More Than A Voice - First Chapter.

ONE

It was a near perfect, almost cloudless July morning. The bright summer sun cascaded through the open windows formulating wonderful patterns of light and shade across the deep pile peach carpet. Already, the seventeenth of July was Pleasantly warm after the crisp dry dawn, that heralded the birth of a brand new day. There was not even the merest hint of the drenching summer showers that had been yesterday’s trademark.

Jay Alexander Stone stretched and yawned from the supreme comfort of his king sized bed in the master bedroom of his smart luxurious cottage in the sleepy Surrey village of Ockley. He forced himself to sit upright, defying sleep to return, as he did so he gazed out of the floor to ceiling windows and over his expansive garden. The diverse array of greens, blues, yellows and reds from the amazing variety of plants and shrubs were a most pleasing sight to behold. He made a mental note to thank his gardener for all his outstanding efforts.

Jay was a morning person, he adored them, especially the ones that didn’t require him to rise at four-thirty and rush off to work. Today was one such morning, a rare time where he could relax and loiter for a while. A day where he could simply enjoy the stillness, peace and tranquillity that a day in the country afforded.

Jay’s eyes returned from the garden and surveyed his palatial master bedroom with it’s tasteful blend of peach, honeysuckle, aqua spring decor. Something was different, something was not as it was normally. For the briefest of moments Jay was perplexed, however the sound of running water form the ensuite bathroom reminded him that he was not alone. A small, but nonetheless significant smile crossed his full lips as his mind recalled the erotic events of the preceding night.

Jay silently debated getting up and surprising his guest in the shower, after all last night was great, but, for some unfathomable reason Jay preferred sex in the morning. He always had, ever since his early sexual awakening as an awkward teenager. However, he decided against it, settled back in the voluptuous pillow and contemplated how he was going to occupy and amuse himself with this, his only free day of the week.

Jay was a young twenty-five year old with shortish fine light blond hair that fell over his forehead in a charming boyish fashion. One of the most striking aspects of Jay’s fine appearance was his crystal clear pale blue eyes, they were without doubt the colour of sapphires. His eyes could, and sometimes did, captivate people. Thanks to his twice weekly work-out at the local gym he had a dynamic body, muscular without being overtly so. Beautifully formed pectorals above well defined abdominal’s, slim waist leading to shapely toned thighs. His body was defined and conditioned and was always exquisitely kissed by the sun, and when the sun wasn’t playing in the sky, the sun bed in the spare room ensured Jay always had that perfect healthy looking light brown tan. His physical appearance combined with his cheeky personality meant that Jay Alexander Stone was not short of admirers.

Jay was, according the press ‘an up and coming media personality’ He presented the prestigious and hugely popular breakfast show on Phoenix FM, one of the new independent regional radio stations serving the whole of the Southeast. He also presented a networked television chat-come-entertainment programme with a respectable and rapidly rising audience. He was held with high regard within the industry, not only for his seemingly unending talents, but also for his meteoric rise from lowly programme assistant to prime time jock within the span of four very short years. Some people considered Jay to be the next Chris Evans or Johnny Vaughan, which to many would have been an accolade of immense proportions and equally attracting just as much pressure. However, for Jay, that wasn’t the case, no, for as far as he was concerned he was happy doing what he was doing and of course being who he was. He didn’t try and emulate of imitate anyone else, no matter how good he thought they were. He knew he was liked, well liked even, the bulging mail sack of fan letters that arrived every other week ensured that. However Jay didn’t, unlike many others in this industry they call show, let his popularity go to his head. He always kept his feet firmly planted on the ground, he held onto reality with a firm and sure grasp. For he knew he was only as good as his last show. And, the public, the people that put him where he was today could just as easily and far more rapidly forget about him tomorrow! Just because he had a fast, yet conventional car parked outside his fancy three bedroom’d country cottage, a small apartment in Brighton and earnt a rather handsome amount each year, didn’t change him. No, for deep down he was still the same old, James Alexander Stone from Dorking, Surrey he’d always been. There was no getting away from that fact, nor the truth that his mother had been a school cleaner for many years, struggling to support her only son and the alcoholic, opinionated and sometimes violent man she’d married. There was no escaping the knowledge that Jay was from the ‘good old fashioned’ working classes. Jay was not ashamed of his past, far from it. However, like most people his age, he just didn’t like to be reminded of it all the time, which was way he moved away from the family council home just as soon as he was able. Well, that and a few other, more personal reasons. Reasons that Jay kept completely to himself.

“Oh hi, I hope I didn’t wake you?” His guest said returning from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, and a simply magical smile.

“No, you didn’t wake me” Jay responded and reached over and whipped away the towel from his guests damp, cleansed body! His friend leant across the bed to retrieve the towel, jay gently brushed the fresh smooth face before him, tenderly they kissed.

“Ohhhh” came a long sigh. “I really wish I could spend the rest of the day with you, it’d be nice to have a day off every now and then!” Another audible sigh followed. Danny Michael lumbered upward and away from Jay’s warm embrace. He padded over the the side, where he collected his watch. “Shit, I’m gonna be late at this rate” he said, more to himself than Jay. Danny rushed about gathering up last nights clothes and Jay sighed silently, he could have done with Danny’s company today. It would have been like a breath of fresh air to spend the whole day with his friend and one time former lover. Still, it was not to be, he watched the slender young man pull on his indigo combats and smiled. It was pretty obvious why Danny Michaels, recording star, was so very popular. His dark green mysterious and mystical eyes, his youthful, slightly rakish face, his dark curly hair made Danny appear very attractive in a most natural and appealing way. He also had one of the most amazing voices in the modern music world. Girls would fall for him because of his looks, but as soon as they heard him sing with that sultry, sexy and silky voice they just melted away to that place located somewhere over the rainbow where dreams really do come true!

Danny was a famous singer, a very famous singer indeed. He was the new teen sensation, who was lucky enough not only appeal to the fickle 8 - 30 year olds, but also had an attraction from their mothers and even grandmothers! He had achieved great success in his so far short popular music career. All five of his singles had gone top ten and two hit the number one slot with ease. His first album had remained stationary at the number two position for more than five weeks, his second due for release in a months time promised, if the critics could be believed, to climb that one extra place. All of this mountain of popularity and success, yet Danny was still only twenty-three years of age, a mere youngster.

Jay and Danny met for the first time little under four years ago, Danny was a new signing to a relatively unknown record label called ‘Outridge’ Jay was a programme assistant for Phoenix FM working on a pop gossip magazine type show. He’d been invited to hear a couple of tracks from the next ‘big thing’, or so claimed the invitation. From the very moment Jay heard that silky, sweeter than honey, voice and saw the being to which it belonged, he knew it wouldn’t be long before Danny would be that next ‘big thing’!

Jay found Danny attractive and talented, while Danny found Jay entertaining, witty and charming, they instantly took a shining to each other and got on extremly well. They didn’t share a great deal in common, just two things, firstly, their love of music and secondly, their sexuality. They became friends almost instantly, Jay fixed up Danny’s first ever radio interview, giving him a brief taste of the things to come and It wasn’t long after that that they became more than just friends. For a time Danny even moved in to the crumbling cottage Jay had just bought at a knock down rate, where they lived as a couple for a short while. They may well have still been together, sharing the domestic life of the country if they hadn’t been quite so lucky, their own individual careers started to take off. Danny had to tour the length and breadth of the country building up a fan base to get his name known. Jay became a relief presenter and had to do shows at various unsociable times of the day and night. Gradually they spent less and less time together, until inevitably their affair just generally fizzled out and faded away to nothingness.

They were still friends, seeing each other occasionally and even more occasionally they would, when schedules would allow, spend the night together, just as they had the previous night.. Jay knew the score and what’s more he liked it that way. For as nice as Danny was, there was no way that he was in love with the guy, not now. And, not real deep, passionate, burning love. Not the kind of emotion that sets the world alight, that makes you smile at anything and everything, not the love that make everything seem possible and encourages dreams to become realities. Sure, he liked Danny a great deal, he even loved the fella, but he wasn’t IN love with him, and for Jay there was a huge difference.

“Look Jay babe, I really have gotta run” Danny sighed as he came back to the side of the bed and kissed Jay’s cheek. He looked at the blond twenty-five year old laying there in all his half uncovered naked glory and sighed. “I’ll give you call in a week or so” he whispered, kissed Jay’s soft lips, picked up his jacket and headed for the door.

“Take care of yourself” Jay said smiling, Danny blew a kiss, sighed once more and left the room. If the truth be known, he would’ve dearly loved to spend the rest of the day with Jay. It has been two years since their relationship came to it’s sad uneventful end, yet Danny still held a torch for Jay. He still wanted the DJ with the boyish blond hair that he loved so much. Of course since those days he’d had more than his fair share of men, some in the industry and some out of it, yet none, not even one, had made Danny feel the way Jay did. And, that was something that secretly pierced and tortured Danny’s heart

“Knock ‘em dead” Jay called, already Danny was half way down the stairs. Jay sat up and listened for the front door to slam shut. When it did, he pushed back the duvet with force and almost skipped to the bathroom.

The modern, imposing and characterless steel and glass offices of the Daily Herald , the nations biggest selling tabloid were a veritable hive of activity. Journalists hammering away at computer terminals, talking avidly into telephones, surfing the net, shaping and in some cases creating tomorrow’s news. Ms Penelope Imogen De Fargo had just sat down at her desk, later than most of her counterparts, she kept no timetable. She casually leafed through the stack of mail placed upon he desk, most of which she confined to the waste paper receptacle to the right of her cluttered desk, with little more than a cursory glance.

De Fargo had been with the Herald for just over a year, but already in those twelve months she’d built up quite a formidable reputation. She was one tough determined and ruthless woman. Which was probably why she was so suited to the papers show-biz gossip page. De Fargo’s one golden rule was to never let anything, or indeed, anyone, get in the way of a good story, of a bad one for that matter!. A maxim she used to extreme Nothing was going to hinder her on the way to the top of her chosen profession. She was driven and ambitious, she longed for the day when her office was on the tenth floor and had a brass plate upon the door proclaiming ‘Editor’ She knew she’d get there sooner of later, and she made sure those around her knew it too! She was not the kind of person who was afraid to make enemies, in fact she made those almost every day and was disappointed when she didn’t!

Penelope De Fargo was a tall slender woman standing at just over six foot tall with rich auburn hair and deep brown eyes. She turned many a head in the busy newsroom and else where. It had to be said that her appearance was always immaculate, whenever she arrived, which was usually late, wherever she happened to be she was always stunning. Never a hair out of place, make up professionally applied and the latest designer names about her person. Her taste was impeccable and incredibly expensive. For the majority of the time her voice was soft and gentle yet possessed a sharp cutting edge, the slight accent was indefinable and unplaceable but helped the create the image of mystery she tried hard to present.

De Fargo was one strong woman, she would rely on no one, least of all a man, she held that species with little or no regard. Men, she believed where no more than objects to use and abuse on her way to the top, little more than stepping stones across a raging river. As soon as she was done with a man, she’d roughly cast them aside like last seasons Prada or Rocha. Men, she had decided long ago would not hurt, control or even effect her, at least not anymore. Only once had a man hurt her and that was many, many years previously. However, every now and then, alone in her bed, alone in her head, that pain lingered, poked and tormented her.

She must have been little more than a ten year old school girl when her father left her mother for a another, younger, prettier woman. Ever since she’d been married De Fargo’s mother had been the devoted wife. Her life simply yet utterly and completely revolved around that man. When he left the marital home it was if he took her very soul with him. She was totally devastated, her whole life as she knew it crumbled a shattered into a million pieces.

De Fargo had been walking home from school when she tragically witnessed her mother, in an insane fit of depression, throw herself in front of a speeding intercity Connex express train. No tears fell as De Fargo watched motionless high upo the bridge as nameless officials reclaimed parts of her mothers body from the track side.

De Fargo put the blame for her mothers sad state of mind and subsequent demise of family life completely at the feet of her father. She vowed that one day she would make that man pay for the pain he was ultimately responsible for. She also made herself a promise that never would she allow a man to hurt, manipulate or control her as her father had her mother.

De Fargo was occupying herself by flicking through a glossy lifestyle magazine when her private line bleeped it’s synthetic hollow ring. She turned over at least four more pages before her hand picked up the receiver.

“Hello” her husky voices sounded into the brown plastic.

“Oh err Hi Miss De Fargo. It’s David Foster here, I don’t know if you remember me, but we met some time ago” The voice asked. De Fargo couldn’t place the cockney accent or the tone, but then again she did meet a great many people during the course of her occupation. She was often getting calls from various people either wanting to give her a tasty piece of gossip of a piece of their mind.

“Yes David, I remember” She lied. “How are you and what are you up to?”

“Errm I’m fine thanks” David gushed, delighted that someone like De Fargo, a person whose face leered up at him every morningfrom the paper and a face that had given birth to many lurid sexual fantasies. He smiled as just a hit of smugness swept over him. “Errm I working on the video shoot for the new Danny Michaels single” he said.

“Oh, anything going on that I should know about?” De Fargo asked. “You see I’m very busy today David, at this very minute I should already be in a meeting” She very convincingly lied.

“Err I dunno, I guess there could be” Deavid stammered, waited for a reply, when one wasnt forthcoming he continued, “As I said I’m working on the video shoot for Danny Michaels new single.” He paused and De Fargo murmered, she was getting distintly bored. “Well he arrived about an hour ago and boy was he in a shitty mood. I mean he was fuming, so me being me asked him what the matter was, and ‘e told me as he was getting ready that he’d just got stopped for speeding. Of course I asked where and ‘e say it was on the bloody A29. Now that sets me thinking it does. You see he lives in Knightsbridge and unless you’ve got pig shit fa’ brains, you don’t go down the A-bloody-29 to get from Knightsbridge to Watford!” David let out an awful belly laugh that caused De Fargo to remove the reciever from her ear and a distasteful grimice to form on her otherwise unlined face.

“Is that it?” Questioned De Fargo irrtatbly. “It’s nothing” She huffed.

“No” blusterd David, who saw his chances of earning some much needed cash evaporating rapidly. “He said somethin’ yesterday ‘bout seeing and ol’ DJ friend of his”

“Anything else?” Breathed De Fargo.

“Yeah, as he was changing I saw these scratches on his back, and they were pretty fresh if you know what I mean?” David’s voice trailed off.

“OK, David, thank you for letting me know. Please call aigain if you find out anything else about Danny, now wont you?” She paused, before she placed the carrot. “If you do come across anything really useful, I’ll see you are well rewarded!” With that she replaced the reciever to it cradle and thought for a moment. It could just make a few centimeters if she could find out whom was responsible for those lacerations of love upon Danny’s back. It could even be a whole quarter page if she could get a picture or the lady in question, especially if they were pictured together. Her mind raced as she picked up the phone again and punched in a number, as soon as she was connected she barked her orders, “It’s De Fargo here, I want you to find me everything we have on Danny Michaels, I also want to know where the A29 starts, where it finnishes and all points inbetween. Oh and I also want a list of all the female DJ’s in the country.” She paused breifly to draw breath. “And if you don’t want to be making a stop at the Job Centre every Tuesday you’ll have all that on my desk by the time I get back from Lunch, understood? Good” She let the handset fall back to it’s cradle, clicked on her voice mail and went off to lunch at “Sais Moi” in London’s trendy area of Soho with a spring in her step. Work had just been concluded for the morning.

The greyish-blue smoke from Kevin Kellers cigarette gently swirled and danced it’s way upward with soft, sleek movements. Kevin Keller sat behind hus huge, ornately crafted mahogany desk, in the middle of his plush large office in the very heart of the impressive modern structure known as The Phoenix Building. Leaning back in his cool brown leather chair he surveyed the hive of activity in the sales office through a carefully constructed glass wall to his left. Keller had carefully personally designed this particulary area of the Phoenix Building himself. To his left he had a perfect view of the Sales office and to his right was the busy newroom.

Kevin Keller was the managing director of Phoenix FM and was, to say the very least, a very formidable business man. He was concidered to be a very powerful force within the UK’s radio industry. He had been one of the main campaigning forces for the release of the regional radio licences nine or so years ago. So when the Radio Authority relented and advertised those said licences and when Kellers group apllied, it was pretty much a forgone conclusion as to who would control the Southeast! Since those days Keller had built Phoenix FM into one of the contries most listerned to and financially successful stations in this country, if not the whole of Europe. It was now second only to London’s Capital FM, which of course, had a massive steak in the UK radio industry and a long head start over the fledgling Phoenix group! A fact that delighted Keller.

Keller was seen by many as the savour of the UK’s commercial radio sector, thanks to him, it appeared, most of the industry was growing and enjoying an econimic boom. This man would often find himself in the business pages of the nations more serious broadsheets and financal journals. He was, without doubt a big fish in a medium sized pond, a powerful man, who was not in the least bit fearful to use that power as and when it suited.

A loud knock at his door returned his thoughts from the golf course yesterday to the present. In his deep, rich masterful voice he bellowed the command to enter. The door opend and the tall gaunt figure of Richard Fairclough, Phoenix FM’s incredibly astute yet soically inept fincial controller, appeared and stalked into the room like a frightened girraf. The expresion upon Fairclough’s face was sombre , yet this didn’t strike Keller as odd, for during the last six or so years that they’d worked together, he had not known Fairclough to smile more than a dozen or so times, it just was in the man’s nature. He was a compulsive worrier, a doom merchant who believed if anything could go wrong, it would!

“Arrgghh Richard my fine fellow, have you come to brighten my dreary day with good news regarding our latest acusition proposition?” Keller asked as Fairclough pulled up a chair and sat before his superiour.

“I’m afraid not!” Coughed Fairclough nerviously.

“You’re afraid not! What is this? Our ship sprung a leak? A wheel fallen from the wagon” Joked Keller, just to make Fairclugh squirm aukwedley in his seat. “I thought our plan as complete”

“Yes, the plan is complete, or.....rather I should say, was complete” The worlds stumbled out of Fairclough’s mouth. He took a deep breath and continued, “It was complete, but we hadn’t bargined for the board to reject our offer, not at this stage, anyway” He leaned forward and added in a tone bearly above a whisper, “It seem they wish to fight us”

“What?” Bellowed Keller slaming his fist to his desk casusing his ashtray to recoil from the force sending ash scattering across the highly polished surface. Keller was not a man who liked disapointment, it was a strange, unformiliar and unwelcome emotion. “I thought we had their arses up against the wall this time!”

“Yes, yes, that was my understanding of the situation as well, however thay say it’s not. They have to their credit, been somewhat upfront about it. They say they don’t need our rescue package as they have somehow managed to find a new investor. To be honest I have no idea who it could possibly be at this stage, none. It just doesn’t make any scence” Fairclough trailed off.

“You’re fucking right it’s makes no fucking scence at all” Keller bellowed again his agner and frustration reaching new limits. He studded out the burning embers of his already dying cigarette, reached for his pack and promtly lit up another. He took a long drawn out drag and blew out a plume of smoke right in Fairclough’s face. “So we have no idea as to the identity of this new money?”

“err none. Not a clue at this stage, but I’ve got Stebbings working on it right at this very moment” He paused as he considered his next statement. “I have a vert strange feeling that the RDS group have something to do with this little set back” He watched Keller’s red and angry fat face. “Well, they did express some interest in....in that company a few months ago”

“Yes......yes, they did.” Keller said softly, his anger susinding slightly to be replaced by pure frustration, he had the horrible feeling that his ulcer problem was going to flare up again, however that was the least of his worries right now. “No, they couldn’t possibly have anything to do with this monumental cock-up. They’ve not the cash, nor the technical knowledge to rescure that particular sinking ship. No they’re still struggling with that little tin-pot operation down the road to go after another station, especial the one of this size. No, Fairclough it has to be someone else, it just has to be!” He puffed heavily on his cigarette again. “You know I called an unscheduled board meeting for this Friday to announce our latest little addition to the group, don’t you?” Fairclough nodded. “I would hate to have to report bad news to them at this late stage. I also don’t need to remind you of all people, the amount of capital, not to mention man hours, we’ve expended on this project already, It would be a disaster, no, a tradgedy if all that effort were to be rendered worthless at this stage in the proceedings” Kellers voice calm now, yet horribly menacing and forboding.

“I know” Fairclough breathed, he was truly worried now, more than he’d ever been before during his time at Phoenix, of anywhere else for that matter. He hated disapointing his boss, for he had first hand knowledge of the power of Keller’s wrath. He had personally seen him dismiss a sales manger on the sport after he narrowly missed his sales target for the second month in a row. The poor guy was only short by a grand, small change in this business, but Keller sacked him nonetheless, he also made it virtually impossible for the poor guy to get another job in radio, such was Keller’s power. And, if that was what he could do if you missed target by a mere one thousand pounds. The future for Fairclough did not look good, not good at all.

“I want you working on this problem, Fairclough and I don’t want to hear or see you until you’ve got good news” Keller hissed and the meeting was over. Fairclough got up and made his way to the door feeling every inch a naughty school boy sent to the head for fighting of some other mistermeaner. As his hand was on the door knob Keller’s voice warned, “Oh and don’t forget you’ve got until Friday to come up with something!” Fairclough nodded, opened the door and shut it quitely behind him. Once in the freedom of the corridor he sighed heavily and embeded his fingernails into the palm of his hands.

As soon as Fairclough had closed the door Keller’s right hand was on the telephone while his left was punching in the numbers with venom. Keller began to speak the instant the connection was made at the other end of the line. “It’s Keller, theres going to be a little delay. At this stage I’m not sure how long, but I’ll let you klnow just as soon as I can” Keller then put the phone down and took yet another long hard draw on his smouldering cigarette. He had no idea what he was going to tell the board on Friday if Fairclough hadn’t sorted something out. He also didn’t know where he’d find a replacement for Fairclough if the worst came to fruition. Something that he did not want even to contemplate at this very moment.

Jay was reading through a pile of fan letter at his desk in his study when Mrs Browning, his house keeper arrived.

“Oh, you gave me a start, sitting there, you did dear” She said in her soft Scotish accent coated voice. “I didn’t know you’d be here today, not with your new programme starting tomorrow. If I had I’d have been in earlyier dear”

“Oh that’s OK, I’m sorry I startled you” Jay said and gave her one of his most dazzling smiles, the kind that he saved for special occasions and special people. “How are you today Mrs Browning?” He asked as she took off her coat.

Oh me, I’m just fine dear, just fine. And, how might you be?” She asked as she placed her coat in the small cupboard under the stairs in the hallway and retrieved her blue and white gingham checked overall.

“I’m fine” Jay answered when she was back in the room. He smiled again.

“Oh that’s good, that really is. Now then dear, I’ll get on with my chores, but first I’ll make you a lovely cup of tea” And with that she was gone, off to the kitchen without another word. Jay smiled to himself as he watched her go, a warm glow entered his heart, he was fond of his housekeeper and he wondered just how on earth he’d cope without Mrs Browning’s care and attention.

Mrs Browning was a fairly plump, rounded woman, of indeterminable age, somewhere guessed Jay, between fifty and sixty. She had siler-grey hair and soft blue eyes. She’d come to work for Jay when he’d advertised for a cleaner once a week somnetime back. Gradually she took on more and more duties as Jay’s life got busier and busier. She then just sort of became his house keeper of her own free will over a period of time. As soon as Jay realsied this he marked the occasion with a large bunch of flowers and a sizable pay increase, both of which she tried hard to refuse. “Arhh no dear, I don’t need payin’ any extra dear, not for something I enjoy so much” had been her exact words. Ever sincer her husband had passed away, from a sudden heart attack, she’d become lonely and board. Sure she had friends in the village, but all direction and meaning to her life just drifted way. So, when she came to work for Jay, she has something new to put her energies into, a task she relished, it gave her a whole new lease of life. Looking after Jay was something she enjoyed, and look after him she did. She cleaned the cottage, did his washing and ironing, did all the grocery shopping and when he was home she’d even cook for him.

Jay knew he could trust her implicitly, without question, without doubt. There had been an occasion where he’d brought a young man back for the night. They were still laying naked entwinde in each other arms in bed when Mrs Browning came toddling into the room, duster in one hand, hoover trailing in the other. She didn’t even bat an eyelid as she found them there. No, she just said simply, ‘Oh hullo there me’ dears, I didn’t know you were home. Would you like some breakfast now, I’m sure you would’ Twenty minutes later a red faced Jay and companion appeared in the kitchen with their tails between their legs. They were greeted with a full English cooked breakfast and mugs of steaming hot tea. The three of them then sat in the kitchen and chatted for the next couple of hours about all manor of things. Mrs Browning surprised Jay with her open mindedness, she said she’d always know of his sexuality, as he handn’t mentioned it, she didn’t think she should either! It simply wasn’t an issue.

Jay knew that she looked upon him with extreme fondness, secretly, she had come to think of Jay as the son, she’d never had. Jay was also extremely fond of her for a mulititude of reasons. He made special attention to thank her regularly, both verbally and with little gifts, he aways had to be insistant, and faign hurt before she’d accept them. He also made specail efforts to remember her birthday.

One day she had come to the cottage in an unusally sombre mood, she apologetically asked for a small advance on her wage. She told him that she needed the funds to get a taxi to the church where her husband, Mr Browning was buried. It transpired that the very next day was to have been their wedding aniversary. Jay would not hear of her taking a taxi, he insisted that he’d drive her himself. So the next morning, just after ten he picked her up outside the tiny little house she called home, presented her with a bueatiful bouquet and drove her to the church yard. He waited patienntly by the car, not wishing to intrude as she tended her husbands grave. When she was done, he drove her to a quiet country pub, one she’d visited on occasion with her husband and treated her to lunch. In the afternoon he took her shopping. He had to buy himself a number of items beforehe was allowed to get her a little something. Mrs Browning was overwhelmed by his generosity and vowed never to forget his kindness. Jay also knew he’d never foget that day either. Of course, he didn’t let on that he’d had to cancell a particulalrly lucrative personal appearamnce to be with her that day. The look upon her face at the end of the day, more than compencated, He knew he’d done the right thing, and he knew he’d do exactly the same thing next year, and whatsmore he did. He also knew he’d do it again this year!

It was little after three in the afternoon when De fargo breezed back into the newroom and placed herself behind her desk and turnded on her computer terminal. She roughly brushed aside the yellow slips of paper that were her telephone messages, she didn’t even notice the bulging manila folder place in her in try, no De Fargo had heard something simply wonderful over lunch. It was without a doubt the best peice of gossip she’d heard so far this month. She could bearly contain her excitement as her long, boney fingers powered over the ergonomic keyboard as lightning streaks across the storm ravaged sky. She had completely forgotton about the phone call from David Foster before her early lunch, Danny Michaels was the last person on her mind. No, De Fargo was busy writing her piece that tomorrow would inform the seventeen million readers of the Daily Herald about one of their farourite soap actresses caught in a compremising situation with a fellow, married, cast member in a private room of a nightclub! As the words flowed out of her like water gushjing from a broken pipe, she thought not of the concequences her reverlation would bring. The effefct her story would have on all those concerned, the married mans already fragile marrage, his wife, his children. Nor did she even give a moments thought to the actress, whose recent engagement party De Fargo attended, today’s friend would be tomorrows enemy.

With a wickedly contented smile De Fargo striked the send key which, indeed did send her article to her editors pc to be read and undoubtedly accepted for tomorrow edition. She realxed in her chair with a look of satisfaction on her face akin to a cheshire cat that got the cream. After she bathed in her own glory for a while she then noticed the manila folder in the blue metal ‘in’ tray. She reached over placed it directly before her and opened the cover, instantly she recalled the phone call and she found herself looking at publicity photograph of the bright and smiling Danny Michaels. He certainly was an attactive young man, even De Fargo could not deniy that, dispite the fact that verbaly she almost certainly would, that was her way. She placed the colour 10 x 8 to the left and turned her attentions to the next sheet of A4, Danny Micahels biography sheet, which she inwardly digested. Followling that she leafed through various copies of newspaper and magazine articles, each and every one concerning Danny, or his music, or his life, or indeed anything even remotely associated with the twenty-three year old pop star. Nothing yet struck De Fargo as useful or intersting, at least for her objectives! However, deep in the back of her mind she noticed her appreacation or could that possibly be attraction for the young star increase, perhalp a little more than she thought healthy.

Several articles later she turned her attention to a computer generated route plan of the A29, aigin nothing jumped out at her, so swiftly she pulled out the list of DJ’s. She cursed aloud the research deprtment, they’d given her a list of all the DJ’s in the country. Ordinarily she would have called up the researcher in question and severly repremanded them, yet today she was feeling charitable, probably because at the very same moment an email on her screen informed her that her piece about the soap actress had been accepted and was being made into a full page spread, with pictures. She smiled, another exclusive with her name on the by line and another nail in the coffin of her competition. She took her note pad and made a list of all the female DJ’s, then when that was complete she struck off all those north of Milton Keynes and south of Portsmouth. This action left her with a list of twenty-six. With the aid of the Producers Bible she called up each and everyones agent to learn their marital status. Although she knew that that bore no real relavence, today’s story bore whitness to that fact, she knew she had to start somewhere. After half an hour her list was down to eleven elagable, single female radio DJ’s. She put her pad down and scanned the origanal list again, just to make absolutly sure she hadn’t missed one, it was this kind of dedication that help her achive her rapid rise in printed media. She hadn’t of course omitted one, so her long bony tallons retrieved the pad from her desk and her eyes searched the names again and again. ‘There just has to be something’ she thought to herself.

Jay toiled at his desk, replying to as many fan letters as he could, the task was quite an easy one as most just required little more than a signed photo. Some however, were a little more detailed and required a personal answer which he was more than happy to address a standard reply saved on his PC. Jay pulled another letter from the sack, opened the envelope with care and pulled the letter from the paper sleave. He read the letter, then read it again, a sad tale unfolded from a lonely teenager, it was a tail so sad that Jay felt a lump appear in his throat and his eyes moisten. Jay pushed aside his computer keyboard, pulled some paper from his top draw , picked up a pen and started to write a very personal reply. When he’d finished he picked up the teenagers letter and read it for a third time, he felt such sympathy for the young lad, his letter effected him greatly, he identified with the boy’s situation and the lad’s letter revoked feelings in Jay that he thought he’d long since forgotton. Painful personal memories that Jay had hoped he could forget.

Jay wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and pulled out another letter from the sack beside his desk. He busised himself with that and then another and another, yet never far from the surface was the boys tragic story, Jay only hoped that somehow his responce would in some small way help the lad in question and ease his pain. He wished he could help in a more direct way, but that was impossible, it would probably do more harm than good, however it did give him an idea. He scralled a note to himself which he placed in the black leather record like bag that rested on the window ledge behind him. He sighed and continued to attack the sack of fan letters.

Two hours later the last letter had been opened, read and a replied to and with a huge sigh Jay raised his arms and placed his hands behind the back of his head and leaned back in his desk chair. He looked at the three neatly stacked piles or repiles and felt more than a little pleased with himself. The sound of a loud motorbike pulling up drew Jay’s attention outside, He got up and went to the hall just as the door bell rang loudly.

“I’ll get it” he called to Mrs Browmning who was busy in the kitchen, cooking up something lovely, judging by the smell. Jay opened the door to a rather older than average looking courrier

“Package for a...Mister.....err....Stone” The guy said, in a gruff gravel like voice that must have been the resault of a tweenty a day habit for the past twenty years.

“Yeah that’s me” Jay said as he took the package ansd then sighned for it on a dirty crumpled peice of papper attached with rubber bands to a grubby clip board. “Thank’s mate” Jay said and closed the door. As he was returing to his study he heard the motorbike start, rev up and then pull away, it’s sound strangly erotic, even if it’s rider had been exactly the opporsite. Opening th package Jay found, as expected, his scrip for ‘Straight Talk’ the TV show, he was shooting tomorrow.

Jay started to read through the yellow stapled pages and was just coming to the end when Mrs Browning popped her head round the door to inform him that dinner was ready and waiting for him on the patio. Jay smiled, he hadn’t even realsied he was hungry, yet he stomach growelled the opposite, he wondered just how was that Mrs Browning instinctively knew the right time to either bring him a cup of tea, as she had many time during the day or have something ready to eat. He didn’t know, she just did!

Before he went to the patio he pulled out an envelope from his bag and a smile crossed his lips. “Wow, this looks lovely” he said taking his seat. On the large oval plate before him was pasta and a homemade tomato, mushroom and basil sauce topped with a generous portion of feta cheese and a long stick of bruccheta bread. Beside the plate was a full glass of white wine which looked incredibly inviting. He sipped the cool liquid, it’s sharp yet fruity tastes tickled and tanterlised his palet.

“Now, tuck in before it get’s cold” Mrs Browning said and was just turning to go back inside.

“Oh before you go, this is for you” Jay said holding out the envelope.

“Whatever is it dear” She said in a bemused fashion.

“It’s for you, you’d better open it and find out!” Jay chuckled, Mrs Browning wiped her palms down the front of her overall and took the enevlope in her right hand. Carefully she pulled back the securing flap that had been tucked inside the pocket. Slowly she pulled out the smiling and very tanned face of one of her favourite television personalities. Des O’Connor, her face beamed her instant delight and a rosey blush appeared on her cheeks, Jay who was watching her reaction intently smiled and turned his attention to meal . She pulled the photograph closer to her eyes to make out the personal inscription toward the bottom of the 10 x 8 print. “Mrs Browning, how on earth do you put up with such a fool as Jay? With love and warmest wishes, Des O’Connor” She smiled again, truly delighted.

“Well, I remember you said you liked him some time ago” Jay said chewing a mouthful of the delightful dish. “So, I took the opportunity yesterday to get his autograph for you”

“Oh, my dear, it wonderful, I don’t know what to say, Thank you.” she smiled, it seemed from ear to ear, “Yiu shouldn’t have gone to so much bother, you really shouldn’t”

“It was no bother, honestly” Jay said. “You know I was up in London yeasterday” Mrs Browning nodded, “Well I was a guest on his show, so I just asked him after we’d finished the filing and he was only to please, so it was really no bother at all”

“Oh my dear that’s really nice, he is one of my favourites, it’s so good of you to think of me when you’re out dear, it really is. So when is it going to be on the telly then dear?” Mrs Browning enthuses.

“I think it’s tgonna be on a week next Wednesday, but I couldn’t sewar to it” Jay replied after taking a sip of wine. “It should be a good show, Danny Michaels the singer was on too and so was Barbara Widsor, it was a really good laugh”

“Oh how wonderful, that Danny, he’s such a lovely boy. I’ll be sure to watch” She said, “Thank you again, dear” She added, and slowly slid the photo back into it protecting cover.

“You’re more than welcome” Jay said as Mrs Browning smiled, turned and went back to the kitchen, leaving Jay with a warm happy glow inside, and not one due to the lovely meal she prepaird for him.

Mrs Browning always watched the Des O’Connor Tonight show, yet next week she’d also record it as well. It wasn’t long after she’d come to work for Jay that Mrs Browning made a concious decision to record all of his television appearances, always with a certain amount motherly like of pride. Her collection now stood at six and a half full tapes.

When she was back in the kitchen Jay recalled her words, “That Danny is a very nice boy” he chuckled, it was true, Danny was a nice boy, a very nice boy and last night had proved that beyond a reasonable doubt. After they’d finnished filming the show with Des they attacked the ITV green room bar with vigour in the company of Des himself and the very bubbly bouncy Ms Windsor. A jolly old time was had by all!

“And....cut it there!” Barked the Norwegan director Lars Christien Krogg to the assembled throng of techicians, electricians, stylists, make-up artists and other assorted production personel. Instantly the sound of Danny’s latest single died in the air to leave a faint electrical hum echoing around the large warehouse style studio. “Well done Danny, that was wonderful.” He tall, blond, thin man said, his Scandinavian acent strong and thick. “Ok everyone let’s get a move on and re set for shot 32 and wrapp this thing up” He ordered. Danny sighed and made his way to one of the vacant directors fold up chairs behind the already shifting camera position. Almost as soon as his buttocks hit the canvas fabric of the seat he was surrounded. A runner had come to see if he wanted anything, the make-up artist had come to touch up his lip gloss and powder his forehead, his hair was being repositioned with spray by the hair stylist and the fashion advisor had come over just to make sure she wasn’t missing out on anything!

While he was being preened and pruned he picked up his mobile phone, turned it on and checked his messages, three of them. The first from Angela, his manager wishing him well for the shoot and asking for a call back when he was through. The second was someone in the press office at Outridge Records with details of a press conference.The thrid and final message had been recieved from a muscian friend inviting him to dinner that evening, then a fun jam session. Danny sighed, the one person he’d really wanted to call hadn’t, yet he’d never really expected them to anyway. However, even armed with that knowledge, he still kept the dream alive, hanging by a sliver of the thinest thred. He sighed loudly, turnred off the phone and stowed it securely in his black record back. The runner told him the Larrs was again ready for him on set, reluctantly he got off his chair the stylists parted like waves and saunted of to where his director was standing.

Penelope De Fargo, having got nowhere with her list decided to take a lilttle walk, with not particular purpose she took a westerly direction from the Daily Herald offices. Her first thought was shopping, that waslways theraputic, but today her heart just wasn’t in it, a seriously extraordinary occurance. She continued to walk and found herself in Covent Garden, then as some unseen artist had quickly and cleverly drawn a cartoon light bulb abover her head, she had an idea. She decided to call on Amanda Stockwell, an old friend from university, also a journolist. Her office just happened to be nearby, so with renewed purpose she increased her pace to a brisk walk..

The reception area of Hudson House was notoriously quite when De Fargo step throught the open door way, she walked right up to the single steel desk and informed a waifish peroxide blond girl in a bright pink sweatshirt are large white hooped ear rings that she wished to see Ms Stockwell.

“What magazine she work on?” The girl asked bearly looking up from her half completeled word search puzzle.

“Bravo” De Fargo replied frostily. The girl picked up the phone dials, told whoever answered that someone was here to see Ms Stockwell. She then informed De Fargo that someone would be down in a minute, then turned her attention back to the puzzle and chewing her gum. De Fargo waited irritably, she detested impolite, ill-mannored, ignorant, lame-brained, unitelligent people. And, this so called receptionist was most definately a member of that particular social sector.

A Short while later a bright faced thirty year old with short dark hair, hauntingly sad eyes and a beautifully clear compexion appeared from an elevator at the end of the small lobby. “Penelope, is that you?” She called holding the door of the elevator open.

“Hello Amanda, darling” De Fargo greeted brightly. The two once great friends hadn’t seen each other for a number of years, although they had spoken infrequently on the phone.

“Great to see you” Amanda said, she seemed genuienly pleased to see her old chum. As they rode up to the fifth floor they exchanged pleasentry, asking how each other was, if they were seeing anyone special, how work was and all that.

Amanda guided De fargo to a smal office off a large open plan production office for Bravo, a national teenager pop and fashion magazine. They sat down and caught up on old times for a little while, then De Fargo brought up the real reason for the unanounced visit.

“Oh, what do you know about Danny Michaels?” she asked casually as if it were the most natural question in the world one would ask an old friend one hadn’t seen for at least three or four years.

“Errm, not that much I’m affraid” Amanda replied, just a little taken a back. She paused, thought for a moment. “Not much apart from that he’s one hell of a sexy stud, he’s got a great voice, he’s hughly popular, we get letters every day asking for him to be featured in the mag and his his new single comes out pretty soon. That’s about it, and as I said he’s pretty tastey” She pulled a drolling face, although Danny was not really her type. She was more a blond, strong, silent type girl. She prefered her men slighlt taller, more sophistcated, like her boyfriend of long standing Ashley.

She reached forward and leafed through a big card index in a pretty black box decorated with pictures of penguins. She pulled a large green card from the ‘M’ section and placed it on the desk in front of her. “Here you go, Danny Michaels, born in Selhurst, twenty-three years old, lives in Kensington now, signed to Outridge Records, drives a red Merc, he had, according to roumer, had a fling with one of the girls from the god awful Honeyz a few months ago. His new single is coming out in a few days or so, he’s on the Des O’Connor show next week, he doesn’t do interviews, oh but, that said there is a press call to launch the new single and that really is it” Amanda stopped and breathed for what seemed like the first time since she started her potted resume of Danny’s life. Then added with a wicked smile, “And, he’s supposed to be well endowded apparently” She giggled a school girl like chuckle and stared at De Fargo. “Why?” she asked almost as after thought.

“Oh nothing really, it’s just I got a call from someone working with him at them moment saying he had some new love interest, it’s not really my field, but I thought you might be interested, it’s more you scene” De Fargo said, then mentally kicked herself, she’d given away a lead and more information than she’d planned.

Ohh I wonder who?” Amanda mused for a second or two, then as fast as lighting she got off her seat dashed round the desk, flung open the door and shouted to the rest of the floor, “Anyone know who Danny Michaels is shagging at the moment?” Heads turned, Amada never usually shouted, she was always a quite, private woman. Her enquiry was nonetheless greeted with blank looks, a few ‘no’s’ and head shakes. “Sorry” she said to De Fargo who was already out of her seat.

“That’s OK, but if I hear anything I’ll let you know” She smiled and air kissed her old friend.

“Like wise” Amanda said. Amanda then accompanaied De Fargo back to the elevator where they said their goodbyes, promised each other they’d call soon and arrange to go out on the town and that they shouldn’t leave it so long next time. Only one of the women spoke with honesty and sincereity.