You'll see to that, won't you, Neville? The meeting ran on for another half hour before Daniel summed up with a note of finality. As a film-maker, I have to have a theme for this production. The general concept of Africa these days is one of a continent in trauma, plagued by seemingly insurmountable problems, demographic, economic and political. I want to strike a different note here. I want to show the world how it could be, how it should be. I see the theme of my production as. . .
He paused for dramatic effect, and then held up his hand to frame an imaginary screen. ''Ubomo, High Road to the African Future'. The men at the table burst into spontaneous applause, and Pickering refilled the sherry- glasses.
As he escorted Daniel and Bonny back to the front of the building Pickering told them jovially, I say, that went rather well. I think you both made a very good impression. He beamed like an approving schoolmaster. And now a little treat in store for you. Sir Peter Harrison, himself. . . his voice took on a reverential tone, as though he had mentioned the name of a deity, Sir Peter in person has expressed the wish to have a word with you and Miss Mahon.
He did not wait for their agreement but led them to the elevators.
They waited a mere five minutes in the antechamber to Tug Harrison's office, barely long enough to appreciate the priceless works of art displayed on the walls and in the glass-fronted cabinets. Then one of three comely secretaries looked up and smiled. Please follow me. Sir Peter is expecting you. As she led them towards the door at the far end of the antechamber, Pickering dropped away. I'll be waiting for you outside. Don't stay more than three minutes. Sir Peter is 2 busy man.
The tall windows of Harrison's office looked out across the Thames to the National Theatre. As he turned from the window, the sunlight flashed off his bald head like a heliograph.
Danny, He said, offering his gnarled right hand. Have they looked after you? Couldn't be better, Daniel assured him. On the strength of what they've told me, I have come up with a theme for the production, 'Ubomo, High Road to the African Future'. I like id said Tug Harrison without hesitation, but he was studying Bonny Mahon as he said it. The approbation could have been as much for her as for Daniel's title.
Exactly three minutes after they had entered the inner sanctum of BOSS, Tug Harrison drew back the cuff of his Turnbull and Asset shirt.
Both his cuff-links and his wristwatch were of gold and diamonds. It was good to see you, Danny. Very pleasant meeting you, Miss Mahon, and now, if you'll excuse me. . . At the front doors of the BOSS building, Pickering had a taxi waiting for them. It's on the company account, he said, shaking hands and giving Bonny's bosom a wistful farewell appraisal. It will take you wherever you want to go. Caviar Kaspia, Daniettold the driver recklessly, 2nd whEnthcy were seated at a window table in the discreetly panelled frontroom.
of the lovely little restaurant, Bonny whispered, Who is paying?
BOSS, He assured her. In that case I'll have 250 grams of the Beluga, with hot blinis and cream. Spot on, Daniel agreed. I'll join you and we'll split a bottle of bubbly. What do you fancy, Pa] Roger, or the Widow? What I truly fancy can wait until after lunch when we get back to your flat, but in the meantime a glass of the Widow will help to pass the time, and build up your strength. She slanted her eyes lewdly. You are going to need it. That's a direct threat.
Bonny tucked into the caviar with the relish and appetite of a schoolboy at half-term.
So what did you think of Boss Daniel asked. I think Tug Harrison is one very sexy man. The smell of serious money and power is a stronger aphrodisiac than caviar and champagne. She grinned at him with sour cream rimming the fine coppery down on her upper lip. Does that make you jealous? If it doesn't, it was meant to. I am devastated. But apart from Harrison's sex appeal, what did you think of BOSS's plans for Ubomo? Mind-boggling! she enthused through a half-chewed blini.
It was an expression that particularly irritated Daniel. Awesome!
That was even worse. if only you paid me enough to enable me to buy a block of BOSS shares! Someone is going to make a bagful of torn in Ubomo. That's all there is to it? Daniel smiled to make a joke of it.
Yet was this the girl who had conjured up that hauntingly evocative sequence of caribou in the Arctic sunlight? A bagful of torn? Is that it? For a moment she looked mystified by the question, and then she dismissed it lightheartedly. Of course. What else is there, ]over?
She mopped up the last grains of the Beluga with a scrap of blini pancake. Do you think that your newly acquired expense account could run to another pot of fish eggs? Not often a poor working girl gets a shot at them.
Bonny Mahon was nervous. it was an unfamiliar sensation. The skirt and stockings felt just as unfamiliar. She was accustomed to the firmer embrace of denim. However, the occasion was sufficiently unusual to call for a change of her customary attire. She had even gone to the extraordinary lengths of visiting a hairdressing salon.
Usually she managed or, she grinned at the thought, mismanaged her own hairstyle. She had to admit that the girl at Michael john had done a better job.
She considered her reflection in one of the gilt-framed antique mirrors opposite where she sat in the lobby of the Ritz Hotel in Piccadilly. Not bad, she admitted. I could pass for a lady at a hundred paces. She preened her new curls which were fashionably anointed with gel. It was an uncharacteristic gesture, a symptom of the nervous anticipation with which she regarded the coming meeting.
The female secretary who had arranged the meeting over the telephone had suggested that the car pick her up at her lodgings.
Bonny had shied away from the idea. She didn't want anybody to see her digs; she was economising and the area of south London where she presently resided was hardly salubrious.
The Ritz was the first alternative rendezvous that came to mind. It was more the image that she wished to project. Even though his secretary had arranged the date she had high hopes for what would come out of it. I mean, it just has to be a proposition, doesn't it? she reassured herself. There was no doubt about the way he looked at me.
I've never been wrong about that before. He's got a head of steam for me.
She glanced at her wristwatch. It was exactly seven-thirty.
He was the type who would make a point of being punctual, she thought, and when she looked expectantly towards the main doors a page was already coming towards her. She had taken the precaution of tipping the doorman and telling him where to find her.
Your car has arrived, madam, the page informed her.
A Rolls-Royce stood at the kerb. It was an iridescent pearly grey and the windows were smoked and opaque, giving the magnificent vehicle a surrealistic appearance.
The handsome young chauffeur, who wore a dove-grey uniform and cap with a patent-leather brim, greeted her as she came down the steps.
