‘I think even he noticed that, and he’s not overburdened with self-awareness. No, opinion is divided as to young Damien. Some think he’s a prick. Others that he’s a cunt. But all agree he’s a figure to be reckoned with. Because he has the ears of the public. Their eyes, too. And doubtless other parts of their anatomy, but for the time being it’s his media clout we should consider. I know you don’t want to look too closely at the books, and why should you – that’s my job – but you should know that he’s a major contributor to the cause, Diana.
‘Is this meant to be funny?’
‘We both knew there’d be a certain amount of flexibility required alongside these new arrangements. This is part of that. You don’t have to like him, you just have to accept that he’s part of the grander scheme of things. And I’m certainly not suggesting you appear on his news show. We can all agree that’s not in our best interests.’
‘I’m so glad to hear you’re looking out for my best interests. Are you hearing yourself speak? I’m First Desk at Regent’s Park, you seriously think I’m going to be best pals with an internet chancer just because he was front of the queue when you were passing the hat? This falls on your side of the line, Peter. I agreed to turn up tonight and shake a few hands and smile a few smiles, but I am not taking part in the swimsuit round. If you want him entertained, waggle your own tail feathers. Are we clear on this?’
Apparently not.
He said, ‘All I’m saying is, show him he’s on the inside looking out. He’s not an actual journalist, he doesn’t care about breaking stories or finding scoops. He cares about being close to the levers of power. Let him think that, and he’ll be first in the queue next time I’m, how did you put it, passing the hat.’
Diana stared, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze; he was looking ahead, over the driver’s shoulder, at the streets unfurling in front of the car, at the gauzy reflections in puddles and windows that turned after-hours London into a kaleidoscope, made fast-food outlets and minicab offices brief flashes of wonder. Innocence became him like a wimple does a stripper.
She said, ‘What have you done?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You could use that phrase as your ringtone, but it doesn’t fool me. You’re telling me to loosen up for Damien Cantor because you’re covering your tracks. You’ve already let something out of your bag, haven’t you? What is it?’
‘Diana—’
‘I won’t ask twice.’
He said, ‘In order to establish the right sort of backing for our venture, by which I mean people who believe in what we’re trying to do, people of appropriate character, I have had to … allow a little light to shine here and there. Not on anything that might cause us embarrassment. You have nothing to worry about.’
‘Was there ever a more confidence-sapping expression?’
‘I’ve divulged nothing that could do us harm, Diana. You know me better than that. Just a little … shop gossip.’
‘You’re not in the shop, Peter. You’re not even a customer. You’re just hanging around in aisle three, hoping to nick a chocolate bar.’
‘No metaphor left unpunished, that’s one of the things I adore about you.’ He turned to face her. ‘As I say, Damien may not be anyone’s pick for a dining companion, but he is a force to reckon with. An influencer. So yes, I may have allowed him a peep behind the curtain. An
‘A glimpse of what?’
‘I shared a detail or two about your special needs group, that’s all. The slow horses. And the use you’re putting them to.’ His pout twitched. ‘He thought it was funny. As do you. Which is why you told me in the first place, yes?’
‘Not expecting you to pass it around the playground.’
‘All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well,’ he soothed. The taxi was slowing, approaching Diana’s house. ‘Remind me. Am I dropping you here? Or are we both, ah, getting off?’
‘You’re going home to your wife.’
‘So I am.’
‘And I’m giving serious thought as to whether I drop the curtain on our little arrangement,’ she said, laying heavy stress on the final three words as the car drew to a halt and she opened the door, and climbed gracefully out.
Peter Judd waved through the window. ‘It’s interesting that you think you’re still holding the rope,’ he said, but the car was moving by then, and there was no chance she’d have heard.
After a while he’d got himself under control, though to be fair, he hadn’t lost it all that much. A few tears: a grown man could be forgiven a few tears. Andy had been twenty-eight, same as himself. Losing someone at that age, being lost at that age: a few tears were the least you could expect.
