'Hello!' Emma says cheerfully, and sits down on the sofa. 'So you're the finance people, are you? Gosh, I'm dying for a wee.' She frowns into the lights. 'How long is this slot, Zelda?'
'Hi there!' says Rory and shakes my hand. 'Roberta.'
'It's Rebecca!' says Emma, and rolls her eyes at me sympathetically. 'Honestly, he's hopeless.' She wriggles on the sofa. 'Gosh, I really need to go.'
'Too late now,' says Rory.
'But isn't it really unhealthy not to go when you need to?' Emma wrinkles her brow anxiously. 'Didn't we have a phone-in on it once? That weird girl phoned up who only went once a day. And Dr James said… what did he say?'
'Search me,' says Rory cheerfully. 'These phone-ins always go over my head. Now I'm warning you, Rebecca,' he adds, turning to me, 'I can never follow any of this finance stuff. Far too brainy for me.' He gives me a wide grin and I smile weakly back.
'Ten seconds,' calls Zelda from the side of the set, and my stomach gives a tweak of fear. Over the loudspeakers I can hear the Morning Coffee theme music, signalling the end of a commercial break.
'Who starts?' says Emma, squinting at the autocue.
'Oh, me.'
So this is it. I feel almost lightheaded with fear. I don't know where I'm supposed to be looking; I don't know when I'm supposed to speak. My legs are trembling and my hands are clenched tightly in my lap.
The lights are dazzling my eyes; a camera's zooming in on my left, but I've got to try to ignore it.
'Welcome back!' says Emma suddenly to the camera. 'Now, which would you rather have? A carriage clock or ?20,000?'
What? I think in shock. But that's my line. That's what I was going to say.
'The answer's obvious, isn't it?' continues Emma blithely. 'We'd all prefer the ?20,000.'
'Absolutely!' interjects Rory with a cheerful smile.
'But when some Flagstaff Life investors received a letter inviting them to move their savings recently,' says Emma, suddenly putting on a sober face, 'they didn't realize that if they did so, they would lose out on a ?20,000 windfall. Rebecca Bloomwood is the journalist who uncovered this story – Rebecca, do you think this kind of deception is commonplace?'
And suddenly everyone's looking at me, waiting for me to reply. The camera's trained on my face; the studio's silent.
2.5 million people, all watching at home.
Oh God. I can't breathe.
'Do you think investors need to be cautious?' prompts Emma.
'Yes,' I manage, in a strange, woolly voice. 'Yes, I think they should.'
'Luke Brandon, you represent Flagstaff Life,' says Emma, turning away. 'Do you think-'
Shit, I think miserably. That was pathetic. Pathetic!
What's happened to my voice, for God's sake? What's happened to all my prepared answers?
Now I'm not even listening to Luke's reply. Come on, Rebecca. Focus your mind. Concentrate.
'What you must remember,' Luke's saying smoothly, 'is that nobody's entitled to a windfall. This isn't a case of deception!' He smiles at Emma. 'This is simply a case of a few investors being a little too greedy for their own good. They believe they've missed out – so they're deliberately stirring up bad publicity for the company. Meanwhile, there are thousands of people who have benefited from Flagstaff Life.'
What? What's he saying?
'I see,' says Emma, nodding her head. 'So, Luke, would you agree that-'
'Wait a minute!' I hear myself interrupting. 'Just… just wait a minute. Mr Brandon, did you just call the investors greedy?'
'Not all,' says Luke. 'But some, yes.'
I stare at him in disbelief, my skin prickling with outrage. An image of Janice and Martin comes into my mind – the sweetest, least greedy people in the world – and for a few moments I'm so angry, I can't speak.
'The truth is, the majority of investors with Flagstaff Life have seen record returns over the last five years,' Luke's continuing to Emma, who's nodding intelligently. 'And that's what they should be concerned with. Good quality investment. Not flash-in-the-pan windfalls. After all, Flagstaff Life was originally set up to provide-'
'Correct me if I'm wrong, Luke,' I cut in, forcing myself to speak calmly. 'Correct me if I'm wrong – but I believe Flagstaff Life was originally set up as a mutual company? For the mutual benefit of all its members. Not to benefit some at the expense of others.'
'Absolutely,' replies Luke without flickering. 'But that doesn't entitle every investor to a ?20,000 windfall, does it?'
'Maybe not,' I say, my voice rising slightly. 'But surely it entitles them to believe they won't be misled by a company they've put their money with for fifteen years? Janice and Martin Webster trusted Flagstaff Life. They trusted the advice they were given. And look where that trust got them!'
'Investment is a game of luck,' says Luke blandly. 'Sometimes you win-'
'It wasn't luck!' I hear myself crying furiously. 'Of course it wasn't luck! Are you telling me it was complete coincidence that they were advised to switch their funds two weeks before the windfall announcements?'
'My clients were simply making available an offer that they believed would add value to their customers' portfolios,' says Luke, giving me a tight smile. 'They have assured me that they were simply wishing to benefit their customers. They have assured me that-'
'So you're saying your clients are incompetent, then?' I retort. 'You're saying they had all the best intentions – but cocked it up?'
Luke's eyes flash in anger and I feel a thrill of exhilaration. 'I fail to see-'
'Well, we could go on debating all day!' says Emma, shifting slightly on her seat. 'But moving on to a slightly more-'
'Come on, Luke,' I say, cutting her off. 'Come on. You can't have it both ways.' I lean forward, ticking points off on my hand. 'Either Flagstaff Life were incompetent, or they were deliberately, trying to save money. Whichever it is, they're in the wrong. The Websters were loyal customers and they should have got that money. In my opinion, Flagstaff Life deliberately encouraged them out of the with-profits fund to stop them receiving the windfall. I mean, it's obvious, isn't it?'
I look around for support and see Rory gazing blankly at me.
'It all sounds a bit technical for me,' he says with a little laugh. 'Bit complicated.'
'OK, let's put it another way,' I say quickly. 'Let's…' I close my eyes, searching for inspiration. 'Let's… suppose I'm in a clothes shop!' I open my eyes again. 'I'm in a clothes shop, and I've chosen a wonderful cashmere Nicole Farhi coat. OK?'
'OK,' says Rory cautiously.
'I love Nicole Farhi!' says Emma, perking up. 'Beautiful knitwear.'
'Exactly,' I say. 'OK, so imagine I'm standing in the checkout queue, minding my own business, when a sales assistant comes up to me and says, "Why not buy this other coat instead? It's better quality than this one – and I'll throw in a free bottle of perfume." I've got no reason to distrust the sales assistant, so I think, wonderful, and I buy the other coat.'
'Right,' says Rory, nodding. 'With you so far.'
'But when I get outside,' I say carefully. 'I discover that this other coat isn't Nicole Farhi, and isn't real cashmere. I go back in – and the shop won't give me a refund.'
'You were ripped off!' exclaims Rory, as though he's just discovered gravity.
'Exactly,' I say. 'I was ripped off. And the point is – so were thousands of Flagstaff Life customers. They were persuaded out of their original choice of investment, into a fund which left them ?20,000 worse off.' I pause, marshalling my thoughts. 'Perhaps Flagstaff Life didn't break the law. Perhaps they didn't contravene any regulations. But there's a natural justice in this world, and they didn't just break that, they shattered it. Those customers deserved that windfall. They were loyal, long-standing customers, and they deserved it. And if you're honest, Luke Brandon, you know they deserved it.'
I finish my speech breathlessly and look at Luke.
He's staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face – and i
n spite of myself, I feel my stomach give a nervous flip. I swallow, and try to shift my gaze away from his – but somehow I can't move my head. It's as though our eyes are glued together.
'Luke?' says Emma. 'Do you have a response to Rebecca's point?'
Luke doesn't respond. He's staring at me, and I'm staring back, feeling my heart thump like a rabbit.
'Luke?' repeats Emma slightly impatiently. 'Do you have-'
'Yes,' says Luke. 'Yes I do. Rebecca…' He shakes his head, almost smiling to himself, then looks up again at me. 'Rebecca, you're right.'
There's a sudden still silence around the studio.
I open my mouth, but I can't make a sound.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rory and Emma glancing at each other, puzzled.
'Sorry, Luke,' says Emma. 'Do you mean-'
'She's right,' says Luke, and gives a shrug. 'Rebecca's absolutely right.' He reaches for his glass of water, leans back on iris sofa and takes a sip. 'If you want my honest opinion, those customers deserved that wind fall. I very much wish they had received it.'
This can't be happening. Luke's agreeing with me. How can he be agreeing with me?
'I see,' says Emma, sounding a bit affronted. 'So, you've changed your position, then?'
There's a pause, while Luke stares thoughtfully into his glass of water. Then he looks up and says,
'My company is employed by Flagstaff Life to maintain their public profile. But that doesn't mean that personally I agree with everything they do – or even that I know about it.' He pauses. 'To tell you the truth, I had no idea any of this was going on until I read about it in Rebecca's article in the Daily World. Which, by the way, was a fine piece of investigative journalism,' he adds, nodding to me. 'Congratulations.'
I stare back helplessly, unable even to mutter 'Thank you'. I've never felt so wrong-footed in all my life. I want to stop, and bury my head in my hands and think all of this through slowly and carefully – but I can't, I'm on live television. I'm being watched by 2.5 million people, all around the country.
Shit, I hope my legs look OK.
'If I were a Flagstaff customer and this had happened to me, I'd be very angry,' Luke continues. 'There is such a thing as customer loyalty; there is such a thing as playing straight. And I would hope that any client of mine, whom I represent in public, would abide by both of those principles.'
'I see,' says Emma and turns to the camera. 'Well – this is quite a turn-around! Luke Brandon, here to represent Flagstaff Life, now says that what they did was wrong. Any further comment, Luke?'
'To be honest,' says Luke, with a wry smile, 'I'm not sure I'll be representing Flagstaff Life any more after this.'
'Ah,' says Rory, leaning forward intelligently. 'And can you tell us why that is?'
'Oh, honestly, Rory!' says Emma impatiently. She rolls her eyes and Luke gives a little snort of laughter.
Suddenly everyone's laughing, and I join in too, slightly hysterically. I catch Luke's eye and feel something flash in my chest, then quickly look away again.
'Right, well, anyway,' says Emma abruptly, pulling herself together and smiling at the camera. 'That's it from the finance experts – but, coming up after the break – the return of hot-pants to the catwalk…'
'… and cellulite creams – do they really work?' adds Rory.
'Plus our special guests – Heaven Sent 7 – singing live in the studio.'
The theme music blares out of the loudspeakers and both Emma and Rory leap to their feet.
'Wonderful debate,' says Emma, hurrying off. 'Sorry, I'm dying for a wee.'
'Excellent stuff,' adds Rory earnestly. 'Didn't understand a word – but great television.' He slaps Luke on the back, raises his hand to me and then hurries off the set.
And all at once it's over. All finished. It's just me and Luke, sitting opposite each other on the sofas, with bright lights still shining in our eyes and microphones still clipped to our lapels. I feel slightly shell-shocked. Slightly dizzy.
Did all that really just happen?
'So,' I say eventually, and clear my throat.
'So,' echoes Luke, with a tiny smile. 'Well done.'
'Thanks,' I say, and bite my lip awkwardly in the silence.
I'm wondering if he's in big trouble now. If attacking one of your clients on live TV is the PR equivalent of hiding clothes from the customers. If he really changed his mind because of my article. Because of me. But I can't ask that. Can I?
The silence is growing louder and louder and at last I take a deep breath.
'Did you-'
'I was-'
We both speak at once.
'No,' I say, flushing red. 'You go. Mine wasn't… You go.'
'OK,' says Luke, and gives a little shrug. 'I was just going to ask if you'd like to have dinner tonight.'
I stare at him, taken aback.
What does he mean, have dinner? Does he mean
'To discuss a bit of business,' he continues. 'I very much liked your idea for a unit trust promotion along the lines of the January sales.'
My what?
What idea? What's he…
Oh God, that. is he serious? That was just one of my stupid, speak-aloud, brain-not-engaged moments.
'I think it could be a good promotion for a particular client of ours,' he's saying, 'and I was wondering whether you'd like to consult on the project. On a freelance basis, of course.'
Consult. Freelance. Project.
I don't believe it. He's serious.
'Oh,' I say, and swallow, inexplicably disappointed.
'Oh, I see. Well, I. I suppose I might be free tonight.'
'Good,' says Luke. 'Shall we say the Ritz?'
'If you like,' I say offhandedly, as though I go there all the time.
'Good,' says Luke again, and his eyes crinkle into a smile. 'I look forward to it.'
And then – oh God. To my utter horror, before I can stop myself, I hear myself saying bitchily, 'What about Sacha? Doesn't she have plans for you tonight?'
Even as the words hit the air, I feel myself redden.
Oh shit. What did I say that for?
There's a long silence during which I want to slink off somewhere and die.
'Sacha left, a week ago,' says Luke finally, and my head pops up.
'Oh,' I say feebly. 'Oh dear.'
'No warning – she packed up her suitcase and went.' Luke looks up. 'Still – it could be worse.' He gives a deadpan shrug. 'At least I didn't buy the holdall as well.'
Oh God, now I'm going to giggle. I mustn't giggle. I mustn't
'I'm really sorry,' I manage at last.
'I'm not,' says Luke, gazing at me seriously, and the laughter inside me dies away. I stare back at him nervously and feel my heart begin to pound.
'Rebecca! Luke!'
Our heads jerk round to see Zelda approaching the set, clipboard in hand.
'Fantastic!' she exclaims. 'Just what we wanted. Luke, you were great. And Rebecca…' She comes and sits next to me on the sofa and pats my shoulder. 'You were so wonderful, we were thinking – how would you like to stand in as our phone-in expert later in the show?'
'What?' I stare at her. 'But… but I can't! I'm not an expert on anything.'
'Hahaha, very good!' Zelda gives an appreciative laugh. 'The great thing about you, Rebecca, is you've got the common touch. We see you as finance guru meets girl-next-door. Informative but approachable. Knowledgeable but down-to-earth. The financial expert people really want to talk to. What do you think, Luke?'
'I think Rebecca will do the job perfectly,' says Luke. 'I can't think of anyone better qualified. I also think I'd better get out of your way.' He stands up and smiles at me. 'See you later, Rebecca. Bye, Zelda.'
I watch in a daze as he picks his way across the cable-strewn floor towards the exit, half wishing he would look back.
'Right,' says Zelda, and squeezes my hand. 'Let's get you sorted.'
Twenty-Two
I was made to go on television.
That's the truth. I was absolutely made to go on television.
We're sitting on the sofas again, Rory and Emma and me, and Anne from Leeds is falteringly admitting over the line that she's never once sent in a tax return.
I glance at Emma and smile, and she twinkles back. I'm one of the team. One of the gang. I've never felt so warm and happy in all my life.
What's really weird is that when it was me being interviewed, I felt all tongue-tied and nervous – but now I'm on the other side of the sofa, I'm in my element.
God, I could do this all day. I don't even mind the bright lights any more. They feel normal. And I've practised the most flattering way to sit in front of the mirror (knees together, feet crossed at the ankle) – and I'm sticking to it.
'I've started doing some cleaning,' says Anne, 'and I never gave it a second thought. But now my employer's asked me if I've paid any tax. I mean, it didn't even occur to me.'
'Oh dear,' says Emma, and glances at me. 'Anne's obviously in a bit of a spot.'
'Absolutely,' I say sympathetically. 'Well the first thing to know, Anne, is that you may not have to pay any tax at all, if you're below the threshold. And the second thing is, you've still got plenty of time to get a tax return in and sort everything out.'
That's the other really weird thing. God knows how – but I know the answers to all the questions. I know about mortgages, and I know about life assurance, and I know about pensions. I know this stuff! A few minutes ago, Kenneth from St Austell asked what the annual contribution limit for an ISA is – and I answered ?5,000 without even thinking about it. It's almost as if some part of my mind has carefully been storing every single bit of information I've ever written in Successful Saving, and now, when I need it, it's all there. Ask me anything! Ask me… the rules on capital gains tax for home owners. Go on, ask me.
'If I were you, Anne,' I finish, 'I'd contact your local Inland Revenue office and ask them for their advice. And don't be scared!'
The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic Page 25