Now, you were an MP before you were convicted of having sex
with an under-aged girl,
you were disgraced and went to prison for two years.
It was a... desperate, desperate time.
In prison you found God and you wrote Emerging From The Dark.
But now you're saying that that trial, the sentence, finding God,
everything was a bunch of lies,
an elaborate scam just to get you back into the media spotlight.
There was no cocaine, no girl at my penthouse flat,
no under-age sex. It was all engineered to sell my first book.
Now you're saying that you've genuinely found God
and you're putting the record straight in Into Light.
Absolutely. I am mortified that I allowed myself to be cajoled
into that first pernicious scenario
and I now feel it's my Christian duty to finally tell the truth.
Well, I have to say, it is obvious from this second book
that someone engineered that sex scam for you,
but you don't name him. So, come on, tell us who it was.
No, I can't. We won't tell anybody.
Get Dawson on the phone before Max Clifford gets in.
He won't come to us.
We were his people before Dawsongate,
but as soon as the pious old fart came blinking into daylight,
he debunked to Freuds.
Oh, God, hasn't the public had enough of Anthony "the zealot" Dawson
and his regurgitated mumbo jumbo?
Cat, where are the viewing figures for Ms Loos' debut
on Footballers' Wives?
Is that because there may be an investigation
into your allegations about the case?
Well, I understand the wheels are turning
and it is my hope that a proper judicial procedure
would be a chance for this person to repent, as I've done.
Do you really think that's likely?
In the land of the fatuous fraudster,
the biggest two-eyed lying git is king, eh?
Charles, there are three gentlemen downstairs to see you.
I think you'll find in my organiser it says I'm having dinner with Cat Deeley.
Or Tess Daly - one of the blonde sticks, anyway.
They said it was official.
...see the error, as you have done?
Well, as this person so succinctly put it to me at the time,
"Confess, confess, confess, don the sackcloth and ashes
"and always remember, everyone loves a grovelling proselyte."
But hang on, you're saying...
Oh, shit.
This farrago is a grotesque attempt by Dawson
to gain publicity for his latest fifth-rate outpouring.
I can assure you, Martin, that I am wholly innocent of all charges.
Well, that's a relief, not that I thought for a moment that, um...
Have we got a clear strategy, Helena?
Why did you hire me, Martin?
Cos you were the most expensive QC he found.
And with that outstanding financial outlay comes an outstanding barrister.
Look, everybody knows that Anthony Dawson is a serial liar,
whereas Charles...
Well, Charles is, um...
An acknowledged master of presentation. Exactly.
Which means that if I had been responsible
for orchestrating this inept burlesque,
I should at least gone for someone high profile in the role
of deflowered schoolgirl -
someone like Charlotte Church or a member of Tatu.
Surely we simply say that he feigned discovering God
in order to sell his first diffusion
and now he's claiming actually to have found him to sell his second.
Samantha? What's the update on Besty?
When will he be back on the cheese and wine circuit?
Charles, Helena is costing precisely £535.68 an hour before VAT,
I think the least we can do is to pay attention.
Oh, I'm sorry, Helena,
I didn't realise QC's needed people to listen in order to talk.
I'll call you back, Samantha.
What's Dawson likely to turn up in at court?
A limo sponsored by the God squad.
Then we get Charles into something humbler.
Also we need off-the-peg suits, keep him away from Jermyn Street.
Shoes... Have you done this before?
John Leslie.
It might be an idea to downgrade Charles' living quarters,
doss him down in a pokey flat in a really crappy suburb.
Like where?
I was thinking... Deptford.
What?
The press will be gathering here where,
in an hour or so, the trial of Charles Prentiss gets under way.
Among prosecution witnesses expected to give evidence is Anthony Dawson
and there's particular press interest
because many people believe public relations is on trial here today.
They'll be ducking PRs in the Thames by the week's end, mark my words.
MACHINE: You have 12 new messages.
PIERS: Hi, Martin, Piers. Not trying to pre-empt anything,
but if Charles does go down,
you're going to be looking for a replacement...
ALISTAIR: It's Alistair, Martin.
Terrible business with Charles, but, if you play with fire...
When you're casting around for fresh...
ANDREW: Andrew Neil here... Shit!
God, his bloody chair's barely cold!
The king is dying, long live the successful early applicant.
Charles wants me to handle Matt Goss's next comeback.
Working title, Shit or Bust. What did he palm off on you?
Promoting Babs Windsor's new book, Gangsters What I Knowed
and Hugh Grant.
Charles gave you Hugh?
CHARLES: If dear Kerry McFadden ever calls again wanting a little chat,
don't, under any circumstances, put her through.
Is that understood? They run on batteries.
Sorry.
Don't say you're sorry, Cat, saying sorry is a sign of weakness.
Show weakness and they'll be on you like rapacious panthers.
I just thought...
What you thought is of absolutely no interest to me.
We have two and a half minutes. Got your assignments?
Watches are synchronised.
Good, I want almost uninterrupted contact via phone and text.
I believe you have four assignments, Jamie.
I trust that won't overtax you unduly.
Alison, you have two. Same concern.
Where's Martin? MARTIN: Car's here.
Right, let us be off.
Martin, you know we're all praying for Charles' safe return to this office,
and I have absolutely no doubt that he'll come out smelling of roses
but, should things go tits up...
Et tu, Jamie?
Good luck, Charles.
Not that you need it
Don't worry, I shall be back in the saddle by this time next week.
Meanwhile, don't let standards drop too far.
We'll do our best.
With me out, you'll have to do better than that.
Can I just say, and I think I speak for everyone here,
things won't be the same without you, Charles, really. You'll be sadly missed.
Who was last in the back of this car, then? Brezhnev?
We needed to lower your profile a little.
We wanted to project an image which wasn't quite so grand.
I draw the line at cycling.
Well, we're agreed you're to have absolutely no contact
with the media, yes?
What, not even a snatched denial for GMTV on the courtroom steps?
No, retain an injured detachment.
You are hurt by the accusations.
But absolutely determined to put the record straight.
Whatever you two say. I'm merely an awestruck observer. Oh, hell.
(REPORTERS CLAMOUR)
Mother, I thought I told you not to come.
This is no place for the terminally ill.
What we intend to show is that not only did Charles Prentiss
take advantage of a desperate man,
giving him a leading role in this wretched drama,
but that he also hired and rehearsed the other players,
paying handsomely for their acquiescence and silence.
This is a man who will stop at nothing
in his manipulation of the media machine.
"It's a toothless onslaught from Sir Jeremy Pike..."
What are you doing?
Dictating Charles' column to the Express.
Five minutes, Damien.
Dinner date with Hugh sorted?
A quiet one-to-one just to get to know each other, obviously.
First up on the agenda, get him the lead in Richard Curtis' new film.
Still confident you can handle it?
Yeah. Great.
I mean, if anyone can deal
with a world famous, multi-millionaire playboy, it's you.
I don't think he'll be interested in me.
Oh... just make sure you don't wear that green number
you had on two weeks ago,
otherwise we'll never see you again. You'll do a great job.
(REPORTERS YELL)
Five and a half hours of vitriolic spite!
Is that a record for an opening statement?
It is a little excessive for a perjury case,
though Archer's took two and a half days.
Where are we going? The flat's in Deptford.
Where?! It's the new Peckham.
Wasn't Peckham the new Hoxton a few years ago?
Sadly, it's now the old Streatham.
Which makes Deptford what?
About an hour's taxi drive. You can drop me at the Garrick.
Are we still in London?
How the hell did they know we'd be here?
Some careless insubordinate
must have inadvertently posted the address on the internet.
Gentlemen, please, I am under strict instructions
to say nothing whatever at this time.
However, suffice to say I am entirely innocent of all charges
and have complete faith in the British legal system.
I feel nothing but pity for my adversary, Mr Anthony Dawson,
who is patently in need of urgent professional assistance.
Now, I humbly beg that you will respect my privacy
at this very difficult time for me.
So, in the words of the great Boris Johnson, hop it and bog off.
It's just a crash pad, really, somewhere to grab a few hours
between clubbing and work.
There's a corner shop to the right and a great kebab place next door.
There's a bus route into town...
We've all died and gone to our own particular hell.
MARTIN: You assured us it was homely and spacious.
Yes, and while we're on the subject of ghastly misrepresentations,
can someone have a word with the courtroom artist?
The drawing that appeared of me on the news
made me look like a dyspeptic Mr Punch.
WOMAN: Mr Prentiss, could you not answer some questions?
Ah, well... as long as the full horror of my lowly existence here
is faithfully recorded, I suppose it's worthwhile.
Can someone arrange for a delivery of pizzas twice a day?
I hope you'll be relatively comfortable here, Charles.
Well, let's not pin everything to hope, eh? Let's push for ideals.
A few suitable additions, I think this could be almost habitable.
You don't believe this trial will have any adverse affect
on your profession?
Well, of course, Kirsty,
as you know, I can't talk about any specific case
but I think, for the sake of argument,
if we take an entirely hypothetical situation
where a serial liar makes outlandish accusations
against a perfectly respectable professional man,
then I think it behoves us to examine
the testimony of this serial liar quite scrupulously
before we jump to any conclusions.
I think that once we begin to question this rather flimsy evidence...
Well, I think we shall find ourselves, broadly speaking,
looking with far more sympathy
on this conceivably very badly wronged professional man
and his certainly entirely innocent company.
Er... in this, er...
purely hypothetical and indeed non-existent case.
First message.
JEFFREY: Martin, Jeffrey. Send all my very best to Charles.
Been there, got the T-shirt and all that.
Chances are that he is buggered,
so I thought I'd test the water regarding his position.
Predacious vultures.
Good morning, Jamie, Cat, Alison, Nick, Charles.
CHARLES: Traffic bad this morning, Martin?
Some of us have been sitting here twiddling our thumbs
for nearly 15 minutes.
MARTIN: Yes, got up late, rushed here,
I didn't even have a chance to have any... breakfast.
Well, now the whole team's assembled, let's press on, shall we?
Some of us have a court hearing to attend.
CHARLES: Number one, call Richard Curtis
and secure Hugh's part before the dinner.
It's always good to arrive at a meeting with something
to slap triumphantly on the table.
Do you want me to mention...
Look, if you're gonna speak too, it'll take a lot longer.
Dresswise, don't stint on the flesh.
Check in the mirror and if you look like a cheap street-walker,
then you're in the right ball park with Hugh.
That little green number you wore the other week should be perfect. Ow!
Oh! Sorry.
Charles Prentiss assured me that he could rehabilitate my public image.
He saw it as a challenge, likening it to restoring Hitler's reputation
in Poland or Barrymore's at ITV.
I wonder you expect us to believe anything you say, Mr Dawson.
I take exception to that.
Your life has been a catalogue of half-truths and lies, has it not?
You claim that you served in both the Falkland and Gulf wars
and you were among the wounded at Bluff Cove.
I did serve and was wounded.
You were in the catering corps for both conflicts, were you not?
And the wound you received was in fact caused
by a particularly stubborn pressure-cooker lid, wasn't it?
The fact is, Mr Dawson, you never told the whole truth in your life.
And you're not telling it now.
I suggest that the person who should be under scrutiny here is Mr Dawson
and not Charles Prentiss, who is simply an innocent victim
of the Walter Mitty-like imaginings of the man in the witness box.
Well, this is all pretty damning stuff,
and I have to say that it's something which I,
as prosecuting counsel, would have to take very seriously indeed,
were it not for the tape
recorded on that night four years ago,
in the Groucho Club, where Miss...
Billie Piper, a minor pop sensation,
was conducting an interview at a neighbouring table.
Objection. This evidence has not been admitted.
The tape only came to light late last night
and was admitted by the judge early this morning.
In between the inane questions, we can hear quite clearly
the voices of Charles Prentiss and Anthony Dawson.
We've had an expert enhance the tape, leaving us with this.
CHARLES ON TAPE: Don't be such a dribbling wimp, Tony.
A few months in choky will give you time to write your opus.
TONY: But does it have to be teenage sex?
WOMAN: Well, you know, I've had a few guys try and hit on me,
but they're all sad old farts.
CHARLES: What better springboard for total redemption
than to have plumbed the depths of sexual depravity?
TONY: Yes, but what if someone rumbles us?
CHARLES: Who's going to rumble us?
The woefully inept police force or... or the creaking, geriatric legal system?!
WOMAN: It's true, I go for boys who are just nice.
They don't have to have pots of money or anything.
CHARLES: We stick together and no-one will be any the wiser.
Lf, however, you do vomit forth in a moment of drunken catharsis,
I'll deny everything and you, my friend, will plummet alone.
I may enjoy dancing on the edge of the abyss,
but I will never, ever topple in, comprende?
Well, it rather looks as if our hero
has gone and landed himself squarely in the poo.
I can't believe you lied to us. It's unforgivable.
One always lies to one's defence, it's the one place it's expected.
What about me? I even went on TV and stuck up for you.
I even lied to Kirsty Wark, for God's sake!
What we need now is a complete overhaul.
I suggest we start with a change in personnel.
So, thank you, Helena, your services are no longer required.
What? You're sacked.
Watching this case so far has been like watching a pack of whores
and their punters circling before an orgy.
One wishes they'd drop their pants and get on with it.
What we need now is a bit of cut and thrust, hmm?
Give him one from me, eh?
JAMIE: I hope you booked somewhere classy.
Sketch, of course. Of course.
And... I'm running late. Did you talk to Richard Curtis?
Actually, I couldn't get him. Have you checked Pop Bitch recently?
No, I keep in touch with clients via the telephone, Jamie.
Then you won't know the buzz-words regarding his latest film
are authentic, credible and, most worrying of all, gritty.
He's casting unknowns, so no roles for Martine, Emma, Alan or Liam.
Certainly no role for Hugh. I'm more than happy to go and meet him.
First meeting, prestigious client.
Charles gave me this responsibility and I intend to carry it out.
Hugh, slight change of plan.
There was a time
when people stood four square behind their fabrications.
Now the age of public redemption is upon us,
it's people like me, honest liars, who get caught in the crossfire.
I don't know how you can be so calm about all this.
Well, even on the Titanic
the house band played on and cocktails were served.
Not when the ship was vertical and plunging into the bloody depths,
they weren't.
Maybe we should play the ill-health card.
I read that the right amount of pure adrenaline
injected directly into the heart can cause a seizure.
It might be worth a try.
Ignominy or possible death. Which would you choose?
Either way, Prentiss McCabe is up shit creek sans paddle.
Perhaps it's time for Mother finally to shuffle off this mortal coil.
That could buy us a few days.
Perhaps not.
Come on, spill the beans, tell all.
Er... he stood me up.
You're joking!
No, he didn't show, and now I can't get hold of him.
Hmm, bloody movie star tossers, you can't trust any of them.
It's Charles, he wants you in the round room.
Oh, hello, is, er... is Piers there, please?
It's Martin, Martin McCabe.
Piers!
You're asking me to commit perjury in a perjury trial?
The first time is always the hardest.
Clear this little hurdle and your career in PR will blossom.
No...
God knows I've got no right to ask this of you
but I believe this is one of those times
when we've got to put aside our selfish personal qualms
and think of the little people.
I shudder to think of the career prospects
of someone like Nick or Cat if this company folds.
MAN: How would you describe Mr Charles Prentiss?
Er, um... it's something about him being inspiring and exhilarating.
"He's a supportive and generous boss who..."
I would describe as a friend. As a valued colleague.
"Would you say he's been duplicitous in his dealings?"
No, no, um...
He is... inspiring and exhilarating.
Inspiring and exhilarating was his work methods,
this is..."He deals honestly and truthfully with staff and clients."
It's not going in. It's only the tenth time, stay with it.
"Where was he when Mr Dawson alleges
"Mr Prentiss was at the Groucho Club in London?"
Ah, um... yes, we were in a hotel in Ayrshire.
Argyllshire.
Having a weekend away. On a business trip.
I can't do it.
I can't... do it.
I can't lie, I can't.
CHARLES: Miss Jackman,
as an employee of Prentiss McCabe, you are in a unique position
to witness Mr Prentiss
both at work and at play.
He has always treated me well.
He is a supportive and generous boss who I'd describe as a friend.
No, as a... valued colleague.
That cleverly answers my first question.
Would you say he's ever...
Duplicitous? Never.
He always deals honestly and truthfully
with both staff and clients.
He'd no sooner lie than I would, and I would never lie, ever.
And anyway, the night that he was alleged to have been at the Groucho
with Mr Dawson, we, he and I, were in a hotel in Argyllshire...
on a strictly business trip.
Separate rooms and everything.
Really?
I even have the receipts.
This would appear to throw a new complexion over proceedings.
However, I can tell you all what you've heard from Miss Jackman
is the biggest crock of horse manure
you're ever likely to hear in your entire life.
What?
You may stand down now, Miss Jackman.
I was not in a hotel room in Argyllshire.
I was in the Groucho Club with Mr Dawson.
I said that I would prostrate myself before this court, and I will.
Charles Prentiss, and I speak from bitter personal experience,
is one of the most despicable, unscrupulous
and downright dishonest people it has been my displeasure to know.
JAMIE: Mmm, mmm...
But, Hugh, you did go straight home after the restaurant, didn't you?
No stop-offs on the way home?
I'm joshing, you must get that all the time.
Right, nothing's changed since our meal last night.
I spoke to Curtis first thing.
He knows we feel the part of the social worker
is exactly the direction you should be going in.
Well, he knows all about the early character roles.
Quasimodo in the Park, your Elephant Man at the Old Red Lion,
critically acclaimed.
Can I call you back in five?
Excellent.
Let's get you some chocolate.
Miss Jackman is a person of absolute integrity,
and yet still Charles Prentiss managed to make her
stand before this court of law and lie through her teeth.
Does this make her bad?
Does it make him bad?
Or does it make them both simply human?
Our television schedules are crammed with perjured piers of the realm,
drug-guzzling sportsmen and coughing majors,
all of them fawned upon
and exalted as some fabulous new form of celebrity.
We all lie.
The world would fall apart if we did not.
"Does my bum look big in this?" "Gargantuan, my sweet."
"This is my own special recipe, how does it taste?"
"Like viper's vomit."
Result, pandemonium.
Yes, Charles Prentiss has done... some terrible things.
But he's part of a profession that is required, nay,
demanded to be economical with the truth.
If we're to throw a man in jail for lying,
then shouldn't we be imprisoning politicians,
businessmen, advertisers, estate agents, journalists,
members of the legal profession?
What I did was wrong
and I accept whatever sentence this court sees fit to bestow upon me
but let us not fool ourselves into thinking that anything I did
was not something that everyone
is capable of doing under extreme circumstances.
And, in the final analysis, who has been hurt?
Certainly no under-age girl
because the whole night in question was pure fabrication.
Certainly not Mr Dawson, who as a result of all this has found God.
What higher function could I have performed for a friend?
And may I thank you for giving me the chance
to have my own personal road to Damascus moment here in court?
Smite me, cast me howling from this room,
but I guarantee you I will return a better,
perhaps sadder, wiser
and certainly humbler man.
After much deliberation, I have decided
the sentence should reflect the seriousness of this offence
and also take into account
the stance taken by the defendant yesterday.
On balance, I feel that the only fair course of action to take is...
(TELEPHONE RINGS) I'm so sorry.
Oh, it's my publisher, somewhat jumping the gun.
Do carry on.
Where was I? Er...
"You felt the only fair course of action you could take..."
Ah, yes, thank you.
Don't mention it.
The only fair course of action to take is...
It was a pretty dull meal, Ali, all "I want, I want."
I was like, "I'll see what we can do."
Then Jemima turns up, "She wants, she wants." Bloody nightmare.
If you do anything like this to me again,
I will personally remove your manhood piece by tiny piece, understand?
Message received.
Ladies and gentlemen, I think it would be churlish
for us not to raise our glasses in a toast
to the great British judicial system,
which has proved as fair and even-handed
as I always suspected it would.
ALL: The great British judicial system.
Ah, so soon.
Well, farewell all.
Good luck, Charles.
Thank you.
Oh, and, Martin, the only cake I like is Madeiraമഊ㤊㤹ഹ《㨰〰〺㔬〰ⴠ㸭〠㨰〰㈺〬ര㰊潦瑮挠汯牯∽昣晦て∰猠穩㵥㐱眾睷琮獶扵楴汴獥渮瑥⼼潦瑮ാ�