Lost in a Good Book

The SpecOps dress code stated that our apparel should be ‘dignified’ but in Cordelia’s case they had obviously stretched a point. Anyone looking less like a serving officer was impossible to imagine. Looks, in her case, were highly deceptive. She was SpecOps all the way from her high heels to the pink-and-yellow scarf tied in her hair.

She air-kissed me affectionately.

‘How was New Zealand?’

‘Green and full of sheep,’ I replied. ‘I brought you this.’

I handed her a fluffy toy lamb that bleated realistically when you turned it upside down.

‘How adorable! How’s married life treating you?’

‘Very well.’

‘Excellent, my dear, I wish you both the best. Love what you’ve done with your hair!’

‘My hair? I haven’t done anything with my hair!’

‘Exactly!’ replied Flakk quickly. ‘It’s so incredibly you.’

She did a twirl.

‘What do you think of the outfit?’

‘One’s attention is drawn straight to it,’ I replied ambiguously.

‘This is 1985,’ she explained, ‘bright colours are the future. I’ll let you loose in my wardrobe one day.’

‘I think I’ve got some pink socks of my own somewhere.’

‘It’s a start, my dear. Listen, you’ve been a star about all this publicity work; I’m very grateful—and so is SpecOps.’

‘Grateful enough to post me somewhere other than the Literary Detectives?’

‘Well,’ murmured Cordelia reflectively, ‘first things first. As soon as you’ve done the Lush interview your transfer application will be aggressively considered, you have my word on that.’

It didn’t sound terribly promising. Despite the successes at work, I still wanted to move up within the Network. Cordelia took my arm and steered me towards the waiting area.

‘Coffee?’

‘Thank you.’

‘Spot of bother in Auckland?’

‘Bronte Federation offshoot caused a bit of trouble,’ I explained. ‘They didn’t like the new ending of Jane Eyre.’

‘There’ll always be a few malcontents,’ observed Flakk. ‘Milk?’

‘Thanks.’

‘Oh,’ she said, staring at the milk jug, ‘this milk’s off. No matter. Listen,’ she went on quietly, ‘I’d love to stay and watch but some SpecOps 17 clot in Penzance staked a Goth by mistake; it’s going to be PR hell on earth down there.’

SO-17 were the vampire and werewolf disposal squad. Despite a new ‘three-point’ confirmation procedure, a jumpy cadet with a sharpened stake could still spell big trouble.

‘Everything is all absolutely hunky-dory here. I’ve spoken to Adrian Lush and the others so there won’t be any embarrassments.’

‘Others?’ I asked, suddenly suspicious. ‘Embarrassments? What did you have in mind?’

Cordelia threw me a pained expression.

‘New orders Thursdaysweetydarling. Believe me, I’m as annoyed as you are.’

She didn’t look it.

‘No holds barred, eh?’ I grimaced, but Flakk was unapologetic.

‘Needs must, Thursday. SpecOps requires your support in these difficult times. President Formby has called for an inquiry into whether SpecOps are value for money—or even necessary at all.’

‘Okay,’ I agreed, ‘but this is the very last interview, yes?’

‘Of course,’ agreed Flakk a little too quickly, then added in an overdramatic manner, ‘Oh my goodness, is that the time? I have to catch the airship to Barnstaple in an hour. This is Adie; she’ll be looking after you and… and’—here Cordelia leaned just a little bit closer—’remember you’re SpecOps, darling!’

She nodded, told me she would see me later and then took to her heels in a cloud of expensive scent.

‘How could I forget?’ I muttered as a bouncy girl clutching a clipboard appeared from where she had been waiting respectfully out of earshot.

‘Hi!’ squeaked the girl, ‘I’m Adie. So pleased to meet you!’

She grasped my hand and told me repeatedly what a fantastic honour it was.

‘I don’t want to bug you or anything,’ she said shyly, ‘but was Edward Rochester really drop-dead gorgeous to die for?’

‘Not handsome,’ I answered as I watched Flakk slink off down the corridor, ‘but certainly attractive. Tall, deep voice and glowering looks, if you know the type.’

Adie turned a deep shade of pink.

‘Gosh!’

I was taken into make-up, where I was puffed and primped, talked at mercilessly and made to sign copies of the Femole I had appeared in. I was very relieved when Adie came to rescue me thirty minutes later. She announced into her wireless that we were ‘walking’ and then, after leading me down a corridor and through some swing-doors, asked:

‘What’s it like working in SpecOps? Do you chase bad guys, clamber around on the outside of airships, defuse bombs with three seconds to go, that sort of stuff?’

‘I wish I did,’ I replied good-humouredly, ‘but in truth it’s seventy per cent form-filling, twenty-seven per cent mind-numbing tedium and two per cent sheer terror.’

‘And the remaining one per cent?’

I smiled.

‘That’s what keeps us going.’

We walked the seemingly endless corridors, past large grinning photographs of Adrian Lush and assorted other Network Toad celebrities.

‘You’ll like Adrian,’ she told me happily, ‘and he’ll like you. Just don’t try to be funnier than him; it doesn’t suit the format of the show.’

‘What does that mean?’

She shrugged.

‘I don’t know. I’m meant to tell all his guests that.’

‘Even the comedians?’

‘Especially the comedians’

I assured her being funny was the last thing on my mind, and pretty soon she directed me on to the studio floor. Feeling unusually nervous and wishing that Landen were with me, I walked across the familiar front-room set of The Adrian Lush Show. But Mr Lush was nowhere to be seen—and neither were the ‘live studio audience’ a Lush show usually boasted. Instead, a small group of officials were waiting—the ‘others’ Flakk had told me about. My heart fell when I saw who they were.

‘Ah, there you are, Next!’ boomed Commander Braxton Hicks with forced bonhomie. ‘You’re looking well, healthy and, er, vigorous.’ He was my divisional chief back at Swindon, and despite being effectively head of the LiteraTecs was not that good with words.

‘What are you doing here, sir?’ I asked him, straining not to show my disappointment. ‘Cordelia told me the Lush interview would be uncensored in every way.’

‘Oh, it is, dear girl—up to a point,’ he said, stroking his large moustache. ‘Without benign intervention things can get very confused in the public mind. We thought we would listen to the interview and perhaps—if the need arose—offer practical advice as to how the proceedings should, er, proceed.’