Rivals (75 page)

Cameron took special trouble with her appearance, wearing a new very waisted red silk suit with padded shoulders, a very plunging neckline and an extremely short skirt. This was because she was meeting Rupert’s best friend, Billy Lloyd-Foxe, for the first time. He’d been away making a film on rugger for the BBC for the past three months and Cameron was determined to make a good impression. She needn’t have worried. Billy came up to her straight away with that famous smile which had been described as ‘able to beam into millions of homes without the aid of satellite’.

‘Hullo, gosh, I’ve been longing to meet you,’ he said, kissing her. ‘I’m mad about “Four Men went to Mow”. Janey’s taped all the episodes for me. It’s exactly how Rupe and I used to carry on before we were married. It was just starting in Australia when I left, and being marvellously received.’

He was extremely attractive, Cameron decided. His light-brown hair had gone greyer and he’d thickened out since his show-jumping days, but he had such a young face, and his turned-down eyes were so merry you didn’t notice the broken nose or the doubling chin. He also had a sweetness and an air of life being hilarious, but at the same time a little bit too much for him that had endeared him as much to the BBC viewers as to everyone in the sporting world. Janey was mad to mess him around, thought Cameron. She wondered if that was why Bas wasn’t here today.

Rupert and he seemed to know each other so well, they slipped into familiarity like a pair of old bedroom slippers, arguing about horses, finishing each other’s sentences, howling with laughter at each other’s jokes. It was nice to see Rupert happy again, thought Cameron. His fuse had been very short since she got back. She suspected, although he denied it, that he hated being in opposition – a shadow minister of his former self.

‘When you come back to Penscombe, we’re bloody well going to start a racing stable,’ Rupert was saying in an undertone.

‘I thought we were going to run a television station,’ said Billy.

‘We are, but with the revenue coming in, we’ll have access to a hundred and twenty-five million a year. Just think what we can do with that.’

‘Good God,’ said Billy in amazement. ‘Christy may be able to go to Harrow after all. I must have a drink.’

At that moment Declan tapped a large mahogany table in the centre of the room and asked everyone to sit down on the row of chairs lined up on the opposite side.

‘Where’s the bar?’ asked Rupert.

‘No one’s having anything to drink until we’ve finished,’ Declan said firmly.

Wesley’s face fell. Billy turned pale. ‘What is this, a concentration camp?’

‘Concentration -’ Declan smiled thinly – ‘is what we’re after tonight. If you’re all swilling booze and getting up to get each other drinks, you won’t take in what I’m saying. There’s Perrier if anyone wants it.’

‘Now I know why it’s called a dry run,’ said Billy sulkily. ‘Come and sit by me,’ he said to Cameron, patting a chair. ‘At least I can cheer myself up gazing at your legs.’

Cameron looked like a cross between Joan Collins and Donald Duck, Billy decided, frightfully glamorous but somewhat high-powered.

‘I’m frightfully hungry. Can we at least ring for some sandwiches?’ said Professor Graystock, deliberately pressing against Cameron’s breasts and having a good look as he leant over to pinch one of Billy’s cigarettes.

‘Later,’ said Declan.

Billy, Harold White, Seb Burrows, Georgie Baines and Sally Maples, the children’s editor Declan had recruited from Yorkshire Television, then jumped out of their skins when an unknown man in spectacles with a crew cut and a purposeful expression walked in.

‘It’s all right,’ said Declan soothingly. ‘This is Hardy Bissett. He used to work for the IBA and knows exactly what sort of questions they’ll ask us at the interview. He’s going to drill us over the next few weeks.’

‘Who’s that turgid old crone in the portrait over the mantelpiece?’ Billy whispered to Cameron.

‘Virginia Woolf,’ whispered Cameron.

‘I’d do anything to keep her from my door!’ said Billy. ‘What did she do for a living – belly dancing?’

‘A fine writer,’ said Professor Graystock reprovingly.

Declan found Hardy a chair beside him on the other side of the table. Then he said, ‘The IBA meeting, as you all know now, is fixed for 29th November. The good thing is that Corinium’s meeting is the afternoon before, so there won’t be any problem for those of you who have to go to both meetings.’

Everyone jumped again as a fat man waddled into the room wearing a stocking over his head, waving a blue plastic toy gun, saying, ‘This is a shoot-out.’

Then he peeled the stocking off with a broad grin and said, ‘Boo!’ It was Charles Fairburn.

‘Oh, for fock’s sake, Charles,’ exploded Declan. ‘This is serious. I was just explaining that ours and Corinium’s meetings are on different days, so you won’t bump into Tony and Ginger Johnson coming out of the IBA as you go in. But please think up excuses to be out of the office on the 29th well in advance. We want as many of you there as possible.’

‘Are you sure no one will see us?’ asked Sally Maples nervously. ‘We’ve all been threatened with the sack again this week.’

‘So have we,’ said Billy.

Declan shook his head. ‘All you have to do is to drive into the underground garage at the back of the IBA – you needn’t go near the front at all – and you’ll be whisked up to the eighth floor.

‘By now,’ he went on, ‘the IBA will have digested our applications and answers to the supplementary questions, and noted our performance at the public meeting. They will obviously have some idea as to whom they want to award the franchise. But have no doubt, the interview on the 29th is key. Just as important as a viva to an undergraduate taking finals.’

‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ murmured Billy.

‘I’m now going to hand you over to Hardy,’ said Declan, sitting down, ‘who’ll take you through the dry run.’

Hardy Bissett, despite his bristly crew cut, had an air of officialdom which unnerved them all. Getting to his feet, he tapped the table with a biro: ‘This is exactly the kind of table you’ll sit along during the interview, except the IBA table is oval-shaped. Facing you will be the twelve members of the Authority, with Lady Gosling in the centre. None of them know anything much about television. They are worthy public figures, academics, business people. One of them, Mrs Scott-Menzies, for example, is the ex-Chairman of the WI. Another used to run the Post Office. Another is an ex-Labour Minister of Education. Yet another, whom I think you’ve come across, Declan, is the Reverend Fergus Penney, a disgusting old goat who was once a Prebendary of the Church of England.

‘It is essential for you to memorize all their names. All important people in their own field once, they tend to be vain and enjoy recognition. Behind them during the meeting will sit half a dozen officials who work for the Authority, who know
all
about television. They do not speak during the interview, but they brief before and advise afterwards, and will be watching you all like hawks.’

Billy mopped his brow. ‘It sounds most alarming,’ he sighed.

‘God, that man’s disgusting,’ thought Rupert, as Professor Graystock pinched yet another of Billy’s cigarettes.

As if reading Rupert’s thoughts, Hardy Bissett said, ‘One of the crucial things at the interview is to appear to like and admire each other and prove you are not merely a star-studded bunch after a quick buck, but actually capable of forming a workable and amicable team. As you will be sitting in an almost straight line and will not be able to catch each other’s eyes, it is also crucial to work out in advance who will field what questions. Freddie perhaps should answer any technical questions, the Bishop should deal with religion, Dame Enid with music, Charles the arts, and so on.

‘It is also vital that everyone has their say. One excellent consortium lost the breakfast franchise a few years ago because their chairman, a newspaper editor, answered all the questions quite brilliantly, thereby convincing the IBA that they would be too much of a one-man band.

‘All right.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Enough waffle. To begin with I’ll fire questions directly at individuals. Later on in rehearsals we’ll get to the stage when I can fire a question in the air, and the appropriate person will leap to answer it. Now remember, the interview will last at least an hour.’

‘I won’t if I don’t get a drink,’ grumbled Billy.

‘Shut up,’ snapped Hardy Bissett. He turned to Henry Hampshire. ‘I’m interested to know why as Lord-Lieutenant you decided to join the Venturer consortium?’

For a second, Henry mouthed helplessly like a goldfish. ‘Because Rupert told me I’d make a fortune,’ he said, ‘and that he’d introduce me to Joanna Lumley.’

Everyone screamed with laughter except the Bishop, Declan and Hardy Bissett.

‘Which Rupert hasn’t done yet, what?’ said Henry, delighted at the reaction.

‘This is meant to be a dry run,’ said Hardy icily. He turned to Wesley. ‘How d’you intend to retain the cultural traditions of the ethnic minorities in your area, Mr Emerson?’

Wesley looked blank. ‘Don’t know, man. Declan promised me a fortune too, but he didn’t say anything about Joanna Lumley.’

Billy wiped his eyes. ‘This is wonderful,’ he whispered to Cameron.

Like a terrier, Hardy Bissett caught Billy off guard. ‘As Venturer’s head of sport,’ he asked sharply, ‘how d’you intend to revolutionize Corinium’s sporting coverage?’

‘Er-hum,’ said Billy helplessly. ‘Making programmes is a bit like sex. I do it all the time, but I’m afraid I never talk about it. Programmes are living things, particularly sport,’ he went on apologetically. ‘They seem to materialize as you go along.’

‘Very lucid,’ said Hardy so sarcastically that Billy went crimson. He then turned to Professor Graystock. ‘I wonder, Professor, if you might be able to provide us with a more serious answer to the question I asked Wesley?’

The Professor cleared his throat. ‘At Venturer we would naturally give the ethnic minorities the chance to develop their own programmes in their own way,’ he said in his fulsome drone. ‘This will keep alive the cultures and traditions which would otherwise be neglected as the minorities become fully integrated into the population.’

‘Excellent, Professor,’ said Hardy. ‘That’s more like it, although you could have gone on to specify some of the programmes and had a crack at Corinium’s abysmal record at the same time.’

He turned to Freddie. ‘Have you got a definite policy towards industrial relations?’

Freddie looked somewhat apprehensively at Rupert. ‘I and my Managing Director, Declan, and my Financial Director, Rupert, are all firmly committed believers in industrial democracy.’

‘Are we?’ said Rupert in amazement.

‘Shut up,’ hissed Cameron. ‘Will you and Billy stop taking the piss.’

Sulkily Rupert got out the
Evening Standard
and surreptitiously started reading his Scorpio horoscope, which was all about career opportunities and staying cool in the face of provocation. Then, because he read Taggie’s horoscope as automatically as his own these days, his eyes moved up three places to Cancer.

‘
As there is a new moon this week
,’ wrote Patric Walker,
‘you are probably wondering where the next blow will fall and feel everyone is against you.
’

Oh the poor little duck, thought Rupert, suddenly overwhelmed with longing and protectiveness. She’d been so adorable the other day. He never dreamed he’d miss her so much.

‘Rupert,’ snapped Cameron. ‘Hardy wants to know if we’ve got an employment policy.’

‘Yes,’ said Rupert coolly. ‘We’ll employ very good people. We’ll pay them extremely well to work, and if they don’t we’ll tell them to fuck off.’

The Bishop and Professor Graystock exchanged pained glances. Declan’s bitten fingernails drummed on the table.

‘Slightly too simplistic,’ said Hardy Bissett acidly. ‘I hope someone else has something a little bit more illuminating to say on the subject.’

At the end of half an hour Hardy called a halt.

‘That was absolutely appalling,’ he said bluntly. ‘Declan, you’re fielding too many questions – can’t say I blame you with these morons – and getting totally carried away by your own blarney. So are you, Bishop.’ The Bishop turned purple. ‘You’re both far too long-winded. The rest are much too short. You should be answering the questions in a sentence, and then immediately using the subject to dive into another area where you want to make a point. The object is to put across Venturer’s message and make your pitch whatever questions you’re asked.’

‘Christ,’ said Billy to Rupert as the Professor nicked yet another of his cigarettes, ‘it’s like one of those terrible nightmares of being back at school. Who is this fink on my right who talks like a British Telecom technical manual?’

‘Professor Graystock,’ said Rupert. ‘Declan brought him in. He’s a disgrace.’

‘We’ll have another half-hour session,’ said Hardy Bissett. ‘Then we’ll have a drink.’ He turned to Freddie. ‘Mr Jones, how did the idea for Venturer originate?’

Freddie scratched his curls.

‘Well, it was like this, Rupert an’ me ’ad both ’ad an up-and-downer wiv Tony Baddingham over different fings. Declan was having a rough time of it. Tony’s a fug, make no bones abart it, got a board made up of professional accountants, who use profits for anyfing other than making programmes; won’t take risks; that’s why their share of the ratings is dropping. Anyway, Declan ’ad a barney wiv him and walked out. Rupe and I both fink Declan’s terrific; he’s a real man of stature; could become the Lord Reef of ITV, so we decided to pitch for the franchise.

‘We all live in the area,’ he went on. ‘Rupe’s lived there all ’is life. Declan, Cameron and I are comparative newcomers, more like Cafflic converts, so we love it wiv a passion, and we just feel it’s being shabbily represented by Corinium.’