by Paul Ilett
Sam knew he’d been rumbled and just shook his head and sighed. “It was a one-off,” he said, “just a one-off.”
Estelle finished her cigarette break and tottered back in from the roof terrace. “Aw, lovely view of Hyde Park this evening,” she said. “You know, sometimes I think it’s almost worth being addicted to cigarettes just for that view.”
“Disgusting habit,” Howard muttered, and grimaced.
Estelle ignored him. “So have you boys finished talking business?” she trilled. “Because I wasn’t ear-wigging, but I’m sure I heard someone mention Gayesh’s name in the same sentence as the word ‘lazy’.”
Sam chuckled at his step-mother’s helplessly unsubtle approach to gossip. “I was just telling Dad that I agree with everything you ever said about Gayesh.”
“I never took to him,” she declared, “and it wasn’t because he was Indian. But I’m out and about a lot during the day, all my charities and events. And you can only bump into a man so many times before you start to wonder why he’s never at work.” She sipped her coffee and then smiled at them both. “Anyway, more to the point: who’s Adam Jaymes going to do next?” She put down her cup and leaned forward as though they were all girls together about to have a big gossip.
“Oh for God’s sake, Estelle!” exclaimed Howard, appalled at his wife’s gossipy nature.
“It’s a reasonable question,” she responded, still smiling. “That story about Colin caused a lot of problems. I received so many text messages I had to switch my phone off. And I’ve never had to do that before.”
“Actually Dad, Estelle is making a valid point,” Sam said, prompting Estelle to pull her ‘I told you so’ face at Howard. “I had to spend an hour with our HR director this afternoon. There’s been a massive increase in calls to the company’s counselling line, and thirteen people have quit since Newsnight. Everyone’s terrified.”
“Sounds like Colin’s not the only person at the Daily Ear with a secret to hide,” Estelle said, and spooned a large chunk of New York cheesecake into her mouth.
“I need to work on our lines with Derek Toulson,” Sam continued. “I’ve agreed that we’re going to have individual reputation management plans in place for as many potential stories as we can. But I can’t do that unless I know what the specific risks are.”
“Well, I can tell you that Valerie Pierce is top of the list to be next. I saw that on the Holy Moly email,” Estelle said, proud to share her knowledge with the table. “And she looks the sort to have a few skeletons in her closet.”
“Estelle!” Howard yelled, frustrated that his wife didn’t appear to take the situation seriously.
“Well, she does,” Estelle replied. “She does. Just look at her.”
Howard went quiet, and started pushing his dessert around his plate. Sam and Estelle exchanged glances, as both realised he was keeping something to himself.
“Dad, I find it hard to believe there is any part of Valerie’s life that she hasn’t written about already,” Sam said. “I mean, the woman’s shared the intimate details of her father’s alcoholism and her husband’s death and her estranged daughter and the mother-in-law who hated her. If there’s anything she hasn’t shared with her readers, it’s got to be pretty damning. And I’ve only got 24 hours to prepare for it.”
“I need to know too,” snapped Estelle.
“No you don’t,” Howard replied. But then he sighed, and nodded. “Estelle, you keep your gob shut about this. Not a word to anyone about what I’m about to tell you.”
Estelle smiled and then ran her fingers across her lips, as though zipping her mouth closed.
“It was a few years ago - ” Howard started.
Felicity could feel a tension in the air the moment she set foot through the door of the Cock and Bull. It was dark and grimy and, all these years after the smoking ban, it somehow still stank of stale cigarettes. She could imagine that at one time the pub would have been beautiful with its etched glass, crystal chandeliers, art deco lamps and hand-carved mahogany details.
But at some point in its history, possibly in the eighties when all the papers had started to leave Fleet Street, it had gone downhill. It reeked of decades of neglect and despair. There was a general rumble of conversation from the customers, a small group of men in their forties or fifties. Most of them looked as though they spent far too much time at the bar, and none seemed pleased to see Felicity in their pub.
A younger man behind the bar gestured towards her with his hand and then pointed to the creaky wooden door on the other side of the pub leading to the snug. She realised he was the one who had called the news desk, to warn them of the potential problem. She nodded at him, a slight gesture of thanks, and then gripped the strap to her shoulder bag and walked through the crowd of customers towards the door. As she caught sight of their confused, angry and surprised expressions she wondered whether it was her age, gender or skin colour that was causing offence. Or perhaps all three.
Once through the door she found Colin sitting alone at a tall table, an array of empty pint glasses in front of him. He was half collapsed, his chin only just propped up by one hand. In his day, seven pints of ale would have been a breeze. But after a few years of more sensible drinking, seven pints had wiped him out. A massive flat screen television was on the wall next to the bar, looking ridiculously out of place against the historic furnishings of the room. It was tuned to Sky News and the volume was muted, but she could see the presenters were discussing Project Ear with Hugh Grant.
Felicity quietly pulled herself up onto the stool next to Colin and gently prodded him to see if he was asleep. Almost immediately he sat up and, bleary eyed, looked at her. “Mr Merroney, it’s me. Felicity. Remember? I’m the intern.”
He stared at her for a moment, his brow raised, and then he belched. For a second, Felicity thought he was going to follow up with some sick. But then his expression settled down and he looked as though he knew what was going on. “I thought Valerie was coming,” he said, carefully pronouncing each syllable so as not to sound too drunk.
“Mrs Pierce is in a meeting, but is going to meet us back at your hotel. But she asked me to come and collect you. I have a car waiting outside.”
Colin screwed up his face, like a child who was on the verge of a sulk. Even though his evening had dissolved into a weepy, intoxicated haze he had still expected Valerie to show up. “She doesn’t want to be seen with me in public?” he asked, one syllable at a time again.
Felicity didn’t like being around people who were seriously drunk. She knew how unpredictable they could be. And this one, this drunken man who was almost old enough to be her grandfather, looked ready to either vomit over her or grab at her boobs. “No, she’s going to meet us at your hotel,” she repeated, reassuringly. For a moment, it looked as though Colin was going to stagger to his feet and leave with her. But instead he put his head back to the table and passed out, a line of dribble rolling down his chin. Felicity looked around the empty snug and was relieved no one else was there.
“Valerie was driving home from some party with her two little granddaughters in the back seat. She misjudged a corner and hit the kerb. Nothing major, but she was spotted by a couple of policemen in a patrol car. They pulled her over and she was breathalysed. Turns out she’d had a few too many glasses of wine and was twice the legal limit. Let’s be fair, it’s easily done.”
“Yes, but that’s not the point, Dad,” Sam replied. “Valerie’s job is all about waving her middle class morality in everyone’s face, and alcohol abuse is a major bugbear for her. Look what she did to Pearl Martin.”
“The point,” Howard continued, “is that if there’s going to be a story about Valerie, that’s going to be it.”
Estelle had, in truth, been hoping for something a little more salacious. But she understood why it could be so damaging. “I’ve never heard this story,” she said. “How come it was never in the papers?”
“Twigg pulled a few strings with the pol
ice,” Howard said, a slight hint of pride in his tone. “He managed to get the case moved to a little magistrates’ court in the middle of nowhere. There was only one local newspaper, a little weekly advertiser. We owned it. So Toulson called the editor and told him that if he valued his job, he wouldn’t send any reporters to court that day.”
“But what happened to Valerie?” Estelle asked, wondering if the three-times winner of Female Columnist of the Year had secretly done time.
“It was a first offence,” Howard replied. “The prosecution went on and on about her having her granddaughters in the car, but Valerie said all the right things to the magistrates and avoided anything serious. She was fined, banned for a couple of years. Nothing major.”
Sam sighed a loud, depressed sigh. “So in that one story, we have Valerie drink-driving with two children in the car, a senior police officer presumably taking a bung to move the case out of the city, and our own PR director threatening to sack a local newspaper editor to stop the case from being reported.”
Howard nodded, getting a little irritated by his son’s critical tone. “Yes, that just about sums it up. But that police officer is now Assistant Commissioner with the Met Police. He’s done very well over the years because of us. And that newspaper editor is now one of your chief sports reporters on the Ear. It was win-win for everyone.”
“From our point of view, yes,” Sam said. “But Toulson knows all about this already. He was involved.”
“It’s one of the corporate actions he’s aware of, yes. And before you ask, Valerie knows it’s probably one of the stories that Adam Jaymes has lined up. Toulson’s with her now. They’re working on her statement together.”
“But Dad, I should know this,” Sam said. He could feel his temper beginning to build again. It wasn’t a sensation he was used to, but something about Toulson always brought out the worst in him. “He should have told me this today when we met. I can’t protect the company, or its staff, if he keeps me in the dark on major reputational risks like this.” He was suddenly aware that his voice was getting high pitched and was worried he was sounding too much like a whiney little boy. He decided to take it down a notch or two and quickly returned to a more appropriate tone. “I will have another word with him tomorrow,” he said. “I will make it perfectly clear that I am the only Harvey he will be dealing with from now on. But you need to respect that as well, Dad. I haven’t moved five thousand miles to sit there like a child with all the adults in the room talking over my head. I’m chief executive. Toulson reports to me.”
“It’s up to you to make them all believe that, Sam,” Howard replied, and a cold expression crossed his face. “If they still ring me, ask for my advice or help, that’s because you’re not stepping up. This is about you proving you have influence, and showing that it makes a difference to them that you’re at the top table.”
“I proved myself already,” Sam retorted. “Ten years in LA, and I - ”
“The Harvey Network proved itself,” Howard interrupted. “And it’s true that no one phoned me to complain about you. But no one picked up the phone to tell me you were doing a good job either. All I had was a chart showing our figures going up. That doesn’t mean a thing.”
Sam didn’t respond, as a horrible truth began to dawn on him. Everything he had brought back from America with him, the modicum of success he felt he could call his own, it was all for nothing.
“You didn’t prove yourself in LA because I will tell you when you are proving yourself,” Howard continued, his booming voice now echoing around the apartment. “And this is it. Now, here in London. This is where you prove yourself.”
Sam’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t believe what his father was saying. All the things Sam had secretly thought about himself, all the things he had tried to keep hidden, Howard was saying it all out loud. He had seen through Sam’s accomplishments and realised the truth: his son was not a great leader but had simply been in charge when great things had happened.
“This is where you prove yourself,” Howard said again, but more quietly. Estelle was giving him the evils from the other end of the table, not impressed that he was so brutally scolding the step-son she adored.
“Oh, you Harvey boys and your testosterone,” she declared, trying to lighten the mood. “You’ll be out on the terrace next, having a sword fight.”
But Sam knew the conversation needed to be closed properly. “I don’t agree with what you’re saying, Dad,” he said. “But you will have your proof.”
And Howard allowed a small hint of a smile to nudge the side of his mouth, a little gesture to let his son know he was still in the game. “Estelle and I are heading to New York tomorrow,” he said. “We’re not due back in London until your mother’s awards evening. I don’t expect to have to cut our trip short and come back early.”
The awards were only a couple of weeks away. Surely, Sam thought, he could hold the fort for two weeks.
“So, now you two have had your little squabble and let off a bit of heat, can we get back to the story?” Estelle asked. “What exactly is going to be Valerie’s excuse for driving drunk?”
Sam waved his hand towards his dad, offering him the floor again.
“The day of the party, her husband has been diagnosed with cancer,” Howard said. “And she was so frightened by the news she simply miscounted how much wine she’d drunk.”
“Oh, the poor thing,” Estelle said.
“So if Adam Jaymes does pick on Valerie, we’ll have a statement ready and a feature. It’s going to be our own exclusive. You know the sort of thing. ‘How the support of my family brought me through some very dark days’. Cancer victims are always sympathetic.”
“And is that true?” Sam asked. “That was the day her husband found out he had cancer?”
Howard winked at him. “It was around about that time,” he said, and then popped a big chunk of cheesecake into his mouth.
Felicity and her driver helped Colin to his room. The staff at the budget hotel had seen far worse things than a man so drunk he could barely walk, and little attention was paid to him. Valerie had arrived a few moments earlier and sat quietly in the lobby. She followed them to his room, waited until Colin was on his bed, and then sent the others away with a softly whispered ‘thank you’. She used the little plastic kettle to boil some water and made a couple of strong coffees, before gently piling all the available pillows behind Colin so he could sit up and sip his drink.
“I thought you’d stood me up,” he said, only half awake.
“Of course I didn’t, darling,” Valerie replied, perched on the edge of the bed. She gently pushed the hair from his sweaty forehead. “We’re all in the same boat, aren’t we? The old guard, under attack. We have to stick together.”
Colin just wanted to sleep. Unconsciousness was a far more appealing place to be. He could feel his body shutting down, his mind winding to a close for the day and his dark little hotel room was drawing in around him. But he was reassured by Valerie’s presence. She was the first familiar face he’d seen since Newsnight, the first sign that he may still have friends willing to be seen with him. So he sipped his coffee and endeavoured to stay in the room with his friend. She had made an effort to come and see him and was perhaps even risking her reputation, being alone in a hotel with a known adulterer. But she didn’t seem to care, as she sat holding her cup in both hands and looking at him with a warm smile that few people ever saw.
“You being here, it means a lot,” Colin said and smiled back at her, accidentally allowing a trickle of coffee to dribble down his chin. Valerie placed both their cups on the side and then pulled a packet of tissues from her handbag and wiped his face. She had come to the hotel ready to give him a bit of a ticking off, for exposing himself to further risk by getting drunk in the Cock and Bull. It would only have taken one stray reporter from another newspaper to wander in through the door, she thought, and what an exclusive that would have been. Thank goodness the bar manager had the sen
se to give the Ear’s news desk a call. But her drunken friend, vulnerable and alone, was in no fit state for anything and so she watched as he quickly fell asleep.
She had always been fond of him, the little boy with the man’s voice. They had joined the Ear at about the same time and had both been keen to make their mark. But whereas Valerie had always been able to swan into a room and demand respect, even in the sexist newsrooms of the eighties, Colin had put up with years of ridicule and mean-spirited pranks from the older reporters. Valerie remembered him as a very young man rushing up to his news editor, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with his first genuine exclusive kiss-and-tell. “And I can prove it,” he had announced proudly, “it’s true!” The news editor had just returned from a match and had a football rattle on his desk, which he immediately starting whirling around his head, shouting “True story alert! True story alert!”, creating a roar of laughter across the newsroom. But Colin never allowed the other staff to get him down and so just laughed along with them all. He even adopted the rattle as his own and started to whirl it around his head shouting “True story alert!” whenever he had a story he thought he could actually substantiate. And Valerie knew that same rattle still sat on the news desk next to him as a constant reminder of the obstacles he had to overcome. Only now when Colin used it there was no longer laughter but good humoured cheering from across the newsroom.
And that was the quality Valerie had first seen in Colin, his amazing capacity to bounce back. She had liked his drive and his positive energy, and the fact that his poor background had given him a desire to do better than his parents. Week after week she had watched from the sidelines as he had put his ridiculers to shame. He got people to talk who wouldn’t talk to anyone else. He pulled information out of the air that no one else had been able to get. He somehow managed to manoeuvre around any obstructions, closed doors or deceptions and get to the heart of a story, whether the subject of that story wanted him to or not. His work ethic had been second to none and he had been willing to do almost anything to get ahead of the field. And despite the best attempts of countless news editors and senior reporters to take credit for his work, Howard noticed Colin and he soon joined Valerie in the Harvey family’s inner circle. By his 21st birthday, Colin had been promoted above his own managers and became one of the paper’s highest paid members of staff. But money didn’t seem to matter to Colin. Yes, he bought himself a nice house but only because he felt it was the grown-up thing to do (and it certainly pleased his parents). In reality, though, his job was all that really counted.