Secret Service

by Tom Bradby

  ‘I really don’t know. I didn’t consider it my business. But …’ She tilted her head to one side. She was still looking intently at Kate. ‘On the last night we were taken to the ballet at the Mariinsky and they slipped away the moment the official part of the evening was over. I saw them coming in together later that night. They looked … Well, I don’t quite know how to put it. I think you understand what I’m getting at.’

  ‘And if something had happened between them, the Russians might well have been aware of it?’

  ‘We were all warned to be careful. I’d be amazed if she and her team weren’t given a similar briefing.’

  Kate could feel the colour in her cheeks now. She stood, too quickly. The remnants of her coffee spilt across the low table and onto the floor. ‘Oh, God! I’m so sorry.’

  Angela whisked some tissues out of a box on her desk and began to mop up. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Kate stood awkwardly by the door as she deposited the soaked tissues in the bin. ‘There, no harm done.’

  ‘Thank you for your help. And your time.’

  ‘Was there … anything else?’

  ‘Yes. No.’

  ‘Well, it was a pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise.’ Kate realized she was still glued to the threshold. ‘There is one other thing. A long shot … I don’t suppose you kept a list of who was on that trip by any chance?’

  ‘I very much doubt it, but I’ll let you know if we can dig it out.’

  Angela insisted on taking her back downstairs. Stuart’s incoming message made Kate struggle to engage in further small-talk. She and Angela shook hands slightly awkwardly at Security, and she tipped out into the spitting rain on the Embankment, then returned to her phone screen.

  She’s standing! High excitement here! Official statement later this afternoon.

  Kate crossed Westminster Bridge, head bowed against the gusting wind. She wanted to avoid the office, so slipped into Waterloo station to hide in the upstairs Pret a Manger. She ordered a coffee and sat looking down over the departure boards.

  She closed her eyes.

  No, no, no …

  She knew nothing. There was no evidence of anything.

  Imogen must have had more than one Scottish adviser. And, if Angela had unwittingly been talking about Stuart, there was no evidence of an affair. They got on well. She knew that. They were friends. Stuart hated the ballet, so a couple of mates hurrying away from a cultural evening with a dowdy group of MPs would have been no big deal.

  She opened her eyes again and scanned the cluster of passengers waiting for their train to appear. ‘You can pick a destination,’ her father had once told her, ‘but you can never predict the journey.’ He’d been talking about his marriage, an oblique answer to an oblique question, since they never spoke directly of her mother’s infidelity and the pain it had inflicted on him.

  The years had not dulled the shame of her mother’s affair, the burning sense of injustice on her father’s behalf, and Kate’s humiliation at being the daughter of a woman who could behave in such a way.

  She thought about what Stuart had told her only the night before. ‘You can’t protect us from life. And you’ll squeeze the humanity out of us if you try.’ What had he meant by that?

  She had spent so long worrying about not becoming her mother that she had never really considered the possibility that Stuart might turn into his father. Alec Henderson had run out on three marriages in quick succession. Stuart had somehow retained a cordial relationship with him throughout, and never been more than mildly censorious of his father’s inability to keep his trousers zipped.

  Kate selected a sandwich and a compact beetroot-coloured drink brimming with good health. Half an hour later, she had wrestled herself back into some kind of equilibrium.

  ‘How did you get on?’ Rav asked, when she walked back into the office.

  ‘Something and nothing, as my granny used to say. Maddy, can you find me a list of everyone on that FO Russia trip, not just the MPs?’

  ‘I’ll call the Foreign Office now.’

  Rav followed her. ‘I’ve started with his schooldays. Found a guy who sounds dull, provincial and tediously reliable. Rupert Grant. Same house, same year.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Believe it or not, he still lives close by. So much for devotion to the Empire. It’s about two hours on the train. You want to go now?’

  Kate looked at the clock on the wall. ‘No. I have to be home in reasonable time tonight. Let’s do it first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll focus on his time in the army and in business before he became an MP.’

  ‘We should take a careful look at trips to Russia as well. More lists for Maddy. She’ll love that.’

  Kate nudged the door shut with her foot as Rav went back to his desk. The pain behind her eyes was blinding now. She reached into her drawer, knocked back four ibuprofen and stared blankly at her computer screen, then pulled herself together and logged on.

  If Imogen Conrad was her subject, she needed to treat her like any other. She googled her name and began to read about her friend as if she was a stranger. She hadn’t got much further than an article in her constituency newspaper when Maddy put her head around the door. ‘She’s standing.’

  Kate joined the others in front of the screen as Imogen and her team approached the bank of microphones. ‘Do you ever wish we could wind back time,’ Kate asked, ‘and scrub what we think we know from our minds?’

  ‘Not really,’ Rav said. ‘It’s going to put us all through the wringer – but that’s nothing new, and if we end up nailing some bent politician, then few things would give me greater satisfaction.’

  ‘Good afternoon.’ Imogen was now at the microphones. She looked uncharacteristically nervous. ‘Thank you very much for turning out at such short notice. As you know, there is a vacancy at the head of my great party. But before I talk about the hole in our lives that needs to be filled, can I first pay tribute to the prime minister for all he has done for us and, more importantly, for our country? There have been many tributes already. And rightly so. There will, no doubt, be many more. Some will be less genuine than others, but I dare to believe that anyone who knows anything at all about life here at Westminster will be aware that my admiration for him is genuine and heartfelt. I am very, very sorry to see him go.’

  She paused for a moment, surveying the massed ranks of commentators assembled in front of her. ‘However, we must now look to the future. We must look closely at how we as a party can best continue to serve the interests of this great and diverse nation. The question I ask myself is no different from the one you must be asking: who is best placed to take forward the prime minister’s vision of a country at ease with itself and with the modern world, a nation determined to make the best of the opportunities that now present themselves?

  ‘I have been overwhelmed – slightly stunned, in fact – by the number of hugely encouraging calls I have already received today from colleagues, some of whom you see with me now, and from my very supportive constituents. I have been persuaded, therefore, that I should indeed put my hat into the ring. I am here to announce my candidacy for the leadership.’

  Imogen allowed herself a modest smile at the flurry of dutiful applause from the MPs – largely men, Kate noted – behind her. She was hitting her stride.

  ‘I will set out my vision for our country in more detail in due course, but I want to flag one issue today, which I believe stands out over and above all others. It has been the privilege of my life to serve as the secretary of state for Education. As we now make our way in the wider world, it is imperative that we have a workforce educated to the highest possible standards. Without it, we will simply not be able to compete and thrive. A previous prime minister once listed his priorities as “Education, education, education.” Whatever one may think of his legacy, I would like you to know that I am deadly serious. I have already tried to improve standards in the state sector and force private schools to
do more to help local state schools, but I intend to go much, much further. And that cannot be achieved without a significant – perhaps a very significant – reallocation of resources.’

  She smiled again. ‘The fine detail is for another day. For now, I thank my colleagues for their support, my constituents for their trust, and I thank you all for coming.’

  Imogen turned to accept another burst of applause from the phalanx of party faithful, and walked away from the microphone.

  ‘Class act,’ Rav said. ‘She’s going to give him a run for his money, and he’s a fool if he doesn’t know it.’

  Maddy was at her shoulder. ‘The list you asked for.’

  Kate took the sheet of paper, walked back into her office and closed the door. As a minister, Imogen’s name headed the page, and was followed by those of the officials who had travelled with her: Stuart Henderson, private office; Alastair Macintosh, special adviser; Callum Rennie, Foreign & Commonwealth Office press office.

  Her suspicions and uncertainties closed in on her, like a winter’s night, and it took her a considerable amount of time and willpower to beat them back. Of course her husband was noticeably Scottish, but she was pretty sure Alastair, the special adviser, spoke with a broad Glaswegian lilt. And for all she knew, Callum Rennie might be a kilt-wearing, skean-dhu-waving Highland reeler too.

  Kate returned to her screen and continued her trawl. For someone who was now a serious prospect as future leader of her country, Imogen had made very few waves. She was interrupted by another of Stuart’s increasingly overexcited messages: She’s going to promise to double – DOUBLE – the education budget. That will create a few waves!!! Just working out where the money is going to come from. Xxx

  Kate switched her phone to silent and tried to concentrate on Imogen’s life, work and finances. After a relatively futile hour or two, punctuated by increasingly graphic images of a variety of unwelcome stains spreading across Imogen’s McQueen, she gave up, changed her shoes, and headed for the lifts.

  Maddy managed to catch her before she headed out into the night. ‘I forgot to say – Rose came looking for you. She said she had to leave early today, but will be in tomorrow. Do you want me to fix a time?’

  ‘Oh. No, don’t worry. I don’t think … It’s not important now. I’ll bend her ear next time we bump into each other.’

  Maddy’s normally imperturbable brow creased. ‘Are you all right, Kate?’

  ‘I’m fine. Yes, fine. Why?’

  ‘You don’t look quite yourself.’

  ‘No, really. I’m just a bit tired. I need to get home.’

  10

  When she got back Stuart was still out. ‘He’s at Imogen’s,’ Fiona said. ‘Busy planning to take over the world.’

  Kate took off her coat, trainers and socks. She padded across the cold floor in bare feet. ‘Where’s Gus?’

  ‘How on earth would I know?’

  ‘Sisterly concern, perhaps.’

  ‘I have no idea what that even is.’ Fiona headed for the stairs.

  ‘Did you feed Nelson?’

  ‘Er, no. Sorry …’ And then she was gone.

  Nelson eyed Kate dolefully.

  ‘Believe me, I know just how you feel, old chap.’ She loved her children more than life itself, but the gap between the affection they professed for the family’s pet and the care they were prepared to offer him never failed to irritate her. She crouched down and eyeballed him again. His tail wagged with dim enthusiasm. ‘So, are you pleased to see me, at least?’

  He rolled onto his back. ‘You’re really just hungry for love, aren’t you?’ She scratched his belly for a while. ‘Join the club.’

  She stayed by his basket longer than she’d intended, then got up, filled his bowl and put it in front of him. He didn’t move for a while, but as she walked away to make herself a cup of tea, he forced himself upright and picked at his dinner.

  Ten minutes later the door slammed open and shut and Gus blew in.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Like all teenagers, he had broadcast his mood at twenty paces.

  He clenched his teeth and then his fists. ‘Why do you always ask what’s wrong?’

  Kate stared at the ceiling and said a silent prayer. She followed him upstairs. Before she could ask anything else, he said, ‘I got dropped.’

  ‘From what?’

  She instantly regretted asking. Of course she knew from what.

  ‘The A team!’

  ‘No! Did Mr Wilson give you a reason?’

  ‘He didn’t say a thing. Just put the list up on the board. Without my name on it. At the beginning of term, he said he might make me captain. And now I’ve been bloody dropped!’

  ‘Perhaps—’

  ‘Perhaps nothing. He said I was his guy, the one the rest of the team looked up to. And now he’s chucked me on the scrapheap!’

  Kate moved into his room and leant against his chest of drawers. It was a source of irritation to her – and near apoplexy to Stuart – that the teachers in the school they were bankrupting themselves to pay for frequently didn’t seem to feel the need to communicate in any meaningful way with the children in their care. At least, not where the things they actually minded about it were concerned.

  ‘I don’t want to discuss it,’ Gus said.

  ‘Who did they pick instead?’

  ‘Adams.’

  ‘Bizarre.’

  ‘What would you know?’

  ‘Dad says he thinks you’re one of the best players in the school, not just the team. He was saying the other day he thought you might make it into one of the club academies.’

  ‘Dad thinks I’m going to play for Scotland. He doesn’t know anything.’

  Kate could see the hurt in her son’s eyes, but couldn’t think of anything to say that might help. She kissed him and withdrew quietly, wishing Stuart was there. His predictable anger at the decision might at least help convince their son he was the victim of a genuine injustice rather than simply not good enough.

  She knocked on Fiona’s door and slipped into the room. Her daughter sat cross-legged on her bed, bent over her laptop.

  ‘How was your day?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘What did you get up to?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘How were lessons?’

  ‘Fine.’

  Kate knelt and started to pick up her daughter’s discarded clothes, fold them, and pile them neatly on the chair.

  Fiona didn’t look up. ‘Please leave those where they are.’

  ‘I’m just trying to—’

  ‘No, Mum. You’re just trying. End of.’

  Kate stopped, mid-fold. ‘That’s not massively polite.’

  ‘It’s my room.’

  ‘And it’s my house.’ Kate carried on folding, wondering how, try as hard as she might, she always sounded like her own blindingly unreasonable mother at such times.

  ‘Our house, actually,’ Fiona said. ‘After all, Dad pays half the mortgage, doesn’t he?’

  ‘I’m really not going to have this argument again.’ Kate finished her self-appointed task and rose to her feet. ‘Is it my imagination or are you in a rather more bullish mood today?’

  ‘I have no idea what’s in your imagination, Mum.’

  ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What’s going on with Jed?’

  Fiona shrugged. Her eyes were still fixed on the screen, but she wasn’t concentrating on whatever it contained now. A worrying sign.

  ‘What does a shrug mean?’

  ‘If I tell you, you’ll only freak out. So I’m not going to tell you.’

  ‘Please promise me that you haven’t—’

  ‘We’re going out.’

  Kate sat down on the bed.

  Fiona raised her palm. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Well, I do.’

  ‘There’s absolutely nothing to say.’

  ‘I’m going to need you to promise me th
at you won’t, under any circumstances, take things further than—’

  ‘Than what? A coy glance? The occasional swoon? It really isn’t your problem.’

  ‘You’re fifteen. If you were to … make a mistake—’

  ‘I’d get an abortion. It’s no big deal.’

  Kate bit her lip. Her daughter knew how to push every one of her buttons and did so with a precision she found enraging. ‘As I’ve said to you before, I know you better than anyone else does. And I know that beneath that teenage exterior lies a sensitive, loving and caring young woman. You’d find having an abortion a seismic experience. You’d carry it with you for the rest of your life.’

  ‘Not everyone is you, Mum.’

  ‘And not everyone is you, either. Maybe to some of your friends it’s no big deal. But I promise you, my darling, it would be for you.’

  Fiona was still avoiding her gaze, but Kate knew her daughter well enough to be sure that she had got through to her. ‘Just go slow, that’s all I ask. And I wouldn’t tell Dad you and Jed are definitely going out.’

  Fiona finally looked her in the eye. ‘He’s a lot more reasonable than you are.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘He’s not intent on protecting my purity until I’m an old maid.’

  Kate stared at the raging bag of hormones and insecurities beside her. ‘Let’s leave it there before we both say something we might regret.’

  She closed the door behind her and went downstairs. Sometimes being the only adult in the room, in the whole house, was too exhausting for words. She made a cup of tea and started to plan supper. This is not a chore, she told herself. This is therapy.

  She scanned the shelf for inspiration. Her cookbook selection was a series of foreign missions, but without the endless waiting and life-threatening confrontations. She messaged Stuart to find out when he might be back and got a swift reply: Eating at Imogen’s. Big crew here. Come over when you’re done.

  Dinner was like a party at an undertaker’s. She got half a dozen words out of Gus and only a few more from Fiona. She had to tell both of them several times to put away their phones, and in the end simply left them to it. ‘Perhaps you would be so kind as to do the washing-up,’ she said. ‘I’m going to spend some quality time with your father.’