Then he went out and got drunk.

Cameron finally tracked down Rupert at the House after he’d voted.

‘Sweetheart, are you OK?’ he said. ‘How’s Sledge-Hammer House of Horror? Has Tony had a seizure?’

‘I hate you and I hate myself,’ stormed Cameron. ‘How dare Janey Lloyd-Foxe say Corinium’s drama was abysmal, and that bloody Bishop attacking the morals of “Four Men went to Mow”!’

‘That was tactless. I’m sorry, but if we don’t knock you, Tony’ll suspect something. How did he take it?’

‘Fine,’ said Cameron. ‘Very together, very positive.’

‘That’s not what Barney Williams told me. He said it really pulled the Krug from under Tony’s feet, and that he was quite hysterical. All this expansive crip-crap about welcoming competition came much later in the day.’

Cameron wasn’t interested. ‘Look, Rupert, I’m not sure I’m going to be any good as a double agent.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘Seb’s got to trail you to find out who you’re sleeping with.’

Rupert laughed. ‘He’s going to have a very boring time then. The only person I’m sleeping or likely to stay awake with is you.’

‘Are you sure?’ Cameron’s voice broke. ‘I’m so confused. It all happened so fast. I need to see you, just to talk.’

‘I need to fuck,’ said Rupert. ‘I want you so badly at this moment, but it’d be madness. The press are still baying round. We’ve got to be careful.’

‘I don’t think I can handle it.’

‘Yes, you can. You’re very brave and strong, that’s what I adore about you. You’re very tired too. Take a couple of Mogadon and sleep in. And sustain yourself with the thought that one day in December we’ll be awarded tickets on the one surviving gravy train.’

‘I thought we were only interested in making good programmes,’ said Cameron disapprovingly.

‘Oh well, that, too,’ said Rupert.


32


Within a week the IBA had provided the press with précis of all the applications and placed a copy of each application in their library so that the public could come and look at them.

Immediately, Tony dispatched Miss Madden to the IBA to transcribe Venturer’s application in her neat shorthand. Going through the revolving doors, she met Ursula, Declan’s secretary, on a similar mission.

‘I’m not supposed to talk to you,’ said Joyce.

‘Nor I you,’ said Ursula.

Both agreed, however, that much time could be saved if Ursula posted Joyce a copy of Venturer’s application and Joyce sent Ursula a copy of Corinium’s. Then they could pretend they had transcribed and typed them themselves, and pop over to Harrods instead for a lunch of breaded plaice, fruit salad and several glasses of sweet sherry before going to the cinema.

‘We mustn’t discuss the franchise or I’ll get sacked,’ said Joyce, ‘but you’ve no idea how demented Lord B. was when he heard Declan was bidding against him. He’s really out to get him now. It’s a shame we’re on different sides. I always liked Declan. He was such a nice man.’

Having read Venturer’s application, Tony launched his counter-offensive.

‘It would be foolish to denigrate the competition,’ he told the press expansively, and then proceeded to do so.

He also spent a lot of time playing his staff off against each other, having them in individually, offering them large drinks and cigars in his most urbane and disarming manner, then telling each one they were the one person he really relied on to spy on the rest. Pinned on the board was a new notice reiterating instant dismissal for any member of staff found having dealings with any of the Venturer or Mid-Week consortiums.

The Bishop of Cotchester was therefore rather bewildered when, every time he walked down the High Street or round the Cathedral close and tried to pass the time of day with any of the eight hundred Corinium staff, they bolted like squirrels up the nearest tree.

The following Sunday Declan called a Venturer meeting at The Priory. Janey and Billy couldn’t make it, nor could Wesley Emerson. But Wesley had vindicated himself by already taking twenty-five wickets and wearing the Venturer T-shirt on every possible occasion.

Georgie, Seb and Charles (who was wearing a tin hat and brandishing a riot shield borrowed from Wardrobe) all turned up giggling hysterically in James Vereker’s very distinctive pale-blue Porsche.

‘The silly bugger left it in the Corinium car park and a second set of keys in his office,’ said Georgie. ‘We’re going to abandon it outside your house later this afternoon, Enid, then ring up Tony and tip him off.’

‘How’s it going?’ said Freddie.

‘Tony’s in a vilely twitchy mood,’ said Charles, ‘bugging everyone’s telephones. You’d better watch out, Declan. If our chief engineer rolls up in a yellow van heavily disguised as a British Telecom mechanic, don’t let him in.’

It was such a mild day they all sat outside. Apple blossom and lilac were both out and wafting their sweet fragrance. Cow parsley frothed up to meet the trailing young green leaves and white candles of the horse chestnuts round the lawn. The rushing stream was clogged with forget-me-nots and marsh marigolds, and, although the bluebells were fading, the wood was now lit up by the white flowers of the wild garlic. It was definitely a day to be in love. Rupert turned up with Cameron, who was safe because Tony had gone to Rugborough to watch Archie play cricket. She and Rupert had obviously just got out of bed. Their hair was still wet from the shower. She sat on the lawn propped against him, her hand on his thigh. They looked lean, glamorous and intensely separate.

Great excitement was caused by the arrival of the rest of the Venturer publicity material: badges, car stickers, bookmarks, peaked caps with adjustable straps at the back, which had to be taken in to fit Henry Hampshire’s narrow stoat’s head but let out for Dame Enid and Declan. The pièce de résistance was the poster. It was a blow-up from the group photograph of Taggie with Gertrude on her knee, both wearing Venturer T-shirts.

‘It’s fuckin’ gorgeous,’ said Freddie. ‘Every garage mechanic will put it up in the service bay.’

‘I’ll have some for the bar,’ said Bas.

‘And I for the Close,’ said the Bishop.

Both Dame Enid and Professor Graystock wanted several for the common room.

‘Dirty old letch,’ muttered Rupert, glaring at the Professor.

‘I’ll keep mine under my pillow,’ said Seb, ‘in case Tony drops in for coffee one evening.’

Only Cameron had been scornful when Rupert had showed the poster to her earlier.

‘It’s too fucking kitsch for words,’ she snapped.

‘I thought you might like to have a look at Corinium’s rival offering,’ said Georgie, unrolling a poster of Sarah Stratton cuddling a baby calf with a caption ‘Corinium Cares’ underneath. Her T-shirt had rather too many buttons undone.

‘“Corinium Bares”, more likely,’ said Rupert dismissively. ‘Venturer have definitely won the battle of the Crumpet. Here, let me carry that, angel,’ he went on, leaping to his feet as Taggie came out with a huge chocolate cake and a plate of cucumber sandwiches on a tray.

Taggie couldn’t meet his eyes, nor did she say anything when she saw the poster. It reminded her too poignantly of when she’d still been happy, when Rupert had not yet rolled up with Cameron.

After tea Declan came to the serious bit.

‘For the next two months,’ he told them, ‘while the IBA are sifting through the applications before the public meetings begin in July, our job is to get Venturer across to the area. We got off to an excellent start. With such a dazzlingly flamboyant panel —’ he grinned round at them — ‘publicity has been no problem. Now we’ve got to get out and meet the people who matter — in the Town Halls, the Chambers of Commerce, the Rotary Clubs all round the area — and show them we’re not just a bunch of dilettantes.

‘We’ve also got to cast our net wide to cover schools, colleges, churches, young farmers, job centres, the police, sports clubs, political groups, race relations officers, etc., etc. We must let them know what we intend to do, find out how we can help them, and then sign them up as friends of Venturer. We’ll collect a huge petition of names and organizations to send the IBA. But it’ll have far more effect if they can also be persuaded to write a private letter to Lady Gosling giving their support.

‘We must try to cover the entire area,’ he went on. ‘I know you’re all busy and it’s going to be a long hard slog, and obviously none of the Corinium moles or Billy or Harold can be seen to be doing anything.’

‘I’ll help,’ pleaded Taggie. ‘Please let me. I can drive round the area delivering handouts and telling people how good you are.’

‘How can she possibly explain to anyone why they should support Venturer,’ said Cameron too loudly to Rupert, ‘if she can’t read the fucking application?’

Seeing Taggie go crimson with mortification, Seb leapt to her defence. ‘Put it on tape,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it for you, Taggie. If I can’t go round the area canvassing, it’s the least I can do.’

Seb was as good as his word. Over the next two days he not only put the most important points of the application on tape for her, but also the answers she should give to any questions.

‘If they’re a Leftie organization,’ he explained, ‘say we’ve got Professor Graystock, Lord Smith and your Dad in the consortium. If they’re Tory, plug Freddie, Henry, Rupert and Marti Gluckstein. If they’re SDP, bandy Dame Enid’s name around.

‘If anyone starts grumbling about sex and violence,’ he went on, ‘say we’ve got the Bishop of Cotchester and he’s going to oversee all our programmes. On the other hand, if anyone says we haven’t got enough sex and violence, say we’ve got Rupert, Bas and Wesley Emerson in the consortium.’