Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  “You drive, Anthony.”

  He climbed into the back, where Marnie joined him. As the car exited through the gates, Ralph was reading a newspaper that all but concealed his face.

  “Go left and take the first right at the lights.”

  Marnie looked at him curiously. “What’s all this about?”

  “Just a precaution. I’m getting as paranoid as you are. I thought that anyone spotting the car would look at me with the newspaper rather than Anthony.”

  Anne laughed out loud. “It’s Professor Bond, Professor James Bond.” Her voice was three octaves lower than usual, with a slight lisp.

  Marnie joined in. “My god, Ralph, you’ve turned yourself into a diversionary tactic. Must be an all-time first for Oxford.”

  “Mock not. Look, I’m doing my best here –”

  Before he could finish, Marnie reached across and kissed him full on the lips. Seismologists in Stockholm registered earth tremors in the London area far up the Richter scale.

  When he was allowed to breathe again, Ralph said, “I like this Bond lark, think I’ll change career.”

  “Sounds okay to me,” Anthony said, looking in the rear-view mirror. “Did you manage to hear the piece, Ralph?”

  “Thanks to the techno-wizard on your left, yes. That was very enigmatic at the end, the rosie-tinted spectacles. I thought I’d mis-heard you.”

  Marnie leaned forward. “Thanks for that, Anthony. Quick thinking.”

  “You’re welcome. I think it got the message across to the person concerned.”

  Ralph said, “And you gave Olivia Munnings quite a fright, I thought. Interesting.”

  “Yes,” Anthony said. “That made me wonder, too.”

  “You may have done enough to scare every journalist in the country, apart from those with blameless lives. I suppose there must be some.”

  Marnie said, “Anthony, I want to ask you something.”

  “What do I do at these traffic lights?” he said.

  “Go straight on. I want to know if you would really have used the information about Judith and Tim Rodgers on the air.”

  The car rolled to a halt at the red lights. Anthony pulled on the parking brake and turned in the seat.

  “Some things it’s better not to ask, Marnie. Sometimes it’s better not to think the unthinkable.”

  42

  “Good lord!” Mrs Jolly exclaimed. The three of them were scanning the newspapers at breakfast. She had picked up the Sun.

  “I think Mrs Jolly’s reached page three,” Anne muttered, grinning.

  Marnie and Anne were sharing the Globe, heads close together across the table. Anne had gone out early and bought one of every paper on sale at the news-stand by the tube. They were reading intently, like students on the morning of an important exam.

  “Good lord!” the old lady said again.

  Marnie looked up and smiled. “Good lord what, Mrs Jolly?”

  “Well, I mean ...” She shook her head. “They’re all at it. Everybody’s ... what’s that strange term ... coming out of the closet. Or is it cupboard? No, that’s skeletons. Actually, it amounts to the same thing.”

  Anne laughed. Mrs Jolly continued.

  “You’re going to tell me I’m rambling, I know, but it really is quite amazing. Everybody’s confessing to just about everything imaginable. It’s a kind of national outpouring of the soul. Your Mr Leyton-Brown seems to have lanced a boil and ...” She pulled a face and shuddered. “Well, I don’t want to continue that, but you know what I mean.”

  “Not exactly my Mr Leyton-Brown,” Marnie said gently. “But yes, I do know what you mean. All the papers are full of it.”

  She held up the Globe to reveal a whole page of photographs of the Great and the Good. Each caption seemed to be a confession. Here, a television chat show host revealed that he had been abused as a child. Marnie thought that explained why he now spent his life abusing the guests on his show. There, a heartthrob pop singer confessed he was gay. Marnie wondered if he was the only one in the country who thought that was news. Public figures were confessing to having mistresses and lovers. Activists were outing bishops. Bishops were admitting to doubts about God. An unprecedented, unnatural wave of honesty was pouring over the country.

  “I’ve never known anything like it,” said Mrs Jolly. “What’s he up to today?”

  “Ah ...” Marnie began. “Today we probably get arrested.”

  “My goodness! What are you going to do? Or is it best not to ask? Though perhaps I ought to ask, in case I have to come and bail you out.”

  “Don’t even joke about it,” Marnie said ruefully.

  “Was I joking? I didn’t think I was.”

  Marnie said, “Today we have to split forces for a while. Ralph has commitments in Oxford, then in London. We may see him later, or we may not. Anthony’s doing an interview on the early evening news on Radio 4.”

  “Who’s he outing this time?” said Mrs Jolly, proud of her command of the jargon.

  “It’s just a straight interview – no pun intended. He thinks people are willing to listen now to what he has to say, and he wants to make a simple statement.”

  “I don’t see how any of that could get you arrested, my dear. So what will you be doing?”

  “Nothing till later this evening probably, though my plans aren’t clear just yet. May we hang out here for the morning while I make phone calls and plan things?”

  “Of course, my dear. I’ll get lunch for whenever you want it. Will Anne be going out with you?”

  “Probably. I’ll know the details when I’ve made my calls.”

  *

  At lunchtime Anne went out first, alone, carrying Mrs Jolly’s old-fashioned shopping basket. The sandwiches and fruit that were Anthony’s lunch were covered with a striped tea towel. On the doorstep she scanned the street for suspicious characters, but everything seemed normal and she crossed the road in the direction of the towpath gate. She felt like Little Red Riding Hood on her way through the woods to visit Grandma. The hatch on Rumpole was already unlocked in readiness, and Anne stepped aboard and went below unnoticed by passers-by. Marnie followed minutes later, carrying a shopping bag.

  “Everything sorted?” Anthony asked.

  “I think so, as much as it can be. We’ll see. Meantime, I’ve brought you some papers.” She unloaded the contents of the shopping bag onto the galley table. “They should keep you amused for a while.”

  “Any more interviews lined up?”

  “No, but an interesting cancellation.”

  “Cancellation?”

  “I had a call from the Newsnight programme on television. They’d seemed quite keen the other day. This morning I phoned them to check timings, only to be told the idea had been dropped.”

  “One high place too many. The TV people don’t seem too keen to have me, do they? What a surprise.” Anthony opened the papers. “Look at this lot! Wow! It’s confessions time. Jeez.”

  He pointed at a photograph. “I knew her. She used to be in old Rodney’s private office when he was a junior minister at Defence. Here she is saying that, well, it’s sexual harassment, isn’t it?”

  “Certainly is,” Marnie said, unsmiling. “Does it surprise you?”

  “Not that that particular minister tried to put his hand up her ... not that actually, no. What surprises me is that she’s gone public about it.”

  “Don’t you think she was justified?”

  “Sure, but it’s still a surprise. Most women don’t have the guts to do such a thing.”

  Two heads snapped up. Marnie and Anne traded glances.

  “It takes a lot of courage to do that,” Anthony said.

  They decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “So what’s the schedule for today?” he asked.

  “Just the one radio slot. They want you there by about five.”

  “Who’s interviewing me?”

  “They didn’t say. One of their regulars, I suppose. It vari
es from day to day.”

  “Same travel arrangements as yesterday?”

  “No. Ralph’s got appointments. Me, too. I don’t know how long I’ll be ... may be some time. You take the hire car.”

  “All right. Anne going with you?”

  Marnie shook her head. “Not this time, could be tricky. Anne can hold the fort.”

  Anthony said, “What about her coming with me, in case I need a gofer?”

  Marnie stared at him. “Why might you need a gofer?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve kinda got used to having a minder these days. Forget it. I’ll be all right.”

  “I don’t mind,” Anne said. “Better than staying indoors all afternoon by myself.”

  “Er ...” Marnie began.

  Anthony shrugged. “It’s okay. I quite understand if you’d rather I went alone.”

  “Unless you think I might be in the way,” Anne muttered.

  “No,” said Marnie, torn between conflicting thoughts. “An extra pair of eyes could be useful, I suppose. You never know ...”

  *

  The late afternoon was clouding over as Mrs Jolly and her guests made their way to the front door.

  “I don’t know what time I’ll be back exactly,” the old lady said. She fished in her purse. “Look, take my spare door key. Then you can come and go as you please. Help yourselves to anything you want. You know where to find tea and such.”

  Marnie slipped the key in her pocket. “Thank you.”

  Outside, Marnie and Mrs Jolly walked together towards the tube station, while Anne watched for the grey Mondeo to approach. She felt the first drops of rain falling on her head when she opened the front gate and crossed the pavement to climb in beside Anthony.

  *

  Ralph was sitting in an office in Whitehall when he noticed the first raindrops streaking the window. It was a vast office with heavy dark furniture, harking back to the days when Britain ruled a huge empire. Opposite him over the mahogany desk sat a Mandarin, a senior civil servant, in fact a very senior official of Her Majesty’s Treasury. They had been discussing Ralph’s appointment to a new committee on economic policy, and there was a pause while a young woman came in with tea and biscuits.

  On the corner of the desk lay a copy of that morning’s Times. The mandarin nodded towards it.

  “Did you see the Times this morning, Ralph? Every bloody paper’s become a scandal sheet these days. It’s appalling!”

  “So I’d noticed.” Ralph remained enigmatic.

  “It’s ever since Leyton-Brown started exposing everybody. Did you hear that radio interview with Paul Pinder the other day? Ye gods!”

  “I did, yes. Quite a surprise. Hung him out to dry in public.” Inscrutable.

  “Certainly did. I was at the Press Complaints Commission yesterday, having a row with the vice-chairman about regulation and standards of reporting. He didn’t know what to make of it. The whole media world’s shaking in its boots. I tell you, that’s what I call self-regulation!”

  The mandarin guffawed. Ralph stirred his tea.

  *

  Anthony was becoming visibly agitated at the wheel, wiping condensation from inside the windscreen with irritated hand movements. He grabbed the control stalk for the wipers, trying to make them go faster to cope with the downpour. Anne heard him muttering under his breath, but thought it better not to ask him to repeat.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “We’ve got plenty of time, and it’s not far now.”

  “We should’ve come by taxi,” Anthony grumbled. “God knows where we’ll be able to park.”

  “But Marnie thought we needed to be independent with our own transport. She didn’t want you to be stranded somewhere trying to get a cab and exposed to reporters.”

  “Marnie’s a control freak,” he growled, adding, “And she’s absolutely right, as usual.”

  “Are you missing your minder?”

  He stopped at traffic lights. “Probably. It’s just nerves.” He looked down at the street atlas on Anne’s lap. “Not far, you say?”

  “Two more blocks and we turn left. Then it’s almost a straight run for half a mile and we’re there.”

  “What about parking?”

  “There isn’t a car park. We’ll have to find somewhere.”

  “Oh well, that should solve everything. I probably won’t even make it to the interview. I’ll be driving round Broadcasting House.”

  In an attempt at levity Anne said, “With any luck we might get a crack at the lap record. Marnie says the thing to do is think positive and deal with the situation when you get there.”

  Anthony spoke but Anne could not hear what he said as the engine revved and he pulled away from the lights. She suspected it was not complimentary.

  “What did you say, Anthony? I missed that.”

  He cleared his throat. “I was just, er, trying to look on the bright side and think positive, or something like that.”

  They pressed on through the steady rain, Anne leaning forward to keep the screen clear of mist with the palm of her hand, Anthony silently concentrating on the traffic. Soon afterwards, Anne pointed ahead.

  “That’s it. Now we’ve just got to find a slot.”

  “A slot,” Anthony repeated through gritted teeth. “Let’s think positive then, like Marnie says.”

  Anne could understand Anthony’s display of nerves. She was glad that her part in the operation was limited to finding a parking space. The idea of facing a hostile interview on national radio at peak time would have filled her with dread. She wanted to remind Anthony that parking the car was the least of his worries, but she thought better of it. Soon his prediction of lapping Broadcasting House was becoming a reality. They reached the front of the building for the second time.

  Anthony growled. “Oh god, this is hopeless. We’re going to be doing this till nightfall. How much longer have I got, Anne?”

  “They’re expecting you in about ten minutes.”

  More muttering from Anthony.

  “Look,” Anne said suddenly. “Stop here.”

  Anthony braked outside the main doors. “I can’t stay. It’s a double yellow line. It’ll get towed away.”

  “I know. You go in, and I’ll find somewhere to park. Easy.”

  “You?”

  “Sure. I know how to drive. I’m having lessons. I can do parking. No probs.” Her voice was full of youthful optimism.

  “I think it’s only insured for me to drive,” Anthony said, frowning.

  “No, it’s not. I know all about the hiring conditions. I was there.”

  “Oh okay, that’s fine, then,” Anthony said, opening the door as Anne slid across to the driving seat.

  “Yes,” Anne called out gaily. “It’s actually only insured for Ralph to drive.”

  As Anthony’s jaw dropped, Anne pulled the door shut, leaving him no choice but to dive into the building to escape the rain. She gave a brief good-luck wave as she put the car in gear, indicated and edged cautiously away from the kerb.

  Thinking positively all the while, she had gone barely a hundred metres when she saw a car up ahead signalling that it was pulling out of a parking space. She swung over and put on the hazard lights. No-one would be in any doubt that she was having that slot, as she eased forward and reversed gingerly into the space. It was a perfect manoeuvre. She put a pound in the meter and jogged back to the building through the rain. A uniformed commissionaire raised an eyebrow as she pushed open the heavy door and entered the reception hall. Breathless and dripping, and holding up the car keys, she gasped that she was collecting someone who was being interviewed on the news. The man indicated a row of seats where she could wait.

  *

  A young woman dressed in black and clasping a clipboard led Anthony down a long corridor, explaining that there was not enough time to offer him a drink before he went on air.

  “That’s okay. Who’s on tonight? Who’s doing the interview?”

  “Granville Boyce.”
<
br />   “Who? Never heard of him.”

  “He’s new. This is only his second time on.”

  “What’s his background?”

  The young woman pushed open a door and ushered him into an anteroom. “Local radio. He’s joined us from Liverpool, very bright.”

  Anthony wondered if this was good or bad news. Could it be that they did not want to run the risk of him exposing something in the past of the well-known presenters? Was it coincidence? Or was it a chance for a young Turk to make his mark? “Liverpool,” he muttered.

  “Yes. I think he was the local reporter for somewhere called Skelmersdale.” She pronounced it hesitantly, as if it was a new planet, only recently discovered.

  “Skelmersdale? That’s a new town, isn’t it? I’ve barely heard of it.”

  “Nor has anybody else.” She smiled. “Are you ready to go through? They’re waiting for you.”

  I bet they are, he thought. “Yes, of course,” he said brightly. “Let’s go.” He sounded completely confident.

  The interview began with no surprises. Granville Boyce looked too young to be in gainful employment and had greased-up hair. Anthony expounded his familiar line. He was beginning to wonder if the campaign was fizzling out when the interviewer threw in a casual question.

  So, do you think you’re going to get away with it, then? Is it all going to blow over? Back to normal?

  Anthony saw a glint in Boyce’s eye. He was trying to trip him up, trying to be clever. This would be the start of his reputation as a big-hitter.

  Nothing will get back to normal again, I think, Anthony said cautiously.

  But you don’t seriously think you can go round exposing people’s shortcomings, do you? Surely these indiscretions aren’t as widespread as you seem to make out? Is this just the pot calling the kettle black?

  Playing hardball, Anthony thought. He said, Well, it’s a funny thing, but whenever I delve around in someone’s past, I never fail to dig up something. Isn’t that strange?

  You delve around. That’s how you’d describe it?

  Yes. But that isn’t what I want to do this evening. I’ve just come to explain how I was tricked by devious means.