For a hideous moment at the beginning of the meeting it looked as though no one was going to ask any questions. Then a man in spectacles got up and grumbled about the reception in Gloucester. Corinium’s Chief Engineer got up to answer him, and the stupor produced by engineers at public meetings allowed everyone time to collect their thoughts.
More straightforward complaints then followed from local councillors who had not yet been interviewed by James on ‘Cotswold Round-Up’ that coverage in their area was pitiful.
Mrs Makepiece, James’s daily, then rose to her feet, and, disclaiming any connection with Corinium, said ‘Cotswold Round-Up’ was the best programme on telly, and why couldn’t it be on seven days a week. This was greeted by bellows of ‘Rubbish’ and ‘Offside’ from Taggie’s rugger players.
One of the Corinium shop stewards, who’d just screwed a two-thousand-pound rise out of Tony for all his members, as well as a fat bribe for himself, shouted from the back that he wouldn’t trust Declan O’Hara’s mob further than he could throw them. His claim that industrial relations at Corinium were second to none, however, were greeted by cries of ‘si-down’ from all over the hall.
‘As Corinium fork out immediately whatever the unions demand and most of the technicians earn more than the Prime Minister, I should think industrial relations are second to none,’ yelled Bas, to loud cheers from the Venturer supporters.
The Chairman of Chipping Sodbury’s WI then rose to her feet and said in a ringing voice that her institute was sick to the teeth of news about Cotchester and nothing about Chipping Sodbury.
Remembering ‘Miss Corinium Television’, Rupert caught Declan’s eye. ‘She’s forgotten Miss Chipping Sodbury’s tits,’ he whispered across Taggie.
Both men started to shake with laughter, until quelled by a cold look from Lady Gosling.
Tony rose to reply. ‘I can assure you, madam,’ he said smoothly, ‘that, by an extraordinary coincidence, “Cotswold Round-Up” is due to visit Chipping Sodbury later this week.’
‘Are we?’ said James to Sarah, looking startled.
‘In fact,’ Tony went on warmly, ‘we have super plans for the entire Cotswold area.’
‘You’ve been here eight years. Why haven’t we seen any of them?’ bellowed Taggie’s headmaster.
More cheers all round were counterpointed by snores from Mrs Makepiece.
‘I’ve studied both Venturer’s and Corinium’s applications at the public library,’ went on Taggie’s headmaster, ‘and Venturer’s programme plans seem infinitely more imaginative. What I would like to ask Lord Baddingham is how much have his grandiose new plans for a multi-million-pound studio, for slots for every possible minority group, for cultural improvement and for spectacular entertainment been spawned by editorial inspiration or desire to hang on to his very lucrative franchise?’
Tony was about to rise and shout back over the deafening cheers, but James was too quick for him. ‘James Vereker, “Cotswold Round-Up”,’ he announced, getting to his feet and turning sideways so he could be recognized both by the platform and the floor.
‘Who’s a pretty boy then?’ catcalled Taggie’s rugger captain.
‘As anchorman of “Cotswold Round-Up,” said James, ‘I know I speak for each and everyone of us at Corinium from Tony Baddingham downward when I say that Corinium’s ethos can be summed up in two words.’
‘Bloody terrible,’ said Taggie’s rugger captain, to screams of laughter.
‘Two little words —’ James ploughed on — ‘Corinium cares.’
‘The only fing Tony Baddingham cares abart is making a fast buck,’ shouted Freddie, to more deafening cheers.
Mrs Makepiece snored so loudly that she woke herself up. ‘Let’s get up a partition,’ she said loudly.
Cameron knew she ought to stand up and defend Corinium, but she didn’t relish getting ripped apart by Declan. She was saved by the Women-in-Broadcasting lobby, who all had moustaches and who complained that there weren’t enough women in any of the consortiums. Lady Gosling nodded in agreement, and made notes.
The meeting droned on. Wesley Emerson had had a hard day in the field. No one but Rupert and Bas realized that each time his noble head nodded onto his right buttonhole he was taking a long suck of rum from a straw to Rupert’s hip flask in his breast pocket.
Outside in Cotchester Park, the lime trees were in flower; their sweet delicate scent, stronger after the downpour, drifted in through the open window. Cameron watched the house martins swooping after insects, flashing their white bellies. The tennis courts were packed with people playing vigorous Wimbledon-inspired tennis. In a week or so they’d revert to their usual patball. She glanced surreptitiously across at Rupert, who was sitting next to that drip Taggie, who (whatever Rupert said to the contrary) had a thumping crush on him.
Nothing except for the occasional yawn, not even a glance in her direction, betrayed the fact that Rupert had left her bed at six o’clock that morning. Cameron wondered sometimes if she’d imagined the whole thing. She was so deep in thought, she had to be nudged in the ribs by Seb to answer a question from a pale girl from Gay Lib as to whether the lesbian shepherdess who’d appeared briefly in the last series of ‘Four Men went to Mow’ would appear in the next one.
As Cameron sat down, the Chairman from Chipping Sodbury’s WI returned to the attack. ‘Nothing that comes from Corinium TV,’ she said, ‘is truly regional. Even Dorothy Dove speaks with a London accent.’
Another rabble-rouser, again heavily bunged by Tony, then rose to his feet.
‘While we’re on the subject of accents,’ he sneered, ‘in the first week of July four people were brutally butchered by the IRA. Do we really want an Irishman, namely one Declan O’Hara, bearing in mind his left-wing attitudes and the subversive nature of many of his programmes, to be the Chief Executive of an English television company?’
‘Out of order,’ screamed the Venturer contingent.
‘Offside, put it in straight,’ roared the rugger players.
Declan, who’d gone white, was just about to answer.
‘Careful,’ whispered Rupert.
‘I’d like the speaker to withdraw that remark,’ said Lady Gosling frostily. ‘Next question, please.’
The Clean-Up Television Campaign, headed by the Archdeacon, then started slamming sex and violence, followed by the Bishop of Cotchester who said how concerned he was about his flock, and that he would be working with Venturer to reduce not only sex and violence, but the very widespread blasphemy on television. He was just getting into his stride when Henry Hampshire’s ancient gardener staggered to his feet.
‘I like to go to bed very early,’ he grumbled. ‘I do wish Corinium wouldn’t put all those sexy fil-lums on so late at night, because I and the missus can never stay awake to watch them.’
Everyone roared with laughter, including Lady Gosling, who then clapped her hands and said it was with great regret that she had to bring this very stimulating meeting to a close as they were running out of time. They would end, she added, with a seven-minute sales pitch from each of the three contenders.
Tony rose first, deliberately turning his back on Venturer and talking half to the platform and half to the audience.
‘Good evening,’ he began suavely. ‘I am the Chief Executive of — er —’ he glanced down at his notes and everyone laughed — ‘Corinium Television. We have noted,’ he went on, ‘the very perceptive and instructive points raised tonight, and, although we don’t agree with all of them, anyone who would like a further answer to his — or indeed, her —’ he smiled broadly — ‘question, please write to me personally.’
‘Wanker,’ muttered Rupert under his breath. He folded his arms belligerently and, with the hand that was hidden, fought a violent urge to caress the side of Taggie’s left breast which swelled so seductively beneath her violet dress. She looked so ravishing this evening, and she’d done so well to get all those strange but incredibly influential people to the meeting.