“I’ve seen it,” Lindsay admitted. “I don’t remember anything this wild in my days as a young radical.”

“I tell you, when they find out who’s responsible, I’m going to hire them to come and work in my department and produce scurrilous gossip sheets about my bosses,” Kathy said with a chuckle. “Look, I’ve got to run now, Lindsay, but it’s great to see you. The bar tonight?”

Lindsay nodded as Kathy hurried off. “The bar tonight.”

“Typical,” a loud voice boomed in her ear. “Not back five minutes and you can’t wait to get wide-eyed and legless.”

Lindsay whirled around to face another old friend. Stan Merton was an East Ender who’d worked his way up the journalistic tree the old-fashioned way, starting as a tea boy and reaching his present position as city editor of a national daily. When Lindsay had been a junior reporter on the Daily Nation, she’d worked on the city desk for a few weeks, and she’d realized very quickly that under Stan’s loud-mouthed and heavy-handed humor there was a shrewd mind that could teach her a lot. She’d been a quick learner, and the mutual respect the pair had for each other had been more than enough to counterbalance their political incompatibility.

“Stan!” Lindsay exclaimed. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Sight for sore eyes, you are, girl,” Stan said. “You seen the error of your ways, then? You come back to grace our shores? Or did you come back to get your own back?” He waved Conference Chronicle.

“Only wish I’d thought of it years ago,” she said. “Buy you a drink later?”

“What about tomorrow morning? The second order-paper looks like the kind of bleeding-heart liberal crap that builds up no end of a thirst. I don’t know why I come to these conferences. I really don’t.”

“You’ve said that at every one of the half dozen I’ve been to. You’re only here for the beer, Stan.”

“Tomorrow then? Half past eleven? In the bar?”

Lindsay shuddered inwardly but managed a smile. “Great. See you then, Stan,” she said, as Stan moved off, giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek as he passed.