by Nick Corbett
Annie stands there with her hands on her hips, tiny but formidable.
“Please put it in a black bin bag for the dustmen to collect. They’ll be here any minute.”
“Ha! If I put grass cuttings in a bin bag they refuse to take it. How do you think they’ll respond to an animal carcass? Fred’s coming to mow the lawns this morning, I’m sure he’ll take care of your badger.” David looks forlorn. “Annie, have you forgotten it’s my important meeting with the leader of the council this morning. Aren’t you bothered?”
Annie shifts her hands from her hips to her face, which is contorted, like the painting, “The Scream”.
“Do you mean it’s your meeting to get the housing estates?”
“Ah! You’ve remembered!”
“David, dear, this is so important. Those poor people have been suffering for too long. You know you’re doing the right thing.” Annie’s tone of voice has completely changed, it’s now soft, gentle.
“I completely support what you’re doing love, you know that. Hey, it’s a coincidence that Joe’s in The Times today. Is his council estate in your deal?”
“Yes, it’s first on the list.”
“Thank goodness for that. It’s become a terrible place. I didn’t feel safe when I was there recently.”
“Why did you go there?”
“I just went to have a look.”
“When?”
“A few months ago.”
“You mustn’t go there again, not on your own!”
“Okay. Do you remember the opening, when the Broadway estate was first built? I’m sure it was 1969.”
David sighs, with a far away look. “I remember. You were by far the most beautiful woman there.”
Annie blushes like a teenager and giggles.
“That was the first estate we built for the council,” David continues. “The money paid for this house.”
Their conversation becomes nostalgic. “How hopeful we all were, back then,” says Annie. “Do you remember our first house, the one in town?”
“Of course I do.”
“I loved that little house. It was so easy to clean.” Annie turns and stares through the sash windows that overlook her impressive herb garden. She notes the windows need cleaning. She turns back to her husband, returns to the theme of the Broadway estate.
“I suppose it was the happy memory of the opening day, that’s why I went back to have a look at the estate. I just wanted to see what it’s like now.”
“Okay Annie, just please don’t go there again, not without me.”
Annie chuckles.
“What are you laughing at?” asks David.
“I just remembered Beryl, Bill Robinson’s wife, telling us off when we arrived in the Bentley. She said we upstaged the Mayor.”
“Oh, yes. Bill Robinson was the chairman of the housing committee back then.”
“We’re fortunate to know Bill. He’s come a long way hasn’t he?”
“Yes, he’s done a lot. Son of a milkman becomes Secretary of State for Regeneration.”
“Poor Beryl,” sighs Annie.
“Bill did the biggest council housing deal in the country. He wanted to build 365 tower blocks across Birmingham, one for every day of the year. With state funding, and my help, he got more than that.”
“It’s not such a great legacy though, is it love? The tower blocks have so many social problems.”
David looks hurt. “They’ve put a roof over the head of thousands of people; you can’t blame me for bad management.”
Annie looks serious. “I don’t blame you for bad management, but the evidence is clear for all to see. Horrible tower blocks aren’t what you want to be remembered for, are they?”
“No! That’s why I’m meeting the leader of the council this morning.”
“Of course you are, darling, and you’re doing the right thing. Perhaps you should also speak to Bill Robinson about his regeneration plans. Invite him around for dinner.” Annie adds thoughtfully. “Bill never did remarry did he, love?”
David shakes his head. “No, he never did. He never will. He almost left politics when Beryl died. I think he’s alright now though.”
Annie looks sad. “Poor Beryl,” she says again, but she isn’t distracted for long. She returns to her point and hammers it home like a barrister. “We’re not in the summer of our lives. We mustn’t leave children growing up in those terrible estates.”
“I’ve told you, that’s why I’m meeting the council leader this morning!”
Now Annie has presented her case, she puts her arm around David’s shoulder, kisses him on the cheek.
David smiles warmly, squeezes his wife’s hand. “Don’t you worry Annie, when we’re finally finished here, there’ll be no shame.”
He places his reading glasses on the end of his large, hooked nose. “Now darling, let me read Joe’s article.”
Annie smiles. “I’ll cook you some breakfast, you’ll need a good start today.” She clangs around in her kitchen, with her husband flinching at the crash of a pan and the slam of a drawer.
Annie finishes off the breakfast preparations. David looks up from his newspaper.
“Joe’s article is excellent!” he says. “I’ll give Bill Robinson a call. It could help with his urban renaissance policy. I’ll give Joe a plug too.” Under his breath, he continues. “With all the money I’ve donated to the Party, they owe me a couple of favours.”
Annie looks pleased. “That’s good dear!” she replies, with a radiant smile and the slam of a cupboard door.
Just as David takes his first mouthful of sausage, the telephone rings. Annie answers it, cheerfully. David’s ears prick up when the words “Foreign Office” are mentioned.
Annie turns to David, she pulls a face. “It’s Tristram Fortesque, he’s from the Foreign Office. He needs to speak to you.”
“Are you joking?”
“Of course I’m not. Perhaps it’s something to do with Jamie, here take it.” Annie passes over the phone.
“Hello, David Rogers speaking.”
Annie sits beside her husband, listening in as best she can. She finds the long silence agonising. At last David says something.
“Half an hour you say?” He sounds alarmed. “Well, I’ve got another rather important meeting to attend.” He looks at his watch. “Oh, I can fit it in, yes, it’ll be okay.” Another long silence follows. “My garden?”
Annie looks perplexed, why is he talking to this important person about their garden?
“We’ve got acres of lawn, there won’t be a problem.” David places the phone down.
“What on earth were you talking about? Come on, quickly, I can’t stand the suspense.”
David continues to stare down at his feet, deep in thought. Annie grabs hold of him.
“What’s going on?” she demands to know.
“Right! Look sharp, Annie. Young Jamie’s dropping in for a cup of tea!”
“What for?”
“He wants to have a chat with me. He’ll be arriving in a helicopter, in half an hour, en-route to Ireland.”
Jamie, or rather James Montgomery, is Annie’s nephew. He also happens to be Britain’s Foreign Secretary. Annie is very pleased.
“Jamie hasn’t been here for so long; we saw him last year of course, at his wedding, but I don’t think he’s been to Lullingdon since Luke’s eighteenth birthday party. I wonder why he didn’t telephone himself? It’s a bit strange to get a civil servant to call us isn’t it?”
“No, it’s okay, he’s a busy man.”
“So, this isn’t a social call?”
“No darling, it won’t be anything to do with the family, it’s business, that’s why the civil servant called me.”
“But why would Jamie need to speak to you about business? What possible business could you have with the Foreign Secretary?”
“I don’t have the faintest idea.”
“It must be serious,” says Annie, trying to makes sense of the
situation.
“I expect so.”
“Something to do with national security?”
“Possibly, more likely something foreign.”
“But you’re not very important, are you?”
“Not really.”
“Ah, I know!”
“What?”
“Is Jamie a fan of your football club?”
David shakes his head. “He’s a Spurs fan.”
“My Civic Trust ladies will be here in an hour. A Foreign Secretary’s bound to impress them.”
David looks thoughtful. “Do you think we should still call him Jamie?”
“Why ever not?”
“Well, it was okay when he was a little boy, but now he’s the Foreign Secretary. Perhaps he’d prefer to be called James, what do you think?”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. I could call Rosalind, see what she thinks?”
“Oh, no, there isn’t time for you to call your sister. Let’s call him James, so we don’t embarrass him.”
“Okay.”
Twenty minutes later, Annie rushes back into the kitchen, dressed in a smart outfit. She yells at David.
“There’s a policeman in our garden, with a machine gun! I hope he doesn’t scare my Civic ladies. Have you got rid of the badger?”
David opens his mouth to answer, nothing comes out. He tilts his head to one side, listens intently. There’s the faint sound of a helicopter; it’s getting louder.
“I can hear him coming Annie! Come on love. I bet he’ll land at the back of the house.”
David and Annie can feel the helicopter vibrating in their bodies as it cuts through the air, but they can’t see it yet. They place their hands over their ears, protecting them from the thundering, chopping noise. David looks up anxiously at the stone roof tiles covering his manor house. There it is! An enormous, purple helicopter casts a shadow over them. It drops down to earth, quickly, upon the manicured lawn, a hundred metres away from the house. Two men sit in the front seats of the helicopter and there is a huddle of passengers in the rear. The new, youthful Foreign Secretary takes off his large headphones. He jumps down from the helicopter, hair blows wildly. Another man follows him. Heads are kept down even though the rotating blades are far above them.
David and Annie hold hands, like two small children, overwhelmed by the spectacle before them. James Montgomery and another other man jog over to them. James looks like Luke, but taller, bulkier, not quite so good looking. He kisses his aunt Annie on both cheeks. He shakes hands with his uncle David, places a hand upon his shoulder.
“Oh, Jamie!” cries Annie. “It’s lovely to see you. How’s Hilary? We haven’t seen you since the wedding. Wasn’t it a wonderful day?”
James smiles at being called Jamie, he hasn’t been called that for years. It brings back happy memories, playing with his cousins in the forest.
“Yes! We’re all fine thanks Aunty Annie, everyone sends their love.” James introduces the other man, “This is George. Can he use your toilet?”
George looks at them apologetically.
“I’m sorry, it’s since I turned fifty, I seem to need the loo every hour. James said you wouldn’t mind?”
David looks sympathetic. “You should try turning seventy, I need to go every twenty minutes.”
They make their way into the house. George is shown where the lavatory is; he makes his own way back to the helicopter. As they walk up to the drawing room, James looks around.
“I haven’t been here for such a long time, not since Luke’s party. He’ll be having his thirtieth soon won’t he? How is he?
“Oh, gosh, yes, he’ll be thirty soon. That makes me feel so old!” says Annie, “He’s fine, enjoying life in London.”
“Good. By the way, you haven’t aged a day.”
“Oh, thank you, dear, neither have you, we’ve got good genes.”
James really does look ten years younger than his thirty-seven years. Annie makes her excuses; she’s got to get ready for her Civic ladies.
David and James enter the drawing room.
“That’s an effective way of missing the rush-hour traffic,” says David, pointing out of the window towards the helicopter. James laughs, pretends he hasn’t heard that line before.
“I’m very fortunate. It’s from the Queen’s Flight.” He looks out of the windows. “Wow! I’d forgotten how impressive the view is. The forest looked magnificent from up in the air.”
David smiles. “Really? I’m pleased to hear that. It’s certainly a beautiful morning. So, Jamie, are you the youngest Foreign Secretary ever?”
“No, Canning just beats me. Look, thanks for agreeing to see me Uncle David.” He’s clearly anxious to get down to business.
David lowers himself into his favourite leather armchair. He gestures for James to sit on the green settee. David looks intrigued.
“It’s smashing to see you, err, James, it’s not every day we got a visit from the Foreign Secretary. What do you need to talk about? I know it isn’t football because you’re a Spurs fan.”
James snatches one more glimpse at the view, then perches on the edge of the settee.
“I’m impressed with your club, congratulations on promotion. I like your new acquisitions.”
David winces. “Please don’t go there, my eyes still water when I think about the price of those players.”
James glances at his watch, countenance changes, looks serious. “There are two reasons for my visit. Firstly, the Prime Minister says thank you. He’s very grateful for your generous donations to the Party.”
David fidgets with his fingernails.
James continues. “Secondly, I’m here on a matter of sensitive Foreign Office business. Will you treat it in strictest confidence?”
David shifts uneasily in his chair. “Of course.”
James pushes further. “You won’t even tell Aunty Annie?”
“Okay. What’s it about, what can I do for you?”
“It might be a case of what cousin Luke can do.”
“Oh, shouldn’t you be speaking to your cousin then?”
David’s heart beats a little faster. “Luke’s not in trouble is he?”
“No. This is to do with one of his old school friends. I’d appreciate your advice. The Westminster bubble’s very small, you know? My ex-diary assistant is friends with Luke; you know Cathy Baker, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, I gave her a reference.”
“That’s right. She’s gone to work for Bill Robinson now, our mutual friend, Secretary of State for Regeneration. He’s a character!”
“Indeed. Do go on. I hate to be rude Jamie, but I’ve only got twenty minutes. I’ve got a meeting with the leader of the city council this morning.”
“Sorry, yes, I’ve got a meeting too, with the President of Ireland. The point is, Cathy told me about her friend Hannah, who works in a refugee camp in Beirut. There’s a boy in that camp, we need to get him out, as quickly as possible.”
“Why?”
“It’s about keeping the Middle East Peace Process on track.”
“Now you’re frightening me. What on earth has Luke, or Hannah, got to do with the Middle East Peace Process?”
James leans forward, looks directly into his uncle’s eyes. “Several options are being considered. The best way to get the lad out is to do it quietly. This requires intervention by someone he trusts. I want to offer him a scholarship to study here in England.” James strokes his chin, considers how much to say. “The lad’s a virtuoso violinist. He’s unique, lives in a refugee camp, but plays in a symphony orchestra. My wife, Hilary, she’s heard him play in Beirut. He’s brilliant, but he’s in grave danger. Hannah, Luke’s friend, knows him. I wonder if she’d help us to get him out?”
There is a long pause. “I’m sorry to hear about the boy’s predicament. You know I love classical music. I still don’t see where Luke fits in though, or why the lad needs to come to England.”
“Did you hear in the news abo
ut the assassination of Lebanon’s Prime Minister?”
“Yeah, nasty business. Reminded me of the hostages; what a distressing time that was.”
“We know who the assassins are. They’re a Syrian terrorist group, operating with relative impunity. They plan to use the boy to assassinate Lebanon’s Deputy Prime Minister. He’s someone we can’t afford to lose.”
“How will they use the boy?”
James stands up, full of nervous energy, arms outstretched. “The assassins are planning to put a device in his violin case. He’ll be playing in front of the Deputy Prime Minister at a cathedral concert, very soon. It would be a massacre.”
“Surely the boy would know if they put a device in his violin case.”
“Oh, they have ways of making him cooperate.”
David looks at his watch again. “But how can Luke help?”
James sits down. “Luke could ask Hannah to help the boy. We need her to put him on a yacht. It’ll take him to Cyprus. From there, he’ll be flown to London.”
David doesn’t look happy. “That sounds very dangerous for Hannah, and I don’t understand why Luke needs to be involved. Why don’t you just get in touch with Hannah directly?”
“Would Hannah be more likely to trust Luke, or some secret service agent who might pay her a visit?”
“I’m not convinced Luke’s the right person to talk to Hannah. They have an old group of five friends. There’s another lad, Joe, he was always closer to Hannah, or there’s Cathy?”
James glances at his watch. “Whether it’s Luke, Joe, or Cathy, I need to act fast. If we don’t act by the end of the week, there could be a bloodbath. I’d rather keep it in the family, with people I trust. I couldn’t ask Cathy.”
David looks anxious. “Can’t you just send the lad a plane ticket, with some written instructions?”
“Afraid not.”
“What about his parents, don’t you need to talk to them?”
James shakes his head again. “He’s an orphan, a refugee. He doesn’t have parents or a passport. We need someone the lad trusts, to ask him if he wants a scholarship to study music in London, someone who’ll put him on a boat. Is that too much to ask?”
“Jamie, there’s no way I’d put Luke’s life at risk, or the lives of his friends. I have the utmost respect for you and the high office you hold, but you’re still new in post, and you’re very young.” David immediately regrets saying that last bit. Scrambling for a more convincing argument, he continues. “Why aren’t MI6 involved with such a sensitive issue?”
