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at today? Nina might have been raised as a ‘little Aussie battler’, as she was constantly telling everyone, but Ali had decided she would be the one to win the new battles.
    It was ironic that she and Nina shared an Australian background, each had been an only child, and each was self-taught without the advantages of a tertiary education. But whereas Nina had been hands-on and had promoted herself as a woman of style, Ali knew she had to be streetwise. She had vowed never to be deflected from her goal. She had put her own history of setbacks behind her and, if she could overcome a childhood she no longer allowed herself to think about, she could achieve any challenge she set herself.
    Since she was sixteen, when she’d joined Blaze in New York as an editorial trainee, Ali had chosen to hide behind a carefully contrived facade. Her past was her past and would never be known to anyone. It had made her the person she was today – a survivor, a fighter, cynical and determined. Reaching executive heights and having the trappings that went with them was tangible. That counted. Nothing else mattered. Ali wasn’t a giver. But she didn’t think of herself as a taker either. She was a doer. And nothing would stand in her way. What she wanted, what she intended, was to be editor of Blaze in New York.
    Friday, 5 p.m.
    Ali walked to the big window of Lorraine’s office, resenting the time the older woman was spending in the bathroom. Another five minutes and she’d have to check on her and God knows what mess the old drunk would be in. Ali knew she’d need to leave soon to dress for Nina’s dinner. But she hadn’t finished with her rival yet. She wanted Lorraine to confirm that she’d been sacked as editor of Blaze. Then she might be able to find out if Lorraine knew who her replacement would be.
    Ali was looking at the sun setting over the Manhattan skyline, the rays highlighting the blanket of smog that most New Yorkers ignored, as Lorraine came out of the bathroom. She turned and saw a transformed woman walk firmly to her desk, ignoring the fact that Ali was still in her office after being so pointedly dismissed.
    â€˜Now where were we?’ Lorraine had said, sounding very sober and alert.
    â€˜We were talking about your drinking . . . and other things,’ said Ali.
    â€˜Help yourself if you’d like one,’ sallied Lorraine brusquely, waving a finger towards the little refrigerator set discretely in a wall of packed bookshelves.
    â€˜No thanks, too early for me.’
    Lorraine looked up from the papers scattered across the desk and caught the severe look that went with Ali’s curt rejection of the offer. Their eyes locked, Lorraine’s gleaming with bitterness, Ali’s glistening with calculated coolness.
    â€˜You have that disapproving look my daughter gives me,’ said Lorraine with a sharp edge to her voice.
    â€˜Sorry, but it’s time you faced up to what’s happening to you and took a grip on life.’
    Lorraine exploded. ‘You too! Christ, that’s what Miche said this morning. Among other goddamned bits of rubbish. Well, I have a damned firm grip on life around here, Ali, and you’d better believe it.’ Her shouting contradicted her words, but she was unaware of her raised voice as she continued to stare down her rival.
    And then, with a shock that had sent shivers down her spine, Ali realised that she was looking into the eyes of a drug addict. Lorraine Bannister was stoned. That was the real purpose of the trip to the bathroom. A quick hit. She broke eye contact and took a couple of steps to the door, then turned back and coldly fired the shot that denied her better judgement. ‘Well, now I understand better just what sort of grip you have, Lorraine. And it’s not firm. It amounts to nothing. You’re finished. It’s over.’
    â€˜Over? Over?’ shouted Lorraine in uncontrolled anger.