Foreign Affairs

The air seemed startlingly empty as the recording clicked off. The room stirred. Slowly people looked at each other and spoke in low voices. Priscilla suppressed a smile. She would allow them a little time to get worked up about what they had just heard before she completed her attack.

At the table, the Board members looked at each other uncomfortably. In front of them, Trehearne was expressionless. Valerie cleared her throat, and conversation died away as the room waited to hear her. “Ah—well. Now we have all heard that, I suppose I had better ask the Investigator to make a closing statement so that we can move to a decision.”

At this point Trehearne sat forward. “Excuse me, Madam Chairperson. I am not familiar with your normal method of proceeding, but when do we have a chance to discuss the book?”

Valerie looked as if she were at a loss. Matters like this were never discussed. Priscilla could not remember an occasion when there had been anything to consider, and the story they had just heard was so obviously perverse that any discussion was superfluous. Valerie looked at the other Board members uncomfortably.

She sat up firmly. “We don't normally discuss things like this, Trehearne.”

He seemed unperturbed. “Oh, I am sure there are some things that should be mulled over before the Board moves to a decision. We would not like to behave in an undemocratic fashion, wouldn't you say? And consideration before action is part of democracy, I believe.”

Valerie seemed put out. She leaned over to her neighbours, and they whispered between themselves. Priscilla could see they were worried. Perhaps they felt the eye of the media on them.

Valerie addressed the room. “We have heard evidence of the nature of the book. That much is clear. The applicant says he would like to discuss it before we move to a decision, and in the interest of democracy we should encourage that. However, Trehearne,” and here she looked down her long nose at the man seated before her, “I must warn you that the Board will not tolerate any wasting of its time. Right—discuss!”

“Thank you, Madam Chairperson,” said Trehearne, rising to his feet. “We have just heard a fine recital of the first story in Foreign Affairs 1. I hope that at least some of our audience enjoyed it. However, I can see from the steely glint in the Investigator's eye that she did not. Perhaps we would move forward faster if she could explain to us which parts of the story she found unacceptable.”

Priscilla was taken by surprise but determined not to yield an inch. Trehearne might be thinking he could make a fool of her, embarrass her by forcing her into talking about perverse practices and private feelings, but he would find out just how tough she could be.

“Your question is ridiculous, Trehearne. The whole thing was disgusting. But suppose you start straight away by considering the photographs of the girls on the calendar. They were clearly portraying women in a demeaning light, treating them purely as objects, not as people. And note that all of this happens in the first paragraphs of your book. The public would be distressed to know that there is far worse material later on.”

“Very well. I understand you are objecting to photographs of beautiful women—”

“Beautiful women with no clothes on!”

“Yes, that's right. Beautiful women with no clothes on. I feel your position is quite unreasonable. I believe that modern magazines for ladies are full of images of women with very little clothing or none at all. The ladies in these magazines are all models, and it is their profession to keep themselves beautiful and pose for photographs. Are we to assume that the Investigator would wish to stop them working?”

A mutter of quiet comment came from behind him, and it seemed to give him approval.

Priscilla had to reply, but she already had the feeling that Trehearne might be better at argument than he appeared. “The point is not the profession of the women concerned, although they must be pretty simple if they call standing around with no clothes on a profession. The point is that they were there for men to drool over, and that gives men unhealthy, sexist thoughts.”

Trehearne smiled at her in an approving way. “Thank you, Miss Investigator. There may be men or women who think degrading thoughts when they see any photograph. I would submit our characters are not like that. They're nice, sensitive people, aren't they?” Again an approving murmur from the audience.

“Nice and sensitive? They are perverts!”

“Really? Is that how you see them? I suppose I should question you about how you define ‘perverts’. I hope you don't just mean people who do things that it would embarrass you to enjoy or admit to enjoying? What exactly do you object to?”

Priscilla saw a trap opening for her. She could hardly admit to her private hatred of the thought of two women making love to each other. The Lesbian Faction was far too vocal and there had been no violence or children involved. Trehearne had maintained an aura of extreme perversion without giving her anything substantial to get hold of. She decided to try another tack, one she had been keeping in reserve. “Trehearne, please tell the Board how much of this book is autobiographical.”

Trehearne thought for a moment before addressing the Board. “Madam Chairperson. The Investigator has asked me a serious question that I am not able to answer. Some of this book I know to be true. Some I heard about second-hand, and some is pure imagination. But all through it, there are real people involved—admittedly under other names. As a gentleman, I cannot encourage any speculation that might identify the real characters without their permission.”

Valerie's jaw dropped. “Some of this is true?”

“Yes. Approximately three-quarters, I would say.”

“You mean people actually do these things?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

Priscilla leaped to the rescue. “Chairperson, it's approaching twelve o'clock. Might we stop for lunch now and continue the discussion this afternoon?”

Valerie turned to her in a daze before nodding. “Very well. We'll reconvene at two o'clock.” The room filled with a hubbub as the Board rose to leave. The media crowded out of the room, eager to get reports back to their editors.

Priscilla lunched alone in her room on sandwiches and yoghurt. She felt unhappy with the way things had gone. Trehearne was far smarter than she had anticipated. He just sat there looking calm and rational. His presence in the room was so positive that the spectators had begun to favour him, and that could make her look like an intemperate bully. She would have to take care to make him do more of the talking. He would damn himself with his own words. She had just kicked off her shoes and put her feet on the desk when the telephone rang. It was Valerie, asking her to come down to her office.

All three Board members were there, sitting in the comfortable chairs of Valerie's conference area, watching the television. Without taking their attention away from the screen, they waved Priscilla to a seat. The presenter was wrapping up a panel of experts. “So there we have it. Professor Holmes is nearly certain that John Trehearne's civil rights are being infringed by the nature of the Board hearing, but on the other hand, he found the story we heard was not suitable for the general public. Theatre critic Rosalie Williams found the story thought-provoking and would like to hear a radio play made of it, as a stage play would be too explicit and—she feels—too exhausting for the actors. What do you feel? Telephone and let us know. Station 12 will continue its live coverage as soon as the Board reconvenes, and we hope that this afternoon's events will be as – er – thought-provoking as this morning's.”

“That's terrible!” burst out Priscilla. “They're treating us like a circus. This is a very serious issue.”

“Of course, my dear,” said the Major. “Very serious, but justice has to be seen to be done. Besides, the television people did a very good job with you. You looked so professional. Didn't do so badly with us, although I wish you hadn't worn that striped blouse, Valerie. Maybe we ought to ask one of the television experts what to wear tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Priscilla could not believe it. “We won't be continuing into tomorrow, will we?”

“We've been discussing that, Priscilla. Over lunch. We've decided the television coverage is very good for the Authority. People will see just how hard we work to protect them. So we'd like you to examine more of the book before we reach our decision. A couple of days more, I should think. Until the cameras get bored.”

“And then you'll decide against the book?”

“Oh, I should think so, wouldn't you? Given the content of the book.”

At this point, Susan Chippings cleared her throat. She had said nothing all morning. “About the story. Do you really think it is true?”

The thought had troubled Priscilla as well. “I don't know. I mean, I don't know of any people who would behave like that.”

“Don't you believe it, my girl,” said the Major with a laugh. “You'd be surprised what people get up to once their bedroom curtains are closed. I ought to know. I was in charge of covert surveillance when I was with the Ministry, you know. Used to bug all sorts of bedrooms. Be surprised what I saw and heard. There's naught so queer as folk.”

Susan was still trying to get her point out. “It's the way he writes about it all. I mean, it's terribly, sort of, well, exciting, I suppose you'd say. I mean, perhaps people liked listening to it.”

Valerie and Priscilla looked at her blankly for a moment, which made the Major shout with laughter and slap Susan's shoulder. “Well, Valerie and Priscilla certainly didn't get excited over it, did they? No danger of them getting hot and wet!”

“Really, Major!” said Valerie disdainfully. “Sometimes you are just too coarse.”

“Humph. Maybe you're right. Sorry about that. Come and watch what The News is going to say about it all.”

The News had quite a lot to say. The proceedings were the major news item of the day, and Priscilla saw herself addressing the Board. Her dark suit made her look very professional; she was pleased with her appearance. They played nearly all of her initial address. The commentator did upset her by saying that she peered over her glasses at Trehearne with an expression that suggested she disembowelled live pigeons for relaxation.

Then Trehearne himself came on. Heavily prodded by the reporter to say something dramatic, he only said that the book would speak for itself. Asked for his opinion of the Board, he sounded surprisingly mild. He called them well-meaning and fair people but perhaps a little isolated from the rest of the world. He was positively expansive about Priscilla. Such a sharp mind, he said, and such an attractive and sexy personality. She made him feel quite nervous about his chances of success. Priscilla returned to her office boiling with fury at the adjective ‘sexy’. How degrading!

When she returned to the hearing room, she had to fight her way in. The number of television cameras had doubled. The Board's coffee table was completely covered with microphones. They had put up a microphone stand for her and another for Trehearne. Things were getting out of hand.

She had taken time to review her strategy. Incredibly, Trehearne had not been damaged by the morning's revelations. Far from it. He seemed to be gathering popular support. She would give him enough rope to hang himself. The Board wanted a longer period in front of the cameras, and that suited her approach very well. By the end of it, she would bury Trehearne.

The Board filed in, looking rather grander and more serious than normal. Priscilla was about to start the afternoon session when an interruption came from the back of the room.

An alien figure pushed her way through the crowd. Obviously female, she wore black from head to toe. A gleaming, full-face, motorcycle crash helmet; skin-tight leather catsuit moulded an elegantly slim figure. She wore expensively tooled cowboy boots. All in immaculate black. She stood in front of the Board and took off her helmet. Long straw-blonde hair spilled over her shoulders. The audience gave a collective sigh as they realised just how perfectly beautiful she was. She spoke.

“Chairperson, I have an urgent message from the Wandsworth Female Models’ Co-operative.” She passed over a brown envelope. Valerie took out a single sheet of paper and read it with a frown.

She looked up as if surprised to see the messenger still waiting. “Thank you. You may leave now.”

“No. I'm going to stay. I've got to report back for the others.” She turned and squeezed into the crowd.

Valerie sounded nervous. “I suppose I had better read this. It's addressed to the Board from the Models’ Co-operative and says the following: Members of the Wandsworth Female Models’ Co-operative object strongly to comments made by the Investigator about models and their profession. They demand a full and public apology from the Investigator, or the Authority will be asked to take disciplinary action against her. Priscilla, do you want to say something?”

It was an impossible situation. Better to apologise now in front of the cameras and hope that everyone had forgotten about it by the end of the day. “Certainly, Chairperson. I must apologise for my ill-judged and totally inaccurate comments about a group of hard-working and professional women. I will be more careful in the future.

“Now, Chairperson, I suggest that we have had enough time to discuss the first story in the book, and that we ought to move on. I would like to pass over the second story as it does not seem to raise issues of gender, and go on to the third.”

Trehearne stood up. Got you, she thought triumphantly. Let's see how your audience likes this one.

Trehearne addressed the Board. “Chairperson, the stories in this book are carefully written and are part of a whole. I don't see why the Investigator should be allowed to flick through the book looking for parts that she finds—er—intriguing. It would be useful to the Board to hear the other parts also.”

Priscilla leapt in. “While the Board is deciding that point, I would like to ask Trehearne a couple of questions. First, have you ever worked on an oil-rig in the Java Sea?”

“Yes. I—”

“Yes will be enough, thank you, Trehearne. And did you meet anyone there with the same sexual preference as the laundry worker who features in the second story? That is yes? Good. In that case, I have no objection to moving on to the second story.” At a nod from Valerie, she telephoned to have the tape started.