Tiger Man. PENNY JORDAN
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it impossible for them to branch out in ways that might have ensured their success, but it didn’t help to hear her own views reinforced by Jago Marsh.
‘Does he have any suggestions as to how we might improve our capital?’ Storm enquired sarcastically.
David regarded her unhappily.
’Not our capital, perhaps, but as far as our services go, he had plenty to say.’
He paused, and something in his expression communicated itself to Storm.
‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’ she asked slowly. ‘Something you haven’t told me.’
David had his back to her. At thirty-two he had already developed a vaguely defensive stoop, his fair hair falling untidily over his eyes, the suit he had worn for his journey to London, hanging a little loosely on his narrow frame.
‘The only way the I.B.A. would agree to continue our licence was if Jago came in with us in an advisory capacity.’
For a moment Storm was too taken aback to speak, and then she rallied, exclaiming bitterly:
‘And how is he supposed to do that? The last thing I heard was that he was off on a lecture tour of the States—I read it in the paper only the other week. But I suppose he’s so egotistical that he thinks he can advise us, give his lecture tour and run his own station all at the same time. After all, a small venture like ours shouldn’t take up more than half an hour or so of his time every other week. Is that it? I suppose we ought to be grateful,’ she added before David could speak. ‘At least he’ll be out of our hair, but it makes me so mad. When we eventually do make a success of the station—and we will, I know we will, he’ll collect all the congratulations and we’ll have done all the work.’
‘It’s not going to be quite like that, Storm,’ David told her. ‘Jago isn’t going to the States. He’s cancelled his tour, and he says the London station is running perfectly now. He’s pretty confident of the management he’s got down there. He’s got interests in television too, of course, but right now what he’s looking for, so he told me, is a new challenge, a chance to get back to the roots of local radio and see how it’s changed in the last decade. He’s coming down here, Storm, to run the station himself.’
Storm had grown steadily paler as David delivered this speech. Now she stared at him in disbelief.
‘He can’t be!’ she objected. ‘Oh, David, surely you didn’t agree to that!’
‘I didn’t have much chance,’ he told her defensively. ‘The I.B.A. were all for it. As far as they’re concerned he can’t do any wrong. He had plenty of pull with them, I could tell that right away. How could I make them listen to me? They’ve given us another three months to try and turn the corner and…’
‘They?’ Storm asked dangerously, her eyes flashing. ‘Or Jago Marsh? What does he hope to prove by doing this?’
‘It’s the challenge that attracts him.’ David replied a little bitterly. ‘He hasn’t changed since we were at the B.B.C. together, unless it’s to become even more ruthless.’
‘I suppose he think’s he’s going to trample all over us, acting the big “I am”,’ Storm complained. How well she remembered the cool mockery with which he had outlined his objections to women in the media, somehow subtly conveying the opinion that women had only one role in his life. Well, if he thought he was going to treat her as a sex object he had another thing coming!
‘Why did you let the Authority foist him off on you?’ she asked David unhappily. ‘If they have to put someone in to monitor our progress, why not someone else?’
‘If it had been left up to them I think they would have revoked our licence altogether,’ David admitted, not willing to admit that the Authority, far from giving him the opportunity to state his reluctance to have Jago join them, had seemed to expect him to be overwhelmed with gratitude for his intervention.
‘Your own job should be safe enough,’ David told her. ‘You’re very highly qualified, Storm, and your references from Frampton’s were excellent.’
‘But I haven’t exactly achieved great success since I’ve been here, have I?’ Storm said bitterly.
She had come to the job from her previous position as an accounts assistant with a large advertising agency in Oxford, full of enthusiasm and ideas, a plan of campaign carefully mapped out from judicious observation of the way in which other successful radio stations handled their advertising. But the last twelve months had not proved as promising as she had hoped.
‘Time we weren’t here, Storm,’ David announced, glancing at his watch. ‘Meet you downstairs in ten minutes?’
Storm nodded. David often gave her a lift home and it was these shared journeys which had initially given rise to their romance.
‘When are you going to tell the others?’ Storm asked from the door.
‘They already know,’ David told her tiredly. ‘Pete was waiting for me when I got back, and there didn’t seem any point in keeping it a secret.’
Pete Calder was one of their two D.J.s, something of a live wire, who made no bones about the fact that he found Storm attractive. An easy friendship had developed between them, and Storm sensed that Pete would have liked to take it a stage farther had she been agreeable.
It was five to six when she walked into the cluttered, boxy room that doubled as an office-cum-staff room-cum-canteen, to collect her coat and bag. Four people were lounging round a table drinking mugs of coffee and munching broken biscuits; the two technicians who worked on the evening shift—Radio Wyechester operated twenty-four hours a day—the disc jockey for that evening, who was Pete, and one of the typists, a small fair-haired girl named Sue Barker.
The buzz of gossip faded a little when Storm walked in. Pete beckoned her over, brandishing his cup.
‘Got time for one before you go, my lovely?’ he asked Storm. ‘Or is the great man waiting?’
Storm’s eyes sparkled a little at this sarcastic reference to David, but wisely she let it go. It wasn’t possible to keep their personal relationship private in such a compact group and sometimes Storm bitterly resented Pete’s contention that because David was quiet and introverted, he must also be weak and spineless. She loved David’s gentleness, she often told herself, and if at times he seemed to bow down to others, it was because he was innately too considerate to argue. Personally she could not think of anything worse than the type of man who dominated with his personality.
‘I’ve got a few minutes yet,’ she told Pete, guessing from his excited air what had been the topic of conversation before she walked in.
‘What do you think about Jago Marsh joining us?’ Pete asked confirming her thoughts.
He had deep blue eyes and wildly curling fair hair. Under his air of casual bonhomie lurked a keen brain and an acid sense of humour, but Storm refused to let him get under her guard, and a certain sense of mutual respect had grown up between them. Pete was the more popular of their two D.J.s, and at twenty-three a year older than Storm.
She was too angry for caution and answered furiously, ‘That the I.B.A. have a nerve off loading him on us!’
‘Come on, Storm,’ Pete objected. ‘We ought to be down on our knees thanking God that we’ve got him. Face it, David might be a nice guy, but there was no way he was going to make this station work. With Jago Marsh in charge…’
‘In charge! He’s coming in in an advisory capacity, that’s all,’ Storm reminded him. ‘David’s still in charge.’
For a moment there was silence from the others, and then Pete’s eyes crinkled in amusement.
‘That’s our Storm! Faithful to old David until the last. Jago’s going to have to watch himself with you around, honey!’
General laughter greeted this sally, and Pete slipped