Firmly clenching his hand away from Taggie, he looked across at Cameron, who was gazing moodily into space with a kind of deadpan, terrorist truculence. She reminded him of the girl grooms he used to pull in the old days. He desperately wanted a fuck, but he wouldn’t get Cameron tonight. Tony, overexcited by the meeting, would no doubt take advantage of that release. Rupert was finding the enforced celibacy more and more trying, and, bloody hell, what was Bas doing pulling Janey? It seemed as though he was the only person in the world behaving himself.
Having finished a rousing spiel about Corinium’s long and honourable record, Tony was now paying tribute to ‘the thriving, creative community’ he had the privilege to lead. ‘We are aware, Ladies and Gentlemen, that there is life west of Harrods, our hearts are not in “Dallas”, nor is our HQ in London. Our company is run by people from the region, who have a special place in the Cotswolds and, indeed, in West Country life. Corinium is its own man here. We will be biased, we will fight for the West, we are pledged to serve the whole community. Above all we care.’
He sat down to moderate cheers. Then it was Mid-West’s turn.
A fat man with straggly white hair staggered to his feet and then took ages to find his notes. ‘That’s obviously the geography master who never found his way to London,’ whispered Rupert to Taggie.
‘I am deeply honoured,’ began the fat man.
‘Name, name,’ yelled the audience.
‘My name is Cedric Bonnington,’ he mumbled. ‘I hope to be Chairman of Mid-West Television.’
‘Well, don’t be bashful, speak up,’ shouted Tony’s rabble-rouser.
Sadly, Cedric didn’t. In a low mumble he laboriously read out that he was very interested in all the fascinating points that had been made by the floor.
‘I cannot reveal who our backers are,’ he droned on, ‘but very substantial funds will be available should the very talented group, whose names I also cannot divulge at this stage, win the franchise.’
‘He’ll probably get it,’ said Georgie Baines to Seb Burrows.
‘What about women?’ yelled the Women-in-Broadcasting lobby.
Cedric consulted his notes. The company’s Programme Controller, whose name he also couldn’t divulge, he said, would be a woman of the widest experience.
‘Madame Cyn,’ yelled Rupert.
‘Mary Whitehouse,’ said Tony’s shop steward.
The audience waited for more exciting revelations, and, when none materialized, egged on by the Corinium consortium, who’d all got to their feet, started to drift away. It was almost dark outside; the pubs beckoned.
‘No one’s going to stay and listen to Daddy,’ said Taggie in anguish, and, as Declan got up to speak, people were swarming out into the High Street.
‘I’d like first to answer the speaker who questioned the right of an Irishman to run an English television company,’ he began softly. ‘As much right perhaps as that great Irishman, the Duke of Wellington, to command a British army.’
He spoke without notes. As people poured back into the hall again, the deep soft husky voice carried easily round the hall.
‘I am proud to be Irish,’ he went on, ‘and, to echo the words of another great Irish patriot, Irwin Cobb, I too had an ancestor who was out with the pikes in ’98. He was captured by the English and tried for treason. They hanged him by the neck until he was dead, but his soul goes marching on, transmitting to his descendants, of whom I am proud to be one, the desire to fight against tyranny whenever I come across it. I also love and honour British television. It is the best in the world. That’s why I and so many of my countrymen — Eamonn Andrews, Terry Wogan, Robert Kee, Frank Delaney, Dave Allen, Henry Kelly, Patrick Dromgoole, Gloria Hunniford — are over here, learning from it and, I hope, contributing to it.
‘But we still go on fighting tyranny and oppression whenever we find it. I found it in the few months I worked for Corinium. That’s why I walked out, and why, with my English friends —’ he turned and smiled briefly at the Venturer consortium — ‘I have put in a bid to oust Lord Baddingham.’
He then proceeded to carve up Tony and tear Corinium’s boring sycophantic programmes to shreds. Only at the end did be briefly outline how Venturer would be different, how they would truly both represent the area and foster local talent. ‘I would like all great artists of the future to be able to say they had their first chance at Venturer.’
The audience stood up and cheered him for nearly three minutes. Stony-faced, Tony strode out of the hall. Cameron tried to follow him, but, trapped by the crowd, she watched Rupert, Declan, Taggie and the rest of Venturer, plus their supporters, jubilantly swanning off to the Bar Sinister for drinks on the house. Rupert never gave her a backward glance. Sick with desire, she wondered how much longer she could go on playing a double game.
Although the Cotchester News reported the meeting a rousing success for Corinium and published numerous rigged readers’ letters of support, it was generally agreed that Venturer had won that round.
34
After his humiliation at the public meeting, Tony stepped up his campaign to discredit Venturer. Flipping through a list of their names the following morning, he decided his newsroom had been singularly inept in uncovering any dirt. The Bishop of Cotchester, it seemed, had neither fiddled with the collection nor with any of his more cherubic choir boys; Dame Enid had never straddled anything more exciting than her cello; Professor Graystock was recognized as an old goat, but no more so than the average don. On the other hand, Henry Hampshire was plainly capable of being led astray by Daysee Butler. Perhaps she ought to be sent off to interview him.
Nothing as yet on Rupert, except an alleged walk-out with Taggie O’Hara, which Tony didn’t believe. She was far too gormless. All the same it might be a good idea to allow her to cook for Monica again. Primed with a few late-night brandies, she might become indiscreet about the moles who were joining Venturer from other companies. In addition Monica had been so outraged because Tony’d banished Taggie from the house that she’d refused to give any more dinner parties, and Tony did need to entertain some of those boring but influential local dignitaries who might otherwise drift towards Venturer.
He added Taggie’s name to the list, but that didn’t bring him any nearer Rupert. He made a note to track down Beattie Johnson, who’d been writing Rupert’s memoirs when Rupert booted her out last year. There must be some grievances to fan there.
Freddie Jones, Tony decided blackly, was Venturer’s greatest asset. He was so solid, so dependable, so popular, so hugely successful after such a lowly start, which appealed to a crusading streak in the IBA. Ha! thought Tony, cherchez la femme. He buzzed Miss Madden. ‘Will you tell James Vereker to come up.’
James was not happy. Even through his layers of egotism he realized he’d made a fool of himself at the public meeting. He was still miffed because no one had asked him to join their consortium, and, opening a new edition of Who’s Who in Television that morning, he’d discovered two columns devoted to Declan and not even a reference to himself.
James brushed his hair and put on a tie. He hoped Tony wasn’t still miffed about the public meeting.
Tony, however, was at his most amiable, steering James towards the squashy green sofa, when usually he made male staff perch on hard-backed chairs, telling Madden they didn’t want to be disturbed, offering James a large drink.