The Quorum Read Free Page A

distributed French art and American splatter; they were known for the Where the Bodies Are Buried series, although Sally knew they’d funnelled some of their video profits into British film production, yielding several high profile movies she, along with vast numbers of other people, hadn’t wanted to see.
    ‘Deep pockets,’ she commented, ‘but not deep enough.’
    Tiny snapped all his fingers. ‘Very sharp, Sally. We have major financial backing, from a multi-media conglomerate who, for reasons of its own, can’t be that open about their support. I’m talking newspapers, films and satellite.’
    That narrowed it down considerably. To a face the size of a condom packet, in fact.
    ‘We’re contesting London, which puts us up against GLT. So it’s not going to be a walk-over.’
    Greater London Television was one of the keystones of the ITV net, long-established monolith with three shows in the ratings Top Ten, two quizzes and a soap. In television terms, it was, like its audience, middle-aged verging on early retirement. Mythwrhn had a younger demographic.
    ‘I’d like you to be part of the bid,’ Tiny said.
    She was surprised. ‘I’m not a programmer or an accountant.’
    ‘Your special talents can be useful. We’ll need a deal of specialised research. In wrapping our package, it’d be handy to have access to certain information. We need to know GLT’s weaknesses to help us place our shots.’
    This sounded very like industrial espionage. As a field, IE never appealed to Sally. Too much involved affording the client ‘plausible deniability’ and being paid off to sit out jail sentences.
    ‘You’ll keep your desk and your official credit on Kit but we’ll gradually divert you to the real work. Interested?’
    Thinking of the Muswell Hill DSS, she nodded. Tiny grinned wide and extended a hand, but was distracted by a ringing telephone. It was a red contraption aside from his three normal phones, suggesting a hot-line to the Kremlin or the Batcave.
    Tiny scooped up the receiver, and said, ‘Derek, good to hear from you...’
    * * *
    ‘Since the franchise schmeer ,’ April said, a drip of mayonnaise on her chin, ‘the whole building has gone batty.’
    Sally ate her half-bap in silence. She wasn’t the only one diverted from usual duties and hustled off to secret meetings.
    ‘They should put valium dispensers in the loos.’
    When the consortium announced their intention to contest London, GLT replied by issuing a complacent press release. Ronnie Shand, host of GLT’s ‘whacky’ girls’ bowling quiz Up Your Alley, made a joke about Tiny’s ego in his weekly monologue. High-level execs were heaping public praise on programmes made by their direst enemies. The dirty tricks had started when GLT, alone of the ITV net, pre-empted Survival Kit for a Royal Family special. As payback, Tiny had ordered Weepy Lydia to inflate a tedious offshore trust story involving several GLT board members into a majorly juicy scandal item. In the meantime, the best he could do was give five pounds to any office minion who called up the ITV duty officer and logged a complaint about a GLT show. It had the feel of a phoney war.
    ‘Bender’s wife chucked him out again last night,’ April said. ‘Found him writing silly letters to Pomme.’
    Pomme was an eighteen-year-old PA who looked like a cross between Princess Diana and Julia Roberts. If it weren’t for her Liza Doolittle accent, shed have been easy to hate.
    ‘He kipped in the basement of the building, blind drunk. Must have walked into a wall by the look of his face. I hope he keeps the scars.’
    Six months before Sally joined the company, when April was young and naive, she had slept with Bender. It hadn’t done either of them any good.
    ‘Are you all right?’
    People kept asking her that. Sally nodded vigorously. April touched her cheek, as if it’d enable her to take Sally’s emotional temperature.
    The funeral had been yesterday. Sally had sent a