Stargirl of the Edge

Ch 53 - War Correspondent

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to Frank Gardner, the distinguished BBC correspondent. He has reported from many war zones and is currently the BBC's Security Correspondent. In Saudi Arabia he was shot and seriously injured. He is now unable to walk and often in pain, but he has continued to work as normal, and is in my opinion one of the best journalists on the BBC.

The next morning, Tuesday the twenty-fourth of July, Liz hopped in the jeep and went to the shop to pick up the newspapers, and had a good long ‘chin wag’ with Dorothy.
She took the heavy pile of newspapers back to the house and looked through each one in turn. The story hadn’t made it onto all the front pages, but it was still very prominent.
In one particular newspaper, the coverage stood out, but not for the right reasons. It was one of the so-called quality newspapers, larger sized than the others, generally well-respected, with a large circulation. It was definitely not one of those papers that contained only gossip or glamour pictures.
There, filling almost the full width of the front page, taking up virtually the whole of the area above the fold, was Olivia, a penetrating, high definition close-up of her face in her moment of anguish.
She was just looking up, her eyes looking almost directly into the camera, obviously distressed, and with tears clearly visible, emotional but also rather attractive, rather pretty, rather vulnerable.
Liz felt a deep sense of anger at the sight of her daughter depicted in this way. Yes, the photo was iconic and expressed the drama and horror of the situation. The newspaper editors were making use of the situation and her daughter’s good looks to sell more copies of the newspaper.
But how could Liz complain? She had got exactly what she wanted. Massive coverage and impact. Thanks to Marianne’s help, the story had made the front page of one of the nation’s foremost newspapers, and others as well.
And what if the picture of Olivia crying took up the top half of the page, and the main part of the story was on page 23. And what if they had also spelt the campaign website address incorrectly - with one N in Dennis, not two - at least the story was out there.
She felt like phoning up the editor and giving him a good talking to, but what was the point? He would have asked her what on earth she was complaining about? She had got what she wanted, hadn’t she? Front page coverage. A company would have to pay thousands of pounds to achieve that level of exposure. He would have said that the newspaper had done the campaign a huge favour.
But of all the media people Liz had come into contact with, the one who had done her the biggest favour was Marianne. How had she managed to arrange that press conference? Nobody else could have done it. And how much had she paid for that helicopter flight? (She later found out it cost nearly four thousand pounds.)
She was just about to turn to page 23 when Olivia walked into the kitchen with sleepy eyes, making no attempt to look at the newspaper or anything that was on the table.
“I’m going to my room,” she said, then ascended the staircase and closed the door behind her.
Liz decided to take all the papers and shove them in a drawer out of sight.  She needed to make phone calls and also receive them.
All day she spoke continuously on her mobile and on the cordless phone, often the two of them at the same time, her mobile held between her shoulder and her ear, walking up and down the kitchen, taking sips of tea from her mug, sometimes breaking into animated conversation and making gestures with her arms.
She was in constant contact with Marianne. Would someone get in touch with some vital information? Would Dennis just appear out of nowhere? Would there be more of the same: No news? Or could it be that it would have the opposite effect, and they were about to receive the worst possible news.
And then the phone rang once more, she lifted it up and at the other end, there was a very familiar voice. It belonged to someone she knew very well, but she couldn’t decide whether it was one of her many friends or someone she had heard on TV or radio. Even Liz, from time to time, couldn’t remember each and every one of the hundreds of people she knew, at least not for a few seconds.
And then the caller introduced himself. He was a senior correspondent with the BBC, specialising in the region where Dennis was being held. Now she recognised him. She had seen him on many news programmes and she immediately said hello and thanked him for calling.  Unlike many of the newspaper journalists Liz had had to deal with over the previous weeks, the man spoke in a distinguished accent, more like a university professor than many of the journalists she had met.
He said he wished to speak to Liz and Olivia urgently and that he would like to call in at their home. He was heading to the northern studios in Media City, only a half hour’s drive from Alderley Edge. He was doing a special report from there for the main evening news. He said would like to call in the next day around one o’clock in the afternoon. Liz enthusiastically agreed to this.
She then started to talk to him about all the television and newspaper coverage there had been, but he stopped her politely, saying he needed to get back to preparing his evening broadcast. She apologised for talking too much and they ended the call with friendly words. She looked up and out the window. She had a good feeling. Progress was being made.
Later she told Olivia about the call but she wasn’t too interested. Many times before she had been told about some good piece of news, but it never seemed to lead to anything. She would avoid all thoughts about the situation and stay in her room.
The next day, Wednesday 25th, about twelve fifty, Liz heard the sound of tyres coming up the drive. The car stopped, a very familiar man got out, picked up a briefcase, walked up to the door with big, confident strides and knocked.
Jessie started to bark, Liz told her to be quiet, she opened the door and there, standing in front of her, was a face she had seen many times on TV. He was quite tall, with a moderate tan, and was wearing a crisply ironed shirt and pale trousers. Normally on screen he would wear a suit and tie.
She invited him in and he sat down at the table. Immediately Liz felt excited and encouraged by the presence of such a famous journalist. There was something about him. He seemed almost like a guardian angel, a messenger who was bringing good news.
Liz offered him the usual choice of English tea or Chinese tea. He chose Chinese tea. She made it for him and gave it to him. He showed a connoisseur’s appreciation of the tea, and talked about his days as a reporter in South East Asia where he had drunk tea like that every day.
He prepared his notes on the table, Liz bounded up the spiral staircase. She knocked on Olivia’s door and waited.
“Livvy! Can you please come down, the nice correspondent guy from the BBC is here.”
“Do I have to?” came the voice from inside.
Liz opened the door and stood over Olivia, ordering her to come down immediately.
A few minutes later, Olivia walked down the spiral staircase, half asleep, her eyes half open, her hair untidy.
“I’m so sorry, I told her to be ready…”
“Oh no it doesn’t matter,” he said with a smile that was warm and understanding, “I have a teenage daughter myself, I know what it’s like.”
Liz grabbed hold of Olivia’s hand and held it tight. She felt that the correspondent had some important news. Olivia could feel there was a mood of urgency and she became more alert.
“Oh, and by the way” he said, looking directly at Olivia, “may I say how excellent you were at the press conference. I have witnessed many appeals in many hostage situations. What you did was outstanding, you should be proud of yourself.”
Olivia tried to disguise her smile. The dimples appeared on her cheeks.
“Now then, the reason I have come to see you is… Well, let me explain…”
Liz gripped Olivia’s hand tightly and stared at him with her big eyes.
He went on to tell them that he had seen the press conference on the screens at the news centre in London, and had been very impressed. He thought the appeal had been well presented. He knew about the story and had reported on it a couple of times.
Liz and Olivia gazed at him, both fascinated to see the man they had watched so many times on screen sitting right there in front of them.
“I felt,” he said, clearing his throat, “that the news coverage omitted a few important facts that I think you should know about…”
He gave some background information about the various terrorist groups operating in that country. He had reported from there the previous year and had been involved in one or two incidents himself. Luckily no one had been injured.
Liz listened patiently to every word, but already Olivia was starting to feel stressed and upset. He speculated on which of the armed groups might have kidnapped Dennis. He couldn’t say for certain who might have taken him but he had drawn up a shortlist.
Liz noticed that as he read the names aloud, he pronounced the strange, foreign sounding words in what seemed like a perfect accent.
He continued to talk, providing more background information, and explanations on related subjects. Olivia was finding it more and more difficult. She began to look around for things to distract her.
“I apologise for talking for a long time, I think I should get to the point. What I have to tell you is… well, as I am sure you are aware, last Friday, the twentieth of July, was the start of the Holy month of...”
“Mum”, said Olivia, “I’m sorry, but would you mind if I just go to my room, I’m just finding it… it’s all a bit too much. Thanks, it was nice to meet you.”
She held out her hand and gave the correspondent a limp handshake. He squeezed her hand tightly, saying it was no problem and that he could quite understand how she must feel. Relieved, she walked up the stairs, into her room and closed the door behind her.

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Of all journalists Liz has dealt with, only this one shows an in-depth knowledge of the region including linguistic knowledge. He is also caring, courteous and highly intelligent - qualities that Liz  appreciates! Using the benefit of his long experience, he tells Liz something that offers some hope. Olivia's way of dealing with the situation is to try to put it out of her mind, on the principle of 'ignorance is bliss'. But sometimes using this method, you can miss out on important information, as here! Originally I wrote that Olivia gave him a limp handshake. I read in an article that Frank Gardner has a vice-like handshake so I included it here!