The blue phone rang and Aubrey extracted it from beneath the papers. ‘Yes?’
‘Andy Page on the line.’ His secretary’s cool voice.
‘Put him on… Andy? Good, now listen. I had a word with — Rodney, isn’t it, in charge of your series?’
‘Townscape, yes.’
‘That’s the title? Mm. Look, I’m arranging for someone else to take over from you.’ A moment’s silence at the other end. ‘Hello?’
‘I’m sorry … yes…’ The boy was embarrassed.
‘Thought we’d been cut off. So I want you to drop what you’re doing and get here right away.’
‘It’s the union, is it?’ He sounded worried and apologetic. ‘I was warned there’d be trouble.’
‘I don’t follow you.’
‘About me operating the camera.’
Aubrey became impatient. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. We’re planning a special documentary about these worms. Investigation in depth, implications, all that jazz. If you don’t think you can handle it…’
‘And drop Townscape?’
‘Do I have to spell it out? We’ve got the whole population shit-scared about worms. They’re talking nothing else in the pubs, the buses, the launderettes. Every leading newspaper carries the story. Worms that eat living human beings — and you’re the man who filmed them! Well, congratulations, but don’t let it go to your head. This is a tough assignment and you’ll find plenty of people against you. Peak-hour viewing, Saturday night if we can get it.’
‘Who do I work to?’
‘Me. Directly to me. Now your replacement for that educational crap … er…’ He found the name scribbled on his pad. ‘Jacqui Turner. She’s already on her way out to you, so grab a taxi and get here. Like now.’
He slammed the phone down. Bet that put the fear of God into him, he thought. Right, young Andy Page, let’s see how you shape up on this one. A tricky assignment, so he’d keep the reins in his own hands. Present the programme, too. Since he’d been promoted Controller of Programmes he’d been too much out of the public eye. High time he made a comeback on the small screen. Written, produced and presented by Aubrey Morgan…
Carole came into the office; neat, calm, not a hair out of place. The most elegant secretary in the building, and she knew it. ‘We’ve found that map you asked for.’
It showed the whole of England and Wales, stopping short just north of the Scottish border. She fixed it to the display board and began sticking in coloured pins to indicate worm sightings, red for full size, blue for their smaller cousins. He’d need a chart of dates as well; an animation sequence perhaps…
Aubrey’s face broke into a smile of satisfaction as he saw the programme taking shape; it’d be the biggest thing since his famous documentary on child prostitution. No problem about audience ratings that week.
‘We’re in business, Carole my darling, we’re in business again!’ He slipped his arm around her as she stepped back from the board. ‘Mmm, you are gorgeous this morning!’ As she turned he kissed her full on the lips.
‘I need more coloured pins,’ she said, matter-of-fact.
He let her go. She never responded, was never even ruffled. It was water off a duck’s back. In fact, kissing a duck might have been more interesting. Tall, slim, self-contained Carole. Daddy was a major-general; she’d once been photographed for Tatler; breeding oozed from every pore, assuming that she possessed such vulgar apertures.
The phone rang and she answered it, ‘Mr Morgan’s office.’ With that voice she ought to be working for a dentist. ‘I’ll tell him.’ She put the receiver down and said the herpetologist had arrived.
‘Yes?’
‘Your professor,’ she added by way of explanation. Plus a superior smile.
Professor Jones had been taken to Presentation Suite A where one of the make-up girls was busy spraying lacquer on his mop of unruly hair. ‘I wish you wouldn’t put that stuff on me,’ he was protesting when Aubrey got there. ‘I’ll only have to wash it out again.’
The girl, an Irish red-head, smiled at him, puckering her lips. He stared back at her as though at one of his dissected lizards. He wore brown corduroy trousers and a fawn sports jacket with leather patches on the elbows. His hands were surprisingly small for a man of his height.
Aubrey introduced himself and said he’d be conducting the interview.
‘I don’t know what I can tell you,’ the Professor replied apologetically. ‘I was sent the remains of one worm, rather the worse for wear. Admittedly it bore a superficial resemblance to the worms we investigated last year, but it was three times the size.’
‘The sewer foreman is convinced they’re the same, and he’s probably seen more than most people.’
‘Nevertheless, he is a layman.’
The Professor stood up and followed Aubrey into the studio without even bothering to nod his thanks to the red-headed make-up girl. Behind his back Aubrey winked at her; she pulled a face in return.
‘Sorry I was a little late,’ the Professor was going on. ‘I’d a few urgent matters to deal with before I came out. I’m afraid I can’t give you much of my time.’
The floor manager led them to two low chairs arranged on either side of a cheap coffee table. The Professor sat down uncomfortably, shifting about to find the best position for his long legs, then deciding there wasn’t one.
‘Stand by!’ the floor manager called.
On cue, Aubrey began his usual smooth introduction, explaining that Professor Jones was a herpetologist of international standing who’d made a special study of sewer worms when they’d first appeared only twelve months ago.
‘But why,’ he asked, ‘are they called worms at all when they look like snakes?’
‘Oh, not to the trained eye!’ The Professor picked up one of the stills they’d prepared. ‘If you examine this picture you’ll see they have eyelids, which snakes do not. Also — here — an eardrum, clearly visible. No doubt about it, these are lizards — limbless lizards, like the slow worm or blind worm. In fact’ — he warmed to his theme — ‘we know many different kinds of lizard, some with four legs, functional legs, some whose legs are reduced and practically non-existent, as well as these which are completely limbless. I could mention the Anops kingii of South America and other amphisbaenids such as the Leposternum microcephalum, and in Britain the familiar Anguis which everyone knows.’
‘The ang—?’
‘Slow worm,’ the Professor repeated testily.
‘Do any of them eat flesh?’
‘Several reptiles are carnivorous.’ He seemed surprised at the question. ‘The most well-known perhaps are crocodiles, alligators, pythons…’
Aubrey let him go on without interruption, at the same time making mental notes of where to edit the interview. At last he managed to slip in a question about the worms which had attacked Matt Parker. Had anything like them been seen before?
‘My department did a brief study last year at the request of the Ministry of Agriculture on quite small worms of a very similar appearance…’
‘Could they have grown?’
‘That’s certainly possible. The ones we examined last year might not have been full-size, though at the time everyone assumed they were. I’m not prepared to state categorically they were essentially the same as the worms which almost killed your cameraman, though superficially they look alike.’
‘So in your opinion we might be faced with the menace of two different species of carnivorous worms rather than just one?’ Aubrey pressed him.