Career Girls by Louise Bagshawe Read Free Book Online Page A

way I feel about you.’
    ‘Topaz is my friend,’ Rowena insisted. ‘That’s all there is to it.’
    God, she wanted him.
    ‘We’d never have lasted together,’ Kennedy said smoothly. ‘You know that. She’s American, she wants different things out of life to me. I only realized it once I started seeing you and talking to you. We’re the same, Rowena. We might have a chance together. Let me talk to Topaz and explain things to her.’
    ‘No, no,’ said Rowena. She felt as though she could hardly breathe. To hear Peter say what she’d been thinking for so long’.., it was killing her. ‘Just leave me alone. I can’t talk to you again,’ and she wrenched open the door and
    ran out, her eyes brimming with tears. Peter Kennedy watched her go. Not long now, he thought.
     
    39

Chapter Four
    The air in the chamber was thick With tension.
    Rowena sat on the opposition benches, her beautiful face frozen in stone. She appeared to be listening gravely to Gilbert Docker’s bumbling, inept attempt at proposing the motion.
    At the moment, he was making jokes about male executives having their innocent, appreciative comments towards female juniors totally misconstrued by dykey feminists. It wasn’t going down too badly, on the face of it; a crowd of drunk, upper-class rugby players and Oriel boaties had turned up and were cheering every sexist innuendo to the rafters. Gilbert’s normally squeaky voice Was climbing higher and higher with pleasure, and his face had gone red and sweaty from the heat; he was annoying everyone else, Rowena noticed.
    She put a delicate hand to her temple, trying to make the sick, dizzy feeling go away. Why me? she thought. Why now?
    Chris Johnson, who as top of standing committee was sitting in the Secretary’s chair while Gilbert spoke, glanced across at his slate boss. He was ;˘ery worried. The chamber was packed solid with students, cramming the benches, squeezed up on the floor, thronging the gallery upstairs. It was Wednesday; the election would be on Friday week. Presidential Debates and officer hustings were usually held on the night before the election, but Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden was due to speak that day, so tonight’s showdown had been brought forward. The unusual timing made the debate even more crucial for their slate.; Oxford
     
    4o
     
    ould have more than a week to reflect on this evening’s performances.
    And Rowena Gordon was a star. A brilliant speaker. She could wipe the floor with Gilbert Docker, ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Indeed, a large chunk of the crowd had turned up specifically to see a bloodbath.
    Oh, there’ll be a bloodbath, OK, Chris thought grimly. But it might not be Gilbert’s blood.
    Rowena looked stunning. No problems there. She was wearing a strapless ballgown of crushed red velvet, a Balenciaga original of her mother’s which emphasized her perfect small breasts and tiny waist, and then cascaded to the floor in sumptuous raspberry folds. The richness of the colour picked out her shimmering hair, and her ice-mint eyes were sharp and glittering.
    Glittering far too brightly, Chris thought. The girls who were looking at her enviously and the guys who were sizing her up hadn’t seen her like he had this morning, her hair slick with perspiration, her skin pale and shining with sweat. They’d called the doctor: Rowena Gordon, on the morning of her Presidential Debate, had a temperature of IO3 and was immediately confined to bed. Chris, as her friend, had tried to talk her out of it, but as soon as the doctor had left, she got up, staggered over to her sink and swallowed ten Nurofen.
    ‘It’s not worth it, for Christ’s sake,’ Chris had said, aghast. ‘You’ll kill yourself.’
    Rowena, shivering with fever, looked at him.
    ‘No I won’t,’ she said levelly. I’ll kill Gilbert.’
     
    In the gallery, Peter Kennedy was watching Rowena intently.
    Something’s wrong, he mused. I know it is.
    He thought about how amusing it