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ideas that kept the advertisers happy. Only two or three people knew the truth, that Pavilion Radio had been her idea. Her baby.
    Like all babies it was hard work and the hardest job of all had been to convince a bunch of hard nosed bankers that they should lend her the money to develop the restaurant. With her father at her side to give the bankers confidence she had managed to pull it off. But she had known exactly what was required that day. Facing the unknown alone was something else.
    ‘He probably just wants is to be buttered up by the famous Edward Beaumont. That might be all it would take,’ she said quickly, well aware that her father had a weakness for flattery. ‘Even the most hard-boiled businessmen have their weak spots.’
    ‘If he had been a hard-boiled businesswoman,’ he joked, ‘I might be of some use to you. As it is I’m just an old ham actor. If you hadn’t coached me I would never have convinced those bankers that I knew what that restaurant deal was all about.’
    ‘I can coach you again,’ she pleaded, feeling the tide of panic rising to her throat. She didn’t want to step out into the spotlight. He couldn’t expect it. She still needed time.
    ‘You’re the brains behind this outfit, Fizz. You don’t need me. You can do it if you believe in yourself.’ He reached out, lightly touched her cheek. ‘And your face is so much prettier than mine that I’m sure you’d be far more effective at buttering him up than I could ever be.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Of course if you need me I’ll try and help, but I must go now.’ Then pausing in the doorway he turned to her. ‘You know this is your station, Fizz. You made it what it is. It’s up to you to fight for it.’
    She stared at the door he had so carefully closed behind him. Had there been an almost audible snip as he had cut the umbilical cord?
    He had been pushing her for months, insisting that when the licence came up for renewal she must publicly take on the role of chief executive of Pavilion Radio. She had resisted, preferring to hide beneath her father’s famous name, let him step forward to take the applause and the praise and the awards that occasionally came their way.
    Now he was using this crisis to drive her out into the open, making her fight for her station, because no one else was going to do it for her. It was her baby that was being threatened and knights in shining armour being thin on the ground these days, a girl had to fight her own battles.
    Slowly she sank into her chair, reached for the telephone and gripping the receiver until her knuckles whitened, she dialled the number at the top of the letterhead.
    ‘Good morning, Harries Industries. How can I help you?’
    ‘Good morning. This is Felicity Beaumont calling from Pavilion Radio,’ she said, investing her voice with a confidence she was far from feeling. ‘I would like to speak to Mr Luke Devlin.’
    *****
    If it had been Luke Devlin’s intention to make life as difficult as possible for Felicity Beaumont, he could not have chosen a better time to drop his bombshell.
    ‘Miss Beaumont?’
    Fizz immediately recognised the smooth tones of the local bank manager. ‘Mr Nicholson, what can I do for you?’
    ‘Deposit the sponsorship cheque from Harries Industries?’ he suggested, without bothering with the niceties of polite conversation.
    She had been expecting the call. The takeover had been reported on their own news programmes in great detail, as well as in all the local newspapers. Speculation about redundancies and cuts was rife and the town had a jittery air which had inevitably infected the radio station.
    Several times in the last week staff had abruptly stopped talking when she entered a room.
    ‘There is going to be a sponsorship cheque isn’t there?’ Nicholson continued. ‘It’s ten days until the end of the month and I don’t have to remind you that the salaries will take you a long way over your overdraft limit.’
    ‘I am aware