‘Accepted what?’
‘That she’s rich enough to do what she likes, rich enough to indulge herself and rich enough to be a great benefactor by becoming the custodian of something worthwhile that might otherwise become extinct. She’s taken onboard the notion that The Wrangler is a metaphor for an English Conservative tradition that is at present as close to extinction as the white rhinoceros. The woman has a sense of humour and the idea that she could become a great hostess and mentor of the Right tickled her no end. A powerful weapon in my arsenal was that she hates meaningless rhetoric so the present British and American governments piss her off seriously.
‘Forget the idea of internationalizing The Wrangler, I said. Just make it the most effective anti-crap guerrilla organ in Britain.’
‘Do you think she’ll do it?’ asked Amiss.
‘We shook hands on it; we agreed to be allies; and we will be. By the time we’ve finished, The Wrangler’s going to be the biggest thorn in the flesh of the complacent Left that there’s ever been in this country.’
‘That’s all very well,’ said Pooley. ‘But you’re not editing it. I didn’t like to say anything earlier, but I have to say I was surprised to discover today that Papworth had appointed that dull woman Phoebe Somerfield to the job just before he died. She’s hardly colourful or young or hungry, is she?’
‘It was on my recommendation,’ said Amiss.
‘And mine,’ said the baroness.
‘Because…?’ asked Milton.
‘Because of the kind of editor that’s needed. There are journals that need to be shaken up, restructured, relaunched and all the rest of it. And maybe they need thirty-year-olds with vision and energy to turn them upside down. That’s what Robert did,’ said the baroness.
Amiss was so stunned at having had a compliment of this magnitude from such a source, that he could hardly speak. ‘Thanks, Jack. But you’re exaggerating my contribution.’
‘Balls. What you did was to rediscover the journal’s soul and set it on the path of righteousness.’
‘Are you two saying,’ asked Milton, ‘that what’s now required is a safe pair of hands?’
‘Yes and no,’ said Amiss. ‘Phoebe’s safe, in that she understands what The Wrangler’s about and will not go in for any mad gambles. But there’s much more to it than that; given scope, she’s shown a genuine instinct for quality and an enthusiasm for young talent, at a time when I believe what’s required is someone low on ego and high on appreciation of others.
‘I made up my mind after a dazzling lunch at the office when Dwight, Amaryllis, Pretoria and Clement Webber jock-eyed for position as top intellectual dog, traded ideas and fought each other brilliantly to a standstill. Phoebe contributed little, except occasionally to destroy an illogical argument with a well-timed arrow.
‘Mostly she listened, and afterwards she gave me an assessment of their respective strengths and weaknesses which to my mind was spot on. I think she just could be one of the great discoverers and nurturers of talent. And as she put it herself when I asked if she might be interested in the job: “Why not? I’ve got nothing to lose.”’
‘Let’s go back to Sharon McGregor,’ said Milton. ‘You’re saying that she’s agreed to buy The Wrangler even though the trust remains intact. But for how much, now that she won’t be going global?’
‘It’s just edged into profit and there’s no reason why it couldn’t be a modest money-spinner, so it might be possible to get about a million on the open market. She’s offering three.’
‘Will Piers Papworth take that?’
‘He’s jumped at it. It won’t solve all his problems, but he seems to think it enough to save the Papworth estate from disintegration. Apparently the good news is the state of things is slightly less disastrous than was expected, although the bad news is that Charlie was more generous with bequests than Piers would have wished.’
She stopped and looked at Milton and Pooley. ‘Which leads me to Robert.’ She turned to him. ‘Come on. Talk.’
Amiss looked unhappy. ‘It’s very difficult. I was told yesterday that Charlie Papworth left me a hundred thousand pounds in gratitude for what I’d done for The Wrangler.’
‘That’s marvellous,’ said Milton. ‘And well deserved. Materially it slightly makes up for the lunacy of your decision about the editorship.’
‘But I don’t think I can take it.’
‘Sweet suffering Jesus,’ said the baroness. ‘Let me guess. Today’s scruple is that he might be rewarding you for not splitting on him. Is that it?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Listen, you cretin, how much money have you saved Charlie since you took over this job? Now come on, don’t give me a conservative guess. I want a realistic one, which includes what you saved him through the cost-cutting and what you earned him through the increase in circulation.’
‘It’s very hard to put a figure on it,’ said Amiss, ‘but maybe in the region of half a million.’
‘And did you ever hear of such a thing as a bonus?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘Oh, shut up,’ she said. ‘Even if you can’t grasp that you’re entitled to a generous bonus for doing so much better than expected, you might view it as some compensation for not having the job you would have had if you hadn’t been such a high-minded idiot as to sack yourself when Charlie spilt the beans.’
Amiss looked doubtfully at Milton. ‘She’s right, Robert. This is not a moral issue. Take the money, which you richly deserve; it’ll help tide you over until you get the next decent job. Whenever that is likely to be.’
‘Ellis?’
‘You’d be mad and ungrateful not to. And I’m the official puritan of this group.’
‘Besides,’ said the baroness, ‘you have to find a decent home for you and Plutarch.’
‘Phoebe suggested I should keep the Wrangler flat indefinitely. But I said I’d be out within a month.’
‘Why?’ asked all of them in unison.
‘Because I think a clean break would be better for the staff.’
‘Oh, God,’ said the baroness. ‘You really do have a genius for making things difficult for yourself, don’t you?’
The others nodded.
Amiss looked at them in dejection. ‘You all think I screw up, don’t you?’
‘You do and you don’t,’ said the baroness. ‘It’s a peculiar gift you have. You drift into situations unwillingly and by the time you’ve drifted out things are better. That’s why we’re all so pleased, you halfwit, that for once you’ve had some recognition.’
‘So what now?’ asked Milton. ‘What sort of job are you looking for?’
‘God knows. I’m open to offers.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said the baroness. ‘I have the very thing.’
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