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As far as trying out the account management idea was concerned, Clegg was as good as his word. He set up a meeting for me only a few days later.
“So, I understand from Mr Clegg, that your
new approach is to meet the specific needs of your clients rather than just
picking up whatever you find lying around.” The robed man in my office had an
Asiatic appearance but spoke English without any trace of an accent. Clegg had
said he was the Kalinin of Kushtia an old school friend, though he didn’t say
from what school.
“You sound sceptical, your highness,” I
responded. ”I’m sure it was never Mr Clegg’s approach to simply collect stock
on an ad-hoc basis but, yes, we are interested in developing the way we do
business.”
He shrugged. “We shall see. I have a
problem. Mr Clegg tells me he can solve it. He has always managed to meet his
commitments in the past.”
I was standing. He was seated. I’ve never
been much of a fan of royalty but when they’re the customer they get all the politeness
they want as far as I’m concerned. Mind you if someone had asked me who (or
even what) the Kalinin of Kushtia was, I couldn’t have told them. Couldn’t have
told them where Kushtia was, either. It turns out Kushtia is a narrow strip of
a country that runs along the northern edge of the
The
“Naturally,” I replied.
“But here in the west there is little
understanding of our customs. I fear that our traditions are not accepted. The
ways of our culture are not always honoured here. I believe that I must
exercise some care in the way that these things are handled.”
“I am sure you are right.”
“So, we wish you to arrange this. Mr Clegg
tells me that your goal is to meet your customer’s needs. My son has made a
list of those women he desires. I wish to satisfy him as far as is possible.
Perhaps I could have your views?”
I looked at the list he was holding out to
me.
“I think I’m beginning to detect a trend
here….” I said, noting the enthusiasm for pop singers and for redheads. I
wondered what he would think if he ever chanced on Sarah, Harry’s PA.
“Oh, OK, not quite single minded. Look,
your highness, I think that, even with our resources, we are going to have to
reset some expectations.”
“How old is your son?” I asked noting that
at least the last two might be achievable.
“Twenty five, that is the age for the taking
of wives,” his father replied. He saw my raised eyebrows. “But in some ways he
seems much younger. Even so, you do understand – this is the tradition – that
he should have the best that is available; that his father should provide the
best for his son’s harem women. That, after all, reflects on me.”
“Of course your highness but I am sure that
you see what a challenge this list is. If we were to succeed in acquiring some
of these then I fear that a great deal of unwelcome attention might be
attracted. If it were to ever be traced back to yourselves then it could do
make it difficult for you to remain here. Our asylum laws are flexible but
there are some things that even the British Government’s Home Secretary may
take exception to.”
“Indeed, we must operate with a certain discretion. However, Mr Clegg has great faith in
your ability to solve problems. I will allow you to surprise me.” He got to his feet, smiled and swept out. It
was my first real job for Clegg and I wasn’t optimistic.
I needed to talk to Research, I thought. I
really needed some ideas on how we could set about this. Then I had a bit of
luck. I was walking through Southwark past a run down pub when I heard the
strains of “Wannabe” drifting out. A chalked sign on a board beside the door
said, “Live Music – All Spice – 2nite.”
I went in.
It was a pretty seedy venue. I bought
myself a pint. The beer wasn’t any better than the rest of the pub but the
stage in the room at the back held five reasonably convincing look-alikes, a
Spice Girls tribute band, thrashing their way through the Girl Power
repertoire. Ginger and Posh were the closest to the real thing for looks, which
suited me. They probably sang better than the originals had. The rest of the
pub’s clientele didn’t seem to be taking much notice.
One guy was sitting on a pile of cases that
had evidently held their kit. He looked as if he might have something to do
with them. I walked over to him. “I’d
like to talk to the band,” I said.
He didn’t look interested. “Yeah – you and
all the jack-off johnnies.”
“No, seriously, I might have a gig for
them.”
He looked bored, unconvinced. “Maybe I
could get you a chat with ‘
“Huh?”
He tossed a small, pink, card across the
table to me. Under a picture of a high heeled shoe and a pair of crossed whips
the lettering said, “Spice up your life with Mistress Posh”. There was a mobile
phone number. “Not really my scene,” I said.
“Please yourself,”
he said.
The girls finished their set
with ‘2 become 1’. I could see the band starting to pack up. The girls
were getting ready to go. “Hang on,” I said, slipping a ten pound note in his
hand. “Put in a good word for me can you?”
He peered at the note but then stuffed it
in his pocket. “Wait,” he said. “No promises.” He headed off to the back of the
stage.
She emerged a few minutes later. She’d
changed out of her stage costume; now she was just wearing a pair of jeans and
a sweater. The likeness was still striking, even close up; slim build, and short,
dark, urchin-bobbed, hair. She was pretty good at the trademark
“I was thinking of something a bit more
specialised,” I said, slowly in repsonse. “How about if you bring the girls
round and you all sing for me?”
“Wow,” she said, “a real pervert! Were we
really that bad?” She allowed herself an out-of-character smile as she stubbed
her cigarette out. “He said,” she nodded towards the bar where my
ten-pound-richer companion was leaning, “you were looking for a date.”
I nodded. “Yeah, sort of.
But not with Mistress P. I meant it about getting the
band round for a gig. I know a couple of guys who might be able to get you some
bookings. Better than this. Not great - but better than this.”
“What sort of thing?”
“Clubs rather than pubs. Maybe some cruise work. We’re not talking X-Factor fame and fortune
but it would be more than you’re making from this, I’ll bet.”
“So, what if we wanted to?” She tossed the
pack of cigarettes back into her bag.
“I get a venue; you bring the girls; you
audition; I talk to my friends; we see what happens.”
“As ‘All Spice’ or as
ourselves?”
“Let’s do it as ‘All Spice’ for a start,” I
could see she was disappointed. ”Stick a couple of tracks on of your own at the
end if you want to take the risk.” She perked up at the idea. “Will the rest of
the girls want to do it?”
“Oh sure,” she said. She picked up the pink
card and scribbled a mobile phone number on it. “They’ll do it if I say so.
It’s not just blokes that I get off on getting my own way with. If it helps, I
could maybe give you a freebie.”
“Thanks, but it’s not my thing. I’d just like to set up an audition.”
She looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Really? Please yourself. I’ve got plenty of clients that
tell me I’m pretty good. I’d hate to miss an opportunity to convince you of the
benefits of booking the band.” She smiled. I shrugged. She tossed the card back
to me. “Give me a call on that number when you’ve got a time and place.”
‘Geri’ called across from by the pub’s
door. “Are you coming?” she said. I took a good look at her as ‘
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