LITMIR.BIZ

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flicking through an impressive bundle of papers. Apparently deep in thought, he waved her in.

      In a basket near the coat stand, the latest incarnation of Dido looked up with world-weary eyes and licked her lips. There was a rolled-up tabloid in the pocket of Calvin’s trench coat. It was still turned to the horoscope page.

      ‘Hello,’ Dora said, throwing her string bag onto his desk. ‘I hear you’ve found someone then?’

      Calvin grinned, and swung round to face her. ‘Yes, yes, yes. She’s starting a promotion tour for the latest book next week.’

      ‘Calvin, I don’t think it’s supposed to work like this – I would really like to have seen this girl before you hired her.’

      Calvin looked hurt. ‘You told me you didn’t want to be involved.’

      Dora sighed. ‘I meant with all the admin, not who you picked. I don’t suppose it matters now, does it – the deed is done. Is she any good?’

      Calvin grinned. ‘I think so. Just wait till you see her at work.’

      Dora lifted an eyebrow. ‘At Smith’s in the High Street.’

      ‘You know about that?’ said Calvin, feigning surprise as he lit another fat little cigar.

      ‘I’m amongst the last by the looks of it. How did you manage to get her in there so quickly?’

      Calvin tapped his nose. ‘It’s all to do with contacts, it’s not what you know – the manager owes me a favour.’

      ‘Better not tell me what. Have you got the kettle on yet?’

      Calvin pressed the button on his phone. ‘Gena, can you bring up a pot of tea for myself and Mrs Hall?’

      Dora leant over the desk, pushing her finger firmly down on top of his.

      ‘And if you’ve got any digestives in the tin, Gena, be a dear and bring them up.’ She paused. ‘Have you got a microwave in the office?’

      The disembodied voice sounded surprised. ‘Yes, why?’

      ‘They’ve got some really good profiteroles in the freezer place in the precinct. If you nip out and get a couple of boxes I’ll treat you.’

      Calvin extricated his finger and the line went dead.

      ‘Actually, I’m really glad you dropped in, I was coming to see you on my way home. Have you had the proofs of the latest book to correct yet? The guy at Bayers sent me the new covers over this morning.’ He pulled his in tray closer and scuffled through the heap of envelopes. ‘I’ve got them here somewhere. They’re not bad at all.’

      Dora screwed up her nose. ‘Oh, please, Calvin, don’t bother. Wet-lipped lovelies with “Come up and see my etchings” eyes? They’re always the same. And no, I haven’t had the proofs yet.’ She paused. ‘Did you hear about Jack Rees?’

      Calvin nodded. ‘Saw it on TV yesterday. Bloody shame, he was a good bloke. I nipped down to the Con Club, lunch time.’ He rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘Total bloody chaos down there. Everyone running round like headless chickens. Jack’s a hard act to follow. We’re going to have a helluva job finding someone to fill his boots.’ He took a thoughtful puff on his cigar.

      Dora snorted. ‘We? What’s with this “we” business? Have the Con Club finally given you sergeant’s stripes?’

      Calvin deadpanned her. ‘Father-in-law’s on the selection committee. Anyway, about Catiana –’

      Dora grinned and fished in her coat pocket for a roll of mints. ‘Smith’s next week,’ she said, waving the packet at Calvin.

      He declined as she palmed a mint into her mouth. ‘Off the fags again? You’ll get fat.’

      Dora threw herself onto the leather chesterfield under one of the windows and laughed. ‘Rubbish, I’m built like a ragman’s whippet. Besides, it won’t matter now that we’ve got a stand-in, will it? What’s she like? That picture in the Gazette was dreadful.’

      Calvin grinned. ‘Pure twenty-four carat silicone.’ He held his hands out in an impressive gesture of size. ‘Teeth from ear to ear, big hair. She’s absolutely perfect. I’ve already sent some photographs off to the agony column in that dodgy magazine we signed you up for.’

      Dora nodded ruefully. ‘Wonderful.’

      ‘Oh, and wait,’ said Calvin, warming to his subject. ‘Better yet. I may’ve got her on Steve Morley’s TV show.’

      Dora screwed up her face. ‘That magazine thing they do from Norwich at tea time? How the hell can she pull that one off? She writes porn, for God’s sake.’

      ‘Wait, wait,’ said Calvin enthusiastically, clenching his fists. ‘A stroke of pure genius. As the subject is a bit risqué I’ve told them we need a list of questions up-front. They always pre-record some of it anyway. So, you can write the answers and Catiana can learn them.’

      Dora sucked her teeth thoughtfully. ‘She can read as well, can she, Calvin? Good choice, good choice. And how exactly did you arrange this one off? Don’t tell me the manager owes you a favour.’

      Calvin grinned, leaning back smugly in his swivel chair. ‘I’ve led young Steve to believe that I can get him one or two big names to give his show a bit of clout. The lad’s hungry, this is his first big break.’

      At that moment there was a knock on the door. Calvin called Gena in and then looked across at Dora.

      ‘I’ve got you a ticket for the recording. You’ll get a chance to judge for yourself first hand. You’re a real stunner.’

      Dora raised her eyebrows. ‘I can hardly wait,’ she said, as Gena stood the tray on Calvin’s desk.

      Steam rose from a stack of sad-looking profiteroles. Gena blushed.

      ‘The defrost on the machine down there doesn’t seem to work, so I’ve given them a couple of minutes on full,’ she explained, hovering nervously.

      Dora took a side plate from the tray and prised a dripping cake from the heap with a teaspoon – the chocolate bubbled ominously.

      ‘I’m sure they’ll be just fine,’ she said, ignoring the hiss as the cake landed on the plate.

      Parking in Norwich was a complete bitch. Dora arrived late, feeling ruffled after the drive, and slid into a seat at the end of the aisle beside a large woman wearing a duffel coat. The lights in the television studio were already dimming. On the stage below the tiered seating, a small oily-looking man in a checked suit was running through a selection of extremely old jokes. He waved his arms towards the studio audience with gusto, as if he might be able to incite laughter by friction.

      The woman in the duffel coat sniffed disapprovingly and began to rummage through her handbag. Further along the row a group of students sniggered, while on the studio floor, the camera crew stalked backwards and forwards around the set, hooked up to their cables and moving like bored fish. The warm-up man faded rather than finished and a polite flurry of sympathetic applause broke out amongst the audience.

      A man with a clipboard, finger in his ear, stepped into a spotlight, his face fixed in a rictal grin.

      ‘Well, good evening, ladies and gentlemen,’ he smirked with genuine plastic warmth. ‘It’s a real pleasure to welcome you to …’ he glanced fleetingly at his clipboard ‘… tonight’s recording of “Steve Morley Moments”. Now, when Mr Morley comes on I’d like you to give him a really rousing welcome. The cameras will pan around the audience as the music comes on, so we want lots of smiles.’ He pulled his face into an even more exaggerated grimace. ‘Let the people at home know you’re really happy to be here.’

      The woman next to Dora sniffed again and then unexpectedly offered her a mint humbug. Dora sucked her way through Steve Morley interviewing a poet with a lisp, a drum majorette troop, a mime artist …

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