Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  Rodgers smiled and shrugged. “Because it’s news, that’s why.”

  “Yesterday’s news,” she countered. “And tomorrow it’ll be forgotten. Dumbing down, I call it.”

  Rodgers winced. “Horrible Americanism. I hope it doesn’t catch on over here. Ghastly. I’m going for a smoke. Coming?”

  “No. Ladies’ room for me. Got to freshen up.”

  They walked down the corridor together and parted company outside the ladies’ loo. Rodgers waved a cigarette as he went on his way.

  “Change your mind?”

  She began pushing the door. “You go ahead. See you in fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay. I know you’ve got your standards to keep up.”

  *

  It was a dark grey Ford Mondeo estate of the kind used by reps all over the country. No-one glanced at it as it turned in from the street at the back of the BBC building in the area of west London known as the White City.

  The car pulled up at an unmarked door and a man climbed out from the rear seats. He was slim and tanned, as if he worked out of doors, with close-cropped brown hair, tending to thin, and a short beard. He wore a faded denim shirt, stone-coloured chinos and brown deck shoes. Beside him was a slender woman of almost the same height, with short dark hair, in black trousers and a silk top in charcoal grey. They pushed the door open and went in. The car moved across the yard and stopped in a reserved parking bay.

  *

  Olivia Munnings, immaculately groomed as always, with every hair in place, applied a fresh layer of lipstick and worked her lips together to even out the colour. Some colleagues used to joke with her that she was wasted on radio. But hers was the most famous and easily recognised voice in Britain, her best feature. Some said she was the voice of Britain and represented everything the BBC stood for in the world: honesty, truthfulness, accuracy. She had upheld these standards for more than twenty years and had built her professional reputation on personal integrity, becoming a national institution. Then why was her hand shaking?

  She looked into her eyes in the mirror. Why had Tim Rodgers asked if she had any guilty secrets? Silly thing to say! He knew nothing of her life. She closed her eyes to compose herself, but she could not keep the thoughts out.

  The child would have been twenty-one that autumn. As a student she had felt too ashamed to let her parents – or even the baby’s father – know of her indiscretion and had rejected the idea of adoption. It would have caused havoc to her university course, having a child and repeating the year. At the end of the Lent term she had quietly gone to a private clinic and used all the money left to her by her grandmother to have a termination.

  Could anyone have discovered her secret? Was it remotely possible?

  The door opened and in came two secretaries from News and Current Affairs. Olivia Munnings greeted them confidently and strode out to start the programme.

  *

  Halfway down the passageway, Marnie and Anthony were met by a brisk young woman in a black trouser-suit. She guided them towards a lift and took them up three floors to a waiting room, offering them coffee, tea or ‘perhaps something a little stronger’. There was a trolley on which stood a variety of bottles. They both declined. The woman asked them to take a seat and left the room, promising to return in five minutes.

  Marnie took out her mobile to check the answerphone at Glebe Farm. Messages had been coming in at frequent intervals on the number given out in the press statement. Before she could hit the buttons, the phone began vibrating in her hand and she took an incoming call.

  “Marnie?”

  “Yes. Is that Judith? Hi. We’re in the studio, waiting to go in. I can’t really talk at the moment. Can I ring you back?”

  “I can’t go through with it, Marnie.” Her voice sounded flat.

  “Say again?”

  “I can’t ... I can’t let you do it.”

  Marnie’s expression changed. Anthony saw the cloud pass over her face and he mouthed, What is it? Marnie turned the phone so that he could listen. He moved his head close to hers.

  “Judith,” she said. “We’re in the studio. Maybe you didn’t hear me. We’re actually there now. In two minutes Anthony’s going through to be interviewed. This is going out live. You said you agreed.”

  “I’m sorry, so sorry, Marnie.” Judith was close to tears. “But I still ... you know. I can’t let him bring it all out in public. I couldn’t bear it. Not Tim.”

  “God almighty, Judith! This is great timing.”

  “Please, Marnie. You said I could count on you.”

  Marnie closed her eyes. “Leave it with me. I’ll have to think of something.” She ended the call and stared at Anthony. “Bloody hell!”

  “Too bad,” he said.

  Marnie bit her lip. “It’s worse than too bad. It’s a total disaster.”

  Anthony shook his head. “Too bad for her, I mean. We can’t turn back now. It’s too late.”

  “But –”

  “What does she expect me to do, go on the air and just trot out the entrapment thing I said yesterday? Does she want me to commit hara kiri in public? For Chrissake!”

  “Anthony, I gave her my word. I don’t see how you can –”

  Before she could finish the sentence, the young woman in black entered the room and extended a hand towards Anthony. She had been about to smile, but the atmosphere made it clear that something was amiss. She noticed the mobile that Marnie was holding.

  “Sorry, but you can’t use that in here. I should’ve asked you to turn it off. Mobiles aren’t allowed. They can cause big problems.” She gestured to Anthony and led him out.

  “You can say that again,” Marnie muttered to herself.

  *

  Outside in the car park, Ralph was fiddling with the radio trying to find Radio 4. “This is all very complicated,” he was muttering. “It’s quite different from the Volvo.”

  “Yes,” said Anne. “Nowhere to shovel the coal in.” She reached forward from the back seat. “Shall I have a go?”

  “It’ll do untold damage to my ego if you get it working. You do realise that, don’t you?”

  The mobile began ringing.

  “You take the call, I’ll twiddle the knobs,” Anne suggested.

  “Hallo, Ralph Lombard.”

  “It’s Marnie. Listen. We’re in deep trouble.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Judith rang just as Anthony was going in. She’s cried off.”

  “What?”

  “She won’t let us expose Tim Rodgers. And of course, I promised to respect her wishes.”

  “Oh, my god! The whole thing’ll fall flat on its face. He’ll be a sitting duck.”

  “Worse than that, Ralph, much worse. Anthony doesn’t feel bound by my promise. He thinks she’s let him down.”

  “You mean he’s going ahead with the plan? Oh boy ... So we’ll end up alienating one of our allies.”

  “Exactly. What a mess!”

  “How did she contact you?”

  “On the mobile.”

  “They don’t allow mobiles to be used in there.”

  “I wish I’d thought of that. Could’ve saved a load of trouble.”

  “How are you phoning now, as a matter of interest?”

  “I’m using the mobile. I don’t care any more. I’m secretly hoping it’ll jam their transmission, or better still, blow up the studio ... with Anthony in it.”

  Suddenly and noisily, Anne succeeded in finding the right wavelength, and Radio 4 burst into life on the car radio. They heard Olivia Munnings putting a complex financial question to the minister.

  “Your jamming attempt seems to have failed,” Ralph said. “Can you hear the programme up there?”

  Marnie sighed. “Yes. It’s piped into the room. I’d better listen. See you later.”

  *

  Marnie turned off the mobile and settled back to listen to the programme. It seemed that Ralph had been right about the interest rate. Clever clogs! She tried hard to be i
mpressed, but had no enthusiasm. Her plans were already hitting snags, and they had hardly begun.

  She had only half an ear listening to the minister, but she caught a reference to him, sending a clear message to the rest of the world that Britain was in control of its economy. She was determined not to sigh again, but suddenly heard an echo in her brain: sending a clear message. Yes. How could she get a message to Tim Rodgers? She could tell him that Anthony knew all about Judith and Rosie and would broadcast it here and now if Olivia Munnings even hinted at a hostile line in her questioning. Could a producer control an interview like that from the background? She could not wait to find out and quickly scribbled a note. She folded it in two, wrote ‘Tim Rodgers – Confidential’ on the back and rushed out into the corridor.

  It was deserted. She did not even know which way to turn.

  *

  Tim Rodgers fiddled with the cigarette packet on the deck in front of him in the control room. Through the triple-glazed picture window that separated his area from the studio, he could see Munnings and the minister locked in deep discussion. Both protagonists rocked gently as they spoke, leaning in towards the bulbous microphones suspended before them from the ceiling to emphasise the points they were making.

  On his computer screen, Rodgers saw a newsflash appear. As the minister tackled the last question, Rodgers pressed a button and spoke into a microphone.

  “Olivia. Incoming story. Big car bomb – West Bank in Israel. Patching it through. Announce it as breaking news at the end of the programme. We’ll cue you.”

  Olivia quickly glanced at the screen on her left and raised a finger to acknowledge. She checked her notes for closing remarks to the minister while an assistant ushered Anthony into the studio. Seamlessly and smoothly, Olivia introduced Anthony’s story as the assistant led the minister silently to the door. He did not look twice at the bearded man who was taking a seat.

  *

  Ralph and Anne listened to the interview in the car, leaning back in their seats one behind the other. They concentrated on every word.

  The interview began with factual questions.

  Do you accept that the newspaper photographs were genuine?

  Do you admit you were involved in a sexual act with a girl in your garden?

  Was the girl a member of your staff?

  How long had she worked for you?

  Had you been having an affair with her prior to that event?

  Why did you go into hiding?

  Anthony’s replies were brief and to the point. He accepted that the photographs showed him in a compromising position, but denied having an affair. He maintained the girl had been planted on him by the Globe, and had lured him into position for the camera. He had gone into hiding to gain time to think things out.

  It was the mixture as before, and it sounded feeble. It was his word against the newspaper’s and it was leading nowhere. After this, there would be no more interest in his story. All the efforts made by Marnie, Ralph and the others – all the plotting, all the running, all the scheming – would have been wasted. There would be no redress, no retribution. Anthony would appear weak and foolish; Marlene would feel used and cheapened for the rest of her life; Melissa would have died for a sordid and soon-to-be-forgotten scandal dreamt up to sell newspapers.

  *

  Marnie sat alone in the waiting room. She had thrown her message into the waste bin after giving up the attempt to find Tim Rodgers. Restless, frustrated and unable to settle, she had spotted the collection of bottles on the trolley and poured herself a generous measure of cognac. She flopped into an armchair waiting to hear Anthony bringing misery and unhappiness to a woman he had never met, who had done him no harm and whose only fault was that she still loved the father of her child, a man who was about to have his shortcomings broadcast to the nation with untold consequences for his life. And it was all Marnie’s idea, her plan to hit back at the faceless media that could ruin lives and reputations. Now she would become part of it herself. She took a drink of the brandy and felt it burn a path down her throat.

  She could hear Anthony telling Olivia Munnings that he had gone to stay with friends who had helped him put his life back together. Priceless! she thought. One slip of the tongue and he’ll ‘out’ us as well. She sipped more cognac, put her head back and closed her eyes.

  But if you felt you were a victim of a conspiracy, why did you run away? Could you not simply have issued a statement denying that you were in a relationship with the girl?

  You make it sound so easy. Try to imagine the whole of the media hounding you.

  Some people might say that you had set yourself up as the custodian of national morals and that you were only running away because you’d been found out.

  How would you feel if your private life was being held up for attack as mine was?

  We’re not really here to judge my private life, Mr Leyton-Brown.

  Oh, but we are, you see. We are. You in the news media also have a great responsibility. I wonder how you can judge others when your own life may be no better.

  I think you’re evading the issue here –

  No, with respect, I’m not. Tell us about your guilty secret. I challenge you here and now. Are you going to make it public ... or shall I?

  Marnie sat bolt upright. What was he going to say this time? Did he have something on Olivia Munnings? Before she could reply, Anthony continued.

  That’s the point, you see. You think I’m here to talk about me and my shortcomings. You’re all happy to judge and attack me. Why? Because it’s newsworthy. Am I right? Of course I am. And you all think you’re safe on your side of the microphone. But what if I turned the tables and revealed your secret? Would that be entrapment, or a new kind of investigative politics?

  I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Mr Leyton-Brown, I –

  I’m getting at you actually, or to be fair, I’m getting at the media through you. And really, it’s not personal. Isn’t that what gangsters are supposed to say? I’m only using you as an example. Mind you, judging by your expression, you’ve got me wondering whether you might have ... never mind. No. My real target is someone else, part of the same machine.

  Marnie thought, Oh no, he’s going to do it. He’s going to go for Tim Rodgers. She braced herself mentally as Anthony went on.

  Listen carefully to what I say. Don’t just think I can be brought here to be pilloried in public. I was trapped, I was set up, I was used. Think about it. I’d like all your listeners to think about it, too. And what I would say is this. You can’t be complacent. You can’t live your life through ... rosie-tinted spectacles.

  Marnie strained forward. Did she hear that right? Olivia Munnings was talking again.

  ... though I’m not sure I fully understood what you were saying there.

  It was a warning. Now it’s my turn to declare open season on hypocrites, on anyone who pretends their standards are better than mine and tries to judge me after setting me up. That’s all I have to say ... for the moment. Just watch this space. And watch out!

  *

  In her kitchen in Little Venice, Mrs Jolly sat by the radio pondering the interview she had just heard. It was all very curious. Did Anthony Leyton-Brown mean to suggest that Olivia Munnings had some sort of guilty secret? Surely not. Or did he? She wondered if he had a point, not about Olivia Munnings, of course. She was beyond any kind of suspicion. Wasn’t she?

  Mrs Jolly wondered what she really knew about Olivia Munnings, the real person. Or about any of the people who were household names. Was corruption – or this new word everyone was using these days – sleaze, was it rampant in public life? It would be very sad to think that the people who came into her living room every day by television or radio or the newspapers were not what they seemed to be.

  *

  In her living room in St Albans, Judith sat back in the armchair. All the toys were neatly tidied away on shelves or in the toy box under the window. Rosie was at nursery school. Judith’s mind was a
jangle of twisted emotions. She had listened to the interview with dread gradually creeping over her as she waited for Leyton-Brown to talk about Tim and her ... and Rosie. She had been shaking with nerves and had almost cried out when he had said ‘rosie-tinted spectacles’. And then it was all over.

  She had heard nothing after that. Her brain had shut out the world, and she had come back to reality with Olivia Munnings introducing a foreign correspondent at a meeting of oil-producing countries in the Middle East. Of one thing she was sure: Marnie Walker was a person who could be trusted.

  *

  In the control room of the lunchtime news programme at the BBC, Tim Rodgers was telling the production assistant to cut to the live report from the OPEC meeting in Riyadh. It was business as usual, split-second timing bringing world-class reporting into millions of homes. Rosie-tinted spectacles ... he had really said that. What did he know? It could not have been a slip of the tongue. Tim had seen that slight turn of the head towards the control room window as Leyton-Brown had said it. He knew, all right. But how? And what use would he be prepared to make of it?

  At that moment a breaking news item came up on the computer screen. A man armed with a shotgun had barricaded himself into a house in Leeds with two children. Rodgers quickly looked down the list of remaining items to assess how and where to slot in the story. Decisively, he adjusted the order while an assistant phoned the local radio station in readiness for live commentary. Across the country the listeners had no idea what went on behind the scenes.

  *

  The door to the car park opened and Marnie stepped out alone. The hire car was now standing two paces away, the engine running. Marnie was followed almost at once by Anthony. Ralph was standing by the rear passenger’s door, and Anne was sitting in the front. Ralph pointed to the driver’s seat.