Heart in the Field

Chapter One

That’s him!
The man who sparked the idea for her
new TV show.

           
Memories of a girlfriend’s brother
had provided Serena Brown with a story idea for
Neon Nights
. And this
was him!
Or at least someone who resembled the guitarist
standing on the sidewalk.
His thick black hair straggled to his
shoulders from beneath a straw hat and he swayed his body to the rhythm of the
music.

           
“It’s a hot September afternoon in Toronto. Hot. Hot—”

           
Serena punched the radio off. The
last thing she needed, while trapped in traffic with dazzling sunshine beating
down on the roof of her black Porsche, was a motor mouth deejay informing her
that it was hot. She knew it was hot. She switched the air-conditioning to high
and felt icy waves of air ruffle her hair and penetrate her navy blue linen
suit.

           
The man moved on, walking through
the crowds with a slow gait. Serena had done a lot of research on the homeless
for her new show. The first segment, beginning the following week, was
City Streets
.
Excitement formed in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t wait for the new show
to begin. It was a huge career move for her.

           
Before she drove forward a few feet
to the bus in front of her, she looked at the man again. He stopped to beg
money from the people rushing from the subway entrance, and she felt guilty
sitting here in her expensive air-conditioned car.

           
Her cell phone secured on the car’s
dash board rang. Recognizing the number of the caller, she connected the call.
“Hi, Don.”

           
“Where are you?” Don Steel asked.

           
Serena tapped her fingers against
the steering wheel.
“Stuck in traffic half way between the
new school addition mother just opened and the rear of a bus that happens to
have your grinning mug on it.”

           
“The new
Steel Yourself for our News
ad?”

           
Don might be well into his fifties
but he was such a kid. “Yes.
The ‘Steel Yourself’ ad.
You, wearing jeans and a yellow shirt covered in green elephants. Instead of
silver, your hair is blond.”

           
“That agency never gets it right.
But does it look good?”

           
Serena smiled. Don always said the
same thing but he never changed ad agencies, his brother-in-law owned the one
he used. The ad also made him appear younger than he was. “It looks fantastic.”

           
“Great. Now, look. The reason I
called you, Serena, did you hear the news?”

           
“You know I never actually listen to
the news.”

           
“This time you will. It’s about you.
Well, really it’s about John Duncan. But it affects you.”

           
Serena’s stomach tightened and she
tasted the salmon sandwich she’d eaten after the school opening ceremony.
“What’s he done?”

           
“You know he hasn’t been feeling
good. It seems he’s got some sort of a syndrome.
A fatigue
thing.”

           
“Poor John.”

           
“I agree.
Poor
John.
But
Neon Nights
starts next week and he has to rest and take it easy for
at least six months.”

           
“You mean he won’t be doing the
show?” Serena heard the alarm in her voice. No show. No job.

           
“You’ve got it.”

           
“Hell! Damn!”

           
“To put it mildly.
But don’t panic yet. I have a plan. Have you ever heard of Nick Fraser?”

           
Serena pictured a dark-haired man
possessing a precise broadcasting accent. It was the accent she remembered the
most because it made him sound like her famous journalist father, Stuart Redding
Brown. “Yes. I’ve heard of him. I’ve seen a few of his news reports.”

           
“Good. He came to me in April
wondering if there was something for him at Steel this September. There was
nothing for him then, but this might be his ticket. He’s a strong journalist
who likes to get his teeth into controversial stories. So I called him in London, and wouldn’t you
know it? He’s flying in today. Can you get here by six o’clock to meet him?”

           
“I suppose I can.” Serena wasn’t at
all certain she wanted Nick Fraser as a co-host. “Are you sure he’s the one?”

           
“No. But he’s a start. We don’t have
much time. If we think he’s going to work out, all we have to do is superimpose
Nick over John in some of those promo spots. What do you think?”

           
“I think field journalists like to
stay in the field. Studio work bores the pants off them.” Serena spoke from
experience with her father.

           
“Nick doesn’t want to be in the
field. He wants to be here. I’ll see you in Studio Three at six.”

           
She heard Don hang up. He never
argued once he’d made up his mind about something. She disconnected her own
phone. The bus moved forward about three feet. She moved her car with it,
figuring, at this rate, she might or might not make the appointment with Nick
Fraser.

•

           
With his black leather jacket hooked
over his shoulder, Nick strolled to the Steel TV Tower. The hot weather had
brought out the shorts and T-shirt crowd, the skateboarders, and opened the
patio restaurants. All this provided a holiday atmosphere in the city. And,
even though Nick knew jet lag would catch up with him, right now he felt
buoyant. He’d been expecting to return home to search for work and now he
didn’t have to do any searching. He had a job.

           
Nick spotted the mirrored windows of
the Steel TV building and crossed at the next lights. He remembered when the
tower had been built by Don’s father, Robert Steel, who’d started one of the
first news radio stations in Toronto.
When Bob had died, Don had taken over Steel and ventured into news television.

           
Nick entered through the swing doors.
The high ceiling in the foyer was painted sky-blue and reflected down on to a
white marble floor. The woman with cropped black hair and deep brown eyes at
the reception desk asked him to fill out a temporary pass that Don had arranged
for him.
If all the women who work here look
like her, this might be fun,
Nick thought,
pushing the elevator button. The light didn’t come on.

           
“You have to jam your finger on the
button,” a woman said.

           
Nick did as she told him and the
light popped on. “Thank you.”

           
“You’re welcome. This building is
getting old, so is the equipment. The elevators are always sticking.”

           
“Warning taken.”
Nick stood aside to let her enter the elevator. He pushed three and then
glanced at her to find out what floor she wanted.

           
“Five. Please.”

           
He selected the floor and took a
more thorough look at her. She was, what a British friend of his would have
called, his cup of tea. Golden hair, swept back from her forehead to fall in a
smooth bell to her shoulders, emphasized high cheekbones and a delectable
mouth. The navy blue suit with the short skirt and thin-heeled navy sandals
made her appear model-slim.

           
The elevator crunched and jerked to
a halt. “I see what you mean,” he said.

           
“Scary, isn’t it?”

           
He grinned. “Yes. Have a safe trip.”

           
Nick walked down the long corridor
to Studio Three. Before he pushed open the door he thought about the woman in
the elevator.

           
Very nice.

           
The few technicians lounging around
the bank of equipment and screens turned to look at him when he entered. Don
Steel was there as well, noticeable in an oversized black and pink shirt he
wore with jeans.

           
Don flashed his bright, toothy grin
and came over with his rather springy walk to pump Nick’s hand with enthusiasm.
“Hi, Nick.
Thought you might have been Serena.”

           
Nick tossed his jacket over the back
of a chair. “Serena
being …?”

           
Don lifted one of his thick dark
eyebrows, a dramatic contrast to his silver hair.
“Your
co-host, Serena Brown.
Didn’t I tell you?”

           
Nick shook his head. “You didn’t
tell me much at all, past the salary.”

           
Don smiled. “That was the main lure.
Serena might be the second.”

           
“I didn’t realize I was getting a
co-host.”

           
Don’s smile faded. “It won’t change
our arrangement?”

           
“No. It won’t change anything like
that. It just hadn’t occurred to me that I might be, let’s say, sharing the
limelight.”

           
“You will be sharing with the best
co-host I can provide. She’s Stuart Redding Brown’s daughter. You know who
Redding Brown was?”

           
“Yes. I do. You’re not kidding about
this?”

           
“No way.
Redding Brown was her father. And her mother is
Reeva
Brown-
Carstairs
, a city councilor.” Don rubbed his
hand around the back of his neck. “She doesn’t admit publicly to being his
daughter. So don’t mention anything to her. She prefers to go on her own merit,
of which she has plenty.”

           
“I won’t say a word. All I want is a
good vehicle for my work.” Nick prided himself on his own distinct,
below-the-belt type of journalism. Short, clipped, entertainment news turned
him off. He began to feel apprehensive about his new appointment at Steel. He’d
free-lanced for the past few years and he was used to being number one. He
envisioned there might be a battle on his hands with Don and Serena to remain
number one.

           
Don seemed to sense Nick’s
indecision. “I promise you’ll get whatever you want. Don’t worry.”

           
Nick shrugged. Maybe his anxiety was
unnecessary. What did it matter if he had to share the fame or fight for his
principles? He was home, where he needed to be. That was all that mattered.

           
Don gave the door an impatient
glance. “Where the hell is she? I told her six.”

           
Nick eyed his gold watch. “She still
has ten minutes.”

           
“If she doesn’t get here soon I’ll
call her again. She was stuck in traffic the last time I talked to her.”

           
With obvious time to spare Nick let
his glance wander around the studio to a set with all black and white props.
Nick presumed this was the set for
Neon
Nights
, and imagined himself sitting on the
black leather sofa with a woman who was Redding Brown’s daughter. He realized
that he might be putting himself into a situation that tapped into his own
insecurity and nervousness. Redding Brown had been one of his journalistic
idols. Before his death, Brown had published a book about his life as a war
correspondent. Nick trusted
Heart in the
Field
was still on his apartment bookshelf,
because he knew he would want to read it again after he’d met Serena.

           
In his more avid,
learning-how-to-be-a-foreign-correspondent days, he’d had a brief affair with a
seasoned female journalist who’d given Nick the book as a birthday gift. Brown
had died when Nick was a kid, but the book had become a bible among the media
crowd. Nick had understood why when he’d read it. Brown’s philosophy was close
to what he wanted to be his own.

           
Nick remembered a chapter of Redding
Brown’s book on how he’d felt about leaving home. Nick had been surprised at
his own reaction to the writing because it had filled him with unexpected
emotion. After he’d finished the book he hadn’t forgotten those few paragraphs.
He’d made a pact with himself never to put himself in the same painful position
as the older journalist. No wife and family. No problems. It was easy enough to
accomplish. He’d been trained not to feel much since the day his father had
taken him to his first private boys’ school and left him alone with a mere
handshake. Stephen Fraser had never returned until the year ended. Summer
vacation had seen Nick go to a camp. His parents had driven him to a bus and
left him with a horde of other abandoned children.