Perfect Strangers Read Online Free PDF Page A

that she had her career. But no . After all her hard work, twenty years of dodging bullets, pounding the pavements, her reward was going to be – nothing ?
    ‘Listen, nothing has been decided yet,’ said Isaac. ‘As I said, I’m just giving you a heads-up. There is a possibility that we might keep a bureau chief in London if we can show it’s worthwhile.’
    ‘But that’s Jim’s job.’
    ‘Not necessarily.’
    She raised her eyebrows. Was he suggesting her?
    ‘I want the best person for the job in that role. If you can prove to me that that person is you, then I will move Jim on. There’s possibly an opening coming up soon in Shanghai that I think he’d be perfect for.’
    It was a tiny chink of light, but it was something.
    ‘So when will you be making a decision?’ Ruth asked, trying to keep her excitement in check.
    Isaac closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with one finger.
    ‘I don’t know. Within a few weeks. Half the publishers are on vacation until Labor Day.’
    Ruth began to speak, but Isaac silenced her with a shake of his head.
    ‘Don’t think you’re getting a free run at this, though,’ he said. ‘I’ll be giving Jim the same pitch: there is only money for one of you – and even then you’ve got to make it pay. I want to see a shitload more stories coming from the London bureau – good stuff, real scoops, none of this red-carpet crap – otherwise I’m going to cut you off at the nuts and I won’t feel the slightest qualm about it. We clear?’
    Ruth nodded, her smile leaking through. Stories were what she was good at. ‘We’re clear.’
    ‘Okay then,’ said Isaac, snapping his fingers for the waiter. ‘Let’s order some steak.’

3
    Her hand caught the alarm clock’s off button on the third ring. Sophie stifled a yawn, and reluctantly crawled out of bed. She was not usually a morning person. She had always been a ‘five more minutes under the duvet’ kind of girl, but since the funeral she had felt a renewed sense of purpose. Life seemed more urgent, as if there were so many things to do, and right now was the time to start making them happen. It was either that or curl up into a ball – and Sophie wasn’t prepared to give in to that urge.
    Walking into the bathroom, she turned on the shower as hot as she could stand and stepped inside. She let out a high-pitched squeal, but forced herself to stay under the scalding water until her head cleared, then she carefully scrubbed herself with some peach-grain body lather and washed and conditioned her hair. By the time she was dried off and wrapped in her fluffy robe, she felt ready for the day.
    Taking the few steps back into the bedroom, she folded up the sofa bed to transform it back into her living room. Her Battersea studio was the tiniest space – but it was her own space, she reminded herself, remembering the day when the For Sale sign had gone up outside her old Chelsea flat. She cried herself to sleep that night, but she had been adamant she was not moving back to her parents’ house. After the financial problems began, the atmosphere at Wade House had become depressing, not to mention that she did not want to be a daily reminder to her father that he could no longer provide for her. Instead, she offloaded her entire designer wardrobe of dresses, bags and shoes to the second-hand dress agency on the King’s Road and the money was enough to pay for the deposit and twelve months’ rent on this place. Although it was small – no bigger than the dining room in her Flood Street apartment where she had thrown her weekly pre-Raffles dinner parties – it was bright and sunny, which gave the illusion of more space, and it was in a decent spot too – two streets away from the park and a ten-minute bus ride from Chelsea. Her old life might have gone, but with her new address, at least she had a view of it from the other side of the river.
    She sat down at her little dressing table and chose a lipstick. Even her make-up