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His criticisms were not biased against any particular member of the staff—Storm had to give him that, and he was scrupulous in avoiding any reference to David’s part in their present plight. Again this was something she had not expected, but instead of relieving her, it sent further frissons of dismay along her already taut nerves. Somehow or other she had imagined Jago would make use of David’s absence to turn him into a scapegoat, and if the truth were known had been girding herself to leap to David’s defence. Now he had robbed her of the protection that defence would have brought. Dragging her eyes from his face, she forced herself to examine his criticisms. They were valid, she was forced to admit, listening to him ticking off on long fingers a list of faults and shortcomings, all the more effective for being delivered in that dry, telling voice.
Lack of enthusiasm, lack of initiative, lack of co-ordination between the various departments, no apparent attempt to get out and get the station noticed; the list was endless.
They were all culpable, Storm thought guiltily. His speech had opened her eyes to areas of deficiency she had hitherto been completely unaware existed.
When he had finished he looked at them.
‘Right, I’ve had my say—now it’s your turn. When I called this meeting I told you we would be fighting on opposite sides. Now it’s up to you to convince me that in future I’m not going to have to wage war single-handed. We’re all in this together—a team working for one ultimate goal—the success of this station, and if we all bear that in mind we’ll get along fine.’
‘As long as we remember who’s the boss,’ Storm muttered, goaded into the comment by his expression.
‘Are you saying that you’d like to volunteer?’ he asked softly. ‘It’s tough at the top, as they say, and something tells me you haven’t got the sticking power.’
‘Because I’m a woman, Mr Marsh?’ Storm countered, trembling under his look. Whatever else happened he mustn’t become aware of this ability he possessed to fire her senses into awareness of his masculinity.
She was subjected to an instant and thorough inspection that missed nothing, from her flushed cheeks right down to the clinging fit of her pale green jersey dress.
‘Forgive me if I’m wrong,’ Jago drawled, ‘but I thought we were discussing the success, or lack of it, or Radio Wychester—not the women’s movement.’
She wanted to say that being a woman had nothing to do with it—but she knew that this was not true. It had everything to do with it, and was the cause of the burning resentment she experienced whenever he looked at her, as though… as though she were his for the taking whenever he chose, she thought bitterly.
‘Anyone else got anything more to say? Something a little more constructive this time,’ he added with a dry glance at Storm.
His invitation broke the ice. The complaints came thicker than snow in a blizzard. The technicians started the ball rolling. Jago listened in silence as they described the under-capitalised state of their equipment.
‘The entire venture was under-capitalised right from the start,’ he agreed, as he made a brief note on his pad. ‘But something is going to be done about that,’ he told them crisply. ‘Any other comments?’
One by one the others started to voice their opinions, only herself remaining silent, Storm observed unhappily as she listened to Jago questioning Pete.
‘We’d thought of various schemes for boosting our audience ratings,’ the younger man was saying eagerly in response to Jago’s question. ‘We did wonder about promoting a weekly disco and…’
‘We?’ Jago interrupted queryingly.
‘Well, the idea was originally Storm’s,’ Pete admitted. ‘She thought it would help to get the D.J.s known to the public, but David wasn’t too keen on the idea. In fact he put a real damper on most of your ideas, didn’t he, Storm?’ Pete asked her.
Storm refused to look at Jago.
‘I expect he had his reasons,’ she said noncommittally.
‘Oh, come on,’ Pete urged. ‘What about the Samaritans scheme you wanted to run, and the…’
‘I’m sure Mr Marsh doesn’t want to hear all about my harebrained schemes,’ Storm began lightly, but it was no use. Jago was watching her carefully, his eyes narrowed.
‘On the contrary,’ he told her softly, ‘I’m interested in anything that would prove just one of you really wanted to make a go of this venture.’
His sarcasm provoked Storm beyond caution. Pushing aside her advertising figures, she turned to face Jago.
‘I did think we might launch a Samaritans-type scheme,’ she admitted. ‘The other, large stations do it. I feel, and have felt for a long time, that we need to improve our scope—extend our audience. The first thing I’m asked when I try to sell advertising is how is it going to improve the clients’ sales. At the moment our audience is strictly limited…’
‘An obstacle that other radio stations seem to have overcome,’ Jago pointed out, obviously not intending to make things easy for her. For some reason his very opposition merely served to spur Storm on. She had a captive audience and the theme was very close to her heart. David was forgotten in her enthusiasm to prove that they could make a go of the station, and her eyes sparkled with conviction as she spoke.
‘Involvement is the key,’ she told him ‘We need things like the Samaritans scheme—an open line for listeners to use to discuss their problems and get help. It would have to be confidential, of course, and we might even need to bring in a team of experts, doctors, lawyers and so on, who could be persuaded to give their time and knowledge to help the community.’ She faltered a little, remembering how David had reacted to her idea. ‘Too expensive, and too risky’ had been how he had described it.
‘Sounds okay,’ Jago murmured noncommittally. ‘What would you call it?’
She was a little taken aback. She had expected him to reject her idea out of hand. David had frequently told her that such a scheme was economically unviable, but she had countered by pointing out that it would give them invaluable publicity and be a declaration of their intention of participating fully in the life of the community.
‘Call it?’ She tried to collect her thoughts. ‘Oh, I don’t know—Communicare, but David…’
