A Question of Love (2 page)

‘Sorry, Tom. I’m just a bit tired.’

‘Been partying?’

‘Hardly. Burning the midnight oil.’

‘Doing what? If you don’t mind my asking,’ he’d added politely.

I shrugged. ‘I don’t mind at all. Compiling pub quiz questions.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘Firstly, because I need the money and, secondly because I enjoy it—it’s interesting.’

He leaned forward. ‘And how does it work?’

‘Well, usually the company I do it for asks for a batch of questions on different subjects. Last night was a bit heavy because—’ I stifled a yawn—‘they needed twenty on the history of Russia, and another twenty on Scottish Premier League football clubs. I ended up dreaming that Catherine the Great played for Queen’s Park Rangers.’

‘Hmm.’ Tom had steepled his fingers and was gently bouncing them against his lips.

‘I make up the questions,’ I went on, ‘they have them verified, then they put the quizzes together and sell them to the pubs. Tonight I’ve got to prepare fifteen on the plays of Ibsen, then tomorrow I’m going to do fifteen on the Roman Catholic Church. In a good month I can make an extra five hundred pounds, which God knows, I can do with.’

‘Quiz questions…’ Tom repeated. He was just staring at me, saying nothing. Usually I feel comfortable with Tom —we have a great working relationship—but I found thisunnerving.

‘Anyway, can we get on with the meeting?’ I said after a moment. ‘I wouldn’t mind going home a bit early tonight, as I say I’m a bit tired and…’

‘
We
should do a quiz,’ Tom said suddenly.

‘Yes,’ said Sara, her face lighting up. ‘That’s just what
I
was thinking. That’s a
great
idea.’

‘A quiz,’ Tom repeated. ‘A really
good
one. I don’t know why I’ve never thought of it before.’

‘Probably because there are any number of good quizzes out there already,’ I suggested drily.

Tom pinged another rubber band out of the open window. ‘That doesn’t mean we can’t do one as well.’

‘It’d have to be different,’ said Sara. She took off her little black specs and began cleaning them on the hem of her skirt, which is what she does when she’s fired up about something. ‘It would have to be unlike anything that already exists.’

‘In short it would have to be original,’ said Tom. ‘But the question—irony intended—is how?’

So for the next hour or so we’d talked about the different quiz shows and tried to analyse why it is that they work. With
Who Wants to be a Millionaire?
we decided that it was the Greed Factor combined with the brilliant tension that Chris Tarrant creates. With
Mastermind
it was the sinister atmosphere—the menacing music, the Black Chair in the harsh spotlight—inspired, according to Tom, by its creator’s experience of interrogation as a prisoner of war. The appeal of
University Challenge
was seeing young people answer such difficult questions, and the attraction of
The Weakest Link
seemed to be the mesmerising spectacle of the contestants’ meek submission to Anne Robinson’s bile. But underpinning the ever-growing success of the genre was, we agreed, the simple fact that we all like to show off what we know. Watching a quiz makes us revert to our eight-year-old selves, shooting up our hands in class, bursting to answer.

‘Yes,’ mused Tom. ‘A quiz…what do you think, Laura?’

I shrugged. I like television quizzes as much as the next person but I’d never for a moment thought that we might do one.

‘Well…I think it’d be fine. In fact, I like the idea—as long as it’s a proper general knowledge quiz,’ I added quickly. ‘Real information—not trivia. I couldn’t stand having to compile questions about soap opera plots or…I don’t know…how many A-levels Prince William got.’

‘Quite,’ said Tom nodding; then he looked at me. ‘How many A-levels
did
Prince William get?’

‘Three. Geography, Art History and Biology. He got an A, a B and a C.’

‘But what could be the format for our quiz?’ Tom swivelled from side to side in his chair again, his hands clasped behind his head. ‘How could ours be different?’

When we came in on the Monday, we knew. Over the weekend Tom had thought up an idea for one which was original—if not actually quite radical. He said it had just come to him, in the bath. He swore us all to secrecy, we planned a pilot, and for the next month we worked like dogs. Tom produced, I compiled the questions, Sara, our P.A. Gill, and our incredibly annoying receptionist, Nerys, stood in as contestants and, to save money, I fronted it. Within a week of being pitched,
Whadda Ya Know?!!
had sold to the new cable channel, Challenge. They bought it, however, with one quite unexpected proviso—that I should present it myself.

Now, as I turned left into Tavistock Road, I remembered how Tom had been as amazed at this as I was. I’d had zero experience in front of the camera and we’d assumed that Challenge would want to bring in a star. But Adrian, the Commissioning Editor, said he wanted me to present it because I was female—there are few women quizmasters—and, more importantly, young.

‘Most quiz show hosts are middle-aged,’ he’d said as Tom and I sat in his leather-scented office, the ink on our signatures still wet on the contracts in front of us. ‘It would be a refreshing change to have a quality quiz presented by a thirty-something rather than a fifty-something. I also like the fact that you’re—’ and here he’d hesitated—‘interesting looking.’ I winced. ‘Now, don’t get me wrong, Laura,’ he added, much too quickly. ‘But you’re, well, rather…unusual. What some people might call “
une jolie laide
”.’

‘That means “jolly ugly” doesn’t it?’ I quipped, to cover my annoyance.

‘Oh, no, no—it doesn’t mean that at all. You’re an attractive woman,’ he added, again too quickly I thought.

‘She is,’ said Tom. ‘Laura’s lovely.’

‘Of course she is,’ Adrian went on. ‘You’re very…attractive, Laura…erm…’

‘In a way?’ I said pleasantly.

‘Well, it’s just that your looks are—’ he squinted at me, cocking his head to one side—‘unconventional.’ By now I felt like the Elephant Man. ‘You’re a bit like Andie McDowell…’

‘Gone wrong?’ I suggested.

‘Well—ye-es. You
could
say that. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings,’ he blundered on.

‘You didn’t,’ I said politely. ‘Really.’ In any case I’m used to it. My sisters may be pretty but I’m what you’d politely call ‘characterful’: I’ve got Dad’s angular jaw line, and his over-long nose. The galling thing is that I was a lovely baby—I was the pretty cygnet who became a duck.

’But the thing I really like about you,’ Adrian went on, ‘is the fact that you have authority.’

‘Do I?’ I said wonderingly. This had never occurred to me, though I liked the idea. Perhaps I should have been a policewoman—or a dominatrix.

‘You have natural authority—which is the quality that quiz show presenters most need. They can get it in various ways,’ he continued. ‘On
The Weakest Link
, Anne Robinson exudes a kind of authority by being vile; Jeremy Paxman has authority on
University Challenge
because he’s a serious journalist, ditto John Humphreys on
Mastermind
. But you have authority too, Laura. I think the viewers would feel that they’re in safe hands with you and that you could probably answer many of the questions yourself.’

‘She could,’ Tom interjected. ‘She’s incredibly well-informed.’

‘Misspent youth,’ I explained. ‘Too many books.’

‘Plus you’ve got a fantastic memory,’ Tom added warmly. I shrugged. But, to be honest, it’s true. Facts and figures—however useless—stick to my mind like chewing gum sticks to the pavement. I only have to read something once for it to sink in. I’ve always regarded this as an oddity—a bit like having perfect pitch, or a sixth toe—but it can come in handy sometimes. No need for shopping lists, for example. Excellent recall of names and dates. No problem remembering what had rolled by on the
Generation Game
conveyor belt—
Cuddly toy-Teasmaid-Toaster-Carmen Rollers
—and, when I was nine, I won a family trip to Paris by being able to recite all fifty states of the Union in reverse alphabetical order.

‘Yes, well,’ Adrian went on, ‘I think the viewers would feel that you’re not just reading the questions out; and with this format—particularly with its highly unusual unique selling point—that’s what the show really needs.’

Tom was delighted that I was to present the show. As I say, we have a good rapport—though it’s strictly professional, mind you. I like Tom; he’s clever and laid-back and very kind and yes, if I stop to think about it, he’s definitely goodlooking, and he’s got this attractive, north American voice. But I could never see him as anything more than a colleague because a) he’s my boss and it could be awkward and b) I know he once did something that just wasn’t…great.

But, to go back to the quiz, Tom had been worried that no established ‘star’ would want to present it. But then there were serious risks. It could have been utterly humiliating for them if they were no good—they could have got a really bad press. But the thing that makes
Whadda Ya Know?!!
so dangerous for the presenter is precisely what makes it riveting to watch. And so, last September it went to air. Being on cable, it didn’t have a huge audience to start with—just two hundred thousand, but we were hoping to build. Then a tiny piece appeared in
Time Out
describing it as ‘hip’ and ‘subversive’. Before we knew it, Channel Four had poached it, out-bidding Challenge for the second series by £30,000 per show.

So tonight is a very big night because
Whadda Ya Know?!!
‘s going to be aired nationwide for the very first time. And you might think that presenting a prime-time TV show would make me happy, and of course in one way, it does—but, in another way, it fills me with dread…

There are drawbacks you see. Huge drawbacks, I reflected nervously as I turned right into All Saints Road. In one way I’m hoping that the show
won’t
be a success, because, if it is, then what happened to Nick might be raked up.

I stopped at the newsagents and bought the
Independent.
I felt a surge of adrenaline as I turned to the TV listings. There it was, in the 8pm slot, and next to it, it said
See Choice
. My eyes scanned to the top of the page.
Hey—Whadda Ya Know?!! Another new quiz show! But, whadda ya know, this really
is
one with a difference. Newcomer Laura Quick (right) looks brainy—and she’ll need to be. Riveting.

My stomach was churning, but as I crossed the road into All Saints Mews I felt my tension recede. To me it’s the prettiest street in London; even on a cold, sleety day like today. It’s wide for a mews, and the houses are painted in seaside tones of pink and lemon and blue. Well-behaved climbers trail neatly up their exteriors twining through elegant balconies of wrought iron. I caught the scent of the white
Clematis Armandii
as I passed number twelve, and admired the pots of freckled mauve hellebores
.

Trident TV is half way down on the left, and occupies two white, shuttered houses that were knocked together in the seventies to make the only office premises in the Mews. Without being obviously commercial looking, the building has a pleasantly businesslike air. I shook my umbrella, then pushed on the door. There was Nerys, sitting behind the desk of our tiny reception area.

‘So then
I
said to her…’ I heard her say in a loud whisper as I folded my umbrella, ‘and then
she
turned round to me and said…well,
no…
that’s
right
. She
has
got a nerve, and so I thought, well, I’m
not
standing for this, so
I
turned round to her and said—oh just a minute Shirl…’

‘Good morning,’ I said pleasantly. I may not like Nerys much, but I am always polite to her.

‘G’morning Laura. I’ll ring you later, Shirl.’ She replaced the receiver. ‘These are for you…’ she nodded conspiratorially at a bouquet of yellow tulips, white roses and golden mimosa. She patted her hair, which was the colour of marmalade and lacquered to the texture of candyfloss. ‘They were delivered about an hour ago.’

‘How
nice,
‘ I said wonderingly, my irritation with Nerys vanishing. The vanilla-y scent of the mimosa was delicious. I unpinned the card. ‘I wonder who they’re from?’

‘They’re from your sister, Hope, and her husband.’

I felt a stab of annoyance. ‘How do you know?’

‘Because she phoned up to check they’d arrived.’

‘I see. Never mind,’ I added briskly. ‘I’ve always thought lovely surprises
quite
over-rated.’

She examined her nails. ‘Well, I’m sorry, Laura, but you
did
ask.’

‘It was a rhetorical question,’ I explained sweetly as I took off my coat.

Immune to the rebuke—she has a pachydermatous hide—Nerys was now staring at my top half. ‘You’re not going to wear that jacket on set are you?’

‘Yes.’ I looked at her. ‘Why?’

She cocked her head to one side. ‘Well, if you ask
me
, I don’t think that colour really suits you.’

‘I didn’t ask you, Nerys.’

‘Take it from me, that lime green—’ she sucked the air through her teeth ‘Ooh, no—it’s
all
wrong. You should wear pink,’ she added as the phone trilled out. ‘Or peach. In fact, you know what you
should
do—you should get your colours done. You look like a Summer to me. Go-od
morn
-ing—Trident Tee-
veee…
‘

When I say I don’t like Nerys much, what I really mean is that I actively
dis
like her. So much so that I sometimes entertain fantasies about chopping her into human nuggets and feeding her to next door’s cat. I have often wondered why she has this effect on me. Is it because of the amount of time she spends making personal phone calls? That’s not my business—Trident belongs to Tom. Is it because she’s deliberately unpleasant? She may be jaw-droppingly tactless, but she’s not. Is it the way she keeps saying, ‘You’d never think I was fifty-three, would you?’ Why shouldn’t she delude herself? No, the reason why Nerys drives me to near insanity is because she’s one of these annoying people who always know
best.
Whatever the subject, Nerys has the answer. ‘Take it from me,’ she likes to say, or ‘If you want my advice…’ or ‘I’ll tell you what
I
think…’ And because this is quite a small, open-plan building it’s all too easy for her to do just that.