Nocturne Read Free

couple of minutes ’ banter had altered my first impressions. Behind the seeming arrogance and the blunt one-liners, he was a good deal more perceptive than I ’ d t hought. He also paid me the com pliment of serious eye contact, something that few men - in my experience - will risk.
    He still wanted to know about the junior minister.
    ‘ He was infantile, ’ I said, ‘ in every conceivable respect. ’
    ‘ Like? ’
    ‘ Like politically. Like socially. Like conversationally. Women be- longed on a different planet. He was barely out of the egg. ’
    ‘ Did he try it on? ’
    I raised an eyebrow, not bothering to suppress a laugh.
    ‘ Yes, ’ I said. ‘ Since you ask. ’
    ‘ And? ’
    I looked away for a moment. The houses across the street were in deep shadow.
    ‘ We put these guys up for the night, ’ I said, ‘ if they really insist. There ’ s a little private hotel we use. It isn ’ t the Ritz but I don ’ t think he was interested in room service. ’
    ‘ So how did you handle it? ’
    ‘ I told him to fuck off, politely of course. ’
    ‘ And did he? ’
    ‘ He had no choice. ’
    ‘ Why not? ’
    I shook my head at last, refusing to go any further. It wasn ’ t my job to fuel this inquisitive man ’ s fantasies, though his Tory chum had been so legless that even a child could have fought him off.
    Brendan was back in the CV again, his interest in my sex life evidently at an end.
    ‘ Windsurfing, ’ he mused. ‘ What does it take to get to the nationals? ’
    ‘ Practice. ’
    ‘ And? ’
    ‘ More practice. ’
    ‘ Are you always so forthcoming? ’
    ‘ No, it ’ s just … ’ I was still thinking about his previous line of questioning, ’ … how much do you really want to know? ’
    ‘ I ’ m not sure. ’ The sudden grin transformed his face again. ‘ I ’ ve never tried it. It looks bloody wonderful and I always tell myself I ’ ll have a go but somehow never get round to it. I need a bit of incentive, someone who knows what they ’ re doing .. . ’
    He let the sentence trail away. I grinned back, playing dumb.
    ‘ It ’ s like riding a bike, ’ I told him. ‘ You do it, and you do it, and you do it, and one day it just happens. ’
    ‘ Just like that? ’
    ‘ Yes. It ’ s about balance. And confidence, too. You ’ d be fine. ’
    I began to warm to the subject, moving briskly through the stages that had taken me from novice to runner-up in the National Slalom. In this respect, Poole Harbour had been heaven-sent, God ’ s gift to board-crazies like me.
    Brendan had abandoned the CV and was leaning back in the chair, his hands behind his head, his feet on the desk. His eyes had an extraordinary frankness and he couldn ’ t have made it plainer that he fancied me. I was telling him about a friend of mine, a serious contender for the Sydney Olympics, when he interrupted.
    ‘ We ’ re doing a new series, ’ he said, ‘ and we ’ re looking for a researcher. ’
    ‘ A what? ’
    ‘ A researcher. A fixer. A gofer. A meeter and greeter. ’ A languid hand indicated the Luvvies poster on the wall behind his right shoulder. ‘ It ’ s a political version of that. Thought you might be interested. ’
    I heard myself stalling, playing for time, asking for more details. I ’ d come to London to change the face of social documentary. This man wanted me to tart around while politicians made fools of themselves. He was telling me about the meeting he ’ d just had with some commissioning executive. The working title for the new programme was Members Only and the people at the Beeb thought the concept was brilliant. Politicians would role-play their way through carefully scripted situations, each tailored to their particular foibles. The risks were pretty obvious but, p oliticians being what they were they ’ d gamble anything for the exposure. The series, said Brendan, would roar away. The bloody thing couldn ’ t fail.
    ‘ I ’ m not quite sure I.. . ’
    Brendan