Rivals (43 page)

    it spilled down the tall glass all over her face, she'd wake up.

    There was also a massive contingent of press there. People were standing on tables, fighting for space.

    'Why have you pitched for the Corinium franchise, Declan?' asked the BBC.

    'We want to create a company that is genuinely local,' said Declan. 'And we want to make some bloody good programmes.'

    'And a fortune into the bargain?' said the Mirror.

    Everyone laughed. Declan grinned. 'That too. Then we can afford to make even better programmes.'

    Soon, however, the vitriol was flowing freely.

    'Corinium have lost touch with the public and their region. They need a good shake-up,' said Rupert.

    'After eight years in business,' said Freddie, 'it seems amazing that Tony B has only just decided to build a studio near Southampton.'

    'I appeared on "Cotswold Round-Up" recently,' boomed Dame Enid. 'I was interviewed by some pastel-clad pansy -' she winked at Declan 'who

    didn't know what the hell he was talking about. It was the worst programme I've ever been on.'

    'What drew you in, Bishop?' asked the Catholic Herald.

    Television today is a key factor in the quality of life, in the community, in the establishment of Christian values,' said the Bishop heartily. 'I hope to play a part through Venturer in making television more uplifting and more enjoyable.' He wagged a finger. 'One doesn't exclude the other, y'know.'

    Realizing the Bishop was all set to deliver a sermon, Rupert cut in, 'The Bishop feels as I do, that there's far too much sex and violence on Corinium's programmes.'

    Tucking hypocrite,' thundered Tony.

    'Very much so,' agreed the Bishop. 'On "Four Men went to Mow" young people are continually going to bed with other young people and shown not to be taking precautions.'

    'Corinium's drama record as a whole,' added Janey, 'is abysmal.'

    'Bitch,' hissed Cameron in genuine outrage. 'How dare

    she!'

    There are, of course, good people working at Corinium,' said Declan, 'but they're hamstrung by a greedy and incompetent management.' Tony puffed on his cigar, the knuckles of his left hand whitening as he made a dagger of the silver paper knife on his desk. Cyril's doodles became more extravagant.

    'Having worked at Corinium for seven months,' went on Declan, 'I know just how bad things are.'

    'Isn't that actionable?' said Ginger furiously.

    But Tony held up his hand for silence as the Star asked Declan who Venturer were poaching from other companies.

    Declan smiled again. 'We have a string of incredibly talented people who will take over as Heads of the various departments the moment we win the franchise,' he said, 'but as they're all working for ITV or the BBC, we can't tell you who they are.'

    'What d'you feel about your other rival, Mid-West?' said

    the Sun.

    Rupert laughed. 'Well, they were advertising for ideas for programmes in the local paper last week,' he said, 'so they must be a bit short on imagination, and as their regional trump card is a geography master who's never been to London I can't say we feel very threatened.'

    The BBC, obviously feeling they'd given Venturer enough coverage, turned to the wonderful weather.

    Tony immediately switched over to 'Cotswold Round-Up' who put out an outwardly impartial report about there being two contenders for the Corinium franchise, then ran Tony's interview with Seb in full. This was immediately followed by a link from James Vereker saying that Declan must have got to know Rupert when he interviewed him for Corinium.

    Next the clip was run in from the programme in which Declan quoted the Gloucestershire peer describing Rupert as 'a nasty virus everyone's wife caught sooner or later'. And Rupert replying: 'If you could see his wife, it'd definitely be later.'

    Finally came Declan's questions as to whether Rupert was going to mend his ways because of AIDS, and Rupert cracking back that he was giving up casual sex for Lent. Without any qualifying comment, the programme then switched to a story about playing-fields.

    'That was offensive,' said Cameron furiously. 'That clip should never have been taken out of context.'

    'The IBA won't like it one bit,' said Ginger, shaking his head.

    'I didn't authorize it,' lied Tony quickly. 'I can't help it if my newsroom get a little protective and leap to my defence.'

    Cameron felt sick. It was going to be much dirtier and more difficult than she'd thought. Things became worse when Seb and James rolled up after 'Cotswold Round-Up'. Tony, utterly businesslike now, said their chief object should be to dig up as much dirt on Venturer as possible and then get other people to leak the stories.

    'We've got to appear whiter than white and above it all. Here's the list of their consortium.' Tony handed copies to James and Seb. 'Declan was desperately pushed for cash when he left Corinium. How's he managed to be in funds again? Investigate any IRA sympathies. His wife's a tart. See if there's any rift there.'

    'Rupert's a government minister,' said Ginger. 'That's out of order for a start. He could influence the PM to lean on the IBA to give Venturer the franchise.'

    'Excellent,' said Tony. 'Ring up Paul Stratton, Ginger. He detests Rupert. Get him to ask a question in the House about it. And find out who Rupert's sleeping with, Seb. It's bound to be different from yesterday. If anything moves, or rather stays still, he'll fuck it. Sarah Stratton used to sleep with him; she may still be. Talk to her.'

    Seb didn't dare look at Cameron. Suddenly, he felt desperately sorry for her.

    'Lord Smith likes the fleshpots far too much for a socialist,' went on Tony. 'He's got his own house with five bedrooms and a very nice car. See if he's been using union funds. Graystock's a pinko, too. Investigate any communist sympathies.

    He's also divorced, got a second house, and definitely sent his second child to a private school. Hang round the University, Seb, and see if he's ever fiddled with one of his students, or put one in the club.'

    'Ditto Dame Enid,' said Ginger with his dry mirthless laugh. 'She's probably miffed we're doing a Michael Tippett opera this year and not one of hers.'

    That's possible,' said Tony. 'Good story to leak to the gossip columns. And the Bishop of Cotchester must have had a choirboy in his time.'

    He ran his finger down the list. 'Henry Hampshire's a terrible letch; keep an eye on him. Janey Lloyd-Foxe is a whore. She left Billy for a bit and went off with one of his sponsors, and they're always broke. There's bound to be some dirt there. And Wesley Emerson's a cinch. He's always stoned or dipping his wick. We've just got to pick our moment to leak a really juicy story.'

    Ginger shook his head. 'Got to be careful, there. Wesley's such a local hero, the public'll forgive him anything. He took five wickets today, only person who did.'

    'Send Sarah Stratton to interview him,' said Tony. 'That should do the trick.'

    James's stomach gave a terrific rumble; his extended lunch with Sarah today had not included food. 'I think we should be careful about smirching Corinium's caring face,' he said palely.

    'I agree,' said Cameron, who'd also gone very white. 'Can't we just, as you said, stand on our record? We're better than them. It seems so tacky to sink to their level.'

    'Don't be fucking stupid,' snapped Tony. 'This is war. I don't believe Marti Gluckstein lives in Penscombe either. Find out his alleged address and go and bung the neighbours.'

    'I'll do that story,' said Seb quickly.

    'Charles is a friend of both Rupert's and Declan's,' said Tony. 'He can find out what they're up to. Where the hell is he, anyway?' He turned furiously on Cyril.

    'Gone to an enclosed order for two days,' stammered Cyril. 'They're not on the telephone.'

    'Well, drive over and fetch him back, sunshine,' said Tony with exaggerated patience. 'If you both value your jobs, see that he rings me at home tonight after eleven o'clock.'

    He opened his briefcase and took out a clean shirt and a tie. 'I've got to go to the Chamber of Commerce dinner. So bugger off, all of you. I want to talk to Cameron.'

    After they'd gone Cameron couldn't stop shaking. 'It's so awful," she kept saying.

    'I think it might be rather fun,' said Tony softly. 'When the right moment comes, I'll press the destruct button on the lot of them. They've no idea what they've taken on.'

    As he came towards her, his breath was foul, as though all the hatred had churned and rotted inside him. His body stank of stale sweat. Trying not to flinch when he grabbed her, Cameron said, 'I thought you were dropping by this evening?'

    'I'd like to, but it's not safe. Press'll be hanging round. Venturer might even put a private dick on to me.'

    He was so mad to get inside her, he broke the elastic of her panties. It was all over in a minute.

    'The bastards,' he groaned. 'They've all betrayed me.'

    Then he took her throat between his hands. 'If you ever betray me, I'll kill you.'

    Down the High Street at Radio Cotchester the Controller of Programmes received an irate telephone call from the Managing Director who'd never been near the station since Princess Michael opened it five years ago.

    'I've just heard a very favourable interview with Bas Baddingham,' he roared. 'I don't want any more crap like that on Radio Cotchester. Tell all our presenters and DJs we're backing Corinium a hundred per cent throughout this campaign. After all, Tony Baddingham owns twenty per cent of us.'

    Up the High Street at the Cotchester News the Editor was reading tomorrow's leader: 'Tony Baddingham's words to Declan O'Hara that people who get too big for their boots should go and

    wear out other people's carpets must ring hollow in his ears today when the mega-star Irishman and Penscombe resident headed a bid to oust Tony Baddingham and walk on Corinium's carpets himself after 15th December. Venturer, as he's called his consortium, appears to be soundly based financially, rich in talent and determined to grasp the infinite…'

    The Editor had read enough and buzzed for his leader writer. 'You can't publish this! We own twenty per cent of Corinium, and Tony Baddingham owns twenty-five per cent of us. Go back and rewrite it.'

    'Corinium may not be perfect,' the leader writer retyped defiantly. 'What company is? But it has now reached a level of performance far beyond that which any newcomer could achieve in a few years. Corinium has a massive expansion programme, it has won countless awards, it has all the expertise it needs, and it has Cameron Cook.'

    Then he went out and got drunk.

    Cameron finally tracked down Rupert at the House after he'd voted.

    'Sweetheart, are you OK?' he said. 'How's Sledge-Hammer House of Horror? Has Tony had a seizure?'

    'I hate you and I hate myself,' stormed Cameron. 'How dare Janey Lloyd-Foxe say Corinium's drama was abysmal, and that bloody Bishop attacking the morals of "Four Men went to Mow"!'

    'That was tactless. I'm sorry, but if we don't knock you, Tony'll suspect something. How did he take it?'

    'Fine,' said Cameron. 'Very together, very positive.'

    'That's not what Barney Williams told me. He it really pulled the Krug from under Tony's feet, and that he was quite hysterical. All this expansive competition came much later in the day.'

    Cameron wasn't interested. 'Look, Rupert, I'm not sure I'm going to be any good as a double agent.'

    'What's happened?'

    'Seb's got to trail you to find out who you're sleeping with.'

    Rupert laughed. 'He's going to have a very boring time

    then. The only person I'm sleeping or likely to stay awake with is you. '

    'Are you sure?' Cameron's voice broke. 'I'm so confused. It all happened so fast. I need to see you, just to talk.'

    'I need to fuck,' said Rupert. 'I want you so badly at this moment, but it'd be madness. The press are still baying round. We've got to be careful.'

    .

    'Yes, you can. You're very brave and strong, that's what"! adore about you. You're very tired too. Take a couple of Mogadon and sleep in. And sustain yourself with the thought that one day in December we'll be awarded tickets on the one surviving gravy train.'

    'I thought we were only interested in making good programmes,' said Cameron disapprovingly.

    'Oh well, that, too,' said Rupert.

32

    Within a week the IBA had provided the press with precis of all the applications and placed a copy of each application in their library so that the public could come and look at them.

    Immediately, Tony dispatched Miss Madden to the IBA to transcribe Venturer's application in her neat shorthand. Going through the revolving doors, she met Ursula, Declan's secretary, on a similar mission.

    'I'm not supposed to talk to you,' said Joyce.

    'Nor I you,' said Ursula.

    Both agreed, however, that much time could be saved if Ursula posted Joyce a copy of Venturer's application and Joyce sent Ursula a copy of Corinium's. Then they could pretend they had transcribed and typed them themselves, and pop over to Harrods instead for a lunch of breaded plaice, fruit salad and several glasses of sweet sherry before going to the cinema.

    'We mustn't discuss the franchise or I'll get sacked,' said Joyce, 'but you've no idea how demented Lord B. was when he heard Declan was bidding against him. He's really out to get him now. It's a shame we're on different sides. I always liked Declan. He was such a nice man.'

    Having read Venturer's application, Tony launched his counteroffensive.

    'It would be foolish to denigrate the competition," he told the press expansively, and then proceeded to do so.

    He also spent a lot of time playing his staff off against each other, having them in individually, offering them large drinks and cigars in his most urbane and disarming manner, then telling each one they were the one person he really relied on to spy on the rest. Pinned on the board was a new notice reiterating instant dismissal for any member of staff found having dealings with any of the Venturer or Mid-Week consortiums.

    The Bishop of Cotchester was therefore rather bewildered when, every time he walked down the High Street or round the Cathedral close and tried to pass the time of day with any of the eight hundred Corinium staff, they bolted like squirrels up the nearest tree.

    The following Sunday Declan called a Venturer meeting at The Priory. Janey and Billy couldn't make it, nor could Wesley Emerson. But Wesley had vindicated himself by already taking twenty-five wickets and wearing the Venturer T-shirt on every possible occasion.

    Georgie, Seb and Charles (who was wearing a tin hat and brandishing a riot shield borrowed from Wardrobe) all turned up giggling hysterically in James Vereker's very distinctive pale-blue Porsche.

    The silly bugger left it in the Corinium car park and a second set of keys in his office,' said Georgie. 'We're going to abandon it outside your house later this afternoon, Enid, then ring up Tony and tip him off.'

    'How's it going?' said Freddie.

    'Tony's in a vilely twitchy mood,' said Charles, 'bugging everyone's telephones. You'd better watch out, Declan. If our chief engineer rolls up in a yellow van heavily disguised as a British Telecom mechanic, don't let him in.'

    It was such a mild day they all sat outside. Apple blossom and lilac were both out and wafting their sweet fragrance. Cow parsley frothed up to meet the trailing young green leaves and white candles of the horse chestnuts round the lawn. The rushing stream was clogged with forget-me-nots and marsh marigolds, and, although the bluebells were fading,

    the wood was now lit up by the white flowers of the wild garlic. It was definitely a day to be in love. Rupert turned up with Cameron, who was safe because Tony had gone to Rugborough to watch Archie play cricket. She and Rupert had obviously just got out of bed. Their hair was still wet from the shower. She sat on the lawn propped against him, her hand on his thigh. They looked lean, glamorous and intensely separate.

    Great excitement was caused by the arrival of the rest of the Venturer publicity material: badges, car stickers, bookmarks, peaked caps with adjustable straps at the back, which had to be taken in to fit Henry Hampshire's narrow stoat's head but let out for Dame Enid and Declan. The piece de resistance was the poster. It was a blow-up from the group photograph of Taggie with Gertrude on her knee, both wearing Venturer T-shirts.

    'It's fuckin' gorgeous,' said Freddie. 'Every garage mechanic will put it up in the service bay.'

    'I'll have some for the bar,' said Bas.

    'And I for the Close,' said the Bishop.

    Both Dame Enid and Professor Graystock wanted several for the common room.

    'Dirty old letch,' muttered Rupert, glaring at the Professor.

    'I'll keep mine under my pillow,' said Seb, 'in case Tony drops in for coffee one evening.'

    Only Cameron had been scornful when Rupert had showed the poster to her earlier.

    'It's too fucking kitsch for words,' she snapped.

    'I thought you might like to have a look at Corinium's rival offering,' said Georgie, unrolling a poster of Sarah Stratton cuddling a baby calf with a caption 'Corinium Cares' underneath. Her T-shirt had rather too many buttons undone.

    '"Corinium Bares", more likely,' said Rupert dismissively. 'Venturer have definitely won the battle of the Crumpet. Here, let me carry that, angel,' he went on, leaping to his feet as Taggie came out with a huge chocolate cake and a plate of cucumber sandwiches on a tray.

    Taggie couldn't meet his eyes, nor did she say anything when she saw the poster. It reminded her too poignantly of when she'd still been happy, when Rupert had not yet rolled up with Cameron.

    After tea Declan came to the serious bit. 'For the next two months,' he told them, 'while the IBA are sifting through the applications before the public meetings begin in July, our job is to get Venturer across to the area. We got off to an excellent start. With such a dazzlingly flamboyant panel -' he grinned round at them 'publicity

    has been no problem. Now we've got to get out and meet the people who matter in

    the Town Halls, the Chambers of Commerce, the Rotary Clubs all round the area and

    show them we're not just a bunch of dilettantes.

    'We've also got to cast our net wide to cover schools, colleges, churches, young farmers, job centres, the police, sports clubs, political groups, race relations officers, etc., etc. We must let them know what we intend to do, find out how we can help them, and then sign them up as friends of Venturer. We'll collect a huge petition of names and organizations to send the IBA. But it'll have far more effect if they can also be persuaded to write a private letter to Lady Gosling giving their support.

    'We must try to cover the entire area,' he went on. 'I know you're all busy and it's going to be a long hard slog, and obviously none of the Corinium moles or Billy or Harold can be seen to be doing anything.'

    'I'll help,' pleaded Taggie. 'Please let me. I can drive round the area delivering handouts and telling people how good you are.'

    'How can she possibly explain to anyone why they should support Venturer,' said Cameron too loudly to Rupert, 'if she can't read the fucking application?'

    Seeing Taggie go crimson with mortification, Seb leapt to her defence. 'Put it on tape,' he said. 'I'll do it for you, Taggie. If I can't go round the area canvassing, it's the least I can do.'

    Seb was as good as his word. Over the next two days he

    not only put the most important points of the application on tape for her, but also the answers she should give to any questions.

    'If they're a Leftie organization,' he explained, 'say we've got Professor Graystock, Lord Smith and your Dad in the consortium. If they're Tory, plug Freddie, Henry, Rupert and Marti Gluckstein. If they're SDP, bandy Dame Enid's name around.

    'If anyone starts grumbling about sex and violence,' he went on, 'say we've got the Bishop of Cotchester and he's going to oversee all our programmes. On the other hand, if anyone says we haven't got enough sex and violence, say we've got Rupert, Bas and Wesley Emerson in the consortium.'

    He coached her over and over again until her spiel was word-perfect. Taggie found him incredibly kind and patient.

    'I wish I'd been taught by people like you at school,' she said wistfully.

    And so the hard grind started. But as Rupert was chronically busy, and Freddie was tied up with his electronics empire, and Declan was locked into his biography of Yeats, and both professors were frantically coaching their students for finals, in the end most of the work fell to Taggie. With a car full of stickers, badges and posters, she drove round the vast area visiting everyone from trade unionists to youth leaders, from mothers' unions to arts councils, taking in every imaginable pressure group, begging them to sign her petition, to write to the IBA and best of all to come along and cheer Venturer at the public meeting in July. Because of her beauty, sweetness and passionate belief in her father's and Venturer's cause, she had surprising success.

    Sometimes she was joined by the Bishop, sometimes by Dame Enid, which was great fun. Dame Enid had a convertible and they drove through the glorious Spring together with the roof down, getting brown, sucking lemon sherbets and calling an awful lot of people 'boring little farts' after they'd safely got them signed up. Driving round with Professor Graystock was less fun. He had a horrible habit of squeezing

    Taggie's bare legs when he made a point, so she took to wearing trousers.

    The third Saturday in May, however, was a very bad day for Taggie. She was tired because she'd been up very late doing a dinner party for Valerie Jones the night before. As she was scheduled to tour the Winchester area, which she didn't know, she'd put directions to all the places she had to visit on tape, but even so she got terribly lost and flustered.

    On one of her calls she'd got the SDP muddled up with the Labour Party and started plugging Dame Enid when she should have been pushing Lord Smith and Professor Graystock. Then she'd called on a vile headmaster who'd made her tremble because he reminded her of school. 'How can Venturer help your school personally?' she asked.

    'Well, get a pencil, write it down,' he said bossily.

    'I'll remember it," stammered Taggie.

    'Write it down,' snapped the headmaster.

    'I can't.' Taggie hung her head. 'I'm dyslexic.'

    He was incredibly nice after that, giving her a glass of sherry. His eldest son who'd been killed in Northern Ireland had been dyslexic and he got out a lot of photographs to show her.

    It was half past nine and getting dark when Taggie left and after ten before she managed to find her way to the gates of the local cricket club.

    Perhaps they'd all gone home. But she could hear great whoops and catcalls coming from the pavilion, and, as she drew up outside, moths were bashing against the lighted windows.

    Cricket Taggie

    took a deep breath that

    meant she had to plug Wesley Emerson's involvement and Venturer's entirely fresh approach to cricket coverage. Going through the door, she quailed. They were obviously having some all-male dinner. She couldn't see the white table-cloth for glasses. Scores of huge-shouldered men with brick-red faces and beer guts seemed to be grinning at her with unfocused lechery. A tawny giant up at the top table, fiddling with the microphone, looked vaguely familiar.

    'I'm so sorry,' she stammered, clutching her stickers, posters and her petition, 'I'll come back some other time.'

    'No, come in, sweetheart,' they all yelled.

    A chunky dark youth rose to his feet and swayed unsteadily towards her.

    'If you're from the Shalvation Army, I'm beyond shaving,' he said.

    'Come back, darling,' roared the rest, as Taggie backed out through the door.

    A slightly older man, who came up to Taggie's shoulders, and who seemed less inebriated than the rest, said he was the club secretary and asked if he could help.

    'I just wanted to tell you about Venturer,' mumbled Taggie, 'and hoped you might sign our petition and put our stickers in your cars.'

    Td much rather put you in my car,' said the chunky dark youth to roars of applause.

    The club secretary then led her to the microphone and introduced her to the Captain, who had hard, rather unpleasant blue eyes. 'Lady wants to tell us about television,' he said.

    'Well, go on then,' said the Captain nastily.

    The tawny giant smiled at Taggie and sat down.

    'I just wanted to tell you about Venturer television,' Taggie began in her soft growling teddy-bear voice. 'You probably know we're p-pitching for the Corinium franchise. We need your help in our campaign. We want to know how we can help you.'

    'Give us a blow job, Lofty,' said a wag down the table to howls of laughter.

    A bread roll sailed through the air, just missing her. Taggie blushed even deeper but ploughed on.

    'Strip, strip, strip, strip,' intoned the Captain, banging on the table.

    Soon the entire room took up the cry.

    'Shut up, you meatheads,' yelled the tawny giant. 'Let her finish.'

    Amazingly, after that they did shut up and, except for