by Peter Watson
He saw Page immediately. He was talking to a figure Mordaunt recognized, a well-known journalist from a national newspaper. The journalist appeared to be giving Page a piece of paper.
Mordaunt found a bench and sat down, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. He would wait till Page had finished with the journalist and then approach him. If he could just warn Page … as to why this débâcle had occurred … a vote – a damaging vote – might be averted.
The lobby was busy, as was bound to be the case for such an important debate. A long line of ordinary members of the public, waiting for seats in the gallery, various Lords crossing the lobby from their end of the palace, constituents who had fixed meetings with their MPs a long time ago, well before today had turned out to be so important.
Page and the journalist seemed to be winding up. They were shaking hands.
‘Sir Francis? What are you doing here?’
Mordaunt nearly fell off the bench. He looked up. It was Jocelyn Hatfield. Across the lobby, Page was turning away from the journalist, back towards the chamber.
‘The debate, of course. What else?’
‘But this is the lobby. You can’t see much from here.’
Page’s footsteps rang out as he crossed the lobby.
‘It was stuffy where I was seated,’ said Mordaunt. ‘I needed some some air and to use the phones.’
Page had reached the edge of the lobby but had stopped to talk to someone else.
‘How do you think it’s going?’ asked Hatfield.
‘What?’ Mordaunt kept Page in view out of the corner of his eye.
‘The debate!’
‘Oh … Whiteman was effective, I think.’ He faltered as he watched Page break off his conversation.
But Hatfield still stood over the equerry. ‘Bad news from Basle. Have you heard?’
Mordaunt didn’t reply. He was concentrating on Page, who at that moment was leaving the lobby and disappearing through the door that led back into the chamber.
As they shuffled forward, Edward offered a silent prayer for the compactness of Geneva airport. Once outside, he looked around. He didn’t know Zakros but he did know Nancy. There was no sign of her.
‘They can’t have known immediately what happened to the others,’ Victoria said softly. ‘They were supposed to be on our flight.’
‘Someone in Greece must have been in touch by now.’
Victoria shook her head. ‘Don’t forget, Riley and O’Day overheard Nancy say the Brigade was seven-strong. There’s no one to alert them.’
‘They must have a rendezvous point. They were highly organized – the car at the harbour, the plane arriving so promptly, the airline tickets. All within hours. Until last night, they must have thought that everything was going according to plan.’
‘Kofas. He has a big organization. His own travel agency, even.’
‘All that surely means someone must have been in touch with Zakros and Nancy by now.’
‘No. Not at all. The Brigade was as secretive as our own side has been.’
‘I can’t believe it. And the crash will have been on the news by now.’
‘Maybe. But we have no choice anyway. If Riley and O’Day have kept a tail on Zakros, they may need our help. And we still have one advantage: they don’t know they are being followed.’
It had been some time since Edward last visited Geneva airport but he remembered it well enough. He knew there were some phones by the bar. Victoria ordered some coffees. She was happy for Edward to do the phoning – it would help keep his mind off the Cessna. The bar was crowded but not, it seemed, with travellers. International airports were modern communities in their own right and this bar was the meeting place, the piazza, of the airport.
Victoria was glad when the coffee arrived. It had been a wearing day and it wasn’t over yet. She sipped her coffee and closed her eyes in pleasure. When she opened them again, Edward was standing next to her.
‘You look dreadful!’ she cried. ‘What’s wrong? Drink your coffee.’
He did. He drained his cup at one go. Then he said: ‘O’Day’s dead, killed by Nancy. Riley is in hospital with multiple fractures. Nancy and Zakros were followed, after they left the bank carrying holdalls and several tubes – pictures presumably. They took a train from Basle to Geneva, non-stop. O’Day was killed on the train and Riley had to jump for it. So Zakros and Nancy reached Geneva but they knew they were being followed. That changes everything.’
‘As the House may be aware, Mr Speaker, my wife is – or was, until very recently – chairman of the Friends of the British Museum. In common with many of her colleagues she has resigned her position over this matter. The House may wish to hear, through me, why she did so and what went on inside the museum which led so many professional colleagues to protest.’ With these words, Anthony Rolfe, the leader of the Liberal Democrats, had the immediate attention of the entire House. It was coming up for seven-thirty. Soon the chamber would thin, as members went for dinner. But tonight it wouldn’t thin very much or for very long. The vote was at ten, so the summings up would begin some time before nine and members would want a good look at Page and Lockwood in the final locking of horns.
Lockwood was still in his place. He had been there throughout the debate but the grim look on his face was now set. To many members, and to those in the gallery, which included Lord Renfrew, Sir Henry Misco, the Greek ambassador and Madeleine Rolfe in addition to Sir Francis Mordaunt, this must have seemed as though he hated what he was hearing in the chamber. In fact, it had more to do with what he’d heard from Basle and from Greece. The whole plan seemed to be falling apart.
Anthony Rolfe half turned so that the backbenchers on the opposition side of the House could hear what he had to say. ‘The most surprising, and the most disturbing thing –’
‘Let the Marbles go!’ A deep voice rang out from the public gallery. All eyes left Rolfe and looked upward.
‘They belong in Greece!’ cried a second voice, a woman’s this time.
Stewards converged on the demonstrators from both directions. In common with all the other MPs, Lockwood scanned the gallery. The stewards had now reached the three people, who, the Prime Minister could see, were Indians. ‘The British are cultural imperialists!’ the woman shouted as she was pulled from her seat. ‘Send back the Hindu throne!’ cried a third figure, and he too was pulled into the aisle. ‘Lockwood has the right idea!’ yelled the first man. ‘Give back to Greece what is Greek! Give to India what is ours. This debate is –’ and he was pushed through the double doors by the steward, with the other two behind him.
The House had been disconcerted. Lockwood certainly had not counted on support from such an unlikely quarter and he was far from certain what good it had done him. Not much, he fancied.
Anthony Rolfe still stood, he still had possession of the House, but for a moment he too seemed flummoxed.
Now Hatfield slid into his seat by Lockwood. He leaned close and whispered in his ear. ‘Keld isn’t going to speak.’
Lockwood glanced at him sharply. ‘Why on earth not?’
‘Think, Bill! If he doesn’t speak and you lose, his hands are clean. He’s played no direct role in your downfall and therefore his case to take over after you will be that much stronger. He’ll be the white knight.’
‘But Keld is a pro. He’d want his say, to make sure I lose.’
‘You’re missing the point. The point is: he is not speaking because, in his view, the arithmetic is against you. He doesn’t need to speak.’
‘The Rhône Hotel? Good evening, this is the American Airlines office here, at Geneva airport. Someone has left some fairly valuable jewellery on one of our aircraft and we believe it may have been one of a party of Americans who travelled together. We’re anxious to trace them, so that we may return it. I wonder … if I give you the names, could you check if they are staying at your hotel?’
‘But of course. What are the names, please?’
‘Hassa
m, Lassiter, Kimball, Stanfield, Quincy, Dearing.’
‘Just a moment.’
During the pause, Edward looked across the lake to the lights on the far bank. It had been a risk, coming into Geneva and checking into this hotel, La Paix. The trouble was, neither he nor Victoria, nor anyone, knew how much Nancy and Zakros knew. Yes, they now knew they were being followed, in Switzerland. But they couldn’t know what had happened in Greece, not until they got to Geneva and maybe not even then. The question was: what had Nancy and Zakros done when they got to Geneva?
‘Given what happened to them on the train,’ Victoria had said, ‘they would have called Greece immediately.’
‘But who would they have called? By the time Zakros and Nancy reached Geneva the others should have been on the plane.’
‘But they killed someone. They would have left the country immediately.’
‘If that’s true, we’ve had it. But, don’t forget, they wanted to go to America. Presumably that’s where they were planning to go public – for maximum impact. And they thought that Kolettis and the others were bringing the false passports. There’s a good chance, therefore, that they checked into a hotel under a false name. Not until the others don’t arrive on our flight, not until they don’t turn up at the hotel, will Nancy and Zakros know for certain that the whole thing is blown. Even then, when they check with Greece, if they can check with Greece, they will only find that the Cessna exploded on take-off. They will still think that their aliases are safe.’
‘It works on paper, Edward. Very neat and tidy. But this isn’t art history, and we’re not in a library. Your friend Nancy killed someone today. She may be a hard-faced bitch, for all I know, but not even she can be used to killing. Think how she feels. She’s probably panicking, wants to go to ground – fast. Hide out for a month, or a year. And what are they going to do once it’s confirmed the others are dead? Panic all over again.’
‘All right. Think about this. When we reached Geneva, Nancy and Zakros still thought Kolettis and the others were alive. Kofas is rich, powerful – probably the best hope Nancy has of hiding. On that boat of his, for a start. You yourself talk about a second panic – but that can’t take place until they contact someone who knows about the Cessna crash – and that brings us back to my earlier argument. They had to go to the hotel where they were all intending to stay. Then think of this. No one, so far as we know, saw the crash. At some point a crash investigator will find the chain – but, as of now, the crash could have been an accident –’
‘Edward! That’s ridiculous.’
‘Maybe. But it’s just as much human nature to continue in a set groove as it is to panic and behave wildly. And in any case, why argue? If they did fly off, we’ve lost them. If they didn’t, and I’m right, we’re wasting valuable time while we could be looking for them.’
Reluctantly, Victoria had agreed and they had checked into the Paix Hotel. Two rooms, but with an interconnecting door, which gave them the use of two telephones.
The woman at the Rhône came back on the line. ‘Are you sure this party is staying in the hotel, sir?’
‘No, we’re checking all the major hotels in the city. Have you no reservation in those names?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Very well. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you.’ He rang off and put a line through the Rhône in the Geneva Yellow Pages. He had already crossed off the Richemond and the Hilton. Victoria had tried the Angleterre, the Bristol, the Beau Rivage and the Ambassador.
Edward next tried the President and Les Bergues. ‘Have you tried the Warwick?’ he shouted through the interconnecting door, which was open.
‘Yes!’ replied Victoria. ‘No go. Try the Berne and the Alba.’
Edward looked out of the window again. An old woman with a dog walked into the arc of light spread across the quay by one of the streetlamps. What sort of life would he lead when he was old, he thought. He had no family, no children, not even any dogs. Would he ever be old? he asked himself. Would he get to know Victoria any better? How long would it take to get over Nancy?
Wearily, he turned back to the phone and began to dial.
‘Mr Speaker, my honourable friend, the Member for Thornhill, showed at the beginning of this debate just how unusual these proceedings are. The House has not seen a debate like this one for many a year. It has certainly not seen a Prime Minister who has behaved like this one, ever.’ Arthur Page gripped the dispatch box with both hands. His blond-grey hair was swept straight back. His skin looked shiny with health. The only sign of nervousness was that he kept licking his lips with his tongue.
He used no notes. He knew as much as anyone that, if he won tonight’s vote, he could be Prime Minister within months, maybe much sooner. He needed to show the House that he was Prime Minister material. He knew, as Whiteman had known before him, that he must speak to the government’s backbenchers. His own side would vote with him, come what may. True, he needed a strong speech so that, should there be a general election, he could send them off with a spring in their step. But, before that, he had to win tonight and that depended on enough government backbenchers abstaining. His had to be a careful speech, not too party political. He had to move those government backbenchers, despite themselves and despite the fact that he was on the other side of the House. He had to appeal to them as parliamentarians above all else.
‘We have heard from all sides in the debate tonight, and I am bound to say that it is not just this side of the House that objects to the Prime Minister’s behaviour. The right honourable gentleman, the leader of the Liberals Democrats, the Scottish Nationalists – even a few Ulster Unionists – have expressed grave reservations. It has been a debate filled with feeling – and not just down here, but up there.’ He smiled in the general direction of the government backbenches and pointed to the gallery. ‘At the end of the day, however, and it is now the end of the day, the issue is not feeling, however important feeling is; it is not art, however important art is in our lives … No, the issue is democracy, the very operation of this House and the administration of the country. The Prime Minister has been attacked on many fronts in this House today, and shortly he will defend himself. To me, however, as leader of the opposition, the loyal opposition, as I will remind members, his chief sin, his important sin in this matter, has been his neglect of, and contempt for, Parliament. Like every other member in this House I am utterly perplexed by the way this issue came to prominence, like everyone else I have been astounded at what has come to pass. Astounded, angered, humiliated and – yes – shamed. Like everyone else, I have views about art and its place in our lives. I have been angered and shamed by the attack on the Greek Cathedral here in London, angered and shamed by the vigil in Athens, angered and shamed by the demonstration of the Nigerian athletes at Crystal Palace on Saturday. But all that has been well put by others, put better than I could hope to do. As leader of the opposition, I see it as my duty tonight to defend above all else the traditions of this House. And I do so, Mr Speaker, not simply on behalf of this side of the House, but on behalf of all sides.’
Murmurs of ‘Hear, hear’ rang out. Page was sure that some of them came from the government benches.
‘It is tempting to say that, by themselves, these Elgin Marbles are just so many pieces of stone. But history, life, is made up of such episodes. It is tempting to argue that these Marbles are just museum pieces, two thousand years old and without relevance today. Well, the whole history of this sorry episode shows just how wrong that reasoning is. The whole history of this episode shows just how wrong the Prime Minister is.’ Page drew a finger across his lips. ‘That he should not bring this matter to the House is, to my way of thinking, Mr Speaker, incredible. To undertake such a contentious and controversial programme shows a deep cynicism on the Prime Minister’s part so far as this House is concerned. And, given what has happened since the matter was first leaked to the press, it also shows that he has miscalculated on a gigantic scale. The Marbles are on t
heir way back to Greece, despite the fact that the vast majority of people in this country want no such thing. As a result of the Prime Minister’s unilateral action, people have died, and been injured, a police horse has had to be put down, churches and other fine buildings have been attacked. The House does not need me to remind it of what has happened – suffice it to say that the list is long.’
Page thumped the dispatch box with the palm of his hand. ‘What I also find incredible is that, even after this whole thing started, even after it started to go wrong, to backfire, the Prime Minister still did not bring it to the House for discussion. His arrogance continued, his insulting attitude to this House continued, even as the evidence mounted that what he was doing was wrong.
‘Now, I don’t deny that governments sometimes have to pursue unpopular measures. That is a fact of life. But this was and is no ordinary unpopular measure. It was a single individual pursuing an act of folly. It was a Prime Minister foisting on a nation a whim of his own. And, worse, he did it in secret. That is how ashamed, how guilty, he was about what he was doing.
‘Mr Speaker, there are no parallels with this action of the Prime Minister. It is in a class by itself. Most people in public life hope, in their heart of hearts, that somehow events will conspire so that some aspect of the country, some law, some practice, some institution, will become a monument to their achievements, to their memory. Some are even paid the very great compliment of having a stone monument sculpted in their honour. I ask the House to consider what the Prime Minister’s monument will be. It will certainly be extraordinary, will it not? Every time we go to the British Museum, we shall find entire rooms empty. Perhaps on the door to an empty room there will be a sign: “These rooms are empty, courtesy of William Lockwood MP.” Or on a wall there will be a notice: “Thanks to William Lockwood MP, the exhibits that once occupied this space can never be seen here again.”’
