All to Play For (19 page)

“That’s exactly it,” said Chris, feeling they were working together now. “Let’s consider some of our own presenters.”

“Of course. Geordie’s been good for Magenta, but he’s not tied into this show. I mean to say, much as I like the guy, we’re not joined at the hip.”

Chapter Nine

While Nik was betraying his friend for thirty pieces of silver, and I was swanning around the West End with my new mates in the independent sector, Maggie was busy working on her new project with a distinguished Welsh writer on board. It was developing well and she had high hopes. If the Controller of BBC2 commissioned it she would very likely be allowed to produce, and if it was a success her career would take off. Success bred power, in the sense that you would be in demand to some extent. Everything depended on the Controller’s opinion, whether you were a first-timer or a producer of thirty years’ standing.

Chris had spent months holding conferences with the various departments. Each went a good deal more smoothly than Drama, since the changes Chris was introducing would have far less impact on the quantity of work they produced. Fears about redundancies were rife, but staff were generally positive about the prospect of staving them off through their own efforts. The departments had characteristic qualities. News and Current Affairs were astute and serious, whilst Entertainment were chirpy and laughed a lot, cheering him when he assured them of a swift decision on every idea. By the end of it all he had a useful overview of the programme departments as a whole, and he was confident they would help, not hinder, his ambitions for BBC2.

He was very pleased with the new Magenta show,
The Soap Ashes
, which was about to begin production, and felt he had made a shrewd move in picking it up promptly. He had also received a superb proposal for a new late-night drama series from another independent, (composed of some talented young BBC producers who had recently quit to set up their own production company) which put the in-house offerings in the shade. The Drama Department remained something of a problem. Chris had fixed up to do lunch with Peter but it had been delayed twice. Finally they were to meet at a smart restaurant a short cab-ride away in Notting Hill. Chris decided to take Selina with him, it wasn’t entirely necessary but she deserved a bit of a treat for all the thankless work she did for him. And he might need to talk it over afterwards; she was intelligent and discreet, and very clever at picking up subtext.

It was much easier to be friendly and relaxed on neutral territory, and the continental atmosphere of the restaurant was just what they needed. Chris found Peter to be a very decent chap and quite good company. Selina contributed amusing remarks now and then, and a pleasantly convivial air had been established by the time they had finished the main course and Chris judged it time to get down to business.

“Now then. The Drama Department.” He grinned at Peter as one pal to another. “How would
you
like to work more closely?”

Peter nodded and looked thoughtful. In truth he didn’t want to work more closely at all, he wanted to see as little of Chris as humanly possible. His staff wanted it even more, he had been pestered by every one of them since the dreadful conference, demanding to know what was going to happen to: a) their projects, b) their contracts, and c) the department as a whole.

“I think you’re absolutely right, of course,” he said, “we need a lot more communication.”

“You and I should meet regularly, every three weeks perhaps, to start with.”

“By all means.”

“Can you come up tomorrow with your development list? I’d like to pick out the projects I can use, give you the prices, and talk more fully about what I want.”

“Absolutely. I’ll bring my Development Executive, Fenella Proctor-Ball. Forgive me if I seem to have misgivings, it’s not that – I’m just thinking of the list. I’m afraid a lot of shows are going to bite the dust. It always happens when controllers change.”

“The new broom doesn’t want the old dust. I know, I’ve been there myself.”

Peter didn’t believe him, but pretended he did, and that he recognised Chris’ empathy with gratitude.

“What I’d like most of all, Peter, is for your people to come up with some really terrific ideas that I can commission straight away. We all know that 25% of broadcast material must come from independent production companies by law now.
My
aim is to put out the best programmes I can get,
wherever
they come from. I certainly wouldn’t discriminate
against
the Drama Department, if that’s what your staff are concerned about.”

“It has been mentioned,” muttered Peter.

“I thought as much. The 25% is across the board, not specific to each part of the BBC. I can fight for your programmes if they’re the ones I want.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“I really don’t want to see anyone get laid off, Peter. But it could happen. It’s up to us all to make sure it doesn’t.”

“Absolutely.”

“I’d like to tell you something which, strictly speaking, I probably shouldn’t. I’ve actually got a project on the table from a leading independent which is perfect for my new adult slot.”

“A cult hit?” enquired Peter, no trace of irony perceptible.

“That’s right. It’s great. It’s contemporary, cutting edge, young, sexy, dynamic. It could run indefinitely and it only costs £150,000 per hour.”

Peter looked alarmed. “We couldn’t match that. Our overheads are massive. Everything has to be charged now, there’s no way we can compete with small companies.”

“Don’t give up before you’ve tried. That’s not an attitude I can work with. That slot belongs to you, Peter; I want you to win it. I want you to bring me a better, cheaper idea.”

“I’m not sure we have anything in development which would lend itself.”

“Get the team working on new ideas.”

“But I
do
have some really excellent projects which are all the things you want. I just can’t say offhand whether they could be returning series, or could be low-budget. We’ll look into it.”

“I like
new
ideas, Peter. We’re only five years off the millenium. Ideas you’ve had floating about for a few years already are hardly likely to be up-to-the-minute.”

Peter’s heart was heavy. Chris expected them to start from scratch and come up with a fully developed ‘cult hit’ in a couple of weeks. If he could do that he would be running his own drama empire by now.

“What about something to do with clubbing?” Chris continued. “Selina here’s a bit of an expert. She could probably kick you off in the right direction.”

Selina froze; she could see that Peter felt patronised. “I’m sure there are plenty of people in Drama who go clubbing as much or more than I do,” she put in.

“Of course,” said Chris. “I mustn’t try to teach my grandmother to suck eggs!”

“Actually we have a couple of terrific films about clubbing in development,” said Peter brightly. “I think you’ll like them. I wanted to ask what your plans are for single drama, you mentioned a scheduling query?”

“Mmm. Single drama. I’ve been looking at the ratings, Peter. They really are very poor. It costs me up to 900K for a film which may well attract less than a million viewers. I can buy in an American film for a fraction of the price and get five times the viewers – and I know what I’m getting. Looking at it objectively it’s very hard to justify to the licence-payer. What do you think?”

Peter took a deep breath before replying. “I think for us to stop making films would be a tragic loss to British culture. BBC plays and films have always been a training ground for our best film directors and writers, not to mention countless actors and technicians… ”

“Yes of course, and where would Alan Parker be if it weren’t for the advertising industry? Ha! That could be an argument for introducing adverts on the BBC! Don’t worry, I don’t subscribe to that view. But I’ve got to think of the licence-payers’ interests. Is the BBC here to train film-makers or to broadcast the best programmes we can get?”

“There’s a big difference between licence-payers and shareholders, Chris. I sometimes think the DG sees them as one and the same. What our films need is
more
investment. How else can we compete with America?”

“Sure. We need to look into private investment. I’m sure we can find a way round this, Peter, but it will take time. I’m going to put single drama on hold.”

Peter was horrified. “No films at all?”

“Just for the time being. I want to concentrate on returning drama. That’s where television comes into its own, people love a really good series that they can get totally involved with over a period of months. It gets talked about at home, at work, in the media: films are here and gone in a moment, Peter. They don’t have the impact.” Chris felt almost sorry for Peter, whose drooping shoulders betrayed his despair. “You can’t make
Cathy Come Home
in the nineties. It’s a different world.”

Much as he would have liked to argue the point, Peter saw discretion as the better part of valour. “I suppose new writing comes under single drama?”

“Yes, but I would like to set up some sort of competition: a national event open to anyone, linked with the millennium. Call it
New Writing for the 21st Century
or something a bit catchier. I know it’s still some way off, but I think we might capture the public’s imagination this way, don’t you? Get people thinking about new beginnings, even science fiction.”

“That’s a terrific idea Chris. How do we fund it?”

“Your department can look after the whole project.” Chris evidently regarded this as an honour.

“We’ll need half a dozen readers and editors and support staff dedicated to it for a year if it’s to be a national competition. You have no idea how many entries are generated by things like this.”

“Details we can sort out later on. Or I can put it out to an independent… ” Chris was beginning to feel irritated by Peter’s defensive attitude. “The bottom line, Peter, is that I have to make a success of BBC2. I have to pick the right programmes for the schedule. It’s not
my
job to keep the Drama Department going, it’s
yours
.”

Peter smiled wistfully and sighed. How times were a-changing. When he was singing along to Bob Dylan, Chris was a schoolboy in shorts, and this girl he seemed to think so highly of was unborn. He had better make the best of it.

“I’ll do everything I can, Chris. You can count on it.”

“Great.”

“If we’ve covered everything, I really need to get back to the office. I don’t mean to rush you… ”

“Not at all, Peter. Go ahead. We’ll follow on when we’ve had coffee.”

“Okay. Thanks for a splendid lunch.”

“I’ll call Vera about that development meeting tomorrow,” said Selina.

“Thanks very much,” said Peter, and left, trying hard to walk with an air of relaxed confidence – not that his companions were paying him any attention.

Chris smiled at Selina. “That went rather well, I think. How about you?”

Selina agreed. “He’s a pushover.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. But he knows when he’s beaten. He’s got to dance to my tune now.” He chuckled happily and stood up to go to the gents, adjusting his underwear. He noticed Selina look away tactfully. “Sorry – new boxers.”

“Oh,” she replied, nonplussed.

The development meeting with Peter and Fenella also went smoothly. The classic serial was easy; there were two major dramatists working on novels by Mrs Gaskell and Charlotte Bronte, but Chris asked for some proposals on Dickens follow-ups to give him a wider choice – he was concerned that it shouldn’t be too depressing. The contemporary serial had several strong contenders, with leading writers already at work including the controversial Billy Trowell.

There was unfortunately nothing Chris felt would supply him with ‘a cult hit in a post-watershed slot of 45 minutes to be supplied in series of ten episodes with returning potential at a cost of £150k per show’. Peter was very stubborn about the costs, which irritated Chris. He advised Peter to give ‘blue sky thinking’ a whirl by bringing all the editorial staff together to brainstorm ideas, but Peter resisted. He said his people were used to working in small teams, not sharing ideas with all and sundry. He also commented that the phrase ‘cult hit’ could only be applied in retrospect, but Chris told him not to be pedantic. In the end Chris told Peter it was up to him, but however he did it he had better get a move on, because there was a leading independent with a terrific show all ready to go. “Be creative,” he encouraged. “Find new ways of doing things. Hand-held cameras, digital editing – there are all sorts of new products out which I’m certain can be used to shortcut.” Peter and Fenella promised to investigate.

Chris hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with the Drama Department for a while, as life at home was rather demanding.

Catherine had found that their brass bed was too big to go up the stairs to the second floor after all, so she had bought a sofa bed and a thick Chinese carpet. The gym equipment was put away and with a couple of lamps the room was really quite cosy. Their move upstairs was accepted without question because their bedroom was being decorated. Chris knew better than to grumble that he liked it as it was; Catherine was determined that the work would take at least two months, maybe three or more, and had decided on original built-in wardrobes and a mosaic floor.

Her next ovulation fell on a Saturday, and they gave Sarah an extra night off by giving her their tickets to a play at the RSC, which they said they didn’t want to see after all. They had sex three times that weekend, which they hadn’t achieved since their first months together. Unfortunately it didn’t result in pregnancy, so Catherine’s enthusiasm remained unabated. However, she was confident that effort would be rewarded in the course of time.

Not having access to their bedroom and clothes from 8.30 to 5.30 was rather inconvenient, and Natasha had become fascinated by the mosaic tiles and kept laying little trails of them all over the house, to everyone’s annoyance. They got everywhere and splintered if stepped on.