Author's note
Thanks so much for reading/favouriting/reviewing this story - as always, your feedback and support mean more than I can say.:) I'm really glad you've enjoyed this fic so far, and that I have inspired a couple of you to watch "The Hour" (run, don't walk!) after reading it.
Here's the concluding part - apologies it's later than I had planned to post it. Happy New Year, everyone!
An hour earlier
Tom pulled the door to his small flat shut and hurried downstairs. He was heading for the bus stop on the high street when he heard steps behind him.
"Branson, you grubby little oik. You can stop right there."
Someone grabbed his collar and pushed him round the corner into a blind alley, which was deserted. There, he was shoved up against the wall, face pressed into the rough bricks.
"You gutter press never seem to learn your lesson, do you? You should have stayed out of what doesn't concern you." A knee, hard, to the kidneys made him gasp with pain.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"Turn him around, let me see his face."
He found himself looking at a tall man with a supercilious smile and dark hair slicked back from his forehead, dressed immaculately in evening wear.
"Hold him."
His arms were grabbed and pulled behind him by the tall man's goons. A fist thudded into his solar plexus, knocking the breath from his body. The second punch made him drop him to his knees, retching.
"Up you get. I'm not done with you."
He struggled to his feet and tried to stand his ground against his unknown assailant, spitting into his face as he was pinned to the wall again.
The other man wiped his cheek with a crisp pocket handkerchief. "You'll be sorry for that, you filthy Irish scum."
Turning to his companions, he jerked a thumb backwards. "You know what to do. Try not to kill him, but don't try too hard on my account."
As Tom fell to the ground under a hail of blows and kicks, the last thing he saw was Sybil's face.
Later that night
Muffled sounds, light flickering through his eyelids. Am I dead?
A hand squeezing his. "Tom, Tom, can you hear me?"
Into the void again.
The following morning
Surfacing, as if from the bottom of a deep well. Cool fingers stroking his forehead, a sharp pain on his cheek. Body aching, a deep ache in the very marrow of his bones.
Trying to open his eyes. "Mrs Peel..." Did I say that out loud?
"Doctor, come quickly! He knows I'm here!" A tear splashing onto his hand.
A few hours later
Tom had learned his eye was swollen shut, which was why he could not see out of it. But he was conscious, sitting up in bed a little and able to talk.
"What happened to you? Can you tell me?" Sybil was sitting by him, on his good side, so that he could see her face.
"It's a bit of a blur. I can remember leaving home, and then I think I was dragged off the street. There may have been two or three of them, I'm not sure."
"We'll find them. The police are already investigating."
"What happened to the interview? Did we do it?"
A pensive look came over her face. "Yes, we did. Tony confronted Lord Merton live on the air. Mrs Hughes tried to pull the plug, but it was too late. The truth was already out. We got it out, you and me. The way we always do."
"What happened afterwards?"
"I don't know." Her voice was shaky, as if she were trying to hold back tears. "I've been with you since William came to get me."
"How long have I been here?"
"More than a day. I thought..." Her voice broke. "I didn't know..." He squeezed her hand.
"Don't cry, Mrs Peel. I'm not going anywhere, not yet anyway. You're not getting rid of me that easily."
Coming up on "The Hour"...
Lord Merton has been forced to resign from his role as Secretary of State for War, after his explosive appearance on this programme, where he admitted that his statement to the House of Lords had been false, and that he had had an improper relationship with Miss Edna Braithwaite, also the lover of the Soviet diplomat, Igor Kuragin.
In other news, no charges have yet been laid in the matter of the serious assault of our reporter, Tom Branson. Although police are yet to confirm a link between this crime and the story he broke, we think it's hard to ignore the connection.
Stay tuned for more, this Friday at 9pm...
"God almighty, sweetheart! You look awful," Gwen said as she came into the room the next afternoon.
"You know what lengths I'll go to for a story." Tom did his best to wink but grimaced instead from the pain.
"Next time, maybe don't go to hell and back, OK?" She leaned in to pat him on the hand, then looked around the room. "Is Sybil here?"
"Yes, she's just gone to get coffee." They spoke for a few minutes, then heard the door rattle.
"Speak of the devil! How are you?" Gwen said to Sybil as she came back into the room with a couple of steaming paper cups. "Want to take a break, my dear? I'm happy to sit with Tom for a while, if you want to get a few hours' sleep."
"No, I'm fine, thanks. Especially since I picked up today's paper. Look, Mr Steed, your story is all over the front page!"
"Let's see it then, Mrs Peel."
Sybil sat down by Tom's bed and spread the paper out for him to see. They read the story silently together, occasionally exchanging smiles or reading out a choice sentence to each other.
Looking up after a while, Tom realised Gwen was already gone. Looking back down, he saw his fingers were laced with Sybil's. When did that happen?
Tom was released from hospital a few days later. He made his way out to the street, leaning heavily on Sybil, who had her arm around his waist. Walking was harder than he had expected, and he realised that he had a way to go yet until he was fully healed.
She helped him into a taxi, then sat down beside him. Leaning forward, she spoke to the driver.
"Kensington, please."
"Sybil, what are you..."
"I'm not leaving you at home alone, not in this state. You're coming to stay with me for a bit."
"But..."
"No buts. I'm taking care of you and that's that."
He subsided. "Thanks, actually I'd like that. I'm not sure whether I'm up to much on my own just yet."
She grinned at him. "What are friends for? I'll settle you in and then pop into the office for a bit. I want to find out if I've been fired yet."
"Is that likely?"
"Well, considering Mrs Hughes ordered me to take the story off the air and I refused, I'd say it's practically a certainty!" She tapped on the glass. "This is fine, thank you."
"If you go, I go. I won't let you take the blame for this without me, I dragged you into it in the first place."
"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, OK?"
As Sybil was pouring the tea, they heard a knock on her door. She quirked a "who's that?" eyebrow at Tom.
"Better go and open it, hadn't you? I hear that's the best way to answer that question."
"Oh ha ha, you're so damn funny, aren't you? You must be feeling better!"
She turned the key in the lock to find Mrs Hughes outside.
"Can I come in? Tom, how are you?"
"Bearing up, as they say, thanks for asking."
"I want to speak with both of you, really." Sybil gestured to the easy chair by the little electric heater. Their boss sat down, clearly and unusually ill at ease.
"Cup of tea?"
"Any chance of something stronger?"
Sybil slopped a finger of whisky into a glass and Mrs Hughes took a sip. "I don't really know where to start!"
"Perhaps with giving us the sack?"
She smiled and slowly shook her head. "That's not why I'm here. Yes, you did disobey me, Sybil, but given what's happened since then, senior management had no choice but to recognise they'd been wrong, trying to take the story, your story, off the air."
Sybil and Tom looked at each other, then back at Mrs Hughes.
"I'm here to see how you are, Tom, and to see if there's anything the BBC can do for you, to help you recover. Medical expenses, treatments, whatever you need. You were injured in the line of duty, and we look after our own."
"Thanks. I'm all right at the moment, but I've got quite a mountain to climb."
"I know you do, young man, and I want to help you climb it." She smiled fondly at him. "Have the police any suspects yet?"
"Nothing concrete, but they're following a few leads."
"I'm glad that you are staying with Sybil – you need someone with you, especially after a bad head injury like that one."
"Don't worry. I'll look after him." Sybil's voice was clear and firm.
"I know you will. Come back to work when you can, take all the time you need." Mrs Hughes stood up. "Well, I should leave you to it, Tom – you look all in."
"Thank you for coming by, I appreciate it."
"Let me know if there's anything I can do. Anything at all." She let herself out.
Tom's healing was slow, but every day, with Sybil at his side as much as possible when she wasn't working, he felt stronger, his bruises slowly healing, his broken bones beginning to mend.
After a week or so, he felt ready to go into the office for a visit, to reassure the rest of the team that he really was still alive.
He walked slowly into the newsroom, leaning on Sybil's arm, and he was surprised when they broke into a round of applause, singing "For he's a jolly good fellow". Smiles beamed from all round the room and a slice of cake on a paper plate was put into his hand.
Daisy was the first one to step forward. "I'm so pleased you're all right, Mr Branson. We were ever so worried about you."
"Thanks Daisy, that's very kind."
William's normally serious face was split by a huge grin. "Good to have you back." He reached out to shake Tom's hand, his grin slightly quenched when he realised the other man's right arm was in a sling.
"Thank you so much for raising the alarm that night. Sybil told me all about it. If it hadn't been for you, William... well, thanks."
William blushed and looked down. "I'm just glad I found you when I did."
Gwen rested her hand on Tom's shoulder and put a chair behind his knees, letting him sink gratefully into it.
"Have the police got any suspects yet?" Tony chimed in.
Tom spoke through a mouthful of surprisingly good cake. "Not yet. The problem is, I really can't remember much about the attack. I think, well it has to be something to do with the story, but as to who... there are some possible leads but it's a slow process."
"I'll do what I can – got a few contacts of my own you know, old man. See if I can sniff anything out."
"Thanks Tony. Anything you can do would be great."
Sybil put her hand on his while they all caught up on the news. "Come on, Tom, you've had enough for today. I'm taking you home." She squeezed his fingers in hers.
He nodded, thanking her with his eyes before turning to the rest of the team. "I'll be back before you know it. Keep the desk warm for me, William, won't you?"
"Yes, boss!"
Tom woke up on the couch in Sybil's front room, feeling her hand on his cheek.
"Tom, what is it? You were shouting something in your sleep. Were you having a nightmare?"
A thought crackled into his hazy mind like a lightning flash through a storm cloud. "I think I remembered something about the attack. Something in my dream really happened, I'm sure of it."
"What's that?"
He sat up and she moved beside him, turning on the side lamp. The concern written on her face was clear.
"The man who was leading the attack. He was tall, dark hair slicked back – and he said something about 'messing with his private affairs'."
He wasn't expecting her to go white and bite her lip. "Oh my God! How could I have been so blind!"
"What is it?"
"I think I know who it was. Did you know Lord Merton has a son, about your age?"
"No, don't think so. I didn't look into his family."
She shuddered. "Horrible man, I've known him since I was a girl. He used to fancy me, back in the day, but as for me..." She didn't finish her sentence, her meaning crystal clear.
"You really think..." A vision came into his mind of a blinding white shirt front. "He was in evening dress! He looked as if he was on his way to one of those fancy clubs on Pall Mall, after teaching the lower class upstart a lesson."
Sybil looked at Tom, eyes wide and sparkling with tears. "That's him, that's got to be Larry Grey. I knew he was capable of... but this! We have to tell the police, straight away, they have to arrest him."
"We will, first thing in the morning. He'll keep, don't you worry."
A tear rolled down her cheek. "Oh Tom, I'm so sorry. Larry knew I worked at 'The Hour', he probably put two and two together to find you. It's my fault you were attacked." She gasped out a sob.
"Don't be silly, it's not your fault, don't say that. It was him, the posh git, all him. Nothing to do with you."
"Really? Are you sure?"
"Quite sure, Mrs Peel."
That made her smile through her tears, as he had intended.
"Well, as long as you are sure, Mr Steed. Now, how about a cup of tea since we're awake?"
Coming up on "The Hour"...
The son of Lord Merton, the Honourable Laurence Grey, has been arrested as a suspect in the assault of our reporter, Tom Branson. At this stage, the police are following no other leads, saying they are "confident" they have the right man.
In other news, the Prime Minister, Lord Grantham, has been forced to face a motion of no confidence in his government tonight, following the revelations of what is already being called "The Merton Affair". Although the motion was narrowly defeated, Lord Grantham was clearly shaken as he left the chamber after the vote, ushered away by his press attaché, Thomas Barrow. How long can the government continue to withstand this kind of pressure?
Stay tuned for more, this Friday at 9pm...
"Open up, for heaven's sake! Let me in at once!"
From his refuge in the bathtub, Tom heard banging on the front door, followed by someone storming into Sybil's tiny sitting room.
"What on earth do you think you were doing? How could you do this to me?" The voice made no attempt to hide the fury the speaker was feeling.
"Dad, really – I didn't do it to you. I did it to the government. Lord Merton was clearly putting national security at risk, I had a duty..."
"Don't give me that duty nonsense. You should have come and talked to me about it, quietly. I would have dealt with it, you know that!"
"That's not the point! The truth had to come out. We were just doing our jobs." She seemed to be trying to defuse her father's anger, to no avail.
"'We'? Oh, you mean you and that so-called journalist, Tom Branson, I suppose? How you can associate with a man like that, I'll never know."
"A man like what? A man of integrity, honour, principle? Ten times, twenty times the man Larry Grey will ever be? I'm proud to have him as a colleague and a friend."
"Friend?" Lord Grantham nearly spat out the word. "Sybil, I wasn't born yesterday. He's been seducing you, manipulating you into doing what he wants, hasn't he?"
"Give me some credit for knowing my own mind!" Tom could just imagine the way Sybil's eyes would have flashed at that remark – he'd been on the receiving end of her rage before, and it could be an intimidating sight. "And he hasn't seduced anyone. Not that it's any of your business, I'm a grown woman in case you've forgotten."
"You must give me your word, now, that you'll have nothing more to do with the man. Can you promise me you'll never see him again?" Lord Grantham's tone showed how accustomed he was to being obeyed, but he was doomed to disappointment this time. At least, I hope so...
"I will not give him up! You have no right to tell me what to do. I will spend time with whomever I choose." Her voice became ice-cold, and the steel in her tone was fiercer than her white-hot anger a moment before.
"I warn you, young lady. You'll regret this!" The Prime Minister slammed the door behind him.
Tom put his head around the bathroom door a few minutes later, wearing his dressing gown over his pyjamas, a towel draped around his neck. "Safe to come in here? Should I look out for flying objects?"
Sybil grinned back at him. "I can handle my father."
He sat down on the couch, lifting her feet into his lap and starting to massage them. "I never doubted it."
"Ohhh, that's good, you can come here more often." She looked at him, and the look lingered for a beat too long. He saw a rosy blush race up her cheeks as she pulled her legs back underneath her nightgown, breaking the contact between them.
After a few minutes, he got up to put the kettle on. "Speaking of which, I was thinking that I should really move home again. I'm getting better now, even the doctor says so, and I can manage on my own. I've put you out for long enough."
"Are you sure? There's no hurry, honestly."
"I know. You've been so good to me, better than I deserve. No-one could have been sweeter." No-one ever has.
A shaft of moonlight broke through the window, lighting up the darkening room, letting him see her clearly. Their eyes met and locked and - At last! - neither of them looked away.
When she asked him about it later, he couldn't define the impulse that made him lean towards her and put his hand on her back, bringing her to him. All he knew was that nothing had ever felt so right, so necessary.
The kiss was soft and sweet, the touch of her lips healing, an unlooked-for blessing. "Mmmmm..." he heard himself moan. She moved nearer, putting her arms around his neck.
When they broke apart, he smiled at her. "I've been wanting to do that for the longest time." He lifted his hand to her cheek and stroked it, wishing his other arm wasn't in a cast.
She put her hand on top of his. "What took you so long!"
Another kiss, longer and more intimate than the first one, his head starting to spin. After several minutes, he pulled gently away from her.
"When I heard you tonight with your father, I wondered... the way you defended me like that. If you hadn't cared, you wouldn't have... Anyway, what I'm trying to say... Christ, I'm making a mess of this. Must be the blow to the head!"
He held her eyes with his. "Oh my darling, I do love you, so much. Always have, always will. You're the one for me, Mrs Peel."
"I love you too, Mr Steed." He'd never seen anything as lovely as her face in that moment, glowing with an almost unearthly beauty.
Clearing his throat, he began speaking, then hesitated. "Can I ... can I stay here with you, for good? I promise to devote every waking minute to... mmppphhh."
He didn't finish his sentence as she slid into his lap and crushed his mouth with hers. He felt silver sparks flying across his skin as her hand came up to stroke the back of his neck, one kiss turning to many.
Her full breasts pressed into his chest through the thin cotton of her nightgown as he tightened his arm around her waist. Feeling her warm body straining to get closer to his made the blood race through his veins in a way he'd never experienced before. Exhilarating, addictive, life affirming.
For a good while after that, time was lost for Tom - he was soaring into the endless, gleaming sky, a sky scattered with stars put to shame by the shine in Sybil's blue-grey eyes.
This time, when they separated, they were breathless, ecstatic. He tried to get up and carry her to the bedroom but he had to sit back down, groaning in pain this time.
"Sweetheart, there's nothing more I want now that to take you to bed and make love to you all night, but I don't think I can until I have fewer broken bones. Will you wait?" He smiled ruefully, touching her chin with the tip of his finger.
The loving look she gave him told him all he needed to know. "I'd wait forever."
The end
A/N -
This was pretty much how the Profumo Affair I mentioned in part 1 played out. In the end, the scandal forced Harold Macmillan, the Prime Minister, into early retirement and was thought to have contributed to the Conservative Government he had led suffering defeat in the 1964 general election.