by E J Greenway
“But you do have your reservations, about the way the party line is, what you might say, getting too much air time?”
Scott paused and McDermott saw the barely suppressed rage in the politician’s grey eyes. Maybe he hated Richmond nearly as much as he did. He expected a bland response, perhaps with a hint of malice if he was lucky. Scott drew breath.
“Yes.” He said quietly.
McDermott raised his eyebrows and swallowed hard. With one word, he had the scoop. “Yes?” He parroted. He needed more.
“Yes, I believe that to be the case.”
“And have you shared this opinion with Mr Richmond?”
“He knows my feelings.”
“But have you had a discussion with him? Told him how you might handle the issue differently?”
“As I say, he knows my feelings.”
Damn. McDermott thought. Back to the politician ‘answers’.
“That suggests to me that you might not feel able to talk about it with him. He does seek your advice on matters?”
“Yes, we meet regularly.”
“But you haven’t said to him outright you feel the approach to Cornish devolution needs to change? That you have concerns?”
“Concerns have been raised, both within Shadow Cabinet, and within our private meetings.”
He’s opening up again.
“And are there any other differences over this within other members of the Shadow Cabinet?”
Colin produced a twitchy smile. The apparent anger had subsided and he looked in control again. “Nothing that can’t be ironed out, I’m sure, but those other differences to which you refer do not involve me.”
“One last question on this issue before I move on to other matters – would you find yourself considering your position, if Cornish devolution continues to dominate the agenda for the leadership, if you continue to feel that your point of view is generally being...sidelined?”
“We hope to defeat the Bill at Second Reading very soon, as Rodney has made clear on many occasions...”
“Can you put the rumours to bed right here, right now? Can you say, categorically, that you will not resign as Deputy Leader of the Conservative Party, and, if you felt the timing was right, cause what they call in Australia, a leadership spill?”
“Ah, they do seem to have a habit of deposing leaders over there. I do admire Kevin Rudd...”
“Can you put to bed the rumours?”
Colin Scott smiled again. “I never say never, Fergus. Politics isn’t as cut and dried as that, as well you know.”
“Is that on the record?”
“Depends how you’re going to spin it.”
“I think the boss might hope it would be to your satisfaction, Colin.”
The Deputy Leader leant back again, relaxing. McDermott found him fascinating, an enigma. He came across mildly bipolar, perhaps, the way the anger would flare up, then subside as quickly as it had surfaced. He had experienced such moods himself, but at least his own illness had been suppressed by drugs. He was better now, of course. Much better. But it was still there, still with him, and the trigger remained at large, now at the top of the Conservative Party. Like Scott, McDermott could neither forget nor forgive. Like Scott, he needed to plan his moment carefully. But, unlike Scott, the revenge was more than just political death. The journalist wanted to go further; much, much further.
But, for now, McDermott decided to do what he did best. Richmond’s time would come soon, but Scott’s interview and Jenny Lambert’s kiss-and-tell would be enough to keep his loathing temporarily sated. The Lambert story was all packaged up and ready to be dribbled out over consecutive issues to cause maximum damage to Richmond in the wake of the Arnold scandal. Miss Lambert had been far more willing to speak about her relationship with Richmond than McDermott had ever dared to dream, the woman had a major axe to grind and it didn’t surprise him one bit that she had – allegedly, of course – been treated in such an abysmal way. If he could be a cold fish in his personal relationships, then how could he be expected to empathise with the constituents, or even the country? Obviously, therefore, it was in the public interest. Richmond should have known never to trust the offspring of a ruthless journalist like Jenny’s mother. Rosie Lambert, recently promoted editor of the Prime Minister’s favourite tabloid the Morning Engager, was one hard-nosed cow. Yes, everything was still to play for, and McDermott needed to know where the rest of the bodies were buried. He had heard a rumour about Anthea Culverhouse and Tristan Rivers - and they seemed an excellent place to start.
Seven
Thursday evening
Tristan Rivers hated these sort of functions, surrounded by faceless donors who thought they could simply walk into policy making if they threw enough cash in the treasury coffers and demanded to see the right people. And at the bloody Savoy as well. He was sure that the party couldn’t really afford to hire such an exclusive venue, but most of the Parliamentary Party had been summoned and it was all so fake, so damn cynical. He could see Richmond’s set smile, laced with a hint of malaise as he posed for a photograph with the Party’s second richest donor, and wondered just how much he didn’t want to be there as well. The party just wanted their money, and he wondered if Richmond hated the phony courtship of these people, but the current state of the political party funding system was such that there was little choice. Everyone had to literally grin and bear it. He would never have come if it hadn’t been for Anthea. There was little incentive for him to mingle and from the strange looks he kept receiving from people he had never seen before in his life, they saw little incentive to talk to him either.
Perched at the bar, uncomfortable in his ever-so-slightly-tight dinner jacket, Tristan felt decidedly off alcohol, pondering that Anthea may not see his attractive side if he threw up in her face, especially if he were trying to apologise. He hoped she had time to calm down. He sipped a Diet Coke; if anyone asked, it contained vodka.
It was then her saw her, the dark blue knee-length evening dress she wore hugging her curves and accentuating her magnificent figure in all the right places. The dress was simple and unfussy but its effect was stunning. He watched absorbedly as she skirted past Rodney, giving him a friendly, almost encouraging tap on the elbow. Rodney caught her eye and returned the gesture with a smile, one which hinted he desperately needed rescuing, but he quickly turned back to nod at the large, bald man who was busy talking away while cramming an entire tray of canapés into his mouth.
“I thought you weren’t coming.” She murmured teasingly to Tristan after she reached him. They kept themselves aware of their surroundings, their voices low, the tension simmering.
“I know, but I didn’t have much else on and any excuse...” He trailed off, unable to help giving in to his urge to look at her, to let his eyes take her in. Any excuse, indeed. “You look beautiful.”
Anthea suddenly looked abashed. “I hate these things, they’re intolerable.” She whispered, sighing, but her expression suddenly froze. “Oh God, I think that Sir Robert whatshisname is about to come over, he’s been desperate to speak to me for weeks now, thinks he’s going to become the next chairman of the Local Government Association so wants to pick my brains. Why anyone would want to gatecrash such a Godforsaken event I’ll never know.”
“Well, let me buy you a drink - at least the party’s not forking out for an open bar! Then when it seems…appropriate we can get out of here.” Tristan said softly. He could smell her tantalising fragrance and watched as her hair swished delicately across her partially bare shoulders.
“We?” Anthea said, surprised, as they moved swiftly back towards the bar. Tristan ordered another vodkaless Coke and a glass of wine. “Look, there was something I wanted to mention to you. As you know there’s a place going on the Public Accounts Select Committee, and I’ve heard on the grapevine that Russell Collins is already thinking of stepping down as Chairman. Ill health, apparently.”
She gave Tristan a knowing look and he raised his eyeb
rows. How he would love to be back on his old committee, he had served on it a number of years back and he had been well thought of. Perhaps, finally, he would find his niche... But Colin was on his back again, ringing him, pushing, going on and on about Richmond. As if he had been listening in, the Deputy threw a gaze in Tristan’s direction. I would hate for things to become awkward between us...no guts, no glory...
“I, err…” Tristan stammered, floundering. “I’ve really got other things in mind, but yes great idea, I would love to, but I’m not sure, just at the moment.” He winced; very ‘unpolitician’ of him, he knew, but Anthea’s puzzled look made his mind go blank. Her shoulders slumped as Tristan hesitated - the opportunity was a gift and he was about to turn it down.
“Just let me make sure you get home ok tonight.” Tristan said, handing her the glass. He saw the Party Leader heading towards them, unaccompanied. Tristan had never seen a dinner jacket so immaculately pressed and he felt deep irritation when Rodney smiled and pecked Anthea on the cheek.
“Anthea, wonderful performance on Today this morning; fantastic kick in the teeth for the Cornish indie lobby.” Rodney beamed, his dark brown hair neatly sprayed back off his forehead after his recent trim. His smile soured ever so subtly when he caught Tristan’s eye. They hadn’t even so much as passed in Members Lobby since the ‘resignation’ and the fallout which followed.
“Thanks. I’m enjoying all the air time I can get while it lasts.” She said with an awkward smile. “All going well here?”
Before any more could be said, Jeremy approached, his tall frame looming behind his leader. Linda, although seven months pregnant, hovered gracefully by her husband’s side, exchanging small talk with a rather short man who ran his own haulage business. Jeremy tapped Rodney on the shoulder.
“Rodney, it’s time.” He whispered, nodding a greeting towards Anthea. “If we keep them waiting any longer I fear they’ll start to chew on the tablecloths.”
Rodney nodded and turned to where Tristan was nursing his drink.
“Tristan – nice to see you.”
“Yes well, not got much else to do have I?” Tristan muttered coolly under his breath. He was unsure if Richmond had heard him, the leader’s expression inscrutable.
“Oh, he feels guilty about you, I can tell.” Anthea said softly as Rodney headed to the top table. Tristan shrugged – it didn’t really matter to him whether the man felt guilty or not. Then Anthea smiled at him, a glint in her eye which took his breath away. “And yes, I agree.”
“Agree?”
“Yes. Getting out of here as soon as possible sounds like a super idea.” She gave a small wink. Tristan felt an unexpected surge of euphoria as Anthea draped her pashmina about her shoulders and glided over to her table. Tristan knew that two men were flanking her at the table, he had checked it out, but he didn’t think he would feel such an intense, burning jealousy as they greeted her with enthusiasm. It was irrational, he knew, it was all just a mask of politeness to get them through the evening, but once it was all over, her company would be his and he would see the real Anthea Culverhouse, not the politician.
He sought out his own table, noting in amusement that he had been placed at the furthest table away from anyone who mattered. He imagined the distress of the organisers who had to change seating arrangements at such short notice following the reshuffle. Still, he had a good spot from which to observe the room, and the usual strain between Richmond and his deputy was all too clear. He had to admire Colin’s sheer audacity. There he was, smiling away and seated directly opposite the leader he not-so-privately loathed. He felt like Colin Scott’s dirty little secret, the mistress coming between Colin and Rodney’s loveless marriage. Soon the cold war would become a bitter, public feud, and Tristan felt powerless to stop it.
As soon as he could break free from this tiresome charade, Colin had another place to be, especially today of all days, the anniversary he so desperately wished to forget but never could. If he closed his eyes he could relive it again, the awful sound of metal smashing metal, the horrific screaming, his body numbed to a dead weight as he stood helplessly watching on the side of the pavement, unable to move, blink, or cry out. His memories of that day were awash with blood, drowning him, shredding his emotions until he could barely breathe...
If he had simply gone home after the dinner he might have drunk himself to sleep, like he had done for so many years previously, but not tonight. If he could never hold her again, make love to her, if all he had to cling to was the memory of her beautiful face and an old photograph, then he would have to relive her again, resurfacing his deepest, most personal memories of the woman he lost on that day twenty-six years ago. He would text 'be ready' to the pay-as-you-go mobile he had given Kathryn. She would be prepared, dressed up for him as he liked, in classic basque and suspenders. There would be no roses, no post-coital cuddles. Not today. He would expect to have his way and be in and out of the building - and her - all within half an hour. It was the one night, as he had done for the past two years, when he would allow himself to pretend she was her, although Kathryn would never know how much it helped him cope.
Colin drummed his fingers on the edge of the table as he glanced from side to side, chuckling at some banal joke by one of the party’s richest donors, a 35 year old multi-millionaire philanthropist who had charities in some of the poorest countries and a specific interest in international aid. Simon Clarke OBE was guest of honour, and, to Colin’s relief, he had been rather engaging on a number of issues. Colin had ignored Richmond as best he could - until Clarke brought up the issue of Cornish devolution.
“I am sure you would want me to be honest with you, Rodney.” Clarke tapped the Leader’s arm, looking concerned. Rodney mirrored his expression as the cheese and biscuits course arrived. Clarke reached for a large wodge of stilton. “It’s just that this Cornish devolution issue, I just worry that it’s getting rather a lot of...attention from you. I mean, yes, I can see it’s important to people in the South West, but really, if they want to go independent, why not let them?”
Rodney nodded, acknowledging the donor’s opinion, but Colin had perked up on the other side of Clarke, his attention now fully focussed on their conversation. He popped in a grape and slowly began to chew.
“I am a firm believer in keeping this country together, as a United Kingdom, and I think it would be horrific if it were torn apart by this Government.” Rodney explained. The champagne was being carried out in time for the toast, fizzing flutes placed in front of the guests. “I don’t think that the people of Cornwall want to be cut off from the rest of the UK, and I firmly believe there is little, if no, support for such a ridiculous bill out in the country at large, and certainly no money to create such a separate province, as it would become if the Government’s Bill, as it stands, passes through Parliament...”
“But what if the Cornish people want devolution...”
“As I say, Simon, I don’t think they do, and I believe that it can best be solved through the party supporting a referendum on the issue, which I know a number of Labour rebels also are calling for.” Shit. Eyebrows were raised around the table. Rodney snapped his mouth shut. Colin stifled a smile as Anthea turned from her seat behind him at the adjacent table, staring. Jeremy looked aghast. Colin saw his chance to cause maximum discomfort, aware Clarke’s cold hard cash could be a welcome addition to any potential leadership campaign.
“What Simon is saying is something I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks, Rodney.” He said abruptly. “And a referendum would be an expense we shouldn’t have to fund. I know there is concern amongst some of the party membership that there should be a more robust ‘no’ campaign, and although I too oppose complete devolution for any part of the UK, I completely agree with Simon that the issue shouldn’t cloud other, more important policy areas.”
“Such as international development.” Clarke quipped.
“Quite. My point exactly.”
Jeremy lost his grip on his k
nife and it fell into his lap, butter smearing itself across his crisp dress shirt. He cursed under his breath, glaring at Colin, the atmosphere between the senior MPs around the table turning frosty. Linda rolled her eyes, handing her husband a tissue from her bag. She sipped her Britvic 55 and murmured to him that she longed for the biggest glass of pinot noir she could find.
For a moment, nothing else was said. Rodney shot Colin a deadly look across the back of Clarke’s shoulders as the donor topped up his fizzy water. Colin knew Rodney had to rake this back, take control, otherwise he would look a complete fool in front of a donor whose money the party could ill afford to lose. The Party Chairman, quite evidently making the stains on his shirt worse with a thickly starched, damp napkin, sought out Rodney’s gaze to exchange a knowing look.
“I do understand yours – and Colin’s – points on this.” Rodney said with a light chuckle. Clarke raised a cautious eyebrow. If he too had been surprised by Colin’s untimely intervention, he didn’t show it. Instead he spoke again before Rodney could defend the policy further.
“But I don’t think, from reading the papers, that a referendum is something I’ve heard mentioned before? As Colin says, I suppose the money would need to be found for that...”
“Yes, Rodney.” Colin continued, ignoring the silent daggers the Leader was firing his way. “I haven’t heard about this either. I think Simon and I need enlightening.”
Jeremy cleared his throat, apparently abandoning the greasy, wet stain. Linda gave him a nod and he scraped his chair back, ready to move.
“The party’s position on this issue is completely clear, as all of us will tell you, Simon.” Jeremy’s voice was tense but he smiled. “We oppose this Bill, and fully intend to defeat it in the House. Anthea is doing a brilliant job on it, and I think our position is shared by the vast majority of the British people. Right, time is marching on, so I think I should get on with introducing the great man here.” He rose to his feet before more could be said, ready to bring the room to order. Minutes later Colin joined in the rapturous applause as Rodney delivered the obligatory speech. Colin needed the reprimand to come quickly. His patience was fast running out.
