Bertie and the Kinky Politician (10 page)

‘Still haven't let that go, have you.'

‘Nope. Listen, old bean, let's cut the mutual admiration crap. We both know I would have gotten nowhere under you and Sharples so don't shovel that pile of stinkies in my direction. Just tell me what you want.'

In an instant, the oily friendliness dropped from Austerly's manner. His voice was flat and hard. ‘Special consideration for defence contracts for my companies.'

Aha! The direct approach after all.

‘Get out!'

‘But Jimmy boy, I offer you something in exchange.'

‘Exactly what part of “get out” don't you understand?'

‘Poor James, you just don't know when an opportunity comes your way.'

‘I don't give a rat's arse about you or your opportunities, but here's some free advice. If you sling your hook now I'll spare you the ignominy of being thrown out. I believe there are still a few camera crews loitering around outside waiting to catch something juicy for the one o'clock news. My boot up your pinstriped backside should suffice.'

‘All right, I'm going.' Even now it annoyed James he was still being made to feel guilty by Austerly. ‘Just remember, I could have helped you make some obscenely large amounts of money.'

‘Money? Is that all you're interested in?'

Austerly sneered. ‘Money's all that's ever mattered. I'm surprised. I thought you, of all people, would have understood that, but apparently not. You need a brain for this job!'

James had never been one for violence, but even he could be tested. The stapler hit Austerly square on the back of the head even as he dived through the door!

‘And so, Mr Speaker, my tenure as Defence Secretary will be characterised by a vigorous drive towards greater efficiency, accountability and value for money. So often in the past we have seen an almost criminal wastage of resources. I duly give notice that this will stop!' James paused theatrically. The Commons was unusually full for his speech, which was something of a novelty for James – he was well acquainted with vast acres of empty green leather.

He felt nervous, as he always did when addressing the motley hordes and their snobbish, carefully cultured indifference, but that nervousness was admirably concealed behind a mask of supreme confidence. Only Angela and Celeste knew how he really felt. He imagined his Mistress sitting alone on the back-benches in her very finest strappery, a coiled whip hanging from her belt and Bertie perched at her shoulder. James slipped a hand in his trouser pocket and took comfort fingering the concealed outline of his tight leather punishment briefs. Goodness, his middle regions really were wrapped in a deliciously warm and snug embrace!

It had been a good speech, and the PM showed full support by sitting beside him, smirking at his main adversary across the dispatch box, the formidable Vivian Bell.

Bell fully justified his position as Her Majesty's Leader of the Opposition. Strangely for such a high profile member from the other side of the political divide, he was also one of James's regular drinking partners, or at least he was when he could give his termagant wife the slip. Clara Bell possessed a tongue that could split tree trunks at three hundred paces, and there was an unofficial parliamentary committee fully engaged in thwarting her energetic ambitions to become an MP.

It was chaired by her husband,

There was a guarded murmur of approval. James's sudden appearance on the front bench was treated with caution. It was obvious they didn't like strangers. Strangers! What a joke – he'd been an MP for years – the fact was they didn't like nonentities, and the distressing truth was that as a nonentity, James qualified admirably.

‘With this aim in view, I am initiating an urgent financial review by a small and flexible group of independent experts assisted by the Treasury.'

The PM nodded authoritatively. This was baloney, but nobody ever remembered what was said in the House.

‘My aim is to transform the armed services into a modern, efficient, and flexible organisation.' Surprisingly, the speech was rather good. Much was in the general vein of what James was going to say anyway. Except for the last few lines, of course.

‘Hear! Hear!' murmured the Premier dutifully. He scribbled a few notes on an order paper with his famous gold pen, a gift from the American Senate, only half aware of what James was saying. After all, the speech had been produced by his own talented writing team, so it was not surprising he was completely unprepared for James's bombshell.

James took a deep breath, shuffled his papers and promptly departed from the notes prepared for him by No. 10. ‘The viability of major defence establishments located in central London will also be reviewed and if cheaper accommodation can be found elsewhere, then departments will be dispersed, and the huge amounts of money saved will be ring-fenced to buy state of the art equipment to support the finest forces in the world. British weapons and British technology to defend British interests!'

The PM looked up and frowned. He didn't remember this bit. Still, it sounded good. Nice to know Timbrill actually had some inventiveness. ‘Very good, James,' he murmured, perfectly happy to encourage this minor streak of independence. ‘Keep going.'

‘The review will be led by three fully independent city auditors who have already been charged with the task. They have been granted unrestricted access and will report directly to me and I will present their findings to the Cabinet. Reviews have so often in the past been diluted by internal politics and diverted by vested interests, but I can assure you no such prevarication will occur this time. I have asked for a meticulous investigation into the costs of running
all
Ministry of Defence administrative departments and operational agencies, starting here in Whitehall, and those that cannot justify their existence in these rapidly changing times may well fall by the wayside.'

The Prime Minister dropped his files in shock, a reaction not entirely lost on the Opposition, nor missed by the cameras. Viv Bell perked up and grinned like a Cheshire cat. James forged on regardless. This was his moment. ‘Since the end of the Cold War, the continually swelling levels of expenditure of these shadowy departments have remained largely unchallenged, but for no longer. This penetrating examination has already begun and will concentrate on identifying those areas where profligate bureaucracy runs unchecked, and will commence with – Ow!'

James jerked to a halt with a squeak of surprise at the sharp pain in the back of his thigh. There was a sudden collective gasp of shock in the chamber followed by a deathly silence. James looked down and to his utter amazement discovered he'd been stabbed.

By the PM!

Nonplussed, he gaped at the magnificently engraved golden shaft of the pen protruding from his thigh, then raised his eyes and stared into a face white with fury.

Chapter Six

‘So what happened next?'

Celeste relaxed on the sofa with Bertie perched behind. He sat quietly with eyes half closed, floating along in that deliciously pleasant limbo-land between consciousness and slumber, a wing occasionally twitching.

‘Well, there was a bit of a stunned silence,' said James.

‘I can imagine.'

‘Unusual for the House of Commons – more often than not there's some pompous twit shouting his mouth off or blustering in outraged froth about something pointless.'

‘That's so true.'

‘The PM literally dragged me back on to the front bench. He nearly pulled my trousers down in his haste!'

‘How embarrassing. Were the cameras rolling?'

‘Absolutely. I take it you missed the evening news?'

‘Yes. Sebastian sneaked in to frighten Barnstaple and Bertie caught him red-handed. It took a while to calm things down.'

‘Pity. It was the main headline. I hate being so high-profile. Anyway, Viv called the serjeant-at-arms, which created no end of fuss and a fair amount of shoving and gesticulating in the lobbies.'

‘Not gesticulating in the lobbies!'

‘I'm afraid so. He seems to think I should prosecute the Prime Minister for assault with a deadly weapon.'

‘The pen is indeed mightier than the sword.'

‘But not as pleasant as the whip, and losing my trousers would have been particularly humiliating since I was wearing a nice pair of leather briefs.'

‘You do enjoy yourself at work, don't you?'

‘In addition, the stripes from my last visit were still proudly flying their banner.'

‘Yes, I recall I was rather keen with the crop.'

‘I've no complaints, Mistress.'

‘I should hope not!' Celeste protested with mock severity. ‘Did the official Parliamentary nurse get your trousers off?'

‘She did, but fortunately I managed to change out of my leathers and into something more conventional before reaching the medical room.'

‘That was lucky.'

‘Hello,' Bertie said cheerfully, emerging from his snooze and hopping down onto the sofa arm. ‘I'm a plumber.'

‘Is he on twenty-four hour call-out?' asked James, accustomed to such genial interruptions.

‘This is BBC One,' the macaw announced gravely in received English. ‘And now the news.'

‘Bertie, do you want some nuts?'

‘Ah,' murmured James. ‘Blackmail, the last resort of the desperate.'

‘Nuts, Bertie. Do you want some?' Celeste opened a drawer, extracted a few Brazils and let them clatter onto his feeding tray. Bertie looked around, his attention drawn to the familiar sound. ‘Well? Do you?'

He knew the answer to this one. ‘Yes, I do!' he chirruped, and scrambled back along the top of the sofa like a mountaineer negotiating a Himalayan col. A hop brought him back to his perch and he bent to inspect the bribe. It always worked. He knew if he pestered in a nice way he'd always manage to extract some small treat from his mum.

With Bertie's attention diverted, Celeste sat again. ‘So what happened after the Prime Minister stabbed you? Now there's a sentence I never thought I'd ever utter,' she added dryly.

‘I had a blazing row with him in his Commons office. He wanted to know what the hell I was trying to do. I told him I found the speech prepared for me appeared to be lacking in certain areas and so I rectified the omission, assuming this review covered all areas in the ministry.'

‘Hence the references to all those anonymous departments in the MoD.'

‘Yes. Despite reminding him he'd assured me of his full support, it now appears he wasn't exactly planning to go that far and berated me soundly, at which point I felt a little righteous anger come to my rescue.'

‘Oh dear!'

‘I was quite impressive, even if I say it myself.' Celeste smiled at his ironic tone. ‘I waved my ink and blood-stained trousers at him, accused him of an unjustified attack and threatened to resign on the spot. That blasted pen really hurt. Anyway, he backed off quicker than the Italian army in full flight, at the mention of resignation! The spectre of another departure from the MoD had a remarkably soporific effect. I was offered tea, the ultimate sign of reconciliation, and things progressed in a more civilised manner. The matter of my possible resignation was quietly shelved, which confirmed my assessment of the situation. Then I got to wondering why such an investigation should provoke so a violent reaction, after all, any ministry must, in the end, be accountable to Parliament.'

‘James, has anyone ever told you how wonderfully innocent you are? I remember the way things were run in Brazil – what makes you think Britain is any better?'

‘I'm sure corruption isn't as widespread in this country with our system of checks and balances, but at the same time if there are factions with their own agenda then I just want them rooted out, and an investigation into the accounts is one of the best ways of revealing what nasty little insects are scuttling around under the carpet. Suddenly, I realised how truly worried he was. I'll bet some of these covert agencies have secrets worth telling and the PM must have had involvement in some of them.'

‘You'll get sacked or discredited before anything hits the newspapers. Or worse. Can you imagine what they would make of us?'

‘The thought has crossed my mind, but as I've already pointed out I'm going to be out of a job after the next election anyway so I've nothing to lose by rocking the boat. Rather the opposite, actually; the public do like to see a minister doing his job. The press are definitely on my side for this one.'

‘Will you retire?'

‘That's the plan. My financial interests are just about sufficient to see me through to old age and I figure I can maybe boost my income with some memoirs if things get really desperate. I've seen some amusing things at Westminster over the years.'

That was another thing that Celeste liked about James. He wasn't greedy. ‘But you'll get bored.'

‘Hardly. I'll be far too busy looking after my cottage. I've always been a country bumpkin at heart. You can come to stay with Bertie, so what could be boring about that.'

‘Country bumpkin!' announced Bertie from his perch. There was no telling what phrases appealed to that extraordinary mind. Celeste waited for a few moments but the macaw had nothing more to add so she returned her attention to James, adopting a more formal pose. ‘Enough chat, now. You may begin.'

‘Yes, Mistress.' He removed his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair. Tie, shirt, and socks followed. He folded his trousers neatly and stepped out of a pair of bright red silk boxers.

‘Those are new.'

‘Camden Market. Bargain pack of three. The others are in black and British Racing Green.'

‘How appropriate.' Well-off by most standards, James still refused to pay the ridiculous prices demanded in the more popular West End stores. She appraised his naked body, pleased the easy life had not been entirely detrimental to his waistline. An embryonic erection nosed forward like a retriever scenting a fallen duck. James always began each encounter completely naked – a powerful reminder of his subservience – yet he had, and never would, he knew, see Celeste in any advanced stage of undress. ‘Turn around.'