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College

It’s often the silence that says more than anything. Sandra Rollason was the mistress of the unspoken, tall, elegant and extremely wealthy. She had invited me to an interview. I am a journalist and I had been commissioned to do a series of interviews of wealthy businesswomen for her magazine. I’d suggested that she might herself be a subject and, to my surprise she’d agreed when her editor had mooted the idea. Her office was spare, nothing to tell you about her, no pictures, no artwork, nothing. Her desk was large, like a billiard table, almost empty, not even a phone. There was one small vase of fresh flowers and when I commented on it she said dismissively that her secretary placed them there for the interview. She was cold, not giving much to me, try though I may. I had done a lot of preparatory work and had uncovered that she had had a relationship with a female MP sometime in the past. ‘I don’t discuss my private life.’I nodded ‘But I am sure readers want to know about the woman behind the kaçak iddaa job.’ ‘Why? Isn’t it good enough for them to know how I got it, how I do it?’I thought about this. ‘No. There is little public interest in the mechanics of your work, they want to understand you.’ I tried a different tack. ‘What were you good at in school?’ ‘Everything.’ Christ, it’s like getting blood from a stone! When I had arrived at her offices, her secretary had shown me into the inner sanctum. Sandra had been seated and did not stand to greet me. The secretary had invited me to sit in front of the desk but I had chosen a chair beside a low table to one side. There were two chairs there but Sandra did not join me. I was offered tea and accepted. None came for Sandra who sat silently, looking at me through her designer glasses. She wore a pale blue blouse with long sleeves, spare jewellery including a plain silver necklet. Her hair, short and blonde was beautifully cut, her nails polished in pale blue to match her kaçak bahis blouse. ‘How did you get to the top so quickly?’ She was still only forty-five years old.Sandra raised an eyebrow, ‘I fucked my way to the top.’ I laughed, ‘No, I was being serious.’ ‘So was I.’ ‘So, tell me about it.’ She sighed. ‘I was born with a number of advantages: rich parents, good brain, good body and ambition. Men will always promote a woman who is prepared to go that little bit further. So I did.’ ‘I assumed you were a lesbian.’ ‘I am, but that doesn’t stop me. We do what we have to to succeed.’ I thought that I could never do that but didn’t say so. At least she was talking now. ‘I don’t think you want me to write that.’ She thought about this for a while, a long while. Then she seemed to reach a decision. ‘I will leave it to you to print what you think is acceptable. My father was a man who detested weakness. When I was young he never let me win a game, would always beat me until I could beat him. He wasn’t unkind, illegal bahis just never contemplated giving in. My mother didn’t understand but I did. I understood completely. He made me compete with him for everything. And he always told me to use every advantage I had.”I started as a junior reporter on a local paper. I didn’t want or need to go to University so I had a head start over all the young graduates. I did fuck anyone who wanted me to and who could help me. The latter was the only important thing, not their sex or age.”When I came to this magazine, I came as a features editor. The editor was a woman of fifty-five. She was stupid, passed it. Her boss, the owner, was forty-five, a single woman and we became lovers, very quickly. The editor was fired and I got her job. Now I am the Editor in Chief of four publications, soon to be five. Don’t print that bit, it’s a secret.’ Suddenly she stood and I may have gasped because she was much taller than pictures of her suggest. She was wearing a knee length pencil skirt and her legs were perfect, all the way down to fine ankles and beautifully shod feet. She came and sat opposite me, crossing her legs elegantly. ‘You’re freelance, correct?’ I nodded.

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