out among the ranks of competing clones nationwide, all desperate to march on the Big Time. And now she felt she might have the something extra. But there were risks. It would be burning boats, that's for sure. She was sworn to secrecy. Her revelations would this time be tracked unrelentingly to their source, and such a public act of betrayal would ensure that no one in Mid-Yorkshire would ever again open their mouths to her, not even with the promise that she would open her legs to them. Plus, if it all went wrong and just came out as a bit of journalistic scaremongering, then she could even end up being dumped by BBC MY. On the other hand, it was a good story. A couple of phone calls would alert some friends in London. National air coverage over the weekend plus the Sunday tabloids descending on MidYorkshire to dig up - or make up - something really sensational could raise a news tsunami to sweep her into her interview on Monday. Once she got that job, it didn't matter what happened back here in Sleepy Hollow. In the real world down there, no one minded if today's scoop was tomorrow's poop. It happened all the time. It wasn't the apologies and retractions that stayed in people's minds, it was the banner headlines. So why was she pussy-footing around? In this life you were either a player or a stayer. And I'm a player! she told herself as she headed into her office to make the necessary wake-up calls. No point jumping off a skyscraper unless you had the audience you wanted. It was, viewers opined later, by Jax Ripley's usual standards a rather slow show. In her intro and her link passages she seemed somewhat muted, a little lacking in her usual sparkle. Usually she almost came out of the screen at you. But not tonight. Tonight she clearly had something