by Peter Watson
‘Withdraw! Withdraw!’
Lockwood stood and approached the dispatch box. He had recovered some of his composure. ‘I am grateful to the right honourable member for his advice,’ he said in a sarcastic tone. ‘I have sat here all day and heard myself described as a coward –’
‘Hear, hear’ rang out from the opposition benches.
‘– as inept –’
‘Hear, hear.’
‘– as a shilly-shallyer and an authoritarian at the same time –’
‘Hear, hear.’
‘It therefore seems to me, Mr Speaker, that “weasel” is only too appropriate. The honourable gentlemen on the other side spend most of their time underground and only emerge when they sense a kill.’
This time cries of ‘Withdraw!’ mingled with ‘Resign!’, ‘Disgrace!’, ‘Shame!’. The foot-stamping started again, combined with a general din. The Speaker, knowing he couldn’t stop it, at least for the time being, remained seated and Lockwood still stood at the dispatch box. He looked up to the Distinguished Strangers’ Gallery where Mordaunt sat, his legs crossed in elegant fashion. He returned Lockwood’s stare without blinking.
The hubbub died down.
‘Honourable gentlemen opposite have their tails up now. Like many beasts of prey they hunt in packs – and only in packs.’ He rushed on before they could interrupt again. ‘But I ask the rest of the House, the more reasonable and intelligent parts of it –’
More cries of ‘Withdraw’ but he pressed on anyway.
‘– I ask them to place this whole episode in its proper perspective. This country is in the process of returning to another country one work of art, one set of stone sculptures. That country – Greece – is, let us not forget, the cradle of democracy, one of the founding fathers of Western culture as we know it and as we enjoy it, day in and day out.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘And that is all the episode is about. Nothing more. To see in it some wider conspiracy is to stretch the opposition’s admittedly limited imagination beyond breaking point. This is no major issue of defence, of health expenditure, of educational priorities. Honourable members have made much of the fact that these objects, these sculptures, have a great beauty. We have been told that the arts have a special place in our lives, a place that can only grow in importance as religion declines. I must say that I agree with that view but I wonder if, in this debate, it has not been overstated. I wonder when the right honourable gentleman opposite,’ and Lockwood waved dismissively at Page, ‘I wonder when he last went to a museum, or to the opera. When did he last buy a painting or visit the theatre?’
Lockwood could see Page looking uncomfortable and he smiled. ‘Yes, I see from the guilty look on his face that it must have been some time ago. As someone else said in another context, “Make me good, Lord – but not just yet.”’ That got the Prime Minister a few laughs from his own side. But not many. ‘So I say to the House: don’t get this matter out of perspective, don’t lose your sense of priorities. This is an issue which has been blown up out of all proportion by an opposition that is, despite all its high-flown talk, more interested in bringing down a government than in anything else. More interested in its own welfare than in the welfare of this nation. More corrupted by its own selfishness than it is willing to admit and is therefore blind to the merits of any case other than its own.’ He raised his voice, till he was nearly shouting. ‘This is a mean opposition –’
‘Mean and lean,’ someone shouted and there was a ripple of laughter.
‘Mean-spirited, mean-minded, small and inward-looking –’
The roar was growing on the opposition benches now.
Lockwood opened his mouth to shout them down, but then he noticed that a small envelope had been slid on to the dispatch box in front of him. The House watched as he picked it up. He seemed excited, but was this a similar ploy to Page’s – with a similar dramatic intent? Lockwood turned and looked at Hatfield. The Chief Whip shrugged, meaning he didn’t know the contents. Lockwood tore at the envelope. Maybe this was what he had been waiting for all day.
The House watched, more or less in silence. What was going on?
Lockwood seized the paper inside the envelope and opened it flat. The note was hand-written and read:
Our side broke into the Greeks’ hotel room in Geneva less than ninety minutes ago. The room was empty.
Don’t expect any more news tonight. Sorry.
Midwinter
Lockwood crumpled the paper in the palm of his hand but to the others in the House, watching him, it was the Prime Minister who seemed to crumple. His shoulders suddenly sagged and he seemed to grow physically smaller. He took a handerkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. ‘Mr Speaker, the House has heard the honourable gentlemen on the opposite side do their worst. They are not very good when it comes to doing their worst and, I can assure the House, they would be no better if they had a chance to work at something more positive – like occupying the government benches. This has all been a diversion, Mr Speaker, diverting for those with nothing better to do but no more than that. I reject the criticisms implicit in this debate and I accept the challenge thrown down by the other side.’
He sat down. There was a short-lived roar of approval from the government’s own backbenches but it was soon overtaken by the rustle and bustle of chatter as the House now looked forward to the vote, or asked itself what had been inside the last-minute note the Prime Minister had received, or assessed his performance in relation to Page’s.
As the division bells rang people stood, to stretch their legs. One or two gambling members were quietly arranging their wagers on the outcome of the vote. The tellers were being marshalled into place.
‘What was in the note?’ Hatfield whispered.
Lockwood passed him the wrinkled paper. Hatfield opened it and read the message for himself. ‘Oh,’ he breathed. ‘Oh dear.’
‘I wasn’t at my best, Joss. I know that. But what does the arithmetic look like now?’
‘Not more than three or four in it either way. You must understand, Bill, that on occasions like this there will always be some backbenchers who refuse – on principle, they say – to tell the whips what they are going to do. It is the only time when they have real power over us and there are always some who want to rub it in.’
They both watched as members moved towards the lobbies, for the count. Seeing them looking, an opposition backbencher grinned and shouted to his colleagues. ‘This way to the weasels’ den. Come on, weasels … Remember, we hunt in packs. This way to the kill.’ There was laughter, and other members surged after him.
‘When I think of that large, spongy bed up there I could weep.’
‘Don’t think about it. Count my freckles instead.’
Victoria groaned. It had been a shock to discover that the room used by Nancy and Zakros was empty. At first neither she nor Edward had been able to believe it and had searched the room again. But it was empty all right.
And it had been a shock for Edward to see Nancy’s things in the room, next to the Greek’s.
They had gone back to Victoria’s room to call London and confer with Leith. As a result of that, they had decided they had no choice but to keep watch on the hotel from their rented car, all night if necessary. On their way out, Victoria had reclaimed the envelope she had given the receptionist for ‘Dr Quincy’. She explained that she now preferred to give it to him in person.
Twenty minutes before, they had watched Nancy and Zakros return from – where? The all-important luggage was either in the hotel safe or somewhere else – the left-luggage compartments at the railway station, for example. There was an anonymous safety in that.
‘Where do you think they went?’
Victoria shook her head. ‘Search me. There’s something that worries me more.’
Edward stroked her shoulder. ‘What’s that?’
‘Why are they so relaxed? You saw them when they came back just now – very lovey-dovey …’
Y
es. Edward had seen that.
‘Smiling and kissing. It’s unnatural in these circumstances. I tell you, Edward, there’s more to this than we know.’
The benches were filling again, as members filed out of the lobbies. One thing was immediately clear: the amount of people entering and leaving each lobby was more or less the same – it was going to be very close.
The Prime Minister returned to his place, with Hatfield and Lessor behind him. George Keld had remained in his seat below the gangway, with one or two others on the backbenches. What neither Hatfield nor the junior whips knew was how many more cowardly rebels had left the chamber altogether, so as not to be seen to be abstaining.
They all sat and waited as the Speaker resumed his seat. As the last members returned to the benches, the four tellers, two from either side, approached the Speaker’s chair. A cough rang out somewhere in the chamber – it was the only sound. One of the tellers was holding a slip of paper with the count on it.
‘The Ayes to the right, two hundred and ninety-eight votes. The Noes to the left, two hundred and ninety-four –’
Before the teller could finish a great roar swept around the Commons, and Page and his colleagues were on their feet. Lockwood felt a cold tide rise up his spine and the hair at his temples was damp with sweat.
He had lost.
28
Tuesday
‘Do you think we could risk one of us going off for coffee?’
‘No,’ said Edward. ‘The New York flight – assuming they are still going – is at eleven. Check-in by nine-thirty to ten o’clock. In normal circumstances that means leaving here around eight forty-five, nine o’clock. But if they did leave the stuff at the railway station, say, they will have to leave the hotel even earlier.’
‘But it’s only just seven now. That gives us an hour, just to buy a measly cup of coffee and –’
‘We can’t risk losing them. Lockwood would skin us alive.’
‘You do realize that, for all we know, Lockwood may no longer be Prime Minister? Shouldn’t we check in with London? Our orders may have changed.’
‘We’re staying put. I’d rather be chewed out for being overzealous than for letting these two slip away from us. Nancy’s not getting away from anything.’
Seven-thirty came, eight o’clock.
At nine-thirty Victoria voiced what they were both thinking. ‘They’re going to miss their plane unless they get a move on.’
‘Change of plan?’
‘Oh yes. A change of plan. But … to what?’
‘Good morning if you have just joined us and welcome to BBC Radio’s Breakfast News. Late last night in the House of Commons Mr William Lockwood was defeated in a censure motion on his handling of the Elgin Marbles affair. So far there have been calls for the Prime Minister to resign from Mr Arthur Page, leader of the opposition, and from two daily newspapers, The Times and the Guardian. But there has been no word from Downing Street. In the studio with me I have our chief political correspondent, James Nickerson. James, what is the form from here on in, in a case like this? Is the Prime Minister’s resignation automatic? How does he go about resigning and what happens then?’
‘Well, of course, Britain is a country which is famous for not having a written constitution. Therefore nothing is certain, even in a serious situation like this. To my way of thinking, there is no question but that William Lockwood will have to resign as leader of his party very soon, if not today. He would remain as Prime Minister while a leadership contest was arranged. Alternatively, he could call a general election if he thought he was more popular in the country than in the House. However, the opinion polls do not bear that out. My understanding is that he is to lunch with the Queen – an unusual move that, but then these are unusual days. In normal circumstances, he would pay the Queen a short visit, to tender his resignation and then drive straight to Parliament to make a statement. I am assuming that he will go to the Commons after his lunch with Her Majesty. In the Commons, he will make his statement and I assume, resign. Once he resigned as party leader, if that is the course he adopts, he would remain as caretaker Prime Minister until a leadership contest either re-elected him or produced a new one. But, as I keep saying, these are not ordinary times and this course of events may be varied in a number of ways.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, this is where it gets truly intriguing. Since we have no constitution, there is nothing in principle to stop the Prime Minister from calling a general election, without resigning. The Prime Minister is not popular at Westminster after the last few weeks but no one really knows how this whole Elgin Marbles business is going down in the country at large. Now, if Lockwood simply called a general election, he would in all probability remain as leader of the party throughout the campaign – there simply would not be time to organize a leadership contest and it would clearly be suicidal from the party’s point of view to even attempt to do so in the middle of a three-week general election campaign. It would be a hell of a gamble for Lockwood, and the party would not forgive him if he lost. But it would deny Keld a crack at the leadership, at least for the time being. And, as a result, either Lockwood would get back, or Page would. But not Keld.’
‘As you say, these are intriguing possibilities, James, but which path do you expect Lockwood to follow?’
‘He looked pretty shattered to me when the debate finished last night. It may be that he has lost the capacity to fight, which you need if you are to remain as Prime Minister. I suspect he will be visited by some of the party chiefs this morning, who will tell him that he no longer has the automatic support and loyalty of the majority of the parliamentary party. Remember, a lot of people who voted for the government last night did so only because there was a three-line whip. They weren’t disaffected enough to defy the whips, but that doesn’t mean they liked what was happening, or what has been happening over this Marbles business.’
‘James Nickerson, thank you very much. That’s all from us for the moment – except for this late news flash. The Elgin Marbles have still not arrived in Greece but, according to news from Piraeus, a Greek tanker passed HMS Anglesey in the Aegean Sea two nights ago and reports that she was “dressed” for an official arrival. In anticipation of this, the Greek government have announced that they are to give Mr William Lockwood a national honour. Now, here is the weather.’
The weather in Geneva at last gave signs that summer was about to break after all. In between the fluffy clouds, the sun shone bright and clear.
‘Now, what’s this?’ Edward rubbed his chin. The stubble was a familiar feel these days. Both he and Victoria watched as a blue Renault drew up outside the Helvétique. A man got out, locked the doors and went into the hotel. ‘Relax,’ said Edward. ‘Nothing to do with us.’
The Rue Saint-Léger was busy without being congested. They had watched as the shops opened up one by one. An electrician’s, a charcuterie, a shop selling dolls and toys. There was a café further along the street but Edward was still saying it was too far away to risk going.
‘Look!’ he suddenly whispered. ‘Here they are.’
They both sat up in their seats as Nancy and Zakros came out of the hotel. Each carried an overnight bag and Zakros had some papers in his hands. The man who had arrived in the blue Renault came out with them and stood on the pavement. ‘It’s a rented car. They had it delivered.’ Edward’s fingers drummed the wheel as they watched Zakros open the driver’s door and then throw the bags on to the back seat. ‘So they’re not going to the airport. No one would bother to hire a car for a twenty-minute journey. There has been a change of plan.’
They watched as Nancy got into the passenger seat. The engine was switched on and the car moved off. The man who had delivered the car disappeared back inside the hotel. Edward let the Renault get about three hundred yards away and then followed. The blue car turned right, down a hill, then left on to the Rue Jacques Delcroze which led under two bridges to a large roundabout. At the roundabout the Renault w
ent straight ahead, before turning left on to the Avenue Pictet de Rochemont. This led to the bridge which crossed the Rhône, where it drained out of the lake.
‘They’re going towards the airport,’ breathed Edward.
‘And lots of other places too.’
Across the bridge, the blue car went straight up the Rue Mont Blanc into the Rue Chantepoulet. It turned right at Notre-Dame. ‘The station!’ breathed Edward. ‘We were right all along. They left the stuff here.’ He stopped the red Audi at the edge of the square, facing the station. Nancy and Zakros got out of the Renault, leaving it with its amber hazard lights flashing. They entered the station under a sign which said ‘Livraison des Baggages’ – left luggage.
The square was busy. Buses, cars, taxis and trams all circled slowly, dropping off or picking up. Five minutes passed. ‘Bit of a while, aren’t they?’ Edward bit his lip.
‘Maybe there’s a queue. Shall I look?’
‘I don’t want to show our faces unless we have to. Give it a while longer.’
Five more minutes passed.
‘Okay,’ said Edward. ‘You go, my face is known. Check out the baggage counter. But try not to be obvious.’
Victoria got out of the car and sauntered across the square. There were puddles from the previous day’s rain but they were vanishing rapidly in the sunshine. Edward watched as Victoria hovered outside the left luggage and then, gingerly, went inside. Edward kept his gaze fixed on the doors.
Less than a minute had elapsed when Victoria reappeared. She waved frantically for Edward to hurry over and there was no attempt to be discreet. He put the car in gear, dodged a bus that was entering the square and drove across to the station. He switched off, put on the handbrake and opened the door. He went to speak but Victoria got in first. ‘They’re not here. I asked at the counter – no one like them has picked up any bags in the last half-hour.’
