Exposé Page 5

  To his surprise, he found the Newsnight incident was the top story pretty much everywhere (apart from at the Daily Ear). Gayesh’s dismissal led one Telegraph columnist to reflect that “it would seem the Daily Ear’s statement that it’s ‘business as usual’ is far from true”. “But it was only a silly TV spat,” Sam whispered to himself. The car arrived at Campden Hill Square, and Sam was pleased to find there weren’t any reporters or photographers waiting at the front gates. This was the four-storey, Georgian house he’d lived in for most of his childhood and it remained, by far, his favourite of all the properties the family owned.

  Audrey, his mother, had kept it as part of the divorce settlement and lovingly maintained Sam’s bedroom as though he still lived there. For the most part she and his father, Howard, had stayed on good terms. They had taken a pragmatic approach to life-after-divorce which meant Audrey often let him use the house for important family meetings, particularly those where they didn’t want ‘other people’ involved. And that’s why Sam worried. It was being treated as a family issue. He found his parents sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen on the lower ground floor. His mother was sipping a hot chocolate and his father was eating from a wooden bowl filled with pistachios.

  “Sam, dear,” his mother said with delight, and immediately stood to give him a big hug. Oh, how he loved his mother. He loved her clear voice and bright smiling face. He loved that, without a hint of vanity, she had let her hair go completely grey and the conventional, unfussy way she dressed. But most of all, he loved the unflappable way she handled even the most demanding situation. Her embrace lasted moments, and when she stepped away his giant father was looming over him, his hand outstretched. “I completely understand if you’re pissed off with me, but I wouldn’t have brought you home if it wasn’t important.”

  “Twigg’s note wasn’t much good,” Sam said. “So I assume there’s more to this than meets the eye.” He shook his father’s hand and could feel grease and salt from the nuts being pressed into his palm. The handshake suddenly turned into an unexpected hug ending with the inevitable back-pat. Sam knew his father only did that when he felt the need to compete with Audrey’s more naturally tactile manner. “Good to see you back home, son.”

  Howard was a big man, six foot five inches tall and several stones overweight. He had a cumbersome physique which somehow managed to make even the most exquisitely tailored suit look cheap and ill-fitting. And his tight mop of thick curly hair was dyed dark brown, a failed attempt to look younger. At times, Sam could barely believe the two had ever been married – his petite, flawless, elegant mother and his lumbering, coarse, poorly-dressed father. But then, growing up, he’d not seen them spend much time together so their dynamic as a married couple had remained something of a mystery to him.

  “I’m going to make supper,” Audrey said. “Toasted cheese and ham sandwich?”

  “Yes please,” Sam replied, knowing his mother always bought the best cheese and finest ham. He sat at the table with his father as his mother busied herself at the counter.

  “So, Adam Jaymes,” Howard said. “Took us all by surprise, I can tell you.”

  “Bit of an understatement,” Audrey remarked, and then chuckled and continued preparing Sam’s supper.

  Howard sighed and then nodded in agreement. “We’ve kept this Newsnight incident nailed down as best we can, and as a one-off we can easily limit the damage. But Adam Jaymes said we have two weeks of this. If that’s true, we could be in serious shit.”

  Sam frowned. None of this was adding up, he thought. “Dad, the discussion about media ethics isn’t new. It’s been rumbling on for more than a year. The Daily Ear was already slap-bang in the middle of that discussion. All Jaymes’ doing is getting some cheap laughs at the expense of the sordid private life of Colin Merroney. So what?”

  Howard piled another handful of nuts into his mouth, and chewed while he spoke. “We will not survive two weeks of this shit,” he replied. “I’ve had Derek Toulson run through our reputation management system. There are at least a dozen significant corporate actions that we would not be able to defend publicly. If Jaymes’ got wind of even one of those, the Ear will go the same way as the News of the World.”

  Sam was astonished. “You would close the Daily Ear?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t, no,” Howard replied. “But you might have to.”

  Sam realised his father had positioned him as the hatchet man. If things went against them, Sam Harvey would be remembered, first and foremost, as the man who closed the UK’s most popular daily paper. The idea turned him on a little. “How did things get so bad?” he asked.

  Howard continued chewing. “Gayesh took his eye off the ball, big time,” he said. “It turns out he was too busy swanning around with politicians and celebrities. I should have sacked him after that disaster with the footballer and the HIV test. My fault, but now it’s your problem.”

  Audrey turned around, onion in hand. “Sam, dear, my awards are in a couple of weeks’ time,” she said. “I can’t have this hanging over them.”

  “Oh Audrey!” Howard boomed, frustrated at his ex-wife’s lack of focus. “For fuck’s sake. Your ‘Amazing People Awards’ are not the priority here.” He regretted saying it as soon as the words had left his mouth. He knew they were a priority. Perhaps not corporately, but certainly in terms of the status quo of the Harvey family. And so he quickly back peddled. “I’m sorry. Audrey, I’m sorry.”

  The ceremony was usually broadcast live on primetime ITV, and Howard knew how disappointed Audrey had been when ITV dropped out of that year’s event. She’d had no option but to go with an offer from Channel 5, a TV channel with less gravitas and a much smaller potential audience. And now Howard felt just awful for rubbing her nose in it with his own thoughtless criticism. “Of course the awards are a priority,” he said. “Sam, look after your mother’s awards too.”

  Sam smiled reassuringly at his mother. “I’ll meet the event team tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll make sure we distance the awards completely from what’s going on at the Ear.”

  “And how will you do that?” Howard asked, putting him completely on the spot. But Sam was lucky on that occasion, because he had an answer ready. There had been a similar issue involving sponsors for the teen awards in LA a few years previously and Sam remembered how his team had quickly sorted it out.

  “If need be, we’ll just drop the Daily Ear’s branding and bump up one of the other sponsors to be the main partner, “ Sam replied “I know it’s last minute but it can be done. Maybe we’ll offer it to Channel 5 since they’re showing it.”

  Howard looked ready to bite his son’s head off, but Sam knew this was not the time to be barked at. What was it that dreadful Valerie Pierce had said to him once? “Announce your opinion with confidence and people will think you’re an academic. It’s all in the delivery.”

  “I know what you’re going to say, Dad,” Sam said, quickly intercepting his father’s response. “And I know the history of the awards and the Daily Ear. But this isn’t the time for pussying around. And I’m telling you now, Dad, that I won’t be pussying around.”

  Sam waited for his father’s response but could see his mother smiling proudly at him from the other side of the kitchen. Oh, how lovely that he had made her proud.

  “Whatever you need to do, son,” Howard eventually replied, although he clearly wasn’t happy. “And one more thing. Adam Jaymes aside, you might want to have a good look at the company accounts. And not the official ones either.”

  Sam had the impression that Harvey News Group was buoyant, that it had somehow kept itself profitable when everyone else in the marketplace was going to the wall. “I don’t know what you mean. Not the official ones?”

  Howard groaned. “I want you to get a realistic idea of the company’s financial situation. I know that Gayesh only ever gave me half the story. I’ve grown very suspicious of the top floor. Too many of the senior accountants have an understanding with
members of the executive team. I think they’ve used all the tricks in the book to make me think things are going well.”

  “That’s easy enough,” Sam said, dismissively. “I’ll have lunch with Uncle Tony. He’ll give me the run down.” Tony Runwell had been a friend and colleague of the Harveys since before Sam was born, and had been Director of Finance at Harvey News Group for more than two decades. Sam had many fond memories of Uncle Tony, most of them involving him falling over drunk at Christmas parties.

  “No you will not,” Howard replied, angrily. “Uncle Tony is the last person you will go to. And this is a piece of work Uncle Tony will know nothing about.”

  “Dad!” Sam said, shocked at the venom in Howard’s voice as he said the man’s name. “What the hell’s Uncle Tony done?”

  “That is for you to find out,” Howard replied grimly. “You’ll need someone good but new, a young accountant who hasn’t bought into this ‘easy money’ mindset. Oonagh Boyle’s got a good lad in her back pocket. Use him. But do not let anyone know what you’re up to.”

  The front door slammed and Howard’s wife clunked her way through the passageway and down the small flight of stairs to the kitchen. Sam noticed his mother’s usually placid demeanour change ever so slightly as Estelle entered the kitchen. The smile on her face became larger, the pretence of a welcome, and she stood taller as though trying to compete with Estelle’s six-inch heels.

  “Hello Sam,” Estelle said brightly and kissed him on the head, ruffling his hair like a schoolboy’s. She was only a few years older than he, but her role as step-mother defined their relationship in such a way as to make their ages irrelevant. He was the little boy, and she was his father’s wife.

  “I’m making supper, Estelle,” Audrey said, still smiling.

  Estelle dropped her pink Birkin bag on the kitchen table, kissed Howard on the lips and sat down next to him, linking her arm through his. “Oh, no thank you, Audrey sweetheart,” she said. “I ended up eating quite late. But I wouldn’t say no to an espresso, if one’s going.”

  Sam had expected Estelle to do what she always did after an evening out and drop a few names. Perhaps the restaurant, or the chef, or the people she’d eaten dinner with, or the designer who’d provided her little black dress for the evening. But, to his surprise, she just smiled at everyone and waited for her coffee. He also noticed her voice was slightly smoother and deeper than before, the inflections only occasionally hinting at her Essex roots. Clearly, Sam thought, Estelle’s efforts to be more ‘classy’ were finally beginning to show.

  “You look nice this evening,” she said to Audrey. “What’s that you’re wearing?”

  Audrey turned from the coffee maker and automatically stood with her elbows out, looking down at her clothes as if seeing them for the first time. “Oh, this? It’s M&S,” she said.

  Estelle tried to look impressed. “Well,” she said, “it’s lovely. It looks like it could be a label.”

  “It has a label,” Audrey replied, as though mystified. “It says Marks and Spencer.”

  Estelle laughed, and snuggled back against Howard’s chest. “Oh, you’re still the funny one!” she said, flapping her wedding-ring hand in Audrey’s direction.

  There followed several minutes of awkward chatter, as Audrey dished up supper and Estelle lectured everyone on how rude Londoners were compared with people from Essex. Sam noted that the family business stopped being discussed the moment Estelle entered the room.

  He had tried his best to like his step-mother, because he knew in his heart she wasn’t a bad person. She was always polite to his mother and genuinely seemed to love his father, and not just for his money (although she obviously did love money). And he also knew she wasn’t responsible for his parents’ divorce. In fact, she didn’t meet Howard until months after their separation. But the media had still labelled her a home wrecker and gold digger and, shamefully, his father had never publicly denied those accusations. Howard’s damning silence was something, Sam suspected, which had hurt Estelle deeply but she had never complained.

  So he just took her for what she was: an ageing Essex girl who’d failed to marry a footballer and so landed one of the UK’s richest businessmen instead. As she happily chatted away, Sam’s mind began to wander to the early days of Estelle and Howard’s relationship. In particular, he recalled the events which followed that infamous night when they had appeared in public together for the first time. They had eaten dinner at The Ivy and Howard had given into pressure from his Head of PR and agreed for a number of photographers to be there as they arrived. Estelle had been keen to make an impression and do Essex proud. But she’d worn a bit too much make-up, and her tan was a bit too dark, and her hair had been set a bit too solidly making it look like a large wig. Her heels had made her seem almost as tall as his colossus of a father, and she had waved her hand too close to the cameras making it seem out of proportion with the rest of her body. A few unflattering press photos later, and the rumours that Estelle was a transsexual had followed her ever since. Her failure to deliver another heir to the Harvey fortune had, in the eyes of a disapproving public, added more fuel to the fire. And as Sam sat and listened to whatever it was Estelle was saying, his gaze became fixated on her neck. He thought he could see something moving up and down, a lump in her throat. And he began to worry that his father’s unease about Project Ear was not entirely related to the newspaper.

  CHAPTER 5

  Valerie Pierce always enjoyed tea at the Ritz. It wasn’t because of the grand opulence of the tea room, or the attentive, well-mannered waiters. It wasn’t even for the fine china or the quality of the sandwiches and cakes. She simply enjoyed looking down her nose at the other guests. And, oh, how she hated them. She hated the foreign tourists (particularly the Americans) who wanted to try something typically English, but then wasted their sitting by stealthily taking pictures on their phones when the waiters weren’t looking.

  Then there were the working class families who couldn’t really afford the Ritz but who, she assumed, had flogged all their DVD box-sets to pay for a special day out. She hated how they would sit quietly in their best clothes, unable to glean any enjoyment from the experience because they found it all so intimidating. And then, of course, there were the theatre-goers. Valerie loathed them the most. She hated how they would swan in like they owned the place, with the sort of bravado that came from too many coach trips to London. But once at their table the veil would quickly drop and they would spend the rest of their sitting looking surprised and impressed with everything, even the cutlery.

  Four women at a nearby table (on their way to Les Mis, Valerie suspected) reacted with such awe when the waiter delivered their tiered sandwich stand that she couldn’t hold her tongue. “Oh for goodness sake,” she muttered, only partially under her breath, “You’d think they’d never seen a bloody sandwich before”.

  Audrey was sitting opposite with a small pair of reading specs balanced on the end of her nose, looking through Valerie’s media plan for the Amazing People Awards. “Play nicely, dear,” she chirped. “The tourists keep this place open.”

  Valerie sipped her tea. Audrey was one of the few people – the very few people – that she could never bring herself to criticise. They’d known each other for the better part of 25 years, and although they couldn’t exactly class themselves as friends, they certainly were more than just acquaintances. Her allegiance to Audrey was one of the reasons she had never accepted any of the lunch invitations from Estelle. And from time to time, Audrey’s insights into the rich and famous had proven incredibly useful. Through her charity work and social scene she was always bumping into celebrities, politicians and royalty and would happily share her views on how people looked or behaved. Usually, those stories would give Valerie some valuable ideas for her column.

  “I’ve bumped it up a gear,” Valerie said, talking business again. “We need to work a little harder, what with it being on Channel 5.”

  “Yes, this is good.” Au
drey put the paperwork back into her bag and slipped her glasses away too. “It’s going to be tricky this year,” she admitted. “Sam was even talking about dropping the Ear’s brand for the event.”

  Valerie shrugged. “It is what it is,” she said. “We’ve been knocked back before, and we always come back stronger than ever. This little farce won’t last long.”

  “Farce?”

  “Oh, of course,” Valerie purred. “Adam Jaymes, taking on the Daily Ear for the good of the British people? Oh please! We’re an easy target at the moment because of this bloody inquiry. He’s just jumping on the bandwagon, trying to score some cheap publicity for himself. You mark my words, the public will wise up to what he’s doing and once all this is over his career will be dead in the water. The Daily Ear will still be here.”

  Audrey wished she could be as confident. But the previous night’s conversation had left her feeling uneasy. And that morning, perhaps foolishly, she had visited the Project Ear website hoping it would put her mind at ease. She was searching for reassurance, for something to suggest that Sam was right and it was little more than a childish quarrel. Instead, she had come face to face with the reality of what Adam Jaymes had done to Colin. She had seen the detail with which his affair had been picked apart, the clarity of the secretly taken photographs. But worst of all was the unbridled delight that seeped through every word of the exposé. Whatever Adam’s real motivations, he was clearly enjoying doing it.

  “Tell me about the office,” she said. “How are the staff?”

  Valerie sipped her tea and thought for a moment before responding. In her head she had already started to create a narrative on the Project Ear saga, for a book she would write at some point in the future. She liked the idea of it being a war, or at least a great battle. It sounded more dramatic than the reality, which was a lot of people in suits running around like headless chickens and shouting at each other.