All to Play For (30 page)

“Geordie, come back mate. Let’s talk about it. I wasn’t giving you the brush-off, I just wanted to know the time!”

Nik followed Geordie out of the office but found he’d vanished. He checked with reception and then took the lift up to the roof garden, where he saw Geordie standing at the railings in what Nik thought of as his sulking spot. He didn’t notice that Jill Watkins was sitting on the fire escape below with her notes, seeking relief from the hot office. He walked up to the railing and stood next to Geordie, watching the canal traffic creep through Camden Lock.

“You needn’t have anything to do with it,” said Geordie emotionally. “Can’t it be
my
project? Haven’t I earned that, after all these years?”

“It’s a question of company profile.”

“No it’s not, it’s a question of
your
profile, you bastard!”

“Geordie, Geordie, come on love.” Nik put his arm round him.

“Get off me! Don’t pretend you love me! I’m sick of it!”

Sitting beneath them on the black metal steps, Jill kept very still.

“You know how I feel about you,” Nik tried to soothe him.

Geordie turned to face him. “Yes, I do. I’ve been kidding myself for a long time. But deep down, I know I’ve never been anything but a shag to you. It could have been so much better Nik, but you wouldn’t let it. You think you’re twice the man because you screw men as well as women. But you’re just another pathetic closet case.” Nik’s face was tight with anger. “This is it, Nik. This is breaking point. If you don’t back this show, I’m getting out of Magenta, and I’m taking it to a company that respects me.” Geordie’s hurt face struggled to maintain determination. Nik’s was icy calm.

“Fine. If that’s what you want, I can’t stop you.”

Geordie stared, tried to speak, then gave up and walked back to the lift, pulling a tissue from his pocket. Nik called, “Good luck,” and turned back to the view.

Jill’s eyes resembled golf balls as she sat without moving a muscle, wishing Nik would leave. Eventually she heard him turn and walk back indoors, so she scurried back inside her office and quickly spread her work out on the desk. Seconds later his head appeared round the door.

“How’s it going?”

“Oh, fine, thanks!”

Nick gave her a thumbs-up and withdrew, to her relief.

A meeting of the board of directors had been called for that afternoon, and Nik needed to prepare himself. He went for a wash and brush-up in the company bathroom, put on his dark suit and re-gelled his hair. A light squirt of good aftershave, a check in the mirror, and he was ready to greet the board members as they arrived.

The boardroom wasn’t grand, but it boasted the most beautiful polished rosewood table they could find, with a dozen matching chairs. As Rex said, the essential feature needed to be classy, the background didn’t matter so much. That proved you had your priorities right, and you wouldn’t waste shareholders’ money. In this day and age a lovely table and views across London were worth more than wood-panelled walls and oil paintings.

The distinguished board members were largely drawn from the fields of banking, business, and the media. Rex, red in the face, was the last to arrive, bustling in whilst they were all perusing the papers assembled by Haris and the company secretary. He sat down and removed his jacket, muttering, “I hope nobody minds,” revealing huge sweat marks on his shirt.

The main topic for the day was acquisition. It was understood that Magenta needed to keep growing continually, and they had been looking for other production companies to take over. Rex had used the subject to pass on his third rule of business to Nik: Apply Pressure. “That’s how diamonds are made,” he intoned, leaving Nik to work out the connection for himself.

Haris was proposing that they invest in a new production company called
Sisters in Synch
. They were small but had a number of commissions, and the word on the grapevine was that they had the most exciting talent and ideas around.

“Who are they?” frowned Rex, reading the notes Haris gave him. “Anthea who?”

“Onojaife. I don’t know how it’s pronounced.”

“Are they all women?”

“I don’t think so. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter,” sighed Haris. “Call it a niche market.”

“Sisters in the sink! Best place for ’em!” Rex cackled.

Nik exchanged a look with Haris. This was not the first time Rex had attended a board meeting with half a bottle of whisky inside him. Haris tolerated him with a resignation that was beginning to wear thin.

“Do you oppose, Rex?” he asked tersely.

“Suppose I oppose,” said Rex, chuckling at the rhyme. “Suppose I propose to oppose!” he beamed at the small assembly, especially at the distinguished representatives of legal and financial concerns whom they had gone to a great deal of trouble to recruit, when first assembling the board. They regarded Rex without amusement. He smiled pleasantly at them and continued firmly.

“Suppose my toes, tiddley pom,

Which nobody knows, tiddley pom,

Have lost their clothes, tiddley pom… how does that song go? Anyone remember it?”

“No mate, no-one’s got the foggiest what you’re on about,” retorted Nik.

“It has a familiar ring,” mused the chairman, Sir Geoffrey Spence. “I think you’ll find it’s from
Winnie the Pooh
.”

“I do believe you’re right, squire!” exclaimed Rex. “There!” he turned to Haris. “I told you this twat would be useful sooner or later.” He burst into gales of laughter as a dozen mouths fell open, staring at him. Haris put his head in his hands and apologised profusely to the chairman, who brushed it off with polite irritation.

Nik took Rex by the elbow and said loudly, “I don’t think that new medication the doctor prescribed agrees with you, Rex, why don’t I take you home?” Rex was hauled to his feet protesting, until Nik hissed into his ear: “Shut up you stupid git before you halve our share value. Say sorry. Now.”

“Actually I do feel a bit funny. I think perhaps I will go home. Please excuse me, gentlemen.”

“Not at all. Go home and rest, Rex. Get a good night’s sleep.” Sir Geoffrey was nothing if not gracious.

Nik drove Rex to his home in Chelsea, which was a mess.

“Why don’t you get someone to clean up?” he asked.

“I had a cleaner but she left. I dunno why. I don’t care. No-one comes here but me.”

Nik parked Rex on a big sofa and stuck the television remote in his hand, then made a cup of tea and put it down next to him.

“Look here, Rex,” he said sternly, standing above him with folded arms. “You’re losing your grip, mate. You need to pull yourself together. What was it you used to say about dead wood?”

Rex tried to focus his befuddled eyes on Nik, who seemed to sway like a genie. “What?”

“Cut it out. That’s what you said. To keep a company healthy you got to prune out the dead wood. Make room for new shoots. Think about it.” He leaned down to make sure his point went home. “You, Rex, are becoming a real liability.” He patted Rex’s cheek gently, then turned and let himself out.

The next day Rex stayed off sick, and the next day, and the one after. Nik called Sir Geoffrey to warn him that it might be necessary to re-structure the company and give Rex time off, or even offer him a retirement package. He hinted that he personally would be happy to take on a more substantial role in the company, but he wouldn’t dream of acting against the interests of the man who had given him a start and had taught him all he knew. Sir Geoffrey said to leave it with him.

*

“‘Eight young people, including a four-piece rock band and some close friends, decide to spend the summer driving round Europe in a London bus, performing on beaches and in town squares. Four boys, four girls, all attractive but mixed in personality, talents, and racial background. In the course of the series they will fall in and out of love, write songs, have adventures, and grow in life experience and maturity.

“The summer looks bright, but it takes an unexpected turn when the bus drives through a worm-hole in the space/time continuum whilst travelling through a rocky pass in northern Spain. They emerge to find themselves in a small but beautiful fertile valley, with a river running through it.

“At first they don’t realise they’ve left Spain, and they’re delighted with the place; however, they need an audience. They explore the area and find to their amazement that they’re in a gigantic biome, from which there’s no escape.’” Chris looked up, “A biome – that’s one of these self-contained eco-systems, is it?”

“That’s it exactly,” replied Nik. Chris continued reading.

“‘They are able to survive quite easily as everything they need is available, but they need to find out where they are, and how to get home. This mystery and motivation underlies the entire series. Once they discover they’re in a biome they realise it could be anywhere in the universe, and it must have been created by someone – or something – for a purpose.

“It’s not long until others find themselves in the biome via the same route. Later, other worm-holes link the biome to other parts of the universe and the possibilities are endless. Romance, humour, warmth, music, fun, fear and conflict: all human life is here, and quite a lot of alien life, too.’”

Chris paused and nodded, then flicked through the following pages which included costings.

“Very impressive price, Nik. A drama series for the twenty-first century, for sure.” Nik thought so too. “But I couldn’t possibly commit this far ahead.”

“If we start by making thirteen eps, the price triples.”

“I realise that, but still… ”

“This show has everything, Chris. You can see that, I can tell. It’ll knock the soaps into oblivion. It’s sci-fi, drama,
and
entertainment – all wrapped up in one fabulous show, with great music. It’ll have a big name guest star every week – we can put anyone in, sports stars, celebrities – not just actors. And we’ll find eight new young faces and turn them into big stars.”

“Like
Friends
.”

“
Friends
in space! But much better stories, Chris. This ain’t a little sitcom, it’s a major drama series. Ambitious, I grant you, the story potential’s infinite. I’m going to be completely honest with you. I know I can sell this show, and it’s going to be massive. But I’d like you to have it. I’ve enjoyed making
The Soap Ashes
for you, I really have, and I want you to have this one. BBC1’s the place it should be. But I do mean to keep the rights, you know that’s non-negotiable where Magenta’s concerned. I’m giving you first refusal. You’ve been very happy with
The Soap Ashes
, and I’ll guarantee you’ll be even more pleased with
Bus Stops Here
. That’s the working title, by the way – we’ll find something more charismatic.”

Chris nodded. There was no denying that
The Soap Ashes
had been very good for BBC1, and he was very tempted to snap this project up. It smelled of success. Never a man to throw caution to the wind, however, he reminded himself that Nik had no experience of drama whatsoever, and the show could only be made if he committed to a staggering 26 hours from the outset, which was unheard of outside the USA. It would soak up a large proportion of his drama slots, and other shows would have to make way for it. On the other hand, if he let this go, he might lose the precious ratings lead that BBC1 was fighting to maintain against its old rivals ITV, and he was all too conscious of ever-increasing competition building up from Channels 4, 5, and the proliferating cable channels. Supposing he declined this show, and one of them picked it up and scheduled it against
EastEnders
? It could ruin him.

The price for this series was cheaper per hour of drama than any other, if he accepted the volume. Magenta really knew how to cut corners. Their entertainment shows were good quality for popular, accessible entertainment, but could they deliver drama which would match BBC standards?

“Who produces, Nik?”

Nik picked up this signal that Chris had identified a significant weakness, and leapt to strengthen it. “Not me, that’s for sure – I’ll be an exec producer but this needs a drama pro.”

“An in-house team. A co-production.”

Nik wasn’t giving half his show away that easily. “Very happy for you to name the producer, Chris, you have the best in the world here, and I’m happy to give you the last word on the most vital member of the team.” Chris’ eyes brightened, surprised to hear Nik backing off. He was the toughest negotiator Chris dealt with. “But I need them on
my
team, they’ll have to resign from the BBC and become a freelance employee of Magenta. Anything else just gets too complicated, you know what I mean.”

Chris was disconcerted by this proviso, but it sounded logical. It would give him the best of both worlds, in a way. He nodded thoughtfully. Nik saw that he was going to capitulate, and he chose to show respect for Chris’ higher status.

“Would you like me to commission some scripts? I realise it’s a big ask, expecting you to make a decision on the strength of an idea and a successful working relationship – ”

“No no, I can see the potential. And I know how fast you work at Magenta. Enviably fast!” He shared a wry smile, took a deep breath, and put both hands flat on his desk as he looked Nik in the eye.

“I’m in,” he said, simply.

Nik restrained his smile and offered his hand: “You’ve made the right decision, Chris. This show will be the making of us both. It’s going to be the biggest ratings winner since
Morecambe and Wise
.”

They shook hands warmly, if a little nervously, and Nik took his leave. Chris wandered to his window overlooking the car park and Wood Lane. His heart was beating rather fast and he questioned his decision. Should he have consulted his staff? That would have entailed weeks of meetings and arguments, ultimately a waste of time. Chris’ intuition was clear, the future of television lay with Nik, and those like him. The industry was changing radically, with de-regulation, globalisation, and the new digital media. Sink or swim. Ride the waves or drown beneath them. It was up to Chris to ensure the BBC stayed in the lead, and he sensed that Nik was not just swimming with the current but out in front. ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer’ he reminded himself, as he watched a tiny, ant-like Nik emerge into the car park and get into a cab. He decided to trust Nik’s judgement where drama was concerned: he reckoned it was a risk worth taking.