Two Loves

Chapter 6

CYMBELINE

The newspaper office always reminds me of an ants nest. People are scurrying to and fro, the rustle of large, dusty sheets of paper and the fast chattering mingles with the clacking of the typewriters to a nervous, insect-like soundscape. All seems chaotic on first sight, but when one takes the time to observe the dozens of people one sees that everything works in a system, like gear wheels that intertwine.

It is inebriating.

I walk through the high, grey hall that accommodates the majority of the journalists, a setting that always reminds me of a factory floor. Only Mr Cust, the chief editor, has his own office. Everybody is already busily working to fill the evening edition.

"Morning, Bingley" I say, putting down my briefcase on my desk. "Any world changing news?"

Bingley, my co-worker, lifts his head from the paper he was reading.

He is a small, chubby man around twenty-five, with short, straight brown hair. Everything about Bingley is straight, from his hair over the ironing lines on his trousers to his back. Additional to that, he is one of the most honest beings I ever met - straightforward.

The only thing that he lies about is that he is secretly and passionately in love with editor Cust's secretary, Miss Cecily.

Bingley is a good soul - but always so plain and honest that he cannot be fascinating.

He is a bit like mashed potatoes, Isaac once said, and to this day, I cannot deny that he is right.

"So far not" he says, "Cust wants your review for the play as soon as possible. Preferably with a bit of gossip about the people in the audience."

I snort. The people really always want to know what they should not.

"And we need a short report about that one man that was thrashed on Trafalgar Square."

"The what?!"

He looks up. "Oh, I thought you had read the police report. Came fresh in this morning. A man was, well... predating a young woman, and when he became insufferable, she striked him with her umbrella. Some say she was fencing."

How can he say something so amazing with such a straight face?

"Was she accused?" I ask quickly.

Bingley shakes his head. "No. I mean, who could blame her, right? She got away."

Good for her.

"Great. I'll make something" I nod and sit down in front of my typewriter. While setting the paper, I ask "And what are you doing?"

He shrugs. "The meeting starts in two and a half minutes. Let's see what we will get."

The thing I like about Bingley is that he is always absolutely rational. He tries to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, unlike many other reporters at the Pall Mall Gazette, relics of the reign of our second last editor.

Before I can go further, I must explain some things, so kindly forgive me a short excursion.

When I started working here, William Steads was still the chief editor.

To this day, I cannot decide if I like him or not. His liberal views and his aim to hire both men and women and pay them equally and his pioneering vision of journalism are admirable, but I cannot forgive him that he is partly responsible for the Labouchère Amendment that makes my brother a criminal.

The beardy, often grim looking editor sometimes could be a man with brilliant beliefs, intelligent and obstinate - and in the next moment absolutely insufferable.