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Like so many expatriate Dublin adventurers, Roger O'Neill was renowned for his quick wit, exaggeration and determination to be involved in everything. So many and varied had been his involvements and so wittily had he exaggerated them that no one could be quite certain precisely what he had done before he joined the Party - it was something in public relations or television, they thought, and there was rumour about a problem with the Inland Revenue - but he had been available when the post of Publicity Director had become vacant and he had filled it with great energy, fuelled by a ceaseless supply of Gauloises and vodka-tonics.
As a young man he had shown great promise as a fly-half on the rugby field, but had never fulfilled it, his highly individualistic style making him ill-suited for team games. 'With him on the field' complained his coach, I've got two teams out there, Roger and fourteen other players'
At the age of forty his unruly shock of dark hair was now perceptibly greying and his muscle tone long since gone, but O'Neill refused stubbornly to acknowledge the evidence of middle age, hiding it beneath a carefully selected wardrobe worn with a deliberate casualness which displayed the designers' labels to their best advantage. His non-conformist approach and the lingering traces of an Irish accent had not always endeared him to the Party's grandees - 'all bullshit and no bottom' one of them had loudly observed - but others were simply overwhelmed by his unusual energy and charm.
And then there was his secretary. Penelope - Hi, I'm Penny' - Guy. Five foot ten, an exciting choice of clothes, a devastating figure on which to hang them. And she was black. Not just dusky or dark but a polished hue of black that made her eyes twinkle and her smile fill the entire room. She had a university degree in the History of Art, 120 wpm shorthand, and was ruthlessly efficient and practical. Of course there had been much gossip when she had first arrived with O'Neill, but her sheer efficiency had silenced, if not won over, the Doubting Thomases, of which there were many.
And she was totally discreet. 1 have a private life' she explained. 'And that's just how it's going to stay.'
Right now at Merrill Grant & Jones - Grunt & Groans as Penny preferred to call them - she was effortlessly providing the centre of attention for several red-blooded media buyers plus the deputy creative director while at the same time carefully ensuring that O'Neill's glass and cigarettes were always available but closely rationed. She didn't want him going over the top tonight of all nights.
He was deep in conversation with the agency's managing director.
1 want you to complete the analysis as soon as possible, Jeremy. It's got to show just how effective our marketing and advertising have been in the election. It needs to be divided into the usual age and social groups so that we can show how we hit our target voters. If we win, I want everyone to know that they owe it to us. If we lose, God help us...' He sneezed violently.'... I want to be able to show the press that we beat them hands down at communications and it was only the politics which blew it. We shall have to live off this for the next few years, so don't screw it up. You know what we need, and it's got to be ready by Saturday morning at the latest if we're to get it in the Sunday papers as prominently as possible.'
He spoke a little more quietly. 'If you can't get the figures, make the bloody things up. They will all be too exhausted to look at them closely, and if we get in there first and loudest we'll be fine.'
He paused only to blow his nose, which did nothing to ease the other man's visible discomfort.
'And remember that I want you to send the most enormous bunch of flowers around to the PM's wife first thing in the morning. In the shape of a gigantic letter 'C. She must get them as soon as she wakes up. She'll get into a twist if they don't arrive because I've already told her they are corning. And I want the TV cameras to film them going in and to know who's sent them, so make sure they are bigger and more eye-catching than anything they've ever seen before. Even better, send them round in the back of oneof your company vans. That should look good pulled up outside Number Ten'
The advertising executive was used to his client's breathless monologues by now, and even to some of the extraordinary instructions and accounting procedures issued by O'Neill. But a political party was unlike any other client he had ever encountered, and the last two years working on the account had given him and his youthful agency more than enough publicity to stifle most of the lingering doubts.
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