Party Games

by E J Greenway

  “No thanks, I ate before. Just pasta, but it filled a hole.” Tristan laughed awkwardly. He waved the bottle. “I’ve brought wine.”

  Anthea switched on the microwave, Tristan watching inquisitively as she ran her hand across her neck.

  “Wine, lovely - you must have read my mind. Look, I’m really sorry about what happened. I had no idea he was going to...well, you know.” Anthea sighed, producing a corkscrew. Her eyes flashed across Tristan’s face, his blond crop dark and tousled from the rain.

  “God, let me get you a towel.” Anthea said, vanishing into her bedroom and returning moments later. “Here, take this. Nothing quite like a bit of Egyptian cotton to dry you off.”

  Unsure how to respond, Tristan simply smiled and accepted the towel gratefully.

  “You’re not going to go to the papers are you? McDermott’s probably sniffing around already.” Anthea said, her strawberry blonde head tilted sideways in sympathy. Tristan felt his face heating up as the wine rushed to his head.

  “No, I don’t want to be the lowest of the low like that. It wouldn’t achieve anything, and it certainly wouldn’t do me any good. I think I’ll lie low for a while.” He wondered how sincere he sounded, but a bid for an interview had already come in from the Daily Bulletin. Sir Geoffrey Dickenson wasn’t the sort of man to miss out on a big scoop, and his dislike of Richmond was hardly a Fleet Street secret. If Tristan chose to do the ‘frank’ interview, with the paper’s Political Editor Fergus McDermott, he knew he would be walking on dangerously rebellious ground. He decided to sleep on it.

  “Pardon me for sounding...well, I don’t mean to be rude.” Anthea said curiously. “But why are you here?”

  Tristan hesitated, not quite sure himself, as she moved towards him, their eyes locking. Just as he was about to speak she raised her glass and gave him a sultry smile.

  “Cheers.” She whispered, clinking his glass and sipping. “Here’s to, well, an interesting day.”

  Without thinking, Tristan reached out to touch her hand, but the microwave announced that the lasagne was ready for consumption and the moment was gone.

  *****

  Fifteen months had passed since his conversation with Jeremy about Colin Scott, yet it often played on Rodney’s mind late at night, when finally alone with his thoughts. Destroy him once and for all. Jeremy’s frankness had amazed him. He hadn’t said it since, but it was a conversation Rodney knew would be repeated. Soon. The photograph taken that sunny day, when he and his team first set out on the dauntingly long road of opposition, hung by his desk. The familiar faces stared back at him, still shell-shocked after their terrible general election routing.

  Breathing deeply, Rodney looked away and tore off his tie, his neck stiff. For the first time that day, he was alone. Colin Scott’s continued presence had only served to darken his mood. I must not let him get to me. He forced his mind go blank for a few moments to give his mental batteries a brief but well deserved recharge, but clenched his teeth as Scott forced his way back into his consciousness.

  He didn’t believe his lies about Tristan’s interest in Anthea. It was all to rattle him, an attempt to preoccupy his mind with triviality so Scott could slither and hiss his way through Westminster, manipulating vulnerable colleagues, until he sank in his fangs and swallowed them whole. His Deputy might like to brazenly declare his loyalty while privately acting the wronged malcontent, but Rodney was wiser to his antics than Scott might realise. Robert Williams was a better Parliamentary Private Secretary, acting as Rodney’s eyes and ears, than Scott’s allies gave him credit.

  “People like Colin Scott can’t be reasoned with.” Williams told him after a particularly frank Shadow Cabinet discussion over Cornwall. “He’s building up to the ‘big walk-out’, and provoking you on purpose. He’s got the largest ego in this place, and that says a lot. His self-belief is extraordinary.”

  “I can’t just back down, Robert, especially in front of the likes of Steven Sharkey, who will also want my job one day!” Rodney exploded.

  “I know, that’s why he does it so publicly, you know that! Colin will resign, it’s a case of when, not if. You need to prepare for it.”

  Rodney shook Colin from his mind and rubbed his tired eyes. With a click of a mouse, he opened up a blank document on his computer. His next big speech. He had been utterly determined to at least start this one himself. His speech writers were well used to his style of delivery and were on the whole extremely competent, but this was a speech he wanted to write, straight from the heart. He felt passionate about giving people back the freedoms which were being gradually but brutally ripped away from them by the new, dictatorial government, he loved his party and the principles on which it was founded, the beliefs and values which had made it the greatest and most successful political force in the world. And yet, he continued to stare at the stark white computer screen as if the words would magically appear.

  Another ten minutes later, and he forced himself awake. Big Ben chimed 11.30pm. Time to go home. But home was lonely. His bachelorhood may have been a ‘gimmick’ to the media, part of his political act, but it wasn’t always the sort of interest an extremely private man wanted. He knew the stories upset her, making out she was only where she was because of him rather than the political brilliance she displayed. All the rumours were untrue, they had never been intimate, or even discussed the possibility of becoming intimate. Yet, for the past couple of years since he had got to know Anthea Culverhouse, Rodney had found it difficult to maintain a loving relationship with any woman.

  He felt guilty at his formality with her during their brief meeting. He had meant to ask her about Ben, but the day had been stressful, with two bad resignations in succession, and he had just wanted to get the other positions secured. If she had wanted the job of Chief Whip, then Rodney hadn’t meant to disappoint her. It simply wasn’t her time. If he had allowed his feelings to be finally realised and cloud his judgement then it would have done her no favours at all. He had to maintain a professional distance between them. She would go much further in politics, just not yet. Still, he felt he owed her an apology – and hearing her voice could always soothe him. Anthea alone had kept him level-headed throughout the leadership election, encouraging him when he felt all was lost, bringing him down to earth when he got too cocky.

  Without much thought to the lateness of the hour Rodney picked up the phone and called her home. He waited as the dialling tone rang out, steadily insistent, but no answer. Frowning, Rodney persisted. It kept ringing. With a grunt at the unexpectedness of the situation he hung up then dialled her mobile, but she announced in lively tone that she wasn’t available right now and to leave a message. He hesitated, but took the decision to abandon it. The blocked number would ensure she would never know it was him.

  Rodney rose wearily to his feet and called his driver, Fred, to ask him to slide the car along to Members Entrance. Armed with papers, he flicked off the lights of his expansive office suite, but stopped as he reached the door, his hand resting lightly on the doorknob. He turned back to the moonlit window, and stared out through the heavy nets down to the late-night bustle of Westminster Bridge, the London Eye illuminated before him. Loneliness tugged at his heart as he left, conscious not to leave Fred waiting. Fred, at least, had a loving wife to go home to, and at that moment Rodney Richmond envied his driver more than anyone else in the world.

  *****

  “You’re very quiet. Are you always like this?” Anthea finally asked him, watching as her companion leant further back into her sofa, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

  Tristan sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, I’ve not been very good company. Just tired, that’s all. You’ve been most patient with me, just turning up like this.”

  “Ah, but you did bring alcohol, so that makes up for it.” Anthea smiled. “Although...well...we have talked work for quite a while now. Why not tell me about yourself? I spend so much time with colleagues yet feel I know very little about them.” She tilte
d her head and shrugged. “I suppose it’s none of my business really, but I’m nosy.”

  Tristan sat forward, nursing his freshly filled glass. Anthea sat next to him on the sofa, yet keeping enough distance so not to cause awkwardness. She watched him run a hand over his narrow but appealing lips before rubbing his smooth jaw line.

  “Okay then.” He sighed. “The short version: I married fourteen years ago, seven years before entering Parliament. For a while we were happy, she was supportive of my ambitions until one day she said she was leaving me for another man, taking our only child – our six year old son Daniel – with her, and that she was never coming back. She said I had been neglectful of them and she had been seeing one of the parents from Daniel’s school, a caring man whose wife had died. He made her feel special, apparently, more than I had ever done. I haven’t seen her since. Oh, apart from the time she turned up out the blue and threw the divorce papers at me.”

  “Didn’t you fight for custody?” Anthea frowned in confusion. “I mean, you would’ve had a very good case.”

  “Of course I did.” Tristan replied, a little too harshly, but seemed to relax on seeing only pity in her eyes. “I fought for him like any loving father would dumped by his wife, I was just lucky to keep the whole sorry mess private. She made up terrible lies about me, saying it was me who was the philanderer and planting false evidence to back up her ludicrous claims, when all the while she had been leaving me with Daniel to spend time with this other man.” Tristan paused but Anthea’s only reaction was to nod and wait. She needed to know everything. “My Association believed me, thankfully, but the courts were not so sympathetic and once she and her boyfriend had been granted custody – something to do with being able to provide Daniel with a ‘loving home’ with two parents instead of one untrustworthy one – I was left out in the cold. She didn’t even want maintenance payments from me, which I wanted to give. Instead I’ve set up a fund for him, for when he’s older. She can’t stop me doing that, at least.”

  Anthea opened her mouth to speak but shut it again. She was sure she saw unshed tears sparkling in Tristan’s intense blue eyes and for a moment she had no idea how to respond except with the obvious.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally murmured, reaching out instinctively and patting his arm. She hadn’t really meant to pry into such an obviously painful past, but if they were to continue to see each other then she needed to know. For the first time she saw him not just as a embittered colleague but as a vulnerable human being who had been hurt and needed protecting. She felt more than just physical desire, something far more intense and deeply personal.

  “My life is so different now.” Tristan leant his head back, closing his eyes. Anthea continued to study him carefully. “Although I never get used to people stabbing me in the back. Maybe I’m too trusting of others, I don’t know. My wife – I mean ex-wife – just didn’t realise how much my life was dedicated to politics before it was too late, and by then she hated me for it. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any sort of close...friendship.”

  Her rose blossom shaded lips spread into a reassuring smile, hoping he would open his eyes to see it, but he kept them closed, the grip on his wine glass loosening. Without a word, Anthea quietly lifted her legs onto the sofa next to him and lay her head on his arm.

  “You’re beautiful.” Tristan muttered.

  “You’re drunk.” Anthea said in a gentle retort. Her mind swam with heady mix of elation and confusion, heightened by Tristan’s fingers drifting gently over her face and stroking her hair, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, as if they had been together for years.

  Anthea had never contemplated a relationship with a colleague but she felt a calmness next to Tristan she had never quite experienced with Rodney. Rodney was too confusing, too difficult to understand. Tristan, however, seemed to her to be a man who would make his intentions clear from the start. As she stared, she considered he must have felt the weight of her gaze, as he opened his piercing blue eyes and looked directly into hers. The kiss which followed felt such an incredibly natural experience of mutual desire that it did not come as a surprise to either of them. Anthea weaved her fingers through his blond locks and pulled him close, their lips colliding.

  The telephone began to ring, loud and intrusive. She broke the kiss, recoiling, but Tristan persisted, his lips working their way down her neck, his mouth soft and delicate. She shivered with delight.

  “I should answer...”

  “Please don’t, not now.”

  The telephone rang off, but as it did so, Anthea began to resist her colleague’s advances. Perhaps it had been Rodney. A late-night call from her boss, and friend, wasn’t uncommon, and today of all days he may have needed to chat. She mentally scalded herself for thinking about him when such a good-looking, interesting man was paying her such detailed attention, but she could no longer prevent the guilt.

  “Look, I’m sorry Tristan, but I think I need to go to bed...alone.” Anthea purred softly. Tristan looked down at her, not all together aware of his own senses. She brushed a finger across his lips. “I do hope you don’t mind, it’s just that I don’t think I’m...”

  “It’s ok, there’s no need to explain.” Tristan gently kissed her nose. “And anyway, as you say, I am rather drunk.”

  With a small smile, Anthea rose to her weary feet, stumbling slightly as she did so. “Stay on the sofa, I’ll get you a blanket. You live too far away to walk and it’s so late.”

  “I could get a cab.” Tristan mused. She saw disappointment in eyes which remained so alluring, but the last thing she wanted was to be an easy lay. If Tristan really wanted her, he could chase her for a while. That didn’t mean, however, she couldn’t tease him.

  “Please stay, I insist. You can just leave early.”

  After a quick rummage in a cupboard, Anthea brought out a bundle of sheets, but as she approached him she saw he had once again closed his eyes. His breathing was steady, his chest rising and falling in a deep slumber. Tristan always had a vulnerability about him, but in that moment she didn’t know whether to mother him or drag him off to her bedroom. Ignoring a flash of fantasy, she chose the former, draping the sheets across him and hoping that he would pursue her until she gave in and their wild lovemaking would finally bury all her confused feelings. But, for now, just knowing he was there gave her comfort enough.

  Four

  Wednesday, 7.15am

  From inside the car he watched Tristan closely, snapping away with his long lens, a broad smile of satisfaction across his unshaven face. He chuckled sadistically, trying to ignore the cold and stiffness in his bones from sitting in the vehicle all night, the crisp October air still fresh from a clear night.

  “Well, what d’you know, still in the same shirt and tie as yesterday, but looks like your trousers could do with a good iron.” He muttered in a strong Cockney brogue. “Didn’t your mother teach you to fold your clothes, even if someone else has helped you undress? That’s it, turn around, face me. Wonderful. Now let me zoom in, just one more….oh is that lipstick on your collar? You naughty boy, Rivers.”

  This was too good. Too good by far. A disaffected former senior Shadow Cabinet member goes and sleeps with one of his colleagues the day he’s sacked, but just not any colleague, but Anthea Culverhouse, most known for supposedly not having a relationship with Rodney Richmond. Did Rivers want some sort of revenge by creating a scandal? It had been a great tip-off from his ‘anonymous source’. He laughed again, this time a little harder, as he pulled off his headphones. God knows what Rivers had told her about his wife, if anything.

  He snapped a final picture of Rivers driving away in his Volvo. This was, of course, all for some greater good, or so he had been told, but he didn’t give a damn about politicians and their games. For him it was for the greater good of his wallet – the joys of cold, hard cash in his hand. For his client, however, the greater good could only mean one thing - the eventual removal of Rodney Richmond as le
ader.

  *****

  11.05am. He was late. How dare he be late. The MP stomped his feet on the pavement then walked over to the railings to stare at the ducks in St James’ Park, the sun unusually warm for the time of year. Golden leaves sprinkled around him and for a time he basked in the temperate autumn breeze, the natural idyll in the heart of London a sanctuary from the political storm ahead. The minutes ticked by.

  “Oh this is ridiculous.” Finally he snatched his mobile from his jacket. Just as he was about to furiously punch in the numbers from the well-thumbed business card in his grasp, he glanced up and saw him striding through the park, his dark hair slicked back, a black bomber jacket zipped up to his neck and wearing mirror sunglasses. Colin made his irritation known by staring at his watch as the man approached.

  “Well? Got the photos?”

  Colin was wasting no time. The deal had already been done and this was to be a quick exchange of money for a service. The private detective, broad and rough-faced, rubbed his fingers and thumb in front of client’s nose without a word. Pursing his lips tightly, Colin withdrew a tight bundle from his breast pocket and smacked it down hard in the man’s large, puffy hand.

  “Photos.” Colin glared and held out his own hand until he was finally given a memory stick. “And the other information you wanted. Just getting the proof for all of it.”

  Shaking his head, Colin peered into the mirrors covering the man’s eyes. “No, no. I want to see hard evidence, this could be bloody blank for all I know!”

  The man’s tight expression turned into a hollow smile, showing slightly yellowing teeth. Colin suspected he hadn’t been to a dentist in a while, although with the money he earned with each job he pondered that the guy could afford get them all pulled and replaced with a set of mini gold bullions if he wished.