Corporate Bodies (16 page)

Charles felt he should argue, but he was really too tired. As he stretched back into the comfortable upholstery, he looked through half-closed lids at Frances. Her mouth was a tight, tense line.

Oh dear, what
had
he done wrong this time? He reached across to put his hand on her knee.

Frances removed it.

Well, what had he done wrong? It had been a splendid day. A splendid day.

It was only as he slipped into sleep that Charles realised he hadn't seen any tennis.

‘I MEAN, if you like,' said Will Parton, ‘we could do the presentation as a song-and-dance routine.'

‘I think that could be terrific,' Robin Pritchard enthused. ‘Really give the salesmen and their wives a bit of entertainment. Get across how exciting and up-to-the-minute the Delmoleen “Green” is going to be.'

‘Look, we don't want things to get out of hand.' This voice of restraint was Ken Colebourne's. He had overall charge of the Brighton sales conference and for him the whole undertaking was already quite complicated enough. The Ambassador Hotel and Conference Suites had been long booked, but there were still many details of the programme to be arranged. Song-and-dance routines sounded like potential trouble. ‘I mean, the salesmen and their wives are going to get a full professional cabaret after the Thursday evening banquet. They don't want any more of that kind of stuff. Let's keep the presentations simple.'

The Product Manager for Beverages agreed. Paul Taggart was a pugnacious little Scot, clearly suspicious of Robin Pritchard's empire-building. ‘All we need to do is tell the salesmen the facts. Bring them up to date on existing products, tell them the state of play on the new products, show them the packaging, commercials if they're ready, and leave it at that.'

‘But the Delmoleen “Green” is such a new concept, we want to communicate the excitement we all feel about it.'

‘Robin, it is no more a new concept than Delmoleen “Surge”, which I will be introducing in Brighton.'

‘Of course it is, Paul. “Surge” is nothing more than a repackaging job. It's just your basic Delmoleen “Bedtime” in a different jar.'

Knocking his product was hitting a Product Manager where it hurt, and Paul Taggart responded angrily, ‘It is not. The sugar content has been reduced to almost zero, the glucose content boosted, and a whole bunch of different vitamins added.'

‘But it will still be perceived by the public as a simple bedtime drink.'

‘No, it will not!' Paul Taggart was almost beside himself. ‘That is the whole point. “Surge” is the first Delmoleen product to get away from that “bedtime” tag. It's an “any time you feel like it” beverage. “Surge” is being marketed as a health drink – not a relaxant, but a stimulant.'

‘Mind you,' said Ken Colebourne judiciously, ‘that is the way the basic Delmoleen drink is marketed round the world. In every other country it's sold for its stimulating and energy-giving qualities. Britain's the only place where it sells on its relaxing qualities.'

‘Why is that?' Will managed to chip in curiously.

‘Something to do with national character, I think,' said the Marketing Director.

Charles Paris was enjoying himself. He and Will were out at Stenley Curton to attend the first ‘nuts and bolts' planning session for the Brighton sales conference. It was an evening meeting in Ken Colebourne's office. Lavish salvers of sandwiches lay on the green baize cover of the table in front of them. There were also liberal supplies of coffee and mineral water (but unfortunately nothing else).

Charles had anticipated a fairly boring session and was cheered by this entertaining conflict between the Product Managers.

‘So,' Paul Taggart went on, ‘the marketing of “Surge” is going to be a whole new concept for the salesmen.'

‘So's the marketing of “Green”.'

‘But, in the long term, “Surge” is going to be the more important product. The Beverage market is much steadier. Confectionery's very volatile, always subject to changes of fashion.'

‘That's nonsense,' blustered Robin Pritchard. ‘And, anyway, the Delmoleen “Green” is not Confectionery. If it were, it'd attract VAT, apart from anything else, and wreak havoc with our pricing strategy. There is no way it's going to be marketed as Confectionery.'

‘Well, people are hardly going to pick up a muesli bar from the Cereals display, are they?'

‘The Delmoleen “Green” is a bit more than just an ordinary muesli bar, Paul. Anyway, it's not being marketed as Cereals – it's being marketed as a Snack.'

‘Huh. The Snack market's even more volatile than Confectionery.'

Ken Coleboume decided it was time for mediation in the war of Cereals and Biscuits against Beverages. ‘Please, please, we've got a lot to get through. But I would like to endorse Paul's point. Given all the other entertainment the sales force're going to get, I think we want to keep our presentations at the conference as simple as we can.'

The Product Manager for Beverages smiled complacently. ‘Thanks, Ken. Always the voice of sanity. What entertainment are they going to get, by the way?'

‘All the usual stuff'll be laid on for the wives. Then at the Thursday banquet there's a dance band and, of course, the cabaret.'

‘Who've you got?'

‘Not absolutely finalised, but looks likely to be . . .' He mentioned the name of an American girl singer who'd been big in the charts in the early seventies.

‘What, is she here doing a tour?'

‘No, we're flying her over just for this.'

‘That's going to cost you.'

Ken Colebourne nodded grimly. ‘Got to go bigger and better than Torquay last year. Don't want any more of the salesmen thinking of moving.'

‘Suppose not.'

‘And then the comedy cabaret – assuming we get the contract sorted out OK – is going to be Nicky Rules.'

They were all impressed by the name. Nicky Rules was one of the country's top comedians, a television game-show host known chiefly for the viciousness with which he insulted its contestants and the glee with which the contestants lapped up his abuse.

Charles was possibly more impressed than anyone else present – not because either of the names mentioned were favourites of his, but because, being in the business, he had some idea of the kind of fees they could command. It had never occurred to him that a company like Delmoleen would be prepared to pay that sort of money just to entertain its sales force.

Robin Pritchard had been silent for the last few minutes, but not because he had conceded defeat on the presentation of his product. He had been merely biding his time, and now came back forcibly to the attack.

‘I still want to put across the Delmoleen “Green” with a bit of razzmatazz. I want the salesmen to see a presentation they're going to remember.'

‘They'll remember it perfectly well if it's done straight,' said Ken Colebourne coldly.

‘No, they won't. They'll just doze off, as ever. Look, the presentation's in the afternoon – thanks to someone else getting the morning slot for their product . . .'

The Product Manager for Cereals and Biscuits looked daggers at the Product Manager for Beverages, who grinned smugly.

‘And we all know what that means – the salesmen will have had a few too many at lunchtime and, if they just get a straight presentation, they'll see it as a good excuse for a kip.'

‘You're out of date, Robin,' said Ken Colebourne. ‘That old hard-drinking image of the salesman has changed. They're much more responsible and accountable these days.'

He had chosen the wrong line of attack. ‘Out of date?' Robin Pritchard echoed contemptuously. ‘Out of date?
You
have the nerve to call
me
out of date?'

‘Well –'

‘For one thing, I don't believe that salesmen ever really change. For another, this company is going to do nothing for its image if it keeps using presentation methods out of the Ark.'

‘Look –'

‘I want the Delmoleen “Green” presented to the sales force in an exciting way, not just a talking head and slides.'

‘Talking head and slides has worked perfectly well in the past.' As ever, when pressured, Ken Colebourne summoned the name of his hero as evidence. ‘B.T. doesn't even bother with the slides.'

‘No, but Brian's a charismatic speaker. People'd listen to him, whatever the circumstances, whatever he was talking about. Other people need more help.' Robin Pritchard looked at the Marketing Director with an expression that fell little short of insolence. ‘Will you be doing your usual marketing overview?'

‘Yes,' said Ken Colebourne, trying not to sound defensive. ‘End of the afternoon, just before B.T. speaks.'

‘With slides, as ever?'

The Marketing Director's lips were tight across his teeth. ‘Yes.'

‘Hm. You haven't ever thought of getting someone else to do that, have you?'

‘Who else? I'm Marketing Director. It seems pretty ridiculous to have anyone else talking about marketing.'

‘I meant an actor.'

‘What do we want bloody actors in our sales conference for?'

‘Just to make the presentation look more professional.'

This gibe really got to the Marketing Director. ‘Listen, I am going to do that overview, because I am the person who knows most about the subject! And if I'm not professional enough, well, that's bad luck!'

Having heard Ken's views on the subject of speaking in public, Charles was a little surprised at how vehemently the Marketing Director defended his right to do it. But then, of course, this was office politics. The argument was not primarily about who presented the marketing overview, it was just another manifestation of the protracted conflict between the two executives.

‘Very well,' said Robin Pritchard lightly. ‘On your own head be it, Ken . . . as usual. But since we have Will here, do you mind . . .' his voice was heavy with sarcasm, ‘if I just ask him for his professional advice . . .'

‘No. No, go ahead.'

‘OK, Will, if we could somehow persuade the dinosaurs of Delmoleen that we don't have to present “Green” to the sales force by the old sleeping-pill methods . . . would you have some alternative suggestions . . .?'

‘You bet,' said the writer gleefully. ‘I have thought through quite a lot of potential scenarios . . .'

Charles knew this was a complete lie. Will Parton had given the subject no thought at all. He was busking, but – it had to be admitted – busking quite convincingly.

‘We could go up the comedy sketch path, of course – plenty of ideas there, which I'd be happy to spell out for you – but I think a more fruitful approach could be song-and-dance . . . you know, glitzy, bit of showbiz, get in some dancers, a choreographer and –' he announced, offering the spur-of-the-moment thought as if it was something he'd been mulling over for months, ‘we could have all the dancers dressed in green.'

‘This I
like
,' said Robin Pritchard, while his two colleagues looked sourly on.

‘The important thing, though, Robin, is to get the right song for the presentation. I was thinking it should be something with “green” in the title.'

‘An existing song, you mean?'

‘Exactly.'

‘But we're never actually going to find a song that's about muesli bars,' the Product Manager objected. ‘Least of all green muesli bars.'

‘No, of course we're not. But we take an existing song and we parody the lyrics.'

‘Don't you get copyright problems if you do that?' asked Charles.

‘Ah, you would if it was for public performance. Because it's in-house, no one's ever going to know about it. There are really no rules in the corporate world. Writers' Guild regulations don't apply. Nor do Equity, nor Musicians' Union. It's a free for all.'

‘Do you have any songs in mind?' asked Robin Pritchard.

‘Well, yes, there are a few obvious ones.' Will's mouth opened and closed as he wracked his brains for a single relevant title.

‘
Greensleeves
. . .?' Charles offered helpfully.

‘Yes, yes, good. Or, um . . .
Mountain Greenery
. . . . or . . .' The writer started to get into his stride.
‘Green Tambourine . . . The Green Leaves of Summer . . .'

‘Green Grow the Rashes, O!
' Charles contributed.

‘Yes.'

‘And that has the advantage of being out of copyright, so there couldn't possibly be any problem.'

‘No. And it could go . . .' Will paused, still improvising like mad, then started to sing, ‘
‘I'll sing you one, O!
'

Charles intoned the chorus. ‘
Green grow the rashes, O!
'

‘
What is your one, O?
'

‘
Green grow the rashes, O!
' the actor repeated, leaving the writer with the difficult bit.

A momentary light of panic crept into Will Parton's eye, but he recovered himself. ‘
One is green, completely green, and ever more shall be so!
'

‘I think we really could be on to something here,' said Robin Pritchard earnestly.

‘
I'll sing you two, O
!' Charles sang, trying to avoid Will's eye.

‘
Green grow the rashes, O!
'

‘
What is your two, O?
'

‘Green grow the rashes, O!
'

Charles suddenly realised that he had lumbered himself with the creative bit. ‘Erm . . . erm . . .

‘Two, two the muesli bars
,

‘
Wrapped up all in green, ho! ho!
' he pronounced with triumph.

‘
One is green, completely green, and ever more shall be so
!' Will completed the chorus lustily.