“Wait a minute, Duncan,” Lindsay moaned. “I’m not here to do this sort of crappy feature. Woman’s touch, my arse. What this needs is a dollop of heavy-handed sentimentality and you bloody well know that’s not my line.”

“Don’t come the crap with me, lassie,” he returned. “It’s a real human interest story, that. I thought you’d be over the moon. The story of a woman who’s fulfilled her destiny in spite of the setbacks. It’s all there. Blocked fallopian tubes, thirteen miscarriages, doctors say she’ll die if she gives birth—Christ, this woman’s a heroine!”

“This woman’s a head-case, more like.”

“A head-case? Lindsay, you’ve got a heart like a stone. Can you not see how this woman’s triumphed against all the odds?”

“By putting her life at risk? You’d think after thirteen miscarriages she’d have realized there’s more to life than babies. There are plenty of kids up for adoption who need love and affection, you know.”

“It’s a good story, Lindsay.” There was finality in Duncan’s tone.

“Sure. Look, Duncan, I’ve been busy being a real reporter for the last three days, in case you hadn’t noticed. You know, murder, heavy-duty stuff. I’m good at the serious stories. You should take advantage of that and use me on them. If you’ve got to run this sexist garbage, get someone who’ll make a better job of it. What about James? He’s a big softie.”

Duncan put his head in his hands in mock sorrow. “Why do I employ the only reporter in Glasgow who thinks she knows better than me how to do my job? I give the girl the chance to be a superstar with her name in lights and what do I get? She wants me to go and set fire to an orphanage so she can be a real reporter. All right, Lindsay, you win. Away down to the Sheriff Court. There’s a fatal accident inquiry on that guy that came off the crane at the shipyard. You cover that. After all, I don’t really want a feature about how male doctors conspire with husbands to convince women that motherhood is their finest achievement. Sometimes I wonder why I give you shifts.”