Free A French Affair by Susan Lewis Page A

preference?’
    â€˜No, I’ll leave it to you,’ Jessica replied, starting as the buzzer sounded at the back gate. ‘And please know I feel bullied already.’
    Karina laughed. ‘Till Wednesday,’ she responded, and rang off.
    A few minutes later Jessica was pouring a coffee for Melissa, who was talking into her mobile phone, while grimacing apologetically for taking the call. Jessica gestured for her to continue, then watched her walk back out into the garden where the reception was better. As usual Melissa’s voluptuous figure seemed to be staging a winning battle with its prison of buttons and seams, yet despite the strain her pale blue shirt and matching pencil skirt still contrived to look as expensively cut as they no doubt were. Her hair, a luxuriant mass of ebony curls, was bouncing about her shoulders in its habitual haphazard way, while the generous features of her elongated but nonetheless attractive face were as colourfully rouged, lipstickedand shadowed as ever. The only thing different about her this morning was the missing high heels, presumably because she’d thought better of them for the short trot down the back lane. Then Jessica smiled to herself as, still talking into the phone, Melissa reached into her voluminous bag and pulled out a very elegant pair of pale blue Manolos, which she stumbled about exchanging for the rubber gardening shoes she’d arrived in.
    Her call finished and outfit complete, Melissa breezed back into the kitchen, air-kissed Jessica on both cheeks, and took her coffee with a satisfied sigh. ‘I’d treat you to genuine smackeroos if I thought you’d appreciate my lip prints,’ she declared, with a playful twinkle. Then, after giving Jessica the once-over, ‘You look good. Very good. Why is that everything you put on looks as though it’s about to go swanning off down the catwalk?’
    â€˜Charlie thinks I’m too thin at the moment,’ Jessica informed her, picking up her own coffee, ‘and he’s probably right.’
    With a dismissive wave Melissa went to perch on the edge of the table. ‘Charlie tells me my assistant was less than discreet,’ she began, taking a sip of her coffee. ‘She will, of course, find herself out of a job by the end of the day, but I’m sure what you’re more interested to know is why I came to the decision I did.’
    â€˜I have to say, it surprised me,’ Jessica said, keeping her tone neutral.
    Melissa smiled, showing two neat rows of perfectly capped teeth. Then, pulling out a chair, she sat down and crossed her ample legs. Jessica couldn’t help glancing at the expanse of smooth, lightly tanned thigh and thinking that for a woman who was essentiallyoverweight, she flaunted herself with admirable style. She wondered how much she liked her, and thought perhaps reasonably well. She was direct, usually even-tempered, fiercely intelligent, and of course, given her position, extremely powerful. As was her husband, a senior Downing Street advisor with burgeoning parliamentary ambitions of his own.
    â€˜I want you to understand,’ Melissa began, ‘that my decision in no way reflects what I think of your ability. We both know how good you are, so I won’t sit here flattering you when it goes without saying that I’d never have offered you your own programme if I considered you anything but the best. And therein lies the rub. When it comes to presenting, Jessica, you are it. The ultimate. People want to be interviewed by you, or reviewed, or even remembered. You’re admired and respected by both sexes, though perhaps men more than women, which is exactly what we want for a news channel. So, in a nutshell, I want you on camera, not behind it.’
    Jessica’s expression tightened. ‘But you know . . .’
    â€˜That it’s not what you want. Yes, you made that very plain when you came to see me. You don’t