‘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
‘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
