Dead Giveaway Read Free Page B

exit that led to Studio B, but was stopped short in her tracks by the entry from it of a familiar bulky figure, followed by a dainty little woman in a fur coat and a short, balding, pale man.
    ‘Oh God, it’s Nick again! And Joanie Bruton! Quick! This way!’
    The hamburger chef, the surgeon, the stockbroker and the actor, now as obsessed as their guardian with keeping their identities secret, dived after her through the door that led to the Control Gallery of Studio A, and left the set to the celebrities who were to be the stars of
If The Cap Fits
.

Chapter Two
    JOHN MANTLE, EXECUTIVE Producer of
If The Cap Fits,
reckoned that he was doing well. As the third round of Armagnacs was served in Langan’s Brasserie, he sneaked a covert look at his watch. Nearly half-past three. Even if they left within a quarter of an hour and got a taxi straight away, it would be well after four before they got back to W.E.T. House. And the longer they kept out of Studio A that afternoon, the better.
    This thought was not prompted by laziness or an unwillingness to face his responsibilities. John Mantle was a deeply conscientious producer. He had been conscientious during the eight years he had spent learning his craft in the Light Entertainment Department of B.B.C. Television, and equally conscientious since, three years previously, he had moved to West End Television to do the same job for three times the money. But producing, he knew, did not only involve monitoring what went on in studios. That could frequently be left to an obedient underling, and he had the most biddable of lieutenants in Jim Trace-Smith, also from the B.B.C., whose invaluable attributes of diligence, even temper and total lack of imagination, John Mantle had quickly recognised, made him an ideal producer of Light Entertainment. The young man had been easily seduced into commercial television, again by the simple device of tripling his salary, thus becoming the first recruit to the entertainment empire John Mantle was slowly but surely annexing from his former employers.
    The presence of Jim Trace-Smith in Studio A that afternoon at least ensured that the preparations for the pilot were proceeding, and freed the Executive Producer for more important duties, which in this case involved keeping his lunch guests out of Studio A as long as possible. The explosion when they finally got there was inevitable, but the later that happened, the less chance there would be of implementing the changes they were bound to demand.
    There were two of them – Aaron Greenberg, podgy, grizzle-bearded, voluble, an untidy eater and drinker who allowed no word to go unsupported by an expansive gesture of his short arms; and Dirk van Henke, tall, blond, silent, drinking only Perrier water and constantly dabbing at his mouth with a corner of his table napkin. They represented the American copyright-holders of
Hats Off!
, the game show which had been successfully networked for three years in the States and the rights to whose format West End Television had bought for an almost unbelievable amount of money. They had followed the piloting and development of the show in the States and were thus the honoured bearers of the ‘Bible’, that partly written but mostly unwritten stock of information and advice which would save any new developer of the show from falling into the format’s most obvious pitfalls. They were extremely protective of their property, regarding any proposed change in the show as a direct personal assault.
    Since their arrival in London two days previously, John Mantle had spent every waking hour justifying to Greenberg and van Henke the inevitable alterations which transatlantic relocation of the show demanded. They had fought everything; he had had to explain and re-explain each tiny kink and quibble of the revised format; but, by sheer, relentless, debilitating tact and the granting of a few minor concessions, the Executive Producer had managed to satisfy them that their