Exposé

by Paul Ilett

  There was an awkward pause, as though time in the room was caught in a groove and unable to move on. Each of the men exchanged looks and seemed to be waiting for a colleague to speak up, or to raise a valid point of order or law. They didn’t want to leave the room because, if they did, it would be as if they had accepted what was happening. But unless someone was able to put forward a decent challenge, there was nothing any of them could do.

  “Get out!” Oonagh yelled. Time was suddenly jolted back on cue and the men furiously stumbled from the office. Once alone, Sam looked at Oonagh and raised his brow. “Well?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “They all know what they’ve done,” she said, “and the potential repercussions of a criminal investigation. I imagine they’ll try to get hold of your father and, once they’ve failed to do that, they’ll take their one pound severance pay and leave quietly.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Sam said, “because I don’t want any of these old dinosaurs stomping around when the new team arrives from Los Angeles.”

  Tony Runwell remembered climbing out of bed that morning with nothing to worry about other than a nasty bout of heartburn and a number of missed calls from Leonard Twigg. He had planned to enjoy a quiet morning in his office, shoring-up the executive pension plan and booking a golfing holiday before heading off to meet his mistress for lunch. But that’s not how his day had panned out. Instead, as he returned despondently to his office, he found that Oonagh and a team of security specialists had been busy during the 10-minute PowerPoint presentation. His shelves had been cleared, his filing cabinets vacuum-sealed and his computer no longer recognised his username or password. The rest of the executives found the same. They weren’t going to be given any opportunity to remove items or information which could be used against the Harveys in the future.

  He sat silently at his desk staring at the company cheque for £1. After all his years, decades, in subservience to the Harvey family that little bit of paper was his recompense: a promise not to press charges and a spiteful quid. He knew he would have to cash the cheque, to make it clear he had accepted the offer. Sam Harvey might be green around the gills but he had them all by the balls, and with Howard still incommunicado there was nowhere for Tony or the others to go but down. With a grinding sense of betrayal rather than sorrow, he gently dropped a few keepsakes into his briefcase and clicked it shut.

  “We need to talk!” came an unexpected voice, lifting the room out of silence and breaking Tony’s concentration. He looked up and found Leonard Twigg standing at his door, arms folded. “And in future, I would prefer it if you were to return my fucking phone calls.”

  Tony was too weary for an argument, indeed he was almost too drained for any words at all. He wanted to leave the building quietly and with some modicum of dignity but knew that if he didn’t give Twigg a few minutes to vent his spleen there was no way he’d be able to leave peacefully. “This could not be a worse moment,” he said.

  “There’s never a good fucking moment,” Twigg snapped back, and closed the door behind him. “Now, we need to talk.”

  “We have nothing to talk about, now please go away.”

  “You don’t think Sam Harvey’s ruination of the Daily Ear worth talking about?” Twigg demanded, assuming what was important to him would also be important to Tony.

  “That may well be worth talking about,” Tony replied, “but as of five minutes ago, it ceased to be any of my concern.”

  Twigg could sense something was up the moment he had stepped from the lift and saw so many members of the executive team in the office. But he had been so focused on the conversation he wanted to have with Tony that he hadn’t paid it much attention. “Explain,” he said.

  “Sam’s had a clear out.”

  “Who?”

  “All of us.”

  “All?”

  “Everyone. We’re all going. Now.”

  Twigg’s scheme to rid his world of Sam Harvey and Oonagh Boyle had hinged entirely on Tony Runwell’s long-term friendship with Howard. That, it seemed, was another route now denied to him. “I’m shocked,” Twigg said, and walked towards Tony’s desk. “I hadn’t anticipated this at all.”

  Tony sighed, a defeated man who simply wanted to go home and tell his wife the bad news. “If I were to be honest, I knew the writing was on the wall the moment Gayesh was pushed.” He had a twinge to his voice that suggested he was trying not to cry. “Having a Harvey as chief executive was a ticking time-bomb.”

  “Let me guess,” Twigg replied, his lack of empathy becoming clearer. “You thought or rather hoped that Adam Jaymes would keep Sam too busy to stick his nose in the company accounts?”

  Those sanctimonious words reignited a small fire of defiance in Tony’s gut, and so he looked Twigg in the eyes. “Leonard,” he replied sternly, “I have never met anyone as ferocious as you when it comes to detail. I’ve seen you spot fraud or dishonesty from a hundred paces. It’s like you can smell bullshit in the air before anyone’s even spoken. Of all of your skills, and I will admit you have many, it is that ability to spot the tiniest of misdemeanours which is your greatest.”

  Twigg pursed his lips and glared. He could tell Tony’s compliment was just the pre-amble into a criticism, and he was in no mood to be criticised.

  “So tell me, Leonard, how it is that Gayesh Perera was able to spend years blundering through this company’s finances in the most ham-fisted way imaginable without you once raising a concern?”

  Twigg did not reply.

  “I will tell you,” Tony continued. “Because as long as he left you alone to run the Daily Ear without interference, you didn’t care what he did. He could have bought a diamond-encrusted desk for his office, and you wouldn’t have given two hoots as long as he never set foot in your precious newsroom. So don’t stand there in judgement of me, because you’ve always known what was going on. And you benefitted just as much as anyone else by ignoring it.”

  With that, Tony lifted his briefcase from his desk and headed from the office. “Goodbye, Leonard,” he said, as he opened the door. “And good luck old chap. We both know you’re going to need it.”

  Twigg was left alone in the empty office, with its sealed filing cabinets and empty shelves. He had been so busy simply dealing with Project Ear that he hadn’t had the chance to reflect on all the changes that were happening around him. There had been too much, too quickly and he could feel his grip on the Daily Ear quickly slipping away with each day that passed. For once in his busy, solitary life Leonard Twigg felt a curious urge for companionship.

  It had been a quiet day at Valerie’s Portman Square club but she had enjoyed having some time to herself. She had spent a leisurely afternoon on her own in the smallest of the gently lit drawing rooms with only her beloved Jasper for company. He was dozing on the floor next to her, his head gently rested on her foot. It was one of a handful of London clubs where dogs were welcome and one of the scarce few in the country which still had a dedicated smoking room, although technically smoking was overlooked rather than allowed. She had enjoyed having some time to herself, to quietly reflect on the events of the previous few weeks and speculate on what Adam Jaymes would do next. Although Derek had come as something of a surprise, everyone else on Jaymes’ hitlist, from Valerie’s perspective, had been quite predictable and she had no doubt that Twigg and Howard Harvey would be next. The question she had spent the afternoon pondering was: what did Jaymes have on them?

  She had deduced that Howard’s scandal would likely be something he had done in business, possibly a tax fiddle or an illegal payment to a politician or civil servant, although she hadn’t yet ruled out the possibility that the rumours about Estelle were true. But Twigg was a closed book. Even after all the years she had known him, she could write what she knew about his private life on the back of a match box. She had a terrible feeling in her gut that Twigg would be next, and that his secret would make Jason’s spy-cam scandal seem like an amusing mix-up in comparison. It was 7pm and
she was onto her sixth glass of Merlot and second packet of cigarettes. She was waiting for Twigg to join her, and knew his obsession with punctuality meant he would doubtlessly arrive at any second. He had never accepted an invitation to her club before. He wasn’t the sort of man who felt comfortable in venues that were restricted to members only, unless it was the bar at the Commons.

  And so it had surprised her when he had replied promptly to her text - “Yes. I’ll be there at seven”. She liked to invite people to the club, if only to show it off. It had a famously opulent entrance hall with an enormous sweeping, grand staircase. This lead to drawing rooms, libraries and several bars and restaurants, a never-ending rabbit warren of lavish rooms and historic architecture. She had been a regular at the club for almost 30 years. Her membership was one of the many luxuries she had shared with her high-flying husband when he was alive, and something she had continued with long after his death. Every room in the building brought back fond memories of Jeremy and the many joyful, heady evenings they had spent with friends and colleagues or, sometimes, just with each other. Now the building and its staff and members were among the few constants in her life, and felt like a second home to her. As she sipped from her glass of wine, she could hear rain tapping against the outside of the window and a soft howl of wind circling the building. Jasper raised his head and let out a gentle growl, as he heard footsteps approaching. Twigg appeared at the door, looking damp and windswept, and as he was shown in Valerie stubbed out her cigarette and told Jasper to hush. She went to stand to greet him but Twigg gestured for her to stay where she was.

  “Don’t get up,” he said, and he took off his jacket and kissed her on the forehead. It was an unexpected display of affection, and immediately made Valerie realise that something was badly wrong. Even when Jeremy had died, the most tactile gesture Twigg had managed was a one-armed hug ending in a pat on the back. It just wasn’t something he did. She also caught a whiff of alcohol from his breath and realised he had been drinking. He rarely drank. He didn’t really like the stuff.

  “May I get you something, sir?” the elderly waiter asked.

  Twigg slumped down into the armchair opposite Valerie. “Port please, whatever you have. I’m not fussy.”

  “Madam, the same again?”

  “Please.”

  The waiter left and Valerie smiled at Twigg. “Well, either you’re here to fire me or tell me that you’ve been fired,” she said. “Either way, I can tell you are the harbinger of bad news.”

  Twigg sighed, nudged his glasses to the end of his nose and rubbed his tired eyes. “No, nothing so dramatic,” he replied. “It was just a long, challenging day and I was surrounded by idiots and reprobates for all of it.” He pushed his spectacles back up to his eyes, relaxed into the chair and stared Valerie in the face. “Anyway, what have you been up to for the past couple of days? Have you enjoyed the time off”

  Valerie was disappointed Twigg hadn’t commented on the club, but she could tell there were about a dozen conversations underway in his head and that he was struggling to concentrate on the one conversation he was actually having with her. “It’s been lovely,” she said. “I went down to Old Leigh yesterday and walked Jasper on the beach. I did a little shopping this morning and had lunch with friends. I’ve spent the rest of the day here.”

  Twigg nodded but with an absent-mindedness that made it obvious he hadn’t taken in a word of what Valerie had just said. His mind was a chaotic jumble of conversations that had never happened, and arguments he wanted the chance to have. Oh, how he wished Howard had taken his call. He wanted Sam and Oonagh gone. The waiter brought another large red for Valerie and left Twigg with the decanter of port and a small glass that was already poured. Twigg downed it and then poured another.

  “Leonard, darling, you’re not on the verge of a breakdown, are you?” Valerie asked, matter-of-factly.

  “Of course I’m fucking not,” he replied.

  “Well, you aren’t yourself. You’re very far from being yourself.”

  Twigg didn’t reply. He didn’t know how to. He didn’t gossip or share feelings. He didn’t confide in other people and he never, ever showed weakness. His entire character was anger and bluster and self-righteousness. He had no idea how to ask for help because he had never needed to.

  “Leonard, you are an impossible human being,” Valerie continued, softly. “I’ve never met anyone like you and I doubt I ever will again. But, just for once in your life, have a drink, relax and tell me about your day.”

  Valerie had kindly provided a structure to the conversation that Twigg was able to work with. But he didn’t want to talk about his demotion, or Sam Harvey, or the fat Irish whore. He didn’t want to tell her that Howard was refusing to take his calls, or describe the burning humiliation he’d felt when staff were told about Oonagh’s new role. “Oh Valerie,” he said. “I’m empty. I think I’m done.”

  “Oh, what nonsense,” she replied. “You’ve survived worse than this. We both have. Adam Jaymes - ”

  “It’s not Adam fucking Jaymes,” Twigg said, a tone of defeat in his voice that Valerie had never heard before, not once. “I’m out of my time,” he said. “This past year. The website, readers’ comments. Twitter. This isn’t what I signed up for.”

  “You think you’re past it?” Valerie asked, somewhat taken aback that her invincible friend suddenly sounded so vulnerable.

  “Look who we’re competing against,” Twigg said.

  “Oh Leonard, even with Project Ear in full swing, we’re still way ahead of our competitors.”

  “I’m not talking about other papers, Valerie,” Leonard replied. “I’m talking about ordinary people. Ordinary people sat in their gloomy little kitchens, typing away on the budget laptop they got from Argos. They’re looking out of their tiny windows at the rest of the world and they’ve all got a fucking blog to tell the rest of the world what they think. And you know what the rest of the world should say to those people? It should say, ‘Piss off! Who cares what you think? You’re no one!’. But it doesn’t. The world listens to them, and it agrees with them, and it repeats what they say like their stupid, poorly considered opinions actually matter. ”

  Valerie shrugged. “That’s the world we live in now, Leonard.”

  “But what does it mean for people like us, Valerie?” Twigg asked. “We’re looking down at the world through a big window on the 100th floor. We really see what’s going on, and we understand the power of words. That’s the way it was. That’s the way it’s always been. We spoke and they listened. But now, all of those dreadful, boring kitchen people are holding us to account. Millions of stupid plebs without an education between them, they’ve been handed the internet and now they have a voice. And it’s louder than ours.”

  CHAPTER 20

  There had been a time, not so long ago, when all Leonard Twigg had to do was step from the lift into the Daily Ear newsroom and a moment of hush would greet him. No matter how hectic or how loud or full the newsroom, his presence was enough to create a moment of anxious delay. Heads would drop, conversations would pause and everyone would wait to see if it was their turn to be summoned into his office by the much dreaded finger of doom. But today was phone call day, and it was considered beyond any reasonable doubt that it was Twigg’s turn to hear from Adam Jaymes. The expectation had stimulated the atmosphere in the newsroom into something that sat midway between mirth and panic. And so as Twigg stepped from the lift, his staff continued about their business with no interlude, leaving him with little doubt as to how diminished his great presence had become. Unhappy, he made his way to his office, closed the door and sat at his desk. He knew he wasn’t focused enough to do his job efficiently that day. He was tired and his mind was hazy. He had made a half-hearted attempt to chair the morning news meeting, but had proven so distracted that Colin had gently taken over halfway through. He did it kindly, with little fuss, so as not to draw attention to Twigg’s state of mind. But once the meeting was over, he told T
wigg to go for walk and get some fresh air to clear his head. Twigg couldn’t remember where he had walked to, but he knew he’d been gone for about an hour. He still couldn’t quite focus on his job, and the day ahead seemed of little consequence. He couldn’t visualise anything, not even the following day’s front page. It was as if he was already a stranger in his own newsroom, an outsider who didn’t really belong there anymore. His phone bleeped and he lifted the receiver to his ear. “Twigg,” he said.

  “I have Assistant Commissioner Lackie on the line for you, Mr Twigg.”

  It wasn’t someone Twigg particularly wanted to speak with, just one of the many people who had let him down over the previous few weeks. But Lackie had been good company in the past and a good contact, and Twigg wondered if it was exactly the conversation he needed to snap him out of his haze. “Thank you, Jeanette. Please put him through.”

  “You’re through to Mr Twigg,” Jeanette said, and Lackie’s voice came on the line.

  “Twigg, how are you?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

  Twigg paused. He felt the briefest of stirrings in his chest, a fleeting sensation of warmth as a man he had always liked and respected enquired after his wellbeing. But he quickly drove it down, unable to tolerate a feeling that would likely make him share or gush. “I’m fine. You?”

  “We didn’t leave things on good terms, the last time we spoke. I wasn’t happy to set you adrift like that, particularly taking into account your current ... troubles.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good. I wanted to give you some information that I hope will make things a little easier.”

  Twigg’s mind was already drifting to an evening earlier that year, when he and Lackie had dined together at a gastro pub near Tower Bridge. It had been a simple evening and they’d enjoyed an easy, effortless conversation. Perhaps, Twigg wondered, they might share a few more evenings like that in the future, now that Lackie had extended an olive branch. “Go on,” he said.