Rivals

talking to, she didn’t think she’d ever felt so unhappy in her life.

31

At noon the lists closed. The information office at the IBA then had a frantic three and a half hours going through the applications and extracting the names and addresses of those involved for a press release at three- thirty.

Down at Cotchester three of the four Corinium moles made themselves scarce. Charles Fairburn drove to the Forest of Dean to spend two days in an enclosed order, ostensibly interviewing monks. Georgie flew to Manchester to see a big pet-food client. Cameron disappeared to Stow-on-the-Wold on location, leaving strict instructions that she wasn’t to be interrupted. Seb Burrows, being a true journalist and hating to miss the fireworks, hung around the newsroom.

Corinium staff not involved with the Venturer bid were also kept busy. James Vereker slipped home with Sarah Stratton for an extended lunch hour. Daysee Butler, who’d been out in the evenings so much recently she hadn’t watched any television, was reading the soap updates in the Mail, as she soaked up the sun in her bikini in the Cathedral close. Tony Baddingham and Ginger Johnson were having a celebrity board- room lunch with the French co-producers of ‘Stowaway’, having just sold it both to NBS and BBC. What a relief, they all agreed, they hadn’t killed off the handsome pirate villain, as a sequel was already planned.

How nice it was too, thought Tony, to lunch with Europeans who still appreciated a good blow-out and decent claret, compared with the Yanks who seemed totally addicted to rabbit food and Perrier.

By three forty-five Tony was back in his office. In half an hour he would have sobered up and be wondering who to bully. Now he merely felt lecherous. All those pale-green trees and pale half-naked girls stretched out among the buttercups. The first flush and flesh of Spring always got him going. Having spent a weekend without Cameron, he decided to drop in and see her after the Chamber of Commerce dinner that night, an event which had to be endured in a franchise year.

Still feeling randy, he was about to summon Sarah Stratton to discuss her posing with a lamb for a Caring Corinium poster when Miss Madden buzzed. ‘Barney Williams from the Telegraph, Lord B. He wants to talk about the franchise.’

‘Put him on.’ Tony extracted a cigar from the box on his desk and relaxed in his leather chair, preparing to be generous about Mid-West’s pathetic bid.

Barney Williams came straight to the point. ‘Did you know Declan O’Hara put in a rival bid?’

Tony laughed heartily. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

‘I’m afraid it isn’t.’

‘Who else is involved?’

‘Rupert Campbell-Black, Freddie Jones.’

‘Whaaaat!’

It sounded like a great oak tree crashing to the ground. Even through sound-proofed doors, Miss Madden jumped in the next-door office. Then Tony was leaning on the buzzer.

‘Miss Madden!’ he yelled. ‘Take these names down. Who else?’ he asked Barney.

‘Henry Hampshire, the Bishop of Cotchester, Marti Gluckstein.’

‘He’s never been to Gloucestershire.’

‘Evidently he has a weekend cottage there. Janey Lloyd-Foxe, Dame Enid Spink, Lord Smith.’

‘He can’t join. He’s a union member.’

‘Ex-member — just. Crispin Graystock. Wesley Emerson — he’s the only bit of name-plate engineering. They’re all pretty heavyweight, in fact, and, oh yes, there’s your brother Bas. Bit Jacob and Esau isn’t it?’

Tony gave a low hiss that was almost a sigh.

‘And you had absolutely no idea?’ asked Barney.

‘None.’

‘And they’re all friends of yours?’

‘They were.’

‘They’re calling a press conference in London at four-thirty. Will you be doing the same, or can I have a quote now?’

‘I’ve nothing to say until I’ve talked to my Board!’

Tony slammed down the telephone. Bastards! Traitors! Every single one of them. They’d all eaten his salt, and he’d absolutely no inkling. What kind of fucking newsroom did he have? The maddened bull’s roar could be heard all down the passage.

‘Ginger, Cyril, Georgie, Cameron, Charles! Come in here.’

‘Georgie’s in Manchester,’ said Miss Madden, ‘and Cameron’s on location.’

‘Get them back.’

Ginger Johnson thought Tony was going to have a coronary. He was magenta in the face, veins bulged like huge snakes on his forehead. He seemed to be popping out of his dark-green collar. Ginger wanted Tony’s job, but not until the franchise was safely in the bag.

‘What on earth’s up?’

Tony was so angry as he paced up and down, fists clenched, froth flecking his mouth, he could hardly get the words out to tell him. Once he lit a cigar from the wrong end, then hurled it out of the window. Without taking the top off, he tried to pour himself a stiff whisky, then banged the bottle down.

‘What have they called themselves?’ asked Cyril Peacock, who was taking down the inevitable notes.

‘Venturer — adventurers more likely — every bloody one of them! God, I’ll crucify them! I’ll take them to the cleaners!’

Ginger went to the drinks cupboard and poured Tony a large brandy. He was equally shocked at the possible loss of a ?125 million turnover, but, having no personal vendettas with any of the Venturer team, he didn’t feel Tony’s paranoia or passionate sense of being deliberately ganged up on.

Miss Madden buzzed: ‘It’s the Sun, Lord B, and just hang on a minute. . Beryl says the Mirror are on the other line.’

‘Tell them Lord B’s in conference and to ring back in half an hour,’ said Ginger, taking the initiative. ‘Don’t talk to them now,’ he added to Tony. ‘Get your breath back. The most important thing at this stage is not to show we’re rattled. Leave the mudslinging to Venturer. We’ve got seven months to put the boot in. The only possible approach now is Olympian. These boring little pygmies are yapping at my heels, but I can’t feel it.’

‘Should we call a press conference?’

‘Certainly not. They’re not worth it. Why show them we’re panicking?’

Downstairs in the newsroom Seb Burrows picked up his telephone. It was ITN: ‘Hello, Seb. Christ, what a story!’

‘What story?’ said Seb innocently.

ITN told him. ‘Did you know anything about it?’

‘None of us did. Christ!’

‘Can you interview Tony for us for the five forty-five news?’

‘I’ll try. I don’t imagine he’ll be in carnival mood.’

But, to Seb’s amazement, Tony agreed. By the time the crew got up to Tony’s office, every award Corinium had ever won, including the EMMYs and the BAFT As nicked from Cameron’s office, had been put on the bookshelf or hung on the wall behind Tony’s head.

The earlier storm had subsided; Tony’s rage was ice cold now. He had even extracted a salmon-pink carnation from the vase on the desk to put in his buttonhole.

‘What’s your reaction to Venturer’s bid?’ asked Seb.

Tony gave a big, but slightly dismissive smile: ‘Well, they’re good chaps, all jolly good friends of mine. I’m sure there’s a lot of merit in their application, but frankly I’m more interested in the things Corinium are doing — like