As soon as he saw it typed out, he realized it could be more than just a piece for the student paper. Hank was a star, Evie was a minor actress, and Lloyd was a Member of Parliament: this could be a big story, he thought with mounting excitement. If he could get something published in a national newspaper, it would give his career prospects a major boost.
It could also get him into trouble with the Williams family.
He gave his article to Sam Cakebread the next day.
Then, with trepidation, he phoned the tabloid Daily Echo.
He asked for the news editor. He did not get the news editor, but he was put through to a reporter called Barry Pugh. ‘I’m a student journalist, and I’ve got a story for you,’ he said.
‘Okay, go ahead,’ said Pugh.
Jasper hesitated only a moment. He was betraying Evie and the entire Williams family, he knew; but he plunged on anyway. ‘It’s about the daughter of a Member of Parliament who is sleeping with a pop star.’
‘Good,’ said Pugh. ‘Who are they?’
‘Could we meet?’
‘I suppose you want some money?’
‘Yes, but that’s not all.’
‘What else?’
‘I want my name on the article when it appears.’
‘Let’s get the story down first, then we’ll see.’
Pugh was trying to employ the kind of blandishments Jasper had used on Evie. ‘No, thanks,’ Jasper said firmly. ‘If you don’t like the story, you don’t have to print it, but if you do use it, you must put my name on it.’
‘All right,’ said Pugh. ‘When can we meet?’
*
Two days later, at breakfast in Great Peter Street, Jasper read in the Guardian that Martin Luther King was planning a massive demonstration of civil disobedience in Washington in support of a civil rights bill. King was forecasting that there would be one hundred thousand people. ‘Boy, I’d love to see that,’ said Jasper.
Evie said: ‘Me, too.’
It was to take place in August, during the university vacation, so Jasper would be free. But he could not afford ninety pounds for the fare to the US.
Daisy Williams opened an envelope and said: ‘My goodness! Lloyd, here’s a letter from your German cousin Rebecca!’
Dave swallowed a mouthful of Sugar Puffs and said: ‘Who the heck is Rebecca?’
His father had been leafing through newspapers with the speed of a professional politician. Now he looked up and said: ‘Not really a cousin. She was adopted by some distant relations of mine after her parents died in the war.’
‘I’d forgotten we had German relatives,’ Dave said. ‘Gott im Himmel!’
Jasper had noticed that Lloyd was suspiciously vague about his relatives. The late Bernie Leckwith had been his stepfather, but no one ever mentioned his real father. Jasper felt sure Lloyd had been illegitimate. It was not quite a tabloid story: bastardy was not as much of a disgrace as formerly. All the same, Lloyd never gave details.
Lloyd went on: ‘Last time I saw Rebecca was in 1948. She was about seventeen. By then she had been adopted by my relation, Carla Franck. They lived in Berlin-Mitte, so now their house must be on the wrong side of the Wall. What’s become of her?’
Daisy answered: ‘She’s obviously got out of East Germany, somehow, and moved to Hamburg. Oh . . . her husband was injured escaping, and he’s in a wheelchair.’
‘What prompted her to write to us?’
‘She’s trying to trace Hannelore Rothmann.’ Daisy looked at Jasper. ‘She was your grandmother. Apparently, she was kind to Rebecca in the war, the day Rebecca’s real parents were killed.’
Jasper had never met his mother’s family. ‘We don’t know exactly what happened to my German grandparents, but Mother is sure they’re dead,’ he said.
Daisy said: ‘I’ll show this letter to your mother. She should write to Rebecca.’
Lloyd opened the Daily Echo and said: ‘Bloody hell, what’s this?’
Jasper had been waiting for this moment. He clasped his hands together in his lap to stop them shaking.
Lloyd spread the newspaper on the table. On page three was a photograph of Evie coming out of a nightclub with Hank Remington, and the headline:
KORDS STAR HANK
& LABOUR MP’S
NUDIE DAUGHTER, 17
By Barry Pugh and Jasper Murray
‘I didn’t write that!’ Jasper lied. His indignation sounded forced, to him; what he really felt was elation at the sight of his own name over a report in a national newspaper. The others did not seem to notice his mixed emotions.
Lloyd read aloud: ‘“Pop star Hank Remington’s latest flame is the just-seventeen daughter of Lloyd Williams, Member of Parliament for Hoxton. Movie starlet Evie Williams is famous for appearing nude on stage at Lambeth Grammar, the posh school for top people’s children.”’
Daisy said: ‘Oh, dear, how embarrassing.’
Lloyd read on: ‘“Evie said: ‘Hank is the most courageous and dedicated person I have ever known.’ Both Evie and Hank support the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, despite the disapproval of her father, who is Labour spokesman on military affairs.”’ Lloyd looked at Evie severely. ‘You know a lot of courageous and dedicated people, including your mother, who drove an ambulance during the Blitz, and your great-uncle, Billy Williams, who fought at the Somme. Hank must be remarkable, to overshadow them.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Daisy. ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to do interviews without asking the studio, Evie.’
‘Oh, God, this is my fault,’ Jasper said. They all looked at him. He had known there would be a scene like this, and he was ready for it. He had no difficulty looking distraught: he felt horribly guilty. ‘I interviewed Evie for the student paper. The Echo must have lifted my story – and rewritten it to make it sensational.’ He had prepared this fiction in advance.
‘First lesson of public life,’ Lloyd said. ‘Journalists are treacherous.’
That’s me, Jasper thought – treacherous. But the Williams family seemed to accept that he had not intended the Echo to run the story.
Evie was close to tears. ‘I might lose the part.’
Daisy said: ‘I can’t imagine this will do the movie any damage – quite the reverse.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Evie.
‘I’m so sorry, Evie,’ said Jasper, with all the sincerity he could muster. ‘I feel I’ve really let you down.’
‘You didn’t mean to,’ Evie said.
Jasper had got away with it. Around the table, no one was looking accusingly at him. They saw the Echo report as nobody’s fault. The only one he was not sure of was Daisy, who wore a slight frown and avoided his eye. But she loved Jasper for his mother’s sake, and she would not accuse him of duplicity.
Jasper stood up. ‘I’m going to the Daily Echo office,’ he said. ‘I want to meet this Pugh bastard and see what explanation he can offer.’
He was glad to get out of the house. He had successfully lied his way through a difficult scene, and the release of tension was enormous.
An hour later, he was in the newsroom of the Echo. He was thrilled to be there. This was what he wanted: the news desk, the typewriters, the ringing phones, the pneumatic tubes carrying copy across the room, the air of excitement.
Barry Pugh was about twenty-five, a small man with a squint, wearing a rumpled suit and scuffed suede shoes. ‘You did well,’ he said.
‘Evie still doesn’t know I gave the story to you.’
Pugh had little time for Jasper’s scruples. ‘Bloody few stories would ever be published if we asked permission every time.’
‘She was supposed to refuse all interviews except those arranged by the studio publicist.’
‘Publicists are your enemies. Be proud you outwitted one.’
‘I am.’
Pugh handed him an envelope. Jasper tore it open. It contained a cheque. ‘Your payment,’ Pugh said. ‘That’s what you get for a page-three lead.’
Jasper looked at the amount. It was ninety pounds.
He remembered the march on Washington. Ninety pounds was the fare to the US. Now he could go to America.
His heart lifted.
He put the cheque in his pocket. ‘Thank you very much,’ he said.
Barry nodded. ‘Let us know if you have any more stories like that.’