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'Mr Collingridge, for the final few minutes of this programme, I would like to turn to the allegations printed in the Observer last week about Charles Collingridge and possible improper share dealing'
Collingridge nodded seriously into the camera to show that he had nothing to fear from such questions.
'I understand that earlier this week Downing Street issued a statement denying any connection of your family with the matter, and suggesting that there may have been a case of mistaken identity. Is that correct?'
'There may have been some confusion with another Charles Collingridge for all I know, but I am really not in a position to explain the extraordinary Observer story. All I can tell you is that none of my family have anything whatsoever to do with this matter. You have my word of honour on that.' He spoke the words slowly, leaning forward, looking directly at the presenter to give added dramatic emphasis.
'I understand that your brother denies ever having opened an accommodation address in a Paddington tobacconists'
'Absolutely' Collingridge confirmed.
'Prime Minister, earlier this week one of our reporters addressed an envelope to himself, care of Charles Collingridge, at the Paddington address used to open the bank account. He used a vivid red envelope to make sure it stood out clearly. I would like you to look at this video tape which we took at that address yesterday when he went to reclaim it. I apologise for the poor quality, but I am afraid we had to use a concealed camera, as the proprietor of the shop concerned seemed very reluctant to cooperate.'
The presenter swivelled his chair so that he could see the dark and fuzzy but still discernible video which was being projected onto the large screen behind him. Collingridge flashed a concerned look at Sarah, and cautiously swivelled his own chair around. He watched as the reporter approached the counter, pulled out various pieces of plastic and paper from his wallet to identify himself, and explained to the counter assistant that a letter was waiting for him in the care of Charles Collingridge, who used this address for his own post. The assistant, the same overweight and balding man who had served Penny several months before, explained that he could not release letters except to someone who could produce a proper receipt. 'Lots of important letters come here' he sniffed. 'Can't go handing them out to just anyone.'
'But look, it's there. The red envelope. I can see it from here.'
A little uncertain as to what he should do, the assistant turned and extracted the envelopes from a numbered pigeon hole behind him. There were three of them. He placed the red envelope on the counter in front of the reporter, with the other two envelopes to one side. He was trying to confirm that the name on the envelope, c/o Charles Collingridge, matched that of the reporter's identitycards while the camera zoomed in closely on the other two envelopes. It took a few seconds for the operator to focus the concealed equipment properly, but as he did so, the markings on the envelopes came clearly into view. Both were addressed to Charles Collingridge. One bore the imprint of the Union Bank of Turkey. The other had been sent from the Party's Sales and Literature Office at Smith Square.
The presenter turned once more to confront Collingridge - and there was no doubt left in Collingridge's mind that the triumphant interview had now turned into open confrontation.
'The first envelope would seem to confirm that the address was indeed used to buy and sell shares in the Renox Chemical Company through the Union Bank of Turkey. But we were puzzled about the letter from your own party headquarters. So we called your Sales and Literature Office, pretending to be a supplier with an order from Charles Collingridge but with an indecipherable address.'
Collingridge was just about to shout an angry denunciation of the immoral and underhand methods adopted by the programme when the studio was filled with the recorded sound of the telephone call.
'... so could you just confirm what address we should have for Mr Collingridge and then we can get the goods off to him straight away.'
'Just one minute, please' said an eager young man's voice. I'll call it up on the screen.'
There was the sound of a keyboard being tapped. 'Ah, here it is. Charles Collingridge, 216 Praed Street, Paddington, London W2.'
Thank you very much indeed. You have been most helpful.'
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