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The Cover-Up.

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The Cover-Up: By Sophie Darch 'You have five new messages' said a woman's voice as I walked through the door. It was raining outside; in fact it had been raining all day. I glanced in the mirror as I walked past and noticed my hair! It had become slightly matted with the damp and the copper streaks which had been so delicately placed around the front of my face the week before, now made me possess a slight resemblance to the cookie monster! I skipped through my messages one by one; most of them were from different companies trying to sell me various items, including a conservatory. These people obviously didn't know much about their customers, other wise they would have noticed from my address that I lived in a twelfth floor apartment in the middle of New York City! "Hey darling, just calling to find out whether you fancied coming out with me for a drink Saturday night? I thought maybe we could go to The Attic (The Attic, or the 'Black Room' as some people call it, is the latest in clubbing venues, just off of Broadway). Anyway I'll pick you up around seven, ciao!" Ciao? Ugh! Doug has never been the most subtle or charming character that I've ever had the pleasure of knowing and I'll admit that. His father is a much-liked congressman here in NYC. What was he thinking calling here? I don't know how many times I'm going to have to tell him I'm not interested! I walked into the bedroom to find the bed neatly made, clothes which were previously strewn across the floor hung neatly in the closet and a Butter-worth mint placed centrally on the pillow, which also had apparently been fluffed to its limit. Alongside was a note. It was from mum. She wanted me to go to dinner with her and the new 'partner'. ...read more.


I rushed home, this was a story which needed some careful planning, something which would take time. I settled down with a mug of tea in my hand and a pad of paper. I began jotting down notes about the background of the case. I rang around for more information on the ever formidable Congressman Greene and found out some very interesting information which could come in handy if matters started to get a little out of hand. The phone rang. "Hello?" "Is this Miss Pardon?" "Yes this is she" "Hello, I'm just calling to confirm your meeting with Mr Malone tomorrow afternoon. He says that he's delighted you got in touch; he's always wanted to be interviewed by the much-credited Hello! Magazine team," "Yes, I see, we are quite popular the world over. Could I just confirm the time again? I seem to have mislaid it, I've been dreadfully clumsy recently!" "Certainly, 2:30pm" "Thank you very much" "Your welcome, Miss Pardon, good afternoon." "Yes good afternoon" Well that was interesting, at least this way I suppose I can be believable being a journalist and all! Now...how was I going to go about this? The next morning I received a phone call from the same woman who had called the afternoon before. She said that Mr Malone was no longer able to conduct an interview due to 'circumstances out of his control'. Of course I agreed naturally, and not being a fan of Hello! Magazine I declined the opportunity to reschedule. From what I knew of Greene, I was pretty certain that he'd found out who I really was, and cancelled the interview before he gave away more than he intended. There was no doubt about it; I would have to find a way of getting in there myself. I do have to admit that I'm not a fan of climbing through windows, or breaking and entering, but a hardheaded journalist of the future has got to do what needs to be done. ...read more.


Maybe it was the public humiliation that did it, or maybe the fact that he couldn't get dates anymore from the office as most of the women believed that seediness and con-man like qualities ran from father to son. It had been a long day. I was just leaving the office when the phone rung, it seemed to have a habit of doing that a lot these days. "Hello?" "Ah hello dear, I didn't think I was going to catch you for a moment there," "Well you did mum, is there something I can do for you?" "I was just wondering whether you were still on for dinner tonight, Jeremy is dying to meet you," (Jeremy being the new man in mummy darling's life). "Oh I don't see why not, give me an hour, I'll meet you there!" I don't know why I said yes, I suppose I owed it to her to meet the new man in her life. If I was to be doomed for a life of single-dom I might as well be nice enough to encourage mum to live her dreams. I turned up at the restaurant to find her laughing her head off. There was a third person sitting at the table, I remembered what mum had said in the note about her introducing me to a nice young man or something of that sort. "Hello darling, I was just telling Jeremy and Mike about that time when you got your head stuck between the rails at Buckingham Palace! Haha!" "Mike?" "Oh yes of course, how rude of me, Natasha this is Mike O'Neil, you know the 'nice young man' I told you about?" "Of course I remember, I mean I'm not likely to forget something like that, nor is he likely to forget me getting my head stuck in the palace rails!" "Yes, you're right there," he said smiling "It's not the kind of behaviour you'd expect from the newly appointed editor of The Daily Globe now is it?" 1 ...read more.

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