by Peter Watson
‘You know, it’s a pity I can’t lip-read. I can see clearly enough to see them talking.’
‘Them? Who’s she talking to?’
‘Kolettis. He’s brought her a drink.’
‘Hard life, being a blackmailer.’
‘Now he’s kneeling over her. He’s put his head on her stomach. Now he’s –’
‘Are you making this up?’
‘See for yourself.’
Victoria took the binoculars and crouched in the ‘hide’. ‘Oh … goodness! He’s got freckles, Edward, like you but all over … Dear, dear … you’re missing the best bit.’
Sir Evelyn Allen nodded his silver mane and the security guard gently pulled shut the shiny mahogany doors to the Cabinet Room. Twenty-one ministers were inside, plus Sir Evelyn. It was three minutes past eleven. There was the usual chatter, jokes, gossip. But there were more silences too, glances at Lockwood and Keld. The noise was muted, people were filling the void, waiting for the Prime Minister to start proper proceedings.
He looked to his left where the Secretary of State for Scotland was still standing. ‘Douglas, please! We are late already.’ Douglas Rothes blushed a bright vermilion and plonked on to his seat.
‘We will follow the new agenda as circulated. I’m told by the Chief Whip that some of you object to the way I have been conducting this Elgin Marbles business. I am willing to listen … to my colleagues in this room. Who will begin?’ Lockwood’s breezy manner so soon in the meeting unsettled some of the Cabinet and, to begin with, there was silence. The Prime Minister was feeling better this morning – his wife had just called from Great Ormond Street to say that little Tommy, his grandson, was out of immediate danger. Lockwood was about to speak again, about to challenge men he had promoted into high office, when George Keld got there first.
‘Prime Minister, I will begin. And let me say to start with that I believe I speak for most of the Cabinet – more than half … We have, quite frankly, been puzzled – amazed – by this Elgin Marbles business all along. We cannot understand where the issue came from, we cannot understand why this special committee had to consider the matter at all, let alone in secret. We don’t know who was on this committee. And since it did become public we cannot understand why you have arranged things in the way that you have. You seem to have been in a hurry to dispose of these works of art, so much so that you have provoked unnecessary protest, chaos, confusion and damage. There has simply not been due process of consultation. This, in the view of many people here – and not only here, I might add – has encouraged the wilder elements to make trouble, in the hope that other objects might be dislodged. We have all seen where that has led …’ He paused and looked around the table. ‘We have all seen the papers this morning and I am bound to say, Prime Minister, that there is some truth in what is being said across the Atlantic. The way the affair has been handled here has, in some curious and indeterminable way, sparked what has happened there. But the way the American government has handled the matter is in marked contrast to the way the British government has handled things. They have handled it firmly and as a government – the UN ambassador spoke out straight away, unambiguously and with the full approval of the President himself. In Britain, however – and everyone is remarking upon it – the matter has been handled only by you. Most people in this room are as much in the dark as everyone else. The collision of those two ships on the Thames, in the wake of the Anglesey’s smoke trick, was the most miserable and embarrassing episode of all. The fact that one of the ships damaged was Greek, and that the British taxpayer now risks paying out millions of pounds in damages, is just too galling. The Greeks are the very beneficiaries of this sudden rush of generosity on your part, which is quite out of keeping with what is called for.
‘The worst thing, however, is that … all this comes in the run-up to an election – an election which it is by no means certain we shall win. Indeed, it is the opinion of many of us that the way this Elgin Marbles business has been conducted may well have been losing us votes. It may lose us yet more support in the country. This is undignified, Prime Minister, undignified and unfair. It seems especially unfair to the Cabinet Ministers around this table, who do not know what is happening and yet, under the tradition of collective responsibility, must shoulder the blame for anything that goes wrong, who must answer to their colleagues in Parliament and their constituents in the country, for any loss of support – and ultimately for any defeat in the election. We therefore feel that an explanation is owed the Cabinet, a full explanation not only for the way the matter is being conducted now, but why this issue reared its head – its increasingly ugly head – in the first place.’
Keld sat back and sipped some water. Ministers did not actually cry out ‘Hear, hear’ in Cabinet but there was a chorus of grunts from around the table, murmurs of approval, quiet slapping of the table which left no doubt as to how much support Keld had.
‘Thank you, George.’ Lockwood knew he had to move swiftly. Any delay now would look like deviousness, or uncertainty, which was worse. But Keld had been very clever. He had been in no way disloyal, had not even hinted to Cabinet that he knew what lay behind all the ‘shilly-shallying’. In so doing he had kept to the bargain he had struck with the Prime Minister. At the same time he had put himself at the head of Lockwood’s critics, at the head of those ministers who claimed to have the rest of the party – both inside and outside Parliament – in mind: the custodians of the party’s majority and its right and will to govern. Lockwood could see that Keld had a lot of support. It was probably support born of disaffection, for the seemingly high-handed way in which he, as Prime Minister, had been handling this affair. It was support that would be easy to dislodge if he could bring something dramatic out of the hat – but for the time being, for another few days, he couldn’t.
‘It is natural that, with the opposition debate coming up in the House, which has now been confirmed for next Monday, some of us should get worried. I acknowledge that the opinion polls are not encouraging. I regret the resignation of the Trustees of the British Museum. But that is all I regret. Most of you around this table have known me for years. You know my wife, you know my children – and I know yours. You therefore know – or should know – that I am not high-handed, I do not keep my colleagues in the dark unnecessarily, I am not a shilly-shallyer.’ He smiled. ‘If there is such a word.’
‘But, Prime Minister … is that an acknowledgement that you are keeping us in the dark over something?’ It was Geoffrey Scylde, the Secretary of State for Employment.
Lockwood fixed him with his stare. ‘Geoffrey, there are twenty-two people in this room, some of whom are better at keeping secrets than others.’ He looked quickly up and down the table. ‘I think we can agree on that. Each ministry around this table has its own secrets – some more than others. Very few of you know what George Keld, at Defence, knows. Very few of you know what Tom Lessor, at the Home Office, knows. Very few of you know what Geoff Scylde, at Employment, knows. There are financial secrets that only the Chancellor of the Exchequer knows. No one questions any of that – it is a necessary part of the modern state. But –’
‘But, Prime Minister, few of those secrets – perhaps none – are Cabinet matters, few of them have an effect on our standing in the polls, few if any of them are the subject of an opposition debate in the House.’ Alan Pritchett, Secretary of State for Wales, joined the attack.
‘It therefore follows’, Lockwood stormed on, ‘that when such matters do arise it is the Prime Minister who deals with them. I cannot … I will not say any more about this matter here, around this table. I realize that, for many of you, this will not be a satisfactory answer and it will offer small comfort ahead of Monday’s debate. It cannot be helped. I do not ask you to like my decision but I do ask you to trust me, to accept that I have good reason for doing what I do. The debate will carry a three-line whip and it goes without saying that everyone in this room will abide by that. And I now ask that we move on to
the next item on the agenda, the proposal for a second Channel Tunnel –’
‘No, Bill.’ It was Keld. His body had gone very still and his eyes looked straight into Lockwood’s. ‘No. We all appreciate what you’ve just said, and we agree with most of it. It’s just that the part we disagree with is the most important part. Monday’s debate is crucial. I’ve made no soundings so I don’t know how close the vote will be. I doubt if anybody on our side will break with the whips and actually vote with the opposition, but who knows who might abstain? The point is: we shouldn’t be having this sort of damaging debate so close to the election; the leadership of the party should not land us with this difficult – this very difficult – dilemma. I appreciate, we all appreciate, that this … this secret you are keeping so close to your chest may be vital for this country. But that very fact means we cannot see why you do not share it with us. If you do not trust the rest of your Cabinet, well … you have no right to expect a reciprocal trust from us. Everyone in this Cabinet admires you and admires what you have done for the country. For the party. Quite frankly, Bill, that makes it all the harder for us to comprehend, and to sympathize with … whatever it is that you are up to.’
Keld unbuttoned his jacket and put the palms of both hands on the table. ‘This is hard to say – I was going to add “Prime Minister”, but “Bill” is just as natural. You see before you, around you at this table, twenty politicians, twenty ministers, all of whom want your job. There’s nothing unusual in that. What you don’t understand, Bill, or appear not to, is how damaging this whole business has been, and still is. We could lose the debate next week – I happen to think that we will. And it is your leadership that has brought us to this point.’ Keld stuck out his chin a fraction. ‘Even now, next Monday’s difficult situation might be averted, if you would let us all help. But you won’t, will you? Your mind is made up.’
Keld stared at Lockwood.
Lockwood stared back. And nodded.
For several seconds – what seemed like much longer – there was complete silence in the room.
Keld stood up. The sharp sound of his chair being scraped back across the tiled floor shot around the room. ‘I thank you for the opportunity to serve as Secretary of State for Defence, Bill. I have found every minute rewarding and I venture to think that I have been of some use. But I cannot sit by and allow the actions of one man, albeit the leader of our party, to imperil future achievements of that party. What you are doing is wrong, terribly wrong. I shall feel free to say so in the debate – and I shall feel free because, from this moment, I resign as a member of your government.’ Keld picked up his papers and his pen, and, with a last look at Lockwood, marched out of the room.
O’Day had been confused when Riley had bought an electric drill. He had been even more perplexed when, instead of renting a car, Riley had gone to a different agency and hired a large Ford van. But when Riley had drilled two small holes – one in the back door of the van and the other in a side panel – O’Day saw the light.
‘We can park in the Gerbergasse and watch in safety from here,’ Riley said.
They had done so. In the circumstances, they had made no attempt to follow Zakros or to tap the next phone on the list. Now it was nearly three o’clock and the bank would be closing soon. There had been no sign of the Greek. They watched as the heavy doors of Drachen und Stoller were banged shut. They let themselves out of the back of the van and climbed into the driving cab. Riley pulled away – and then braked suddenly as a tram rang its bell angrily. ‘Menace!’ O’Day hissed.
‘We can have a proper dinner tonight,’ Riley said as he turned the van into the market place. ‘And a proper eight hours’ sleep.’
O’Day wiped a large hand across his face. ‘And if Zakros manages to get into the bank outside normal hours? We’re going to look like a couple of Swiss gnomes.’
Slocombe, Midwinter, Hatfield and Leith trooped up the stairs of Number Ten. Above them the Prime Minister held the door open. ‘Tell me the worst,’ he said to Hatfield as they filed past him.
‘It’s as bad as can be,’ said the Chief Whip. ‘Keld’s resignation pushed Page over the edge and now Monday’s debate is full-dress: a censure motion on your handling of the Elgin Marbles affair.’
Lockwood closed the door and followed the others into his sitting-room. As he made for the bar, they all threw themselves into the easy chairs. It had been a wearing day. Lockwood poured the whiskies. ‘What’s your arithmetic, Joss?’
Hatfield took the glass that was offered, helped himself to water from a jug and took a healthy guzzle. ‘The opposition, plus the Liberal-Democrats, plus the Scot Nats, will all vote against us. No one on our side is going to break a three-line whip wholeheartedly and vote against you, Bill. The question is: how many will abstain? That could lower our total and let the other side in. Some of our own backbenchers might do that: they might feel they’d get better treatment from Keld, and that our chances at the election would be better with the Elgin affair forgotten. That would be easier with you out of the way. That poll in the Telegraph didn’t help.’
‘And? The arithmetic.’ Lockwood gave the others their glasses.
‘Keld’s immediate entourage is twelve strong. They will all stay away from the voting lobby. His brother-in-law will do so, too. Then there are the people theoretically on our side who you have made enemies of, while you have been Prime Minister. Seven ministers, of one sort or another, who were sacked; three very ambitious backbenchers who consider themselves to have been snubbed in being left out of the government; those three Welsh members who still resent your allowing the nuclear power station to be built near Haverfordwest; two others who still believe the second Channel Tunnel could ruin their constituencies, with heavy traffic. That’s twenty-eight out of nearly three hundred … but, with a majority of thirty-four … well, you don’t need me to work it out for you.’
‘If it’s that close,’ said Midwinter, ‘isn’t it time to go public with that damaging stuff about Keld? The illegitimate child, and all that.’
Tonight Lockwood wasn’t standing in front of the fireplace. He too was slumped in a chair. ‘Too late for that, Bernard. In the first place, if we were to release it between now and the debate, it would look very sleazy, as indeed it would be. But, worse, the gloves would be off then and Keld would regard himself as free to release what he knows in the debate. After the debate, it goes without saying, would be too late to have any effect on the result.’
‘But can’t we threaten him with it? He must know it will ruin his chances of ever being Prime Minister.’
‘Wrong again, Bernard. If we threaten him he may just go public in the debate, which we don’t want. But in any case he’s chosen his moment very well from his point of view. Say we do lose the vote on Monday. I shall have to announce that I intend to resign as leader and fight a leadership contest. If, after that, the sleaze about Keld is leaked, the only thing it will achieve will be to make the party more unpopular before the election. People in our own party will blame me for that – and quite rightly. That will kill any chance I have of being re-elected leader. It may or may not help Keld, but it is no help to me. Am I right, Eric?’
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself. The bastard child business is a dead duck, so to speak. Events have played into Keld’s hand and he has played that hand perfectly from his point of view. All we can do is pray that nothing else goes wrong between now and Monday – like someone breaking into the V & A and stealing something – and we should devote our energies to trying to keep a few of those wayward backbenchers on the team.’
‘Any ideas?’ Lockwood swallowed more whisky.
‘It will have to be imaginative,’ said Hatfield. ‘Any promises we make about a role in the next government are going to look desperate – we are hardly in a position to guarantee that our side will form the next administration. I might be able to do something with the Channel Tunnel waverers, but don’t forget Keld sits for a Scottish constituency … the
Welsh MPs might like that Celtic link. They may think they would be listened to more by Keld.’
There was a long silence, as usual broken only by the ticking of the Thomas Tompion clock in the corner.
Presently, Hatfield continued. ‘How is the other matter progressing?’
Lockwood rubbed his hand across his face. ‘Everything is in place. But we have to wait for the Anglesey to arrive in Greek waters – on Sunday. Just keep your fingers crossed that, between now and then, the Louvre isn’t invaded by Algerians, or the Uffizi by Sienese brigands, or that British tourists don’t go barmy on Mykonos.’
‘On the other hand,’ said Hatfield slowly, ‘this whole thing could be solved on Monday before the debate even gets under way.’
‘But we can’t use the information, Joss.’
‘We can’t tell the whole truth, I agree. Jesus! Even if we can’t announce the real reason why the Marbles left, only to come back again, can’t we make up a story that fits some of the facts? If you could announce, right at the opening of the debate, that the Marbles were returning to Britain and that they had only been sent away in the first place because … oh, I don’t know … because a certain problem, of terrorism or kidnapping or another kind of blackmail, had been successfully resolved … I’ll bet the debate would collapse.’ Hatfield’s eyes were glowing now and he sat up. ‘What do you say, Bill? I’m right, aren’t I? You would come bouncing back.’
Lockwood had got to his feet and was refilling Hatfield’s glass. ‘What do you think, Eric?’ he said over his shoulder, as he poured. ‘He’s got a point.’
‘I agree in theory. In theory, it’s beautiful. But would someone like to tell me just what story we should concoct? It would have to be the most convincing lie in history.’
24
Friday
Victoria’s gaze spanned the square of Aghios Pelagias and her features widened into a grin. ‘Look, Edward. A market. Figs, shoes, olives, hats, grapes, socks –’
