‘Ah!’ said Adrian Lush disdainfully. ‘SpecOps!’

His entourage flustered around him with lots of energy but very little purpose. They seemed to hang on his every word and action and I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of relief that I wasn’t in the entertainment business.

‘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” for whenever you make a mistake—sorry, “operational unexpectation”, isn’t that what you like to call them?’

But Hicks ignored Lush’s dig 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.

‘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, if you do 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 as such 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, ‘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.

‘Excellent! I’ll do your intro, although you’ll be off-camera for that. The floor manager will cue you and you’ll enter. Wave to where the audience might have been and when you are comfy I’ll ask you some questions. I may offer you some toast at some point as our sponsors, the Toast Marketing Board, like to get a plug in now and again. Is there any part of that you don’t understand?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Here we go.’

He had his hair arranged down to the last follicle, his costume tweaked and the pieces of tissue paper removed from his collar. I was ushered off-stage and, after what seemed like an epoch of inactivity, Lush was counted in by a floor manager. On cue he turned to Camera 1 and switched on his best smile.

‘Tonight is a very special occasion with a very special guest. She is a decorated war heroine, a literary detective whose personal intervention not only restored the novel Jane Eyre but actually improved the ending. She single-handedly defeated Acheron Hades, ended the Crimean War and boldly hoodwinked the Goliath Corporation. Ladies and gentlemen, in an unprecedented interview from a serving SpecOps officer, please give a warm welcome to Thursday Next of the Swindon LiteraTec office…!’

A bright light swung on to my entrance doorway and Adie smiled and tapped my arm. I walked out to meet Lush, who rose to greet me enthusiastically.

‘Excuse me,’ came a voice from the front row. It was Schitt-Hawse, the Goliath representative.

‘Yes?’ asked Lush in an icy tone.

‘You’re going to have to drop the reference to the Goliath Corporation,’ said Schitt-Hawse in the sort of tone that brooks no argument. ‘It serves no purpose other than to needlessly embarrass a large company that is doing its very best to improve everyone’s lives.’

‘I agree,’ said Flanker, ‘and all references to Hades will have to be avoided. He is still listed as “missing, fervently hoped dead”, so any unauthorised speculation might have dangerous consequences.’

‘Okay,’ murmured Lush, scrubbing a note. ‘Anything else?’

‘Any reference to the Crimean War and the Plasma rifle,’ said the colonel, ‘might be considered inappropriate. The peace talks at Budapest are still at a delicate stage; the Russians will make any excuse to leave the table. We know that your show is very popular in Moscow.’

‘The Bronte Federation is not keen for you to say the new ending is improved,’ put in the small and bespectacled Chesterman, ‘and talking about any of the characters you met within Jane Eyre might cause some viewers to suffer Xplkqulkiccasia. It’s so serious that the English Medical Council were compelled to make up an especially unpronounceable word to describe it.’

Lush looked at them, looked at me and then looked at his script.

‘How about if I just said her name?’

‘That would be admirable,’ intoned Flanker, ‘except you might also want to assure the viewers that this interview is uncensored. Everyone else agree?’

They all enthusiastically added their assent to Flanker’s suggestion. I could see this was going to be a very long and tedious afternoon.

Lush’s entourage came back on and made the tiniest adjustments. I was repositioned and, after waiting what seemed like another decade, Lush began again.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, in a frank and open interview tonight, Thursday Next talks unhindered about her work at SpecOps.’

No one said anything so I entered, shook Lush’s hand and took a seat on his sofa.

‘Welcome to the show, Thursday.’

‘Thank you.’

‘We’ll get on to your career in the Crimea in a moment, but I’d like to kick off by asking—’

With a magician’s flourish he produced a platter.

‘—if you would care for some toast?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Tasty and nutritious!’ He smiled, facing the camera. ‘Perfect as a snack or even a light meal—good with eggs, sardines or even—’

‘No, thank you.’

Lush’s smile froze on his face as he muttered through clenched teeth:

‘Have… some… toast.’

But it was too late. The floor manager came on the set and announced that the unseen director of the show had called cut. The small army of beauticians came on and fussed over Adrian as the floor manager had a one-way conversation into his headphones before turning to me.

‘The Director of Placements wants to know if you would take a small bite of toast when offered.’

‘I’ve eaten already.’

The floor manager turned and spoke into his headphones again.

‘She says she’s eaten already!! …I know… yes… what if… yes… ah-ha… What do you want me to do? Sit on her and force it down her throat!?! …yesss… ah-ha… I know… yes… yes… okay.’

He turned back to me.

‘How about jam instead of marmalade?’

‘I don’t really like toast,’ I told him.

‘What?’

‘I said I don’t—’

‘She says she doesn’t like toast!’ said the floor manager in an exasperated tone. ‘What in hell’s name are we going to do!?!’

Flanker stood up.

‘Next, eat the sodding toast, will you? I’ve got a meeting in two hours.’