Rivals

50

For Rupert next morning the press was crucifixion — ranging from highly moralistic pieces about the chronic Tory failure to keep their noses clean to double-page spreads with pictures charting the rise and fall of the Tory party golden boy. The tabloids had dug up several of Rupert’s more bitter exes, who, having done a great deal more than kiss, were now only too happy to tell. The seamiest tabloid of all had a huge frontpage headline: ‘Campbell-Blackguard,’ above an enchanting picture of Tabitha.

‘In the playground of exclusive Bluebell’s school (fees £1,500 a term),’ ran the copy, ‘a little child sobs alone. In a voice hardly above a whisper, Tabitha Campbell-Black told the Scorpion:

‘“I don’t mind my friends not playing with me any more, but I don’t want Daddy to die of AIDS.”’

‘This is the final fucking limit,’ howled Billy Lloyd-Foxe, hurling the Scorpion across the room. ‘I’m coming with you to the IBA.’

‘The Beeb will sack you if they find out,’ said Janey, who was painting her nails because it was less hassle than cleaning them. ‘And as I turned down a hundred grand yesterday to tell all about our life with Rupert, and this suit cost nearly as much, I don’t think you can afford to.’

‘I don’t care,’ said Billy mutinously. ‘Rupert’s my best friend, and anyway since Beattie implied I was gay yesterday, I shall certainly be snapped up by Radio 3.’

At Freddie’s house, the remnants of the Venturer consortium gathered before the meeting. With no Bishop, no Professor, no Cameron and none of the moles, their numbers were utterly depleted and their bid in tatters. The second day of Rupert’s memoirs was even worse, with intimations of underage school girls. Freddie had spent half the night trying to persuade a demented Declan that they’d got to shop Tony, not just for seducing Maud and bugging their houses, but because Seb was working on excellent evidence that Tony had bribed Beattie Johnson to sing to the rooftops, just at a time when it would be most damaging to Venturer.

But like Wellington at Waterloo refusing to turn the guns on the enemy commandant, Declan refused to let anyone condemn Tony. He didn’t want Maud’s name dragged into it. He was clearly still suffering from shock. He looked terrible.

‘A black ram is tupping my white ewe,’ he kept saying over and over again, ‘and it was all my fault.’

Rupert, who arrived with Bas, didn’t look much better, but at least he’d got a grip on himself. The meeting had to be got through. There were people not to be let down, there would be the rest of his life to mourn for Taggie and probably his children as well. Helen had rung this morning, saying she was applying for a court order to deny him access.

Even Henry Hampshire arrived walking wounded, wearing a dark suit with uncharacteristically flared trousers, and with his leg in plaster.

‘Horse put its foot down a rabbit hole,’ was all he would say about it.

‘’Morning.’ He went up to Rupert, who was huddled on the sofa trying to keep down a cup of coffee. ‘Enjoying your memoirs; great stuff.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I had a crack at Mandy Hamilton myself twenty years ago. God, she was pretty. Might have made more progress if I’d known she liked having her bottom smacked.’

Rupert managed a pale smile. ‘At least it kept you out of the papers.’ Then, also lowering his voice, he added, ‘Look, I don’t think there’s any chance now of us getting the franchise. Tony’s now odds on and we’ve gone way out.’

‘Better have a bet then,’ said Henry, limping towards the telephone. ‘Anyway, I’ve had more fun in the last six months than I can ever remember. We’ll have to bid for another area next time.’

Dame Enid arrived next, resplendent in a pinstriped trouser suit with an even wider white stripe than Tony’s, a bright blue tie, and an Al Capone hat.

‘Stick ’em up, it’s a shoot out,’ said Marti Gluckstein, who came with her. He was dressed in a lurid green Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, and sucking on a pipe.

‘Did you get that at Valerie’s boutique?’ said Bas, then hastily shut up in case Freddie overheard.

‘Thought I ought to appear as the country squire,’ said Marti. ‘Where’s the Bishop?’

‘Pulled out, I’m afraid,’ said Freddie, handing him and Dame Enid cups of coffee.

‘Good riddance, pompous old fart,’ said Dame Enid, helping herself to sugar. ‘Can’t you pull a rabbi out of a hat to replace him?’ she added to Marti.

Marti smirked. ‘For you, my dear, anything.’

‘Crispin Graystock’s pulled out too,’ said Freddie.

‘Well, thank God we’ve got rid of the two worst wafflers,’ said Dame Enid philosophically. ‘Graystock’s got complete verbal diarrhoea.’

‘Which reminds me,’ said Henry, hobbling off at great speed towards the lavatory, ‘had the most ghastly trots all night. Sure I’m going to botch my answers.’

The moment he arrived, Lord Smith went straight up to Rupert. ‘Really feel for you, lad,’ he said. ‘But everyone regards the Scorpion as fiction. That Beastly Johnson did me over once. Took down what I said, but twisted it like barley sugar. I’ve got a message from Alf Smithers. Chairman of the FA,’ he added, by way of illumination, when Rupert didn’t react.

‘I know,’ said Rupert flatly. ‘He was my cross.’

‘He’s not cross now. Told me to wish you luck today. Said you were the best Sports Minister they’ve ever ’ad. They all wish you’d come back. What’s up with Declan?’

‘Wife trouble,’ said Rupert.

‘Happens at franchise time,’ said Lord Smith. ‘When we bid for the Midlands eight years ago, the wives got so fed up, they was all at it — even mine.’

‘Only two more to come,’ said Freddie, trying to cheer up his own and everyone’s spirits. ‘And ’ere they are,’ he went on, as Seb and Charles came through the door.

‘We’re going to have a fuller house than you thought,’ said Charles. ‘I’ve just seen Billy, Janey, Harold White and Sally Maples getting out of a taxi.’

Freddie had tears in his eyes as he welcomed them. ‘You shouldn’t have come. It’s totally out of order,’ he said. ‘I know what you’re risking, but I won’t say I’m not bloody pleased to see you.’

Declan seemed hardly to notice, but Rupert’s jaw quilted with muscles when he saw Billy. ‘You’re fucking insane,’ he said roughly.

‘I like “lorst” causes, as Henry would say,’ said Billy cheerfully. ‘Anyway, I brought you luck at the LA Olympics. And you brought me luck, too. If I hadn’t done the commentary for the BBC, they’d never have given me a job.’

‘Which you’re about to lose.’

As the hands of the clock inched past nine-thirty, they decided that there was no point waiting any longer. Cameron wasn’t coming.

‘Pity,’ sighed Hardy Bissett, going round straightening ties. ‘Now, don’t forget, no sniping — solidarity is all. Sit up straight. Burst with enthusiasm. You’re bursting a little too much, Janey darling.’ He did up two buttons of her shirt. ‘Although, on reflection, if you’re sitting anywhere near the Prebendary, undo them again and press your elbows together.’

It was still bitterly cold when they set out for the IBA in their cars. The snow in the park was the colour of dirty seagulls. In High Street, Ken. the shop windows with their jolly snowmen, spangled Christmas trees and mufflered bright-eyed tots hurling snowballs were at variance with the sullen sky outside, and the shoppers shuffling blue-lipped and bad-tempered along the slushy pavements.

Janey’s scent was making Rupert feel sick. In a greengrocer’s shop, he noticed, they were already selling mistletoe, the one thing he wouldn’t need this Christmas.

‘Oh look, there’s Father Christmas,’ said Janey, pressing a button to lower the window, as the car swung round The Scotch House into Brompton Road.

‘Please Santa,’ she called out to him, as he marched alongside the car, ‘will you put a franchise in my stocking?’

‘Ho, ho, ho,’ said Father Christmas, hoisting his sack onto his back and batting his long black eyelashes at Janey. ‘For a pretty little girl like you, I just might.’

‘My Christ,’ said Janey, with a scream of laughter, as he turned right in front of the car and strode purposefully across the road through the revolving doors of the IBA. ‘It’s Georgie Baines.’

‘I wish I’d thought of that,’ said Charles petulantly. ‘I wanted to come as Gwendolyn Gosling again, but I thought I’d better play it straight.’

To avoid the press, and preserve the utmost security, the convoy of cars turned right down Lancelot Place, entering the IBA from the back by the underground car park. From here their passengers were whisked up to the eighth floor and, although the moles nervously looked for reporters in every dark corner, they were all safely led along the corridor and installed in an empty office.

‘I feel like a courtier waiting for an audience with Louis XIV: “Please don’t banish me to my estate in the Loire, Sire”,’ said Charles, as he peered out of the window on to another IBA block of offices, where every secretary seemed to be clutching paper cups of coffee and reading Rupert’s memoirs.

‘God, I’m nervous,’ said Henry, mouthing the answers to possible questions. ‘D’you think I should say brilliant wild life “photographer” or “cameraman”?’

‘Cameraman,’ said Billy. ‘Photographer is press, and we don’t like them very much at the moment.’

‘I wish I could take in a calculator,’ said Marti in a hollow voice.

‘D’you think they’ll shine lights in our faces?’ asked Janey.

‘They didn’t yesterday, but then Corinium has a better track record,’ said a voice. It was Georgie Baines, who’d shed his Father Christmas disguise and was now wearing a dark suit and fluffing up his dark curls.

Everyone crowded round him in delight.

‘Of course! You went in yesterday afternoon with Corinium,’ said Freddie.

‘Wearing a different tie,’ said Georgie.

‘How long were you in there?’ asked Seb.

‘Exactly an hour,’ said Georgie.

‘What was it like?’

‘Falling off a log. Not one difficult question. Tony’s star is definitely in the ascendant, that’s why I’m here. I’ve always believed rats should desert a rising shit.’

‘How did you manage to get away?’ asked Janey, removing a last bit of white beard from Georgie’s chin.

‘Tony thinks I’m at Saatchi’s.’

A female IBA official was going spare trying to organize everyone’s entrance into the board room in a pre-ordained order, so the Authority would know who they were.

‘I expected eleven people,’ she said in bewilderment. ‘There seem a great many more. I know who you are,’ she said to Janey, ‘and you,’ she said to Rupert, keeping her distance, ‘and you,’ she turned to Declan, looking perplexed as though she hardly recognized him.

‘Are you the Bishop of Cotchester?’ she asked Marti as she consulted her notes. Everyone giggled. ‘And I wasn’t expecting you, Mr White, or you, Billy, or you, Miss Maples, and certainly not you again, Mr Baines.’

‘Well we’re all here,’ said Harold White. ‘We belong to Venturer.’

‘Have you all got your two photographs?’

Everyone duly produced them.

‘Had to go into Woolworths to get it taken,’ announced Henry. ‘Never been there before. Rather a lark.’

The female official scratched her head in despair: ‘And where’s Cameron Cook?’

‘Not coming, nor the Bishop, nor Professor Graystock. They’ve dropped out,’ said Freddie helpfully. ‘Nor Wesley Emerson. He’s still wiv us, but he’s playing in a test match abroad.’

‘No, I’m not,’ said a voice deeper than the Caribbean Sea.

It was Wesley in a Support Venturer T-shirt and an England blazer. He was greeted with screams of delight. Dame Enid thumped him on the back till he pleaded for mercy.

‘How did you manage to get away?’

‘Pulled a muscle, man,’ said Wesley, grinning from ear to ear. ‘But I haven’t slept all night, so I hope there’s no tricky questions about ethnic minorities.’

Rupert took him aside. ‘You really are fantastic,’ he said.

Wesley grinned. ‘I read all that shit about you, man. Same thing happened to me; thought we ought to show a united front.’

‘I really think I’ve got you all sorted out,’ said the IBA lady. ‘I’ll just check that Lady Gosling’s ready.’

After that there was a dreadful quarter of an hour wait.

‘It’s just like standing outside the headmaster’s study,’ said Seb. ‘Are we going to have to run round the pitch fifty times or get six of the best?’

‘Amanda Hamilton’d like that,’ said Charles. Then, seeing the bleak expression on Rupert’s face, ‘Oh come on, Rupert, one’s got to laugh.’

Rupert, who’d been thinking of Taggie, didn’t really think one did have to.

‘Must go to the lavatory,’ said Henry.

‘Will you all come in, please?’ said the IBA lady.

‘Good luck, everyone,’ said Freddie.

‘Remember the old bat who isn’t Lady Gosling is Mrs Menzies-Scott, ex-chairman of the WI,’ hissed Georgie.

The twelve members of the authority, flanked by six senior staff from the IBA, were already seated along one side of the beautifully polished oval table, as Venturer filed in and took up their places opposite them.

In the centre sat Lady Gosling in a thick brown tweed suit and a bottle-green cardigan. Despite the warmth of the room, a thermal vest could be seen peeping above her brown check shirt. Mrs Scott-Menzies of the WI, who’d been foolish enough to wear a rust angora jersey, had already turned puce in the heat. Other members of the panel included such worthies as the ex-Labour Minister for Education, who gave Lord Smith the ghost of a wink, a Welsh Judge Davey, a Catholic bishop, the Prebendary, who had an expression of extreme distaste on his face, several dons, two ex-chairmen from public companies, and Lady Barnsley, late of the White Fish Authority, who was alleged to have an orgasm every time she saw a celebrity. Handbag rammed protectively against her groin, she was now gazing at Rupert with a mixture of terror and excitement. Three other Authority members, who’d been avidly reading the memoirs, hastily shoved them away as Venturer came in.

‘I wish I’d brought my autograph book,’ whispered Judge Davey, who was generally regarded as the group wag.

Freddie sat in the middle facing Lady Gosling, flanked by Rupert and Declan. On Rupert’s right, as obvious and disfiguring as a lost front tooth, was a space where Cameron should have been. Janey was up the end of the table, with only Henry beyond her, so he could stick out his plaster leg. The Prebendary sat opposite them, gazing at Janey with pursed lips. Surreptitiously, she undid a couple of the buttons of her grey silk shirt. It was like dining at Lady Margaret Hall, she thought as she looked at the worthy unpainted faces of the women opposite. She wished she’d soft-pedalled her eye make-up.

Henry was gazing out of the window at Knightsbridge Barracks. ‘Used to work there,’ he announced in a loud whisper. ‘You’d never believe there was a squash court on top.’

Lady Gosling, who had not winked at her friend Dame Enid, greeted them with the utmost coolness.

‘I’m sorry you were kept waiting so long. It was because of the very considerable changes in the numbers attending. I see all the so-called “moles” —’ one could feel her fastidiously putting quotes round such a slang word — ‘have decided to show up, despite the threat of dismissal, and we certainly weren’t expecting you,’ she added to Wesley. ‘We gathered you were playing in a test match. ‘

Wesley gave her the benefit of his heavenly banana-split smile.

‘I was, Mrs Menzies-Scott.’

‘Gosling,’ hissed Janey.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Gosling, I got injured. And coming to this meeting seemed more important. After all, we’ll be running a television company for a long long time.’

‘Hum,’ said Lady Gosling. ‘Somewhat hubristic of you. And where are the Bishop and Professor Graystock?’

Freddie cleared his throat.

‘Er, they’ve withdrawn because of a conflict of interests.’

‘One can understand that,’ said Lady Gosling heavily.

‘And Cameron Cook?’

Freddie opened his mouth.

‘I’m here,’ said a voice behind him. ‘I’m so sorry, Lady Gosling, my cab ran into another car in the Old Brompton Road.’

It was Cameron in her scarlet silk suit, bringing a wonderful warmth and colour into the room. She was very pale beneath her blusher, and wearing tinted glasses, but totally self-possessed. Sliding into the seat beside Rupert, she very deliberately put a hand over his, then smiling down the row said once again: ‘I’m so sorry, everyone.’

‘You little beauty,’ said Freddie under his breath.

Cameron’s arrival seemed to pull Venturer magically together. The first questions were about finance and technical specifications, and initially fielded by Freddie. Then, like a tigerish scrum-half, he passed the ball out to his wings, Rupert, Bas, Lord Smith, Marti, and Georgie Barnes, who’d arrived with a pile of revenue forecasts.

Freddie in fact was the life and soul of the application. A born showman, puffing on his cigar, giving occasional infectious roars of laughter, he exuded honesty, energy and huge enthusiasm for the task.

The Prebendary, who was still looking beady, didn’t throw Wesley on ethnic minorities, but, seeing him yawning, asked him why he personally wished to oust Corinium as the franchise holder.

‘I live in the area, man,’ drawled Wesley. ‘I’m absolutely fed up, like everyone else in this consortium, with having to watch such God-awful programmes.’

Even Lady Gosling suppressed a smile, and nodded to Lady Barnsley, who rather nervously asked if the applicant’s programme plans were based on its view of the characteristics and needs of the franchise area. It was a sod. There was a long pause.

‘Almost entirely,’ said Cameron. ‘We all know and love and live in the area, so we want to put something back, and give it a regional identity. We want to make friends with the viewers, to make them feel part of one great Venturer family.

‘But our approach would be the same if we were pitching for any area in the British Isles. Great television comes from telling people the truth, from entertaining them so well they don’t realize they’re being educated. We want to make documentaries and dramas that tackle the problems we all face, coping with unemployment, loneliness, adolescence, being in love. Even —’ she smiled, testing the age group of the panel — ‘with the traumas of having one’s grandchildren to stay over Christmas.’ The panel smiled warmly back.

‘Cameron can hardly say this for herself,’ chipped in Charles, ‘but I’d just like to add that with her and Declan, we have the most exciting team to hit the screen since Ivory and Merchant. They’ve both been in Ireland making a film on Yeats for Channel Four. I saw the uncut version last week. It is utter magic and will bring Yeats’s poetry and the beauty of the Irish countryside to millions of new viewers. It would be nice to think they could do the same for the Cotswold area.’

Lady Gosling nodded sagely, noticing, however, that Declan was gazing blankly into space and taking no part in the proceedings.

Everyone drank a great deal of Highland Spring water. Dame Enid and Charles were superb on the arts; Billy charmed all the panel on sport; Janey had some wonderful ideas for women’s interests; Seb made them laugh on news coverage, saying that the Corinium Head of News was so idle, he consulted his opposite number at the BBC every morning, so they could both cover the same local events, and there would be absolutely no danger of either of them being bawled out for scooping the other.

Henry started off brilliantly when Judge Davey asked him about his involvement in the consortium. He was just waxing lyrical on capturing the wild life of the area on film, and appearing to scratch his plaster for the third time, when Janey suddenly realized he was pulling up the flare of his trousers and reading the whole thing off his plaster and got the most frightful giggles. Terrified that the Prebendary, who was sitting next to Henry, would take his eyes off her bosom for one second and see what Henry was up to, Janey nudged Henry sharply in the ribs.

‘Ouch! — shrews, voles, badgers,’ ended Henry lamely, dropping his trouser-leg and thus losing his impromptu autocue.

‘I love badgers,’ said Lady Barnsley, looking very excited. ‘We’ve got some in our wood. ‘

‘Have you really?’ said Henry. ‘So have we, and so has Declan actually. I passed two big chaps having a fight in my drive the other night. They were so preoccupied, I managed to get really close up.’

‘Did you really?’ said Lady Barnsley.

Lady Gosling, however, had had enough about badgers. She looked straight at Declan, who was still slumped in his chair totally unrecognizable from the dazzlingly charismatic, self-confident demagogue who’d laid into Tony Baddingham at the public meeting.

‘Who is going to run the company?’ she asked him.

‘I’m chairman,’ said Freddie, when Declan didn’t answer. ‘I intend to devote at least one day a week to Venturer if not more. ’Enry’s non-executive deputy chairman, Rupert’ll handle finance and admin with Harold. Declan and Cameron will oversee programmes. Georgie will be in charge of sales. Charles, Janey, Sally, Billy and Seb will all be Heads of various departments. Marti, Bas, Lord Smiff, Dame Enid an’ Wesley will be non-executive directors. But they’ll all act on a consultancy basis, and add to the smooth running of the company.’

‘But who is really going to run the company?’ persisted Lady Gosling.

No contribution was clearly forthcoming from Declan, so Rupert looked at Lady Gosling squarely. ‘I am,’ he said.

‘I would have thought,’ said Lady Gosling icily, ‘that your very limited business experience doesn’t include the creation of new companies. It’s a tough skill to acquire.’

‘When I was twenty-one,’ snapped Rupert, ‘I started my own show-jumping business, which has now developed into a yard, which turns over ten million a year. I’m also an MP, and on top of all this I ran an extremely successful sports ministry for four years. I shall also have the constant and incredibly able advice of all my directors, particularly Harold, who’s been in charge of LWT’s programmes for the last few years.’

‘The entire Board would support Rupert as Chief Executive,’ said Bas.

All of Venturer murmured their assent except Wesley who was sleeping peacefully.

‘He did come on an overnight flight,’ explained Janey, giving him a nudge.

‘Howzat,’ said Wesley, waking up.

Lady Gosling looked with infinite disapproval from Wesley to Declan, to Rupert to Billy, then up the table to Janey. ‘Don’t you feel there are too many celebrities, too many prima donnas in your consortium? Can you honestly convince us that Venturer will be able to stick effectively together as a team?’

‘Yes,’ said Rupert evenly, once more looking her straight in the eye. ‘It hasn’t been an easy week with my so-called “memoirs” coming out, but except for the Bishop and the Professor, we’re all here, aren’t we?’

Lady Gosling dropped her eyes first.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Cameron could see they’d been in there an hour and a half. Was that a good sign, or did the IBA merely want to prove Venturer’s inferiority beyond doubt? Knowing nothing about Maud’s affair with Tony, she had also realized there was something seriously wrong with Declan. He hadn’t contributed to the discussion at all. By now he ought to be revving up for his final peroration, tearing Corinium limb from limousine, but he was saying nothing.

She looked down the row, at Janey and Billy radiating panache and glamour and high spirits when she knew how desperately broke they were, at Charles who had no future if Venturer went down, at Georgie, Sally and Harold, who’d certainly jeopardized their careers, at Henry dreaming of bosoms and badgers, at Wesley who’d flown thousands of miles to support them and probably jeopardized his test career as well, at Rupert who, despite the devastating blows that had been dealt him that week, had performed so incredibly bravely, and back to Declan, who had taught her humanity. They were her friends, the people she most wanted to work with.

Lady Gosling looked at her watch, and poured herself a glass of Highland Spring. ‘Well, we’ve listened to you all, and studied your bulky application. Has anyone anything else to say?’

There was a long agonizing pause:

‘I have,’ said Cameron, getting to her feet, as slim and brave in her red suit as the young Portia.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, last week at one of the northern television stations a young Head of News hanged himself.’ She glanced along the row of shocked reproving faces. ‘Sure, we’ve all been fed the official story that he had domestic and financial problems. The truth was he couldn’t handle all the pressures in the run-up to the franchise awards. He was being so bullied to get so many different lobbies, local worthies, friends of his Managing Director on to his programme to impress you, the IBA, so that his lousy bosses could keep their franchise and go on making a fortune. This is a tragedy and a disgrace,’ went on Cameron fiercely, ‘and an appalling indictment on the whole IBA and ITV system. We in production should not feel we’ve got to put on worthy uplifting boring programmes every eight years in order to impress you and retain the franchise. We should make good programmes all the time.’

She turned, pointing to the framed document on the wall, giving the IBA its own coat of arms and motto: ‘Your motto is Servire populo. But you’re not serving the people if you’re encouraging the companies to make programmes that please you, which you feel the people ought to watch, rather than what they want to watch. I worked for Tony Baddingham for four years,’ she went on bitterly.

‘And produced some very good uplifting programmes that weren’t boring,’ said Lady Gosling dryly.

Cameron grinned. ‘Touché.’ Then instantly she became serious again. ‘But that was because Tony Baddingham was inordinately fond of me and gave me carte blanche to ride roughshod over all the staff, and also gave me an unlimited budget, while cutting the budgets of all other programmes to nothing. Morale at Corinium was and is absolutely rock bottom.

‘Declan O’Hara —’ she looked at Declan, pleading with him to glance up or react in some way — ‘is one of the all-time greats of television. But when he was at Corinium, he was very nearly broken by Tony, who forced him to interview people of total insignificance, big businessmen, local dignitaries, people whose influence he believed he needed to win the franchise. Fortunately Declan escaped and formed Venturer. I’ve spent the last two months working with him and learnt that you don’t need to terrorize people, or reduce them to hanging themselves, to make good programmes. Once you’ve got the authority, if you’ll forgive the pun, you get far more out of people by kindness and interest in their welfare.’

The Welsh judge put on his spectacles for a better look at Cameron. Really she was a most astonishingly attractive girl. She could read for the Bar if ever she got fed up with television.

‘ITV audience figures are plummeting,’ went on Cameron accusingly, ‘because so many of the programmes are so awful, and because most of the companies are run by accountants who aren’t prepared to take risks any more. Why spend ten million on a serial which may fail, when for peanuts you can buy a quiz from another company?

‘Venturer’s going to change all that. We’re going to revitalize ITV and not only make really good programmes right across the board, but also change the scheduling of the whole network so it’s based on an exact analysis of what the public wants. At the moment it is simply a ragbag of whatever happens to be lying around, or fits in with the resources of the contributing company. We know what difficulties lie ahead. We know we can’t produce profitable results if we have to make continually uplifting programmes. We’ll need your help, understanding and guidance all along the way. But I promise you, unlike Corinium, we are not April when we woo, and December when we wed. I’m sorry, I’ve gone on too long.’ She collapsed back into her chair, embarrassed.

It was some comfort that Rupert put his hand over hers with real pride.

‘Normally your chairman would sum up at this stage, but I think we’ve all heard quite enough about Venturer’s policy from Miss Cook,’ said Lady Gosling. ‘Thank you all for coming.’

After all the effort it was a very curt dismissal. Feeling utterly despondent, Venturer filed out of the room. Even worse, as they were smuggled out of the underground car park they went slap into the press, who were out in force clamouring to get a quote from Rupert about the memoirs. Fortunately they concentrated on getting pictures of him and didn’t notice the rest of the moles cringing inside the convoy of cars.

For want of anything better to do, they all went back to Freddie’s for a wake. On the way there, Janey, Billy and Freddie told Cameron about Declan and Maud.

‘But the IBA ought to be told,’ stormed Cameron. ‘Someone’s got to wise them up what an absolute bastard Tony is.’

‘You made a pretty good job of it just now,’ said Freddie. ‘And Declan won’t hear of it.’

As soon as he got to Freddie’s, Rupert took Cameron aside.

‘Thank you for turning up, sweetheart. You were absolutely marvellous.’

Cameron shrugged. ‘If you can get a gold with a dislocated shoulder, I can talk too much with a broken heart.’

‘Christ, I admire you.’

‘I’d so much rather you’d loved me,’ said Cameron sadly.

For a second Rupert lowered her dark glasses, and winced to see how red and swollen from crying her eyes were.

‘I’m so sorry, angel. You know you can stay on at Penscombe as long as you like. I won’t be there for the next few weeks.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Cameron, suddenly frantic.

‘America, this afternoon. The only hope is to get the hell out of England until the dust settles.’

‘So you won’t be back for Christmas?’

Rupert shook his head wearily. ‘What Christmas?’

‘Or for the IBA verdict on the 15th?’

‘The result’s a foregone conclusion. Couldn’t you feel the tidal waves of disapproval and distaste emanating from those tweed bosoms throughout the interview? We haven’t a hope.’

‘Probably not,’ said Cameron, glancing at Declan who was now slumped in a chair, shivering uncontrollably with an untouched glass of whisky in his hand. ‘But Declan’s going to need a lot of support in the next few days.’

‘Not from me,’ said Rupert bitterly. ‘The best thing for all the O’Haras would be to have me out of their hair.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’d better be off.’

‘Can I ask you just one favour?’ said Cameron. ‘Could I possibly keep Blue?’

The doorbell rang and they both jumped thinking it might be Taggie. Freddie’s secretary answered it and the next moment a man marched into the room. For a second Cameron thought she was hallucinating, for it seemed as if the old Declan, the forceful, confident, aggressive, clear-eyed, suntanned Declan, whom she remembered so clearly that first day he arrived at Corinium, had just walked through the door. Then she realized it was Patrick, thickened out, weathered and bronzed from five months working on a sheep farm. He’d obviously come straight from the airport, and being Patrick, even in a family crisis, had bothered to buy duty free whisky and cigarettes. He’d need them both over the next few days.

Near to tears, Declan rose to his feet. Ignoring everyone else in the room, Patrick went over and put his arms round him.

‘It’s all right, Pa,’ he said gently, ‘I rang home first. Taggie told me about Mum. It was a terrible thing for her to do, but she had reasons. It’ll be all right. It’s you she loves. She’ll come back.’

He was like the father comforting the child.

‘She sabotaged the franchise,’ groaned Declan, ‘and it was all my fault.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Patrick. ‘The responsibility for that lies elsewhere.’

He let go of Declan and turned towards Rupert, his face hardening. ‘You deliberately set out to seduce Cameron because you wanted her on Venturer’s side, didn’t you? Well that’s for fucking her up.’ The next moment he’d smashed his fist into Rupert’s right jaw and, as Rupert reeled sideways, caught totally by surprise, Patrick hit him again on the right eye with his other fist. ‘And that’s for fucking up Taggie,’ he added, as Rupert crashed to the ground.

In the press over the weekend there was endless speculation as to which of the wronged husbands named in Rupert’s bonk-statement (as the memoirs were now known), had given Rupert the black eye.