Food Fight Read Free Page B

reporting in Washington to Barney McManus, described by Frank as ‘next to God’ in the DeKripps company structure. Then he hired an immigration lawyer who secured a visa for her in a matter of weeks, despite it being subject to a quota system. By the end of August, she had rented her house through an estate agent, sold her car and was ready to go.
    All that remained were goodbyes.
    She took Mimi for a last supper at her favourite vegan place on the South Bank. She couldn’t tell her how long she’d be in Washington because she didn’t know.
    “I hope you’ll visit,” she said. “Obama’s Washington. It should be interesting. Exciting. The hopey-changey thing, you know.”
    Her voice trailed off as Mimi shrugged. Susan wasn’t expecting promises, she knew her better than that.
    “So maybe not this year, unless you want to come for Christmas. But think about coming for the cherry blossom in March?”
    “Christmas?” Mimi usually found an excuse to avoid the call of ceremony. “I’ll let you know. And you’ve got to settle in first.”
    Susan looked at her. The nose stud was back in place, but she could tell from the way she flicked her head slightly too defiantly that the self-confidence was a veneer. “Look, you would tell me wouldn’t you, if you need me to stay?”
    The vulnerability was gone again. Her daughter met her gaze. “I’m fine.”
    “You’re sure? You only took a couple of days off work after …” She stopped to take a breath and Mimi interrupted.
    “Mum, I just told you. I’m fine.”
    She spared her a lecture about how everyone at her little NGO was indispensable, compared to the cogs in the giant DeKripps machine.
    Susan tried one last time. “Are you really sure you don’t mind me going?”
    But she knew the answer. Mimi had her own life, her own job and she’d be fine. She wanted to hug her tight, so tight, before leaving the restaurant, but she knew how Mimi would react. In the end, she was allowed to deposit a discreet peck on the cheek after paying the bill.
    Susan’s mother didn’t throw up any obstacles either. Had she wanted her to? Living so far from home would be such a big change, and the consequences of her decision were only beginning to sink in. Her mother also refused to commit herself to a visit. “I’m very pleased for you, darling. I’m sure it’ll do you the world of good to be in New York,” she told her on the phone.
    She hardly paused for breath when Susan reminded her the destination was Washington. “Anyway. Do try to come down to Lymington whenever you can.”
    Her mother had chosen the Dorset coast to recover from divorce with her third husband, a golf professional called John.
    Susan had never understood her mother’s taste in men. Although she could hardly remember her father who’d died when she was a toddler, her mother’s relationships had always ended in disaster. Still, after each divorce she hit the jackpot. Over the years, she had collected property across the south of England as though skipping along a Monopoly board.
    This time, Susan reflected, the housing crash had dismantled her mother’s dreams of a sea view near the Royal Lymington yacht club. She’d had to settle for a house up the hill but conveniently close to the shops.
    Frank invited her for dinner on her last day in the office.
    “Come as you are. We’ll have a kitchen supper while the kids finish their homework.”
    She looked forward to the chance to quiz him about the way things worked in Washington. She also wanted to know their strategy for dealing with growing media criticism of the food giants. She’d been aware of the company bosses starting to hit back, as she put the finishing touches to a DeKripps Buried Treasure ad before she left.
    “You’ll see, Barney spends half his life on the Hill lobbying for a bit of slack from our elected representatives,” said Frank, his frame swaying as they headed for Waterloo to catch their train. “He’ll be relying on