All to Play For (15 page)

Chris walked from one position to another, weighing up the options. How to communicate successfully, maintaining authority whilst inspiring loyalty, in the face of structural disadvantage? He smiled to himself: that was BBC management in a nutshell. He would save that observation for his diary, which he kept so that he could write his memoirs one day.

“What do you think, Selina?”

“Well. If you’ve got your back to the window no-one will be able to see your face, and if you face the window you won’t see anyone else’s face, so it might be best to go with the end-on arrangement and try not to use the far corner. If you stand at the mural side of the short end, rather than in the middle of it, that will help.”

Chris could see that this was a sensible approach, but he disliked the formality of it. He would feel like a headmaster taking assembly.

“Okay but let’s try and break down the barriers a bit, I don’t want to sit behind a table, and I don’t want straight rows of chairs. They can be curved. I’ll just stand at the front.” Selina made a few notes on her pad, then checked her watch.

“Time we went back. The DG wants to see you at twelve.”

“Yep.” Chris smiled and looked into her shrewd eyes appreciatively. “Thanks Selina.”

His face was transformed in a way she found very appealing. He was a stocky man of medium height and ordinary regular features, with unremarkable short brown hair and a serious expression, but his smile was soft and shy.

“Can you fix up for me to meet the Drama Department first, and Documentaries last; it doesn’t matter how the rest fit in. And not more than three a week. Two would be better.”

“Sure. How soon do we start?”

“Next week. We’ll hold them in the mornings. Ten o’clock.”

Selina nodded, noted, and beamed. He was a really good person to work for: decisive, organised and respectful towards her. He treated her as an intelligent professional which was just what she wanted. She was determined not to be written off as a bimbo, and Chris would never do that. Giving him her full support would benefit both their careers.

At nine forty-five the following Tuesday, Chris sipped a weak cappuccino from a polystyrene cup as he stood at his office window trying to look through the venetian blind into the conference room behind the statue. He couldn’t see well enough to know if it was filling up. He wasn’t really nervous but he was very concerned that the meeting should go well; he knew the value of first impressions and had prepared his address with great care. He had chosen to start with the Drama Department because he didn’t know anyone in it. Over the years he had worked in Arts and Music, Sport, Features and Current Affairs, before being hand-picked for the Licence Renewal Committee. Consequently there were many people who had known him in all kinds of junior roles, who would have mixed feelings about his new seniority over them. Experience had taught him to step with care where they were concerned, as their respect had to be earned. Drama would take him as he was. By the time he had worked his way round to Documentaries he would be better armed to take them on. Certain characters would, he knew, give him a hard time.

At five past ten Selina popped in to say that the Drama Department had assembled and were ready for him. He picked up his notes and walked round briskly, with Selina in attendance. He entered at the farthest door so that he was already in his ‘stage’ area, noted the water Selina had placed on a small table for him, and smiled to her as she sat down at the side of the room and prepared to take minutes.

He cleared his throat and surveyed the room, which had been filled with rows of chairs on a slight curve towards him, as he had requested. He hadn’t anticipated the effect of the contrasting curve of the room on the curve of the chairs, which made him feel slightly sea-sick. Never mind, he would re-consider the layout later on. An expectant hush had fallen as everyone soaked up their first proper look at the new controller, so he smiled tightly at the floating mass of faces and began.

“Good morning everyone. Thank you for sparing your time today, I won’t keep you any longer than necessary. I’ve brought you here to introduce myself and give you the low-down on my plans for BBC2, direct from the horse’s mouth; I know what the rumour machine’s like here. I think it must have something to do with the circular corridors – never-ending Chinese whispers!” This feeble joke produced a friendly murmur which indicated that the ice had been cracked, if not broken. He glanced at Selina who smiled back softly.

“I’m very keen to establish a good, clear communication between us: I intend to be absolutely straight with you on all matters.” He paused, hoping for another ripple of acknowledgement which didn’t happen. Once again he found himself looking at Selina: he reprimanded himself for seeking moral support from one so young, and addressed a light fitting half way down the room instead:

“Now, I expect you know a bit about my background. I’ve been here sixteen years, I’ve made many programmes in my time and I’m very well aware of the problems you have to deal with. I also believe very strongly that programme-makers are the vital core of the BBC, and while I’m in this job I shall give top priority to getting the best possible quality of programmes for the channel.

“It goes without saying that you, the Drama Department, are one of the great assets of the BBC. I’m afraid I don’t yet know any of you personally, although many are of course familiar. I can see some very distinguished faces here this morning. I hope very much that you will throw yourselves behind me and help us to lead BBC2 into a new era.” Again he paused, but no response. He realised that the sea of faces was waiting for something more informative than bullshit. Time to offer them something concrete; he departed from his notes, putting them behind his back, and strolled a few paces from side to side.

“One of the
most
frustrating things I’ve encountered as a documentary producer is waiting for an answer further up the line.” He glanced sideways at the assembly and saw a few heads nodding at last. “You’ve got a fantastic idea no-one else has picked up on yet, you’ve done the research, worked out a rough budget – and you’re stuck in your office waiting for the green light. Every day that goes by endangers your project from rival companies picking up on it, participants getting cold feet, or maybe the issue will lose its topicality if the programme isn’t made as soon as possible. What you need is a quick decision. And they tend to be a rare species in the BBC. Well, not in my office! I guarantee you a prompt yes, no or maybe. None of your proposals will sit on a shelf wasting time. And that’s a promise.”

This went down well, the crowd shifted a little, relaxing. Heads turned toward each other, eyebrows rose and fell, one or two fresh young faces were eager to answer his call. Now he could move on, taking them with him. At that moment a drill started up in the middle distance. He refused to let it put him off his stride.

“BBC2’s record in drama is very strong, and I mean to build on that. I shall be extremely clear about what our needs are, and I look forward to working with you to develop the right shows.” A look of slight bewilderment flitted across the group. “I also mean to build in new technologies which will radically reduce costs over the next few years, provided we’re prepared to work
with
them. We mustn’t be afraid to try new ways of doing things.” Frowns began to appear, eyes met briefly and looked back to the front.

Chris felt a little nervous now. He was losing the tenuous grip he had barely established, and he wasn’t sure why. Why would new technology be considered controversial? He gripped his notes.

“I’m going to give you a broad outline of what I’m looking for next, for the 95/6 season. I think it’s very important that you know the way I see the channel working, and I want you to feel that you can discuss it with me. I’ll take questions at the end.” He paused for people to fidget, and recommenced when pens and notepads were at the ready, speaking as loudly as he could without shouting because there were now two drills competing with him.

“Firstly, a classic serial: I must say I thoroughly enjoyed
The Old Curiosity Shop
. Is Donald Mountjoy here?”

Donald waved cheerily from somewhere in the middle of the room.

“Donald.” Chris indicated his respect by fixing eye contact and nodding with conviction. “Of course, I would like another along those lines. Secondly I would like a contemporary serial: a cutting edge, state-of-the-nation piece from a leading writer. Thirdly I would like a long-running series of contemporary adult drama which will make a real impact on the nation – I don’t see why the Americans should wield a monopoly on cult hits!” He glanced up and was encouraged to see some of the younger faces near the front looking excited.

“I expect to develop projects at a rate of three to one for the slots, and I shall be able to give you specific slot requirements in a few weeks, along with guideline prices. I look forward
very
much to receiving your ideas. Now, does anyone have any questions?”

Chris slipped his notes into the inside pocket of his dark grey suit and took a drink of water. The atmosphere was not good. In fact, the word to describe it was consternation. The audience looked serious; some frowned, others examined their fingernails minutely. His armpits prickled and he loosened his tie, which he would have removed except that he knew the DG believed that senior executives should look the part at all times. The builders, wherever they were, abandoned their tools and silence fell suddenly on the crowd. Chris tried to look relaxed but felt like a giant panda newly arrived at London Zoo for mating purposes. There was confusion and tension in the room. What should he do about it? He saw the Head of Drama, Peter Maxwell at the end of the second row and caught his eye: would he like to say a few words? Peter rose to his feet, adjusted his belt and lightly brushed his hand over the top of his head, smiling in a generally inclusive manner.

“Thank you Chris, for a most welcome frankness. I think it’s taken us all somewhat by surprise!” The group united in agreement.

“If I may, I… rather think one or two of your remarks may have come across in a slightly ambiguous way. Perhaps we could clarify a few points.”

“Of course.” Chris was all attention. Peter’s reputation was sound: not a difficult man to deal with, and a fine track record.

“I think you may have said you were looking at developing drama for the 95/6 season, when you meant 96/7; of course we have to work a year ahead of other departments because it takes so much longer to make drama.”

“Absolutely.” Chris nodded sagely, masking his concern. He’d forgotten to take that into account, damn it. But he didn’t intend to wait a whole year before making his mark. He would not automatically accept the shows his predecessor had chosen. However, he didn’t want to go into this until he’d had time to think about it further.

“Sorry about that, everyone – slip of the tongue! Anything else?” He hoped he hadn’t made any other blunders. “I’d be most grateful if you would say your name before putting a question.”

A hand waved from the very back, on the window side, and Chris moved sideways to get the best view. A dark-haired man with large features and an open-necked denim shirt lifted his head as high as he could.

“Stewart Walker. I
am
sorry, I don’t seem to be able to see you very well. For some reason they’ve set the room out in this bizarre fashion. It’s most frustrating.”

Chris steeled himself. He knew immediately that Stewart had sat there deliberately, and that Stewart knew perfectly well that Chris would have approved the seating plan. He would not let Stewart know he knew what he was up to.

“I agree,” he replied. “It’s a very strange room indeed!”

“My question is whether we can depend on you, as a former maker of
factual
programmes, to
really
support us as makers of
drama
.”

Chris knew a baited fish-hook when it hit him on the nose. “Isn’t that what I’ve just been saying?” he asked, disingenuously.

Stewart’s face writhed with the effort of expressing himself. “You see I’ve been making drama here for twenty-seven years, and some of those projects – I like to think the
best
projects – have taken three or four years to develop, and two years to produce. I would like
very
much to feel that you understood how we work.”

Chris received Stewart’s message loud and clear: no jumped-up kid controller was to stand in the way of Stewart’s major works of art.

“I intend, as I said, to work closely with you at every stage. I’m sure we’ll soon understand each other very well.”

Stewart nodded sagaciously. He had received Chris’ message with equal clarity: who’s the bloody controller here anyway?

Selina had turned to try and see who was speaking but she couldn’t get a good enough view. A handsome young man near the front was also craning his neck: as he turned back to face the front, concealing a distinct smirk, their eyes met full on. They held each other’s gaze a moment longer than was necessary.

Chris was glad to see another hand rise nearer the front. “Yes?”

“Penny Cruickshank, producer. Hello. Forgive me for asking this, but I’m just wondering if you intend a radical departure from your predecessor’s approach?” This was another loaded question, but coming from this large middle-aged woman with such a sweet face, it wasn’t aggressive.

Chris smiled warmly. “It’s hard for me to say whether it’s a radical departure or not; it’s certainly a new approach, and I think, a much clearer, simpler one.”

Penny nodded hard, adding: “For instance, you mentioned development at a rate of three projects per slot. That’s a great deal less than we currently have on our list.”

“Really?” Chris had no idea what their list had on it. “What rate do you normally maintain?” Penny looked at Peter, who looked at Fenella.

“The thing is, Chris, we don’t really look at it that way. I’d have to count them up and work it out.” Fenella
had
recently counted the number of projects in development as the list was getting out of hand. It came out at about fourteen to one, assuming the same number of hours of broadcast drama as last year. This was obviously not a statistic likely to impress Chris Briggs.