and ready tart with a heart Thelma Torrance, paused in stitching the tapestry she passed the slack time with. “Got the cold shoulder, did she?” she said with grim good humor.
“Yeah,” I said, not caring about showing my puzzlement. “Yesterday, everybody’s everybody’s pal and today, it’s like we’ve got a communicable disease.”
“It happens when you get a big show in the papers,” Gloria said, putting her coat on a hanger and subsiding into a chair. “It’s basically jealousy. The people below you in the pecking order resent the fact that you’re important enough to make the front page of the
Chronicle
and have the story followed up by all the tabloids the next day.”
I’d already seen the evidence of Gloria’s importance to the tabloids. When I’d arrived to collect her that morning, we’d had to run the gauntlet of reporters and photographers clustered round the high gates that kept Gloria safe from their invasive tendencies.
“Aye,” said Rita. “And the ones above you in the pecking order reckon you need cutting down to size before you start snapping too close at their heels. Not that there’s many above you these days, Glo.”
“Stuff like this shows you who your real friends are,” Gloria added.
“Aye, and we’ve all got precious few round here,” Rita said, thrusting her needle ferociously into the material. “There’s plenty would stab you in the back soon as look at you if they thought they could get away with it.”
If a bit of newspaper coverage was all it took to create a poisonous atmosphere like the one we’d just walked through, I hated to
Gloria shook her head. Rita disagreed. “There’s been a lot of stories about the abortion issue, Glo. Brenda and Debbie have been all over the tabloids.”
“But that’s Brenda, not me. The punters don’t know the difference, but the people who work here do.”
“It doesn’t make any odds to some of that lot,” Rita said. “Eaten up with jealousy, they are.” She glanced at her watch. “Bloody hell, is that the time? I’ve got an appointment with Dorothea in five minutes.” She shoved her sewing into a tapestry bag.
“You’re all right. I didn’t see the van when we parked up.” Gloria gave me a considering look. “You wanted a word with Dorothea, didn’t you, chuck?”
Rita stared. “By heck, Kate, I’d not have put you down as a lass who wanted her horoscope reading.”
I bristled. “The only stars I want to ask Dorothea Dawson about are the ones that work for
Northerners
.”
Rita giggled. “If that crystal ball could talk …”
“Aye, but going to Dorothea’s like going to the doctor. You can say owt you like and know it’ll go no further,” Gloria said. “Rita, chuck, do you mind if I just pop in ahead of you for a quick word with Dorothea, to see when she can fit Kate in?”
“Be my guest. I’ll walk across with you.”
The three of us left the studio building and crossed the car park. Over at the far end, near the administration block, I noticed a camper van that hadn’t been there when we’d arrived shortly before. It was painted midnight-blue, but as we drew closer, I could see there was a Milky Way of golden stars arcing across the cab door and the van’s side. The door into the living section of the van had a zodiac painted on it in silver, the glyphs of the signs picked out in gold. Even I could recognize the maiden that symbolized my Virgo star sign. I also identified the familiar three-legged symbol of Mercedes Benz. I didn’t need my background information from
Rita knocked and a familiar husky voice told us to come in. I expected a full blast of the histrionic mystic, complete with joss sticks and Indian cotton, but when it came to her personal environment, Dorothea clearly preferred the opulent to the occult. Leather, velvet, shag-pile carpet and wood paneling lined the luxurious interior. In the galley, I could see a microwave and a fridge. On a pull-out shelf sat a
“Yeah,” I said, not caring about showing my puzzlement. “Yesterday, everybody’s everybody’s pal and today, it’s like we’ve got a communicable disease.”
“It happens when you get a big show in the papers,” Gloria said, putting her coat on a hanger and subsiding into a chair. “It’s basically jealousy. The people below you in the pecking order resent the fact that you’re important enough to make the front page of the
Chronicle
and have the story followed up by all the tabloids the next day.”
I’d already seen the evidence of Gloria’s importance to the tabloids. When I’d arrived to collect her that morning, we’d had to run the gauntlet of reporters and photographers clustered round the high gates that kept Gloria safe from their invasive tendencies.
“Aye,” said Rita. “And the ones above you in the pecking order reckon you need cutting down to size before you start snapping too close at their heels. Not that there’s many above you these days, Glo.”
“Stuff like this shows you who your real friends are,” Gloria added.
“Aye, and we’ve all got precious few round here,” Rita said, thrusting her needle ferociously into the material. “There’s plenty would stab you in the back soon as look at you if they thought they could get away with it.”
If a bit of newspaper coverage was all it took to create a poisonous atmosphere like the one we’d just walked through, I hated to
Gloria shook her head. Rita disagreed. “There’s been a lot of stories about the abortion issue, Glo. Brenda and Debbie have been all over the tabloids.”
“But that’s Brenda, not me. The punters don’t know the difference, but the people who work here do.”
“It doesn’t make any odds to some of that lot,” Rita said. “Eaten up with jealousy, they are.” She glanced at her watch. “Bloody hell, is that the time? I’ve got an appointment with Dorothea in five minutes.” She shoved her sewing into a tapestry bag.
“You’re all right. I didn’t see the van when we parked up.” Gloria gave me a considering look. “You wanted a word with Dorothea, didn’t you, chuck?”
Rita stared. “By heck, Kate, I’d not have put you down as a lass who wanted her horoscope reading.”
I bristled. “The only stars I want to ask Dorothea Dawson about are the ones that work for
Northerners
.”
Rita giggled. “If that crystal ball could talk …”
“Aye, but going to Dorothea’s like going to the doctor. You can say owt you like and know it’ll go no further,” Gloria said. “Rita, chuck, do you mind if I just pop in ahead of you for a quick word with Dorothea, to see when she can fit Kate in?”
“Be my guest. I’ll walk across with you.”
The three of us left the studio building and crossed the car park. Over at the far end, near the administration block, I noticed a camper van that hadn’t been there when we’d arrived shortly before. It was painted midnight-blue, but as we drew closer, I could see there was a Milky Way of golden stars arcing across the cab door and the van’s side. The door into the living section of the van had a zodiac painted on it in silver, the glyphs of the signs picked out in gold. Even I could recognize the maiden that symbolized my Virgo star sign. I also identified the familiar three-legged symbol of Mercedes Benz. I didn’t need my background information from
Rita knocked and a familiar husky voice told us to come in. I expected a full blast of the histrionic mystic, complete with joss sticks and Indian cotton, but when it came to her personal environment, Dorothea clearly preferred the opulent to the occult. Leather, velvet, shag-pile carpet and wood paneling lined the luxurious interior. In the galley, I could see a microwave and a fridge. On a pull-out shelf sat a
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