by Susan Lewis
Linda took the theatre programmes into the bedroom. Twelth Night. She picked it up and fingered it carefully, as if she were touching a poisoned apple. She wanted to open it, but she knew that the picture – her picture – would be inside, and Linda didn’t want to see her for the first time like that.
She put the programme down again and went to look in the mirror. She had been toying with the idea for some time now, and suddenly the decision was made. She would go to the theatre. She would watch a performance of Twelfth Night, and see her. She wouldn’t tell Bob she was going, she was afraid he might try to persuade her not to. She would just turn up and sit anonymously in the audience, and watch her. She had no clear picture of what she would do afterwards; she would take it one step at a time.
Watching the fingers of the floor manager from the corner of her eye, Jenneen turned to the camera and started to wind up the programme. “And that’s all for this week. Join us again at the same time next week, when among others, we will be interviewing the Duchess of Westminster. Goodbye.”
The studio remained silent until the closing credits had rolled. The floor manager kept his finger to his earpiece. “And they’re off us,” he said, after the usual forty seconds.
Jenneen gathered her things and waited for the director to come into the studio so that she could walk back to the office with him.
“You were on good form today,” he said, as he came in.
“Aren’t I always?”
“Of course. Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
They walked out of the studio and through reception towards the coffee machine. Brian dug in his pocket for some coins and Jenneen looked around the spacious reception as she talked over the following week’s running order. “I think we should run the film in two sections. Gary’s cutting it, I’ll give him a ring and see if we can go and . . .” she stopped. Brian turned to hand her a cup of coffee and followed her eyes across to the front door, where there was a heated, though whispered, discussion taking place between three men, one of them Stephen Sommers.
Jenneen looked back to Brian. “That doesn’t look very pleasant, does it? What do you suppose it’s all about?”
“I can tell you exactly what it’s all about,” said Brian, taking another cup from the machine. ‘It’s all about the little white powder.”
“Cocaine?”
“Cocaine.”
“What, right there, in the foyer of a major television station? It can’t be.”
“I can assure you it is. He won’t be buying it there, now, but Sommers is in a bad way, probably owes them money and they’ve come to collect.”
“Does Bill know? About the cocaine?”
“Yes.”
“What’s he doing about it?”
“Nothing, as far as I know. Nothing he can do, until Steve comes clean and asks for help. Bill’s already offered, but Steve didn’t want to know. But if this sort of thing carries on at the front door, well, all I can say is, Sommers better look out for his job.”
Jenneen followed Brian back to the production office. As they walked in through the door Stephen Sommers pushed past them and went to his desk. She watched in increasing fascination as the secretary with whom it was rumoured he was having an affair kept her head down as she listened to what he was saying, and then dipped into her handbag and took out a small bundle of money.
“Seems I was right.”
Jenneen looked at Brian.
“They’ve come to collect,” he said and went off to speak to one of the researchers.
Jenneen sat down and wound a piece of paper into her typewriter. She looked up as Steve rushed past again, and then saw Bill follow him out a few minutes later.
She shrugged. Well, whatever was going on, it was none of her business, and she began to prepare her commentary for the film dub first thing in the morning.
“Jenneen, can you come in for a minute?”
Jenneen looked up in surprise. It was Bill, his head poking round the door of his office. She hadn’t seen him go back in.
“Sure.”
He was sitting at his desk when she walked in, and seeing the serious look on his face, she closed the door behind her.
“Sit down,” he said, waving her to the chair opposite.
She wondered if he was going to speak to her about Stephen Sommers, but that was ridiculous, it had nothing to do with her and if she were to mention it herself. Bill would remind her of that. He never discussed the affairs of one presenter or reporter with another.
She tried to think what she had done recently to warrant this sudden summons to his office. She had no idea what Vicky had told Bill when she had called him, several weeks ago now, and Bill had never referred to it. But perhaps it had not all gone away as easily as she had thought. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of any other reason for his sombre face. Steeling herself, she crossed her legs and waited for him to speak.
He was reading something on the desk in front of him, apparently engrossed, and he didn’t look up for several minutes. Several minutes in which she became more and more uncomfortable.
At last, he looked up. He had a lovely face. Kind eyes, and young-looking skin for a man well past fifty. The few lines that he had were etched attractively around his eyes and projected the warmth of his personality. Jenneen was immensely fond of him. They had known one another ever since she had arrived in London, some nine years ago now, when he had taken her under his wing, and built her into what she was today.
“So, how are you, Jenn?”
“Fine,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“Good,” and she could tell that he really meant it.
“Any news on your friend, Kate?”
“I saw her yesterday. She’s down in Surrey, resting for a while.”
“But everything’s OK between you two now?”
“Oh yes, I’m glad to say.” She wondered what he was leading up to.
“Does she have many visitors?”
“Not many. Her father has become even more protective than ever. Only the chosen few are allowed in,” Jenneen smiled.
Bill nodded.
Suddenly it occurred to Jenneen that Bill might be wanting to do an interview with Kate about her experiences, and Jenneen was horrified. It was the side of her business she hated most. The delving into other people’s tragedies.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that it’s all been repaired between the two of you,” he said, and that seemed to be it. Jenneen relaxed.
“Nothing else bothering you is there?”
She looked away. She knew she looked tired, and was only too aware of the dark circles under her eyes. But she would never tell him about Matthew. The only person she had ever told was Vicky, and Vicky had never referred to it since. It was a constant fight now for Jenneen, to accept Matthew and his foul extortion as a part of her life, and a part that she might never be rid of. But accepting it, and trying to absorb it into the channels of everyday life, was the only way she could deal with it. Providing his demands got no greater, she might just be able to manage. She shuddered to think what she might do if he became greedy, but that was a bridge she would have to cross when, or if, she ever came to it.
“You haven’t answered me.”
Jenneen smiled at him. “No,” she said. “No, there’s nothing else bothering me. But when you ask in such a fatherly way, I almost want there to be something, so that I can come to you for advice.”
He chuckled. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or not. But anyway, the main thing is that you have got yourself sorted out now.”
“I think so,” she lied. Mrs Green was strictly taboo.
“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.” He looked back at his desk, and started reading again.
“Is that it? Can I go now?”
He looked up. “No. There is something else. The real reason I called you in.”
Jenneen’s heart somersaulted, in the way hearts that contain a guilty secret do. “Oh?”
“Don’t look so worried,” he laughed. He picked up the document he had been reading. “It’s about this.”
“What is it?”
“You don’t recognise it?”
“I can’t see it.”
He turned it round. “It’s the programme idea you gave me a couple of months ago.”
Jenneen looked surprised. “Well, you’ve taken your time, I must say. I was beginning to think it had disappeared along with yesterday’s news.”
“Not at all,” he said. “In fact, it’s been right here on my desk, all the time.”
“So, what do you think?”
He put it down again. “I think it’s good. Very good, in fact. But that’s almost irrelevant. What is relevant is that them upstairs think it’s good too. They’re quite excited about it.”
“You’ve shown them?”
“Yes,” he answered. “But more than that, I’ve had extensive talks with them about it.”
“But why haven’t you said anything before?”
He lifted an eyebrow, and looked at her.
“I see,” she said. “Too many problems, and not stable enough, eh?”
“Something like that. But you seem a lot better lately, so I thought that perhaps now was the time. The budgets are being set up for next spring, and there’s a chance we might be able to get it in.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope, I’m deadly serious. There’s a little more to be done yet, before they can finally be persuaded to push it through. They want to know how much it’s going to cost. Who you’ve actually approached about the idea. Whether or not you’ve anyone particular in mind to front it, other than yourself of course. And basically how many contacts you have in the film world that will make this stand up.”
“When do they need to know by?”
“As soon as you’re ready. But I’d make it soon. If this company can be praised for anything, it’s the speed with which they present their budgets. Not perhaps always so hot on programmes, but budgets, well, that’s a different story.”
She smiled. “I’ll need some time.”
“How much?”
“A couple of weeks, minimum. There are a lot of people to see.”
“Have you spoken to anyone at all?”
“Only a few.”
“What about the critics? If you’re going to ask them to justify their reviews, you have to be sure they’re willing to participate. Without them, you don’t have a programme.”
“I know a couple already who have said they will. But basically I’m relying on their conceit. An army of little gods are the film critics, they’ll do anything for a seat in the heavens of a television studio, providing there’s a camera with a red light on pointing towards them.”
“You’re not far wrong, if a little tough. And the filmmakers themselves? Have you spoken to any?”
“Not many. But I’m banking on the publicity angle. Anything to sell the product. And, with any luck, we could have some pretty entertaining debates on our hands.”
“Not to mention fisticuffs,” Bill remarked.
“My thoughts exactly. But what about the spin-offs I outlined in the document? The opportunities for new film-makers, writers and the like? Did they say anything about that?”
“A few noises were made, but I think they want to see how the programme itself does first.”
“And the awards?”
“Yes, the awards. They liked that. Gives them a chance to be involved in the arts, and providing the series does take off, unless I’m greatly mistaken, the awards will soon follow.”
Jenneen was smiling all over her face. “This is great news. Bill,” she said. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I wouldn’t mind having a go at something like that myself. I trust you’re not forgetting me?”
“As if I would,” she said. “It’s the reason I gave it to you in the first place. I was hoping, should anything come of it, that you might like to edit it.”
“That sounds distinctly like a job offer to me,” he grinned.
“It is.”
“You’re nothing if not an upstart. I accept, if it goes ahead. Now, what about some lunch? We can discuss it in greater detail. I’m starving.”
“You paying?”
“I’m paying,” he agreed, reluctantly.
“Then you’re on. I’ll get my bag.”
Bill watched her walk from the office, and sat back in his chair. He hoped that he was doing the right thing. He didn’t want to take too many chances with this one. The idea was good. The best he’d seen for ages. The last thing he wanted to do was a double deal on Jenneen, but the way things had been going over the last six months or so made him nervous. These last weeks she had seemed more relaxed, but there was still something bothering her, he knew it. And he knew too that it was extremely unlikely that she would ever tell him what it was. Well, he just had to hope that now she had her own project to work on, she would go back to being her old reliable self. Although the chaps upstairs had been impressed with the idea, they had been less impressed when they had discovered whose it was. They were depending on Bill now to make sure that it worked. And, in turn. Bill was depending on Jenneen. He would just have to pray that she didn’t let him down.
When Jenneen arrived home that evening she threw down her bag and hung her coat on the stand in the hallway. This was the best she’d felt in so long, that she realised she had almost forgotten what it was like to be happy. She was eager to get on with her project, there was plenty to do, and she was determined she wasn’t going to let Bill down. She could kiss him for doing what he’d done, and not for the first time she wondered what she would have done without him.
As she walked in from the hall she was so engrossed in the evening paper, searching for film reviews, that she didn’t notice Vicky, sitting on the settee in the lounge.
“Hello.”
Jenneen jumped, and almost dropped the paper. “Vicky I What are you doing here?”
“The lady upstairs let me in. I think she felt sorry for me, sitting out on the landing.”
“But you didn’t say you were coming round tonight,” said Jenneen, her eyes darting instinctively to the calendar in case she had forgotten. “Not that I’m not pleased to see you,” she added quickly.
“I had some things to do in the shop in Kensington, so I thought I’d call round, you know, on the off-chance.”
“Have you been waiting long?”
“Well,” said Vicky, “as a matter of fact I have. Not that I intended to, but something happened, so I thought I’d wait.”
“Nothing serious, I hope. Look, let me get you a drink, then you can tell me all about it.” She walked over to the sideboard, and poured them both a Scotch and soda. “No one’s upset you have they?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. Thanks,” and she took the drink from Jenneen.
“Then what?”
“Actually, it’s not to do with me at all. It’s to do with you.”
“With me?” said Jenneen, swallowing her drink.
“Yes, When I arrived earlier there was somebody else waiting here for you.”
Jenneen paled. It took no great intelligence to work out who it had been, even without the look on Vicky’s face.
“I recognised him immediately,” said Vicky.
“Where is he now?”
“He left when I said that I’d come to see you.”
“Doesn’t sound like Matthew, to give up so easily.”
“I told him that you were expecting several others as well. It seemed to put him off.”
“Thanks,” said Jenneen. “But he was here only last night. Why has he come again?”
“That, only he can tell you. Does he come round often then?”
“I’m afraid so. Too bloody often.”
“So it’s all still going on then?”
Jenneen nodded.
“You’re going to have to do something about it, Jenn. You can’t carry on like this,
you know.”
“If only it were that easy. He’ll never go away, I know he won’t.”
“Does he threaten you?”
“Threaten me!” Jenneen cried. “Are you kidding? He does nothing else but threaten me.”
“No, I meant violently.”
“I’d call it violently, yes,” Jenneen answered. “But if you mean physically, then the answer is no, not usually.”
“Not usually? You mean he has?”
“Sometimes, in the past. But I’ve realised now that if I just give in gracefully and hand over the money, then he goes fairly quickly. And now he’s living with that little tart Maggie, I assume he has his meals cooked for him there, so he doesn’t expect me to do it any more. Did he say anything to you?”
“Not really. We’ve met before, actually, but I don’t know if he remembered. It’s because of that that I waited around. There’s something I think you should know, about me I mean.”
“Oh blast!” Jenneen said, as the telephone began to ring. “Won’t be a minute.”
It was Ashley calling to tell her that there would be a Barnes Conference the following evening, if she could make it, she had some pretty important news.
“I’m intrigued,” Jenneen laughed. “Yes, I’ll be there. See you,” and she rang off. “Sorry,” she said, turning back to Vicky. “Where were we? Oh yes, you were saying you didn’t know if Matthew remembered you. Well, you’re lucky if he didn’t. I only wish he’d forget me.”
The telephone interruption had robbed Vicky of her confidence; she decided not to say what she had intended. “Well, he’s not going to,” she said. “Not as long as you keep giving in to him.”
“I don’t see any alternative.”
“You can go to the police.”
Jenneen looked shocked. “Now you really are kidding me. I can’t afford to have my name splashed across the headlines like that. No one can. And don’t underestimate him, he’s perfectly capable of doing it. In fact it wouldn’t even surprise me if one of these days he did it, just for the sheer hell of it. He’s a cunning, deceitful, sly little toad, is Matthew Bordsleigh, with all the charm of Genghis Khan, though few ever get to see that far. No, the last thing I’m going to do is tell the police, that’ll be playing straight into his hands.”
