Jason Hill
speaker
612 appearances
1 recordings
1 series
first heard Jul 2026
last heard 5 Jul
Jason Hill’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
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recordings per month · last 12 monthsRecordings per month over the last 12 months — 1 in all, peaking in Jul 2026 with 1.
Appearances
Part 1.
London, 1982.
Like a dog come running at his master's whistle, I RSVP'd yes to an invitation to Vernon Copeland's Halloween party to view his latest acquisition.
A lost piece of cinema from the early twenties, a screen test hitherto undiscovered, etc., etc., etc.
Copeland was a cinephile and an antiquarian, as it was also other things of far less reputable standing.
Its home, a handsome stucco-fronted townhouse, spread over five floors in the plutocratic bowels of Knightsbridge, was stuffed to the rafters with artifacts of historical significance.
For the past decade or so I'd occupied the post of two-bit private dick in Copeland's court of boorish profiteers.
In reality, this meant I cashed my not inconsiderable checks as a kind of appropriator cum arm-breaker.
Professors, antiquaries, rabbis, philatelists...
and several prominent members of Parliament were among those notables who had availed themselves of my services.
Missions usually consisted of resting relics, curios and other articles of virtue from individuals or institutions of a special stubbornness.
Usually by means of violence, blackmail or intimidation on my part.
I'd long lost track of the priceless treasures and objedar I consigned to the sweet oblivion of Copeland's private collection.
It was about nine o'clock when I showed up at Knightsbridge.
I was wearing my brown double-breasted suit with white shirt, burgundy tie, matching waistcoat, and my best pair of Oxford brogues.
I was tired and needed a shave, and the ache in my lumbar had sharpened like it always did when the weather turned cold.
Inside, in the huge barren lobby from which a wrought iron staircase ascended into the shadows of an upper floor, I shrugged off my coat and handed it to a tight-lipped waiter.
I didn't let him take my hat, though.
I waited and listened to the muted sound of voices and laughter drifting from somewhere deeper within the house.
When the waiter returned, he nodded and took me with him along a panelled hall that ended in a pair of big double doors.
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