"Brookmyre, Christopher - Boiling A Frog" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brookmyre Christopher)

'And don't get all bashful, it's hardly the worst I've been
called. When you're the one designated to muck the press
around, they don't hold back in their revenge. In the past
year I've been compared to any skinny and austere icon
they can dream up, from a half-chewed toothbrush to the
Wicked Witch of the West. I've never had any bloody
illusions about being a glamour-puss, but it's not even that
that's the obstacle. It's not just me that isn't sexy enough
it's my politics.'
Aye, well I was gaunny say, look at Margaret Grier. She
looks like she's no stranger to a deep-fried Mars bar, but it
hasnae stopped her climbin' the ranks.'
'Exactly. The problem with me is .... Elspeth stopped
talking and stared across the table. Having been a hack
herself for a long time, she had an in-built suspicion of
sympathetic entreaties to unburden oneself. The shoulder
offered for you to cry on late at night could by morning be
applied to digging your grave. The very fact that Beadie
had been so quickly on hand at a tirne like this had also
set a few alarm bells ringing.
Beadie and she had remained friends - or rather had
become friends now that they had both moved on in their
careers and were no longer butting heads on a daily basis
- but they enjoyed each other's company more than each
other's confidence. There was often a degree of cautious
circling about their irregular get-togethers, sparring partners who each
relished the challenge the other presented.
However, mutual respect did not exclude a hint of malice.
'This is all still seriously off the record, yeah?'
'Oh come on, Elspeth, I'm not in that game anymore. You
can pat me down for dictaphones if you like. And besides -
why would I want to stitch you up? You're not important
enough, remember? I mean, maybe if you hadnae been
overlooked in the reshuffle..
Elspeth threw her napkin at him.
'Cheeky bastard.'
Beadie, having been Scottish editor of two tabloids (one
red-top and one with delusions of respectability), had bailed
out a few years back to start his own PR company. He
and Elspeth were alike in many ways, both drawing
upon their journalistic backgrounds in order to provide
advice on handling (and where possible, manipulating)
media coverage. She did it for the Scottish Labour Party,
he for whoever paid the retainer. His company, Clamour,
handled an ever-widening remit these days, from upscale
corporate press liaisons right down to brokering shag-and-
tell memoirs for greedy little starfuckers. However, Beadie
himself operated on what he liked to call 'the paramilitary
wing' of the PR industry.
The underhand nature of this activity, Elspeth had to