[Vane makes some comment here, but it’s too indistinct for the microphone to pick up. The person next to him – Rob Wallace, according to Em’s later memory – snorts.]
WESTCOTT:
Thank you. That’s kind.
EM:
Can I leave them here?
WALLACE:
Don’t put them in the middle, love, they’re massive. Our friend over here is so short he won’t be able to see over them.
EM:
Oh, sorry, I—
VANE:
Fuck off, Rob. They’re fine on the table, love.
[A moment’s pause.]
At this point, those of us listening downstairs are registering: if you’re going to use a floral display as a surveillance device, make the flowers big enough to hide the microphone, rather than ‘so huge they make the vase an encumbrance’. In the room, Em takes cover behind Vane’s ego, which ismuch larger than the man himself. She steps forward, and – as Vane suggests – plants the vase in the middle of the table.
WESTCOTT:
