All to Play For (44 page)

Nik’s earnings were far beyond anyone else’s on the team. He piled on the pressure, but Penny didn’t complain. She didn’t pass it on down the line either, seeing herself as a buffer protecting the creative team as much as she could. She suffered enormous guilt for exploiting her old colleagues, even though they knew exactly what they had signed up for. Somehow the struggle for good working conditions didn’t apply at Magenta, it wasn’t relevant. It was difficult to say how this had happened, given that a Labour government was finally in power again. There were no unions, no proper rights for employees; there was health and safety, and insurance, but everyone was on a short-term freelance contract which they either signed or turned down. Very few in the industry could afford to say no. It felt like a new world, a new way of life, to the old guard. The comforts of life were over and gone, even the glorious camaraderie continued to exist only as personal relationships between those who had worked together for many years. There was no longer a sense of playing your part in something so big and strong that it was greater than the sum of its constituents, and which would repay your loyalty. Now it was everyone for themselves, the life of the freelance, which was not a million miles away from the old world of the day-labourer who turned up at the dock gates at dawn each day, hoping for a few hours’ work.

Penny’s consolation was a great satisfaction derived from the show itself, since she knew perfectly well that the sow’s ear Nik had given her had been transformed into a beautiful silk purse by her skilful needlework. She had quietly brought in a hugely experienced series writer to knock the scripts into shape, without embarrassing Jak and his team. The lighting cameraman had dozens of films to his credit, and was able to achieve magnificent visual quality with cheap video technology. The director had forty years’ experience. An ideal location was obtained for peanuts through another old contact; the list went on.

Penny was truly proud of the show. Its rather silly premise was handled in such a way that it felt perfectly normal. The old adage concerning the audience’s ‘willing suspension of disbelief’ applied. It was fun, a family show, not very demanding, heartwarming without sentimentality – the key was that it didn’t take itself too seriously. Even the guest stars were slotted into the storylines without too much contrivance.

Nik recognised the show’s quality, but he had no concept of how exceptional the achievement was. He assumed it was all normal, that any producer could do the same, that the crew were standard and their experience average. He treated them all the same as any other Magenta employee and saw no reason to bestow praise on someone simply for doing their job. He expected everyone to work willingly and cheerfully. He interpreted tiredness as weakness, and irritability as resistance. Consequently, as Penny’s tolerance and generosity wore thin under the pressure of constant effort and exhaustion, she began to wear a strained expression and a fixed smile which Nik found intensely aggravating. He decided she had an ‘attitude problem’ and imagined she thought herself superior, too good for Magenta and for him. Naturally, he never mentioned it to her. Just to everyone else.

Ever the professional, Penny put all she had into the show, but as the scheduled days were ticked off she felt something draining out of her, as if a plug had been pulled on her reservoir of enthusiasm. By the time the end of the project was in sight she was longing to escape, and was quietly planning a new life in Cornwall: semi-retirement, or ‘downshifting’as it was known in the Sunday papers she had no time to read. There was a lot of regret, but having tasted the new world of broadcasting she knew she had no appetite for it. Best to go before her heart packed up altogether.

With the series safely signed off, Nik found his welcome at the BBC a good deal warmer. In fact he began to believe he was now accepted. Then a head-hunting firm called, and met with him to discuss a possible post at the BBC. They told him that there was a vacancy for Head of Drama, and that the management were very impressed with his work at Magenta, in particular
Bus!
They thought it had the same high production values of an in-house show, but somehow Nik had achieved it for half the price. This was precisely the skill they needed in the Drama Department. Could he do the same from inside the corporation? Of course he could. Could he halt the decline of the department? Of course he could. Would he leave Magenta and pass up his share options? Of course he wouldn’t. Did they think he was mad? After a few weeks of secret meetings and interviews, Nik accepted the job on condition that his position at Magenta was suspended only for the duration of his tenure at the BBC, and that his income as a director of the company would be uninterrupted.

Nik was enormously flattered, although he understood that his role was to be the hatchet-man. They needed him to sweep out the old crap that remained, and re-establish the corporation in the modern marketplace. The old values were dead or dying. Time for a new approach, ready for the new millennium, which was almost upon them.

Magenta was in any case undergoing a major shake-up. Rex, who had been sent on a year-long sabbatical by the chairman of the board, had cleaned up his act, cut down his boozing and gambling, and had spent a month in a California clinic having his body re-moulded. He returned with toned muscles, tanned skin, white teeth, and a flat stomach which he was quick to admit he owed to liposuction. In fact he proudly lifted up his shirt for anyone brave enough to take a closer look. He was in good enough shape to take over his old post at the head of the company, and had made several valuable new contacts in LA. He was setting up a Magenta office over there so that he could expand into the American market, and had already sold two quiz show formats to US networks.

Haris’ enthusiasm for taking over smaller production companies had stalled at the first bend, since Anthea Onojaife at Sisters in Synch had resisted Magenta’s hostile takeover bid much more strongly than he had anticipated. One or two little production companies had subsequently been absorbed but the strategy was suddenly overshadowed by a bid for Magenta itself, made by a vast entertainment conglomerate; they were bought out for a sum so massive that they couldn’t believe their luck. Rex and Haris retained their posts and were perfectly content to accept the guidance of their new mothership from now on. They and Nik became millionaires.

*

Vera wasn’t sure about her new boss. He seemed very young. He was dressed in a beautifully cut slate grey suit and a yellow silk shirt, he wore his dark hair razored and heavily gelled, and he was very attractive judging by the body language of the young office secretaries. She greeted him politely, hoped he would enjoy working there, and sent one of the girls out to get the Perrier water he wanted instead of coffee.

He entered Peter’s old office critically: it hadn’t been used by the Acting Head of Drama who had filled in over the fifteen months since Peter’s resignation, during which the top brass had struggled to find a senior figure willing to take on the post.

“Hmm. That corduroy sofa has to go, what an eyesore! I suppose if we get some decent furniture, get rid of all the books – we’ll keep the certificates – some nice lights and a couple of big plants, maybe a little water feature, what do you think?”

Vera was lost for words.

Nik suddenly laughed. “Joke!”

“Oh!” she felt silly.

“Water features are a pain in the arse. Just ask someone to remove the old stuff and get me a Heal’s catalogue, would you? I’ll camp out for the time being.”

He gave her a reassuring smile and put his laptop down on the desk. He looked for the nearest socket and found it was too far away.

“Peter didn’t have one of these, then,” he observed, and Vera looked round until she found a cable extension.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Nik. “I’ll have the desk moved anyway. I’m meeting the gang at eleven o’clock, right?”

“Yes, everyone knows about it.”

“Good. We’ll have real coffee, Perrier, and some nice cakes from Maison Blanc. Get a couple of dozen.”

“Er, actually I’ve ordered the usual from catering… ”

“Cancel it. Or give it to the homeless, I don’t care.” He switched on his laptop, which made a series of dramatic whoops, spread his hands on the desk and looked directly at Vera for the first time. “First impressions, Vera. Very important.”

“Whatever you say, Nik!”

“Sweet,” he smiled. “I’m sure we’re going to make a great team. When’s your birthday?”

“Oh! um… April 30th.”

He stood up and typed into his laptop, then winked at her. “I won’t ask how many – ladies’ privilege. Right. I’ll call if I need you.”

“Fine.”

Vera turned and left the room, thinking Nik was nothing if not dynamic, and his energetic approach would be a breath of fresh air. She might even learn to like him, once she got used to him. She would try, at any rate.

The remaining editorial staff were few enough in number to fit into Nik’s office for his introductory address. The two producers, Fenella Proctor-Ball and Donald Mountjoy, sat on the familiar, comfortable corduroy sofa. Morag claimed one of the armchairs, the three script editors and readers sat on desk chairs, and a newcomer occupied the other sagging armchair. Nik introduced him as his development executive Jak Smith, whom he had brought from Magenta. He looked like an even younger version of Nik, and Fenella exchanged a surreptitious raised eyebrow with Donald. They all cooed at the patisseries and helped themselves at Nik’s invitation.

“It’s a special day,” he said. “I’ve just hit the big three – O!”

The younger women murmured “Happy birthday,” but Morag, Fenella and Donald remained stony-faced. Nik made a brief phone call at his desk before joining them with his high-backed chair, removing his jacket and hanging it carefully behind him.

“Hello everybody, nice to meet you, I’ll get to know you individually very soon. Today I just want to introduce myself and outline the plans I have. We’re a small, tight team here and I want us to work very closely together.”

They all gazed at him blankly. He rubbed his palm around the back of his neck, stroking his stubble.

“I’m very pleased – and honoured,” he added for Donald’s benefit, “to have been asked to come to the BBC. I’m going to sort out some of the problems we’ve got here, but I need all of your support.”

They all nodded supportively.

“Okay. Well, I’ll just outline my chief aims and objectives for the first few months, and Jak will prepare some more detailed papers for you all soon.

“Obviously we have our soaps, which are chugging away in the suburbs; I shall be visiting them as soon as I can. And our returning series, which are all in hand.

“One of the most vital items in my strategy is to maximise our exploitation of these assets. In other words, I want spin-offs.”

Jak smiled at his boss and looked round to make sure the subtle dig was appreciated. It was obvious to any moron that the BBC had been painfully negligent in creating new hit series for its soap stars.

“The reason you haven’t managed it before,” Nik explained. “Is that you always devise an entirely new show. The character changes, the actor’s seen in a different light, audiences aren’t convinced. They want to see the familiar character, their old mate. So we’ll look at ways of starting a new soap with characters from old soaps. Anyone seen
Frasier
?”

Everyone except the producers had. They all nodded anyway.

“A superb sitcom created from another superb sitcom.” He drily explained, “
Cheers
”, suspecting they might not know this basic fact. “Jak will be running that project. You’ll be hearing from him. Next, novel adaptations. Obviously I bow to your greater experience,” he deferred to Donald. “And I understand there are a few more classics in the works. Fabulous. I want us to look in a different, contemporary area as well. We want some real blockbusters, thrillers, sex-and-shopping – why not? Bank Holiday entertainment. Nothing too expensive, of course, we can’t afford to make James Bond, just some really cracking airport novels.” He made eye contact with each script editor and reader. “That’s your job. That about covers it for now. Any questions?”

No-one wanted to ask any questions.

“Okay, thanks for your time, I’ll get Vera to give you each an appointment with me later in the week.”

They all filed out except Jak, who remained in his seat.

Morag returned.

“I just wanted to mention,” she said apologetically. “That we urgently need a new producer on the mortuary series. Obviously, you’re not really prepared yet – I was going to suggest Penny Cruickshank might be available. She knows the show, and – ”

“Jesus, not that toffee-nosed cow again,” snorted Nik. “No. I don’t want her here, she’s useless.” Jak looked askance to show agreement. Morag blinked through her heavy spectacles, her mouth open.

“Oh, sorry.” She recollected herself. “I thought as you’d just been working together you’d – ”

Nik stopped her with a look. “Morag. Just between you and me, the woman’s a total waste of space. I
carried
her on that show. Never again.”

Morag nodded. “Of course, sorry Nik. I was just trying to help.”

“I’ll get on the phone later and see who’s free. I’ll get back to you.”

“Great, thanks,” replied Morag, and withdrew to puzzle over Nik’s views on Penny, which were in conflict with everything she knew or had ever heard about her. Evidently they had not got on at all.

Nik threw himself on the sofa. “Phew!”

Jak grinned. “I think they got the picture.”

Nik took a bite of a chocolate eclair. He looked at it appraisingly. “It’s nice,” he said. “But not as nice as a line.” He looked slyly at Jak. “It’s not done here. Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” answered Jak, looking hopeful.

“Not on my first day. Not before lunch, anyway.”

Jak chuckled. “You’ll have to get a glass coffee table.”

Nik finished his eclair, drank a glass of Perrier straight down, belched in a restrained manner, and addressed his development executive.