“I’ve had a lot to do with you people in the past,” explained Lush as he made himself comfortable on his trademark green sofa, something he clearly regarded as a territorial safe retreat. “It was I that coined the phrase ‘SpecOops’ whenever you make a mistake—sorry, ‘Operational unexpectation’—isn’t that what you like to call them?”

But Hicks ignored Lush’s inquiries and introduced me as though I were his only daughter being offered up for marriage.

“Mr. Lush, this is Special Operative Thursday Next.”

Lush jumped up and bounded over to shake me by the hand in an effusive and energetic manner. Flanker and the others sat down; they looked very small in the middle of the empty studio. They weren’t going to leave and Lush wasn’t going to ask them to—I knew that Goliath owned Network Toad and was beginning to doubt whether Lush had any control over this interview at all.

“Hello, Thursday!” said Lush excitedly. “Welcome to my Monday show. It’s the second-highest-rated show in England— my Wednesday show is the first!”

He laughed infectiously and I smiled uneasily.

“Then this will be your Thursday show,” I replied, eager to lighten the situation.

There was dead silence.

“Will you be doing that a lot?” asked Lush in a subdued tone.

“Doing what?”

“Making jokes. You see . . . have a seat, darling. You see, I generally make the jokes on this show and although it’s perfectly okay for you to make jokes, then I’m going to have to pay someone to write funnier ones, and our budget, like Goliath’s scruples, is on the small side of Leptonic.”

“Can I say something?” said a voice from the small audience. It was Flanker, who carried on talking without waiting for a reply. “SpecOps is a serious business and should be reflected so in your interview. Next, I think you should let Mr. Lush tell the jokes.”

“Is that all right?” asked Lush, beaming.

“Sure,” I replied. “Is there anything else I shouldn’t do?”

Lush looked at me and then looked at the panel in the front row.

“Is there?”

They all mumbled among themselves for a few seconds.

“I think,” said Flanker again, “that we—sorry, you—should just do the interview and then we can discuss it later. Miss Next can say whatever she wants as long as it doesn’t contravene any SpecOps or Goliath Corporate guidelines.”

“—or military,” added Colonel Rabone, anxious not to be left out.

“Is that okay?” asked Lush.

“Whatever,” I returned, eager to get on with it.