Fifty-First State (24 page)

‘I think they're panicking, Saskia,' Joshua said.

‘Can't we go away?' she pleaded. ‘We could go to Barbados or somewhere. Please, Josh – please.'

‘Saskia, I'm a Member of Parliament. In fact, I'm trying to stop a bill to hand over British bases to the US. This would tell the Yanks we won't go to war about Iraq again—'

‘You think you're going to
win?
You must be crazy. Fred Carter's gone, with Consuela. They're in Brazil. And he's in the Cabinet,' Saskia told him.

‘Shadow Cabinet,' Joshua corrected. ‘Family illness, I heard.'

‘Family bollocks!' declared Saskia. She had a point, thought Joshua.

‘Can't you get some kind of a fact-finding mission?'

‘No, Saskia. No.'

‘Your wife's not in London,' Saskia accused. ‘Well, she's not, is she? She's safe, isn't she? And your children – away at school, out of danger. Well, what about me? What about me, Josh?' She began to cry. Joshua knew that Saskia cried, as children do, to get her own way or from rage. But nevertheless he hated hearing it. He hated his own voice, too, as he said, ‘What do you expect me to do? I can't get away, Saskia. I really can't. And I haven't got a bloody chateau or a flat in New York – I haven't got a beach hut in Whitstable, Saskia, and you know it.'

‘You know people. What about that man, Lord Gott. He could help.'

‘No, Saskia. No.'

‘You're a bastard, Josh. You don't care about anybody but yourself. I suppose when they drop a nuclear bomb on London you'll be tucked away underground eating caviar. I hate you, Josh. I hate you. I never want to speak to you again.'

After that, Joshua sat for a long time with his head in his hands. Saskia was resourceful. If she really wanted to get away, she would, probably. But the conversation had worried and depressed him. His wife was in Yorkshire and where would his girlfriend be when he needed her? he thought self-pityingly. On the Barrier Reef, in the Windward Islands – somewhere else.

Haver House, Great Finton, Berkshire. January 25th, 2016. 10.00 a.m.

A heavy mist clouded the great windows of Lord Haver's long drawing room, partly obscuring the lawn and the lake beyond, and wreathing the bare branches of the trees behind the lake.

The small group in the green, cream and gold room barely did justice to the splendour of the setting: the Corot above the marble and gilt wall table, the expanse of intricately woven carpet. Edward Gott thought sourly there was too much gold and too many twiddles on the furniture. If half the stuff had been reproduction and found in a front room in Willesden it would have been considered tasteless. Here, it was authentic but it still looked overdone, a signal of wealth, not loved or liked, only displayed.

Graham Barnsbury, the Party Chairman, sat in a slightly rumpled suit opposite Haver. He looked older and tired. Beside Gott, Lady Jenner, who was spearheading the anti-Ministry of Defence Lands Sale Bill group in the Lords, sat in a tent-like purple dress.

Gott himself was exhausted. He had been rung at nine the previous evening by Haver, who had said, ‘I so thoroughly support your campaign. I should be very happy to discuss tactics and funding with you as soon as possible.' He told Gott he was inclined to back the opposition to the bill and would appreciate discussing the matter with Gott and some others of his supporters. He would also appreciate it if, because of his health, they would come to him at Haver House.

It did not trouble Gott that Haver had made a donation of two million pounds to Petherbridge's election fund, because he knew Haver would support any side that would make him richer and more powerful. Haver had already been paid for his earlier support, securing a US defence contract, awarded two months after the election to the light engineering firm in which Haver had a 60 per cent interest. If he were now thinking the bill's defeat would be of advantage to him, then this time he would be prepared to put another million, or more, into sinking Petherbridge. Maybe, Gott speculated, Haver had been paid, but not enough. His support, if he gave it, would be invaluable to the campaign.

He had phoned several of his heavy-hitters. He had persuaded Barnsbury, a latecomer, and a serious acquisition to his campaign – perhaps in the light of his wife's illness he no longer cared for his career, or for Alan Petherbridge – and Lady Jenner, an eloquent member of the Lords
as well as a distinguished physicist, to cancel their appointments and join him at Haver House. Graham Barnsbury was enthusiastic, Lady Jenner, a Liberal and no friend to Lord Haver and his ilk nevertheless agreed to come, for the sake of the campaign.

However, once at Haver House, Gott had begun to suspect something was wrong. Neither Haver nor his wife had greeted them at the door. Ushered straight into the drawing room, where Haver was sitting in his wheelchair with a plaid rug over his legs, there had been no hospitable offer of tea or coffee or, jovially, perhaps something stronger after the journey. Gott had put the case for opposing the bill to Haver as forcefully as he could, but throughout his explanations Haver had sat quite still in his wheelchair, expressionless and staring hard at him with small, angry blue eyes.

Lady Jenner, who headed the party in the House of Lords, just studied Lord Haver's face as he said to Gott, ‘Edward, I'm gratified that you – that you've all – chosen to come here, that you think I can help. I'm interested in what you have to say. My difficulty is that I believe in loyalty, loyalty first and last. And however disturbing this state of affairs may be, I cannot really find it in my heart to back this attempt to unseat a Prime Minister. It would be demoralizing, to say the least, for the party at large. The overall result would probably mean a Labour victory at the next election. And, of course, now, at this juncture, loyalty is paramount.'

A few days earlier, the US Senate, after vigorous debate and by a perilously narrow majority, had agreed to back the invasion of Iraq. Critics said the Senate had lost the vote and the oil companies and the arms and aircraft manufacturers had won it. And now the pressure would be on Petherbridge to put the British forces in beside the Americans, although the country was 80 per cent against it. Haver's pieties about loyalty and the rest were nonsense, Gott thought. Haver had reneged – he was in the business of war and had probably been promised a slice of this one. Meanwhile, he and two other busy people had cancelled their appointments to come here. Gott was furious.

Graham Barnsbury jumped in. ‘I think Edward's made it very clear that that is not the intention. This opposition to the bill is not a political manoeuvre. There's no intention to unseat Alan Petherbridge.' Gott glanced at Lady Jenner's inscrutable face and imagined she knew, as he did, that if they won the vote Petherbridge would be much undermined and would, perhaps, have to go.

‘Whatever your intentions are, that is likely to be the effect,' Lord Haver told Barnsbury. ‘It will be divisive and dangerous. The implication of this bill being overturned is that we're prepared to oppose our natural allies, the US, and give way to terrorists.'

‘Not at all,' Barnsbury protested. ‘That is not the case and I do not
believe it would be seen that way.' Gott glanced again at Lady Jenner and was fairly certain she knew, as he did, that Barnsbury was labouring in vain.

His eyes drifted to the windows and over to the bare, misty trees in the distance. He reflected that, surrounded by his own 600 acres, Lord Haver had less reason than most to worry about terrorists.

Haver said, ‘I'd differ with you about that. But the important thing is that I myself feel this is a time to stand firm, with the US, whatever it takes, and to stand firm with the party which will achieve that.'

As Gott looked steadily into the small, inflamed eyes and wondered if he should relieve the struggling Barnsbury in some way, Lady Jenner heaved herself to her feet. ‘Lord Haver, it's plain we came here under a misapprehension. I don't propose to take up any more of your time, or my own.'

‘Thank you all, so much, for coming to me and putting the arguments,' Haver said. ‘I do hope you won't go ahead with your plans.'

Gott was pleased Lady Jenner had made her abrupt move. He also rose. ‘Harry,' he said, ‘nothing you've said today squares with what you said to me last night. But I assume you have your reasons for changing your mind, although I would have been happier if you'd let me know earlier, and spared me the journey.'

‘My understanding was that you were coming to lobby me,' Haver said.

‘Well, I'll have to check the recording,' Gott said briskly. ‘Good morning.' And he left the room.

He waited outside the house with Lady Jenner, in dank mist. He said, ‘Frances – I apologize,' but she said only, ‘Don't worry, Edward. Not your fault, I'm sure.' When Graham Barnsbury joined them he apologized again. Barnsbury had at last understood what had happened. ‘No apologies needed,' he said briskly. ‘Harry's always had a malicious streak, worse since his accident. Obviously, he's made another deal.'

There was more to be said, and it would be, but for the time being they parted by common consent to salvage what was left of their day.

Gott was furious for the first fifteen minutes of his drive back to London, even more aggravated because he suspected that the fields, the village and the woods he was passing all belonged to Lord Haver. By the time he was on the motorway he calmed down and began to assess what had happened. In all probability, after ringing him, Haver had called Petherbridge and Petherbridge had promised him something – defence contracts, post-war building contracts, oil, perhaps. Or even good, old-fashioned cash. There would be a war chest of dollars somewhere to cover a contingency such as this – a direct challenge to Petherbridge, and to the US government who had paid for his election. The banker in Gott
wondered who had the keys to the chest. It would be offshore, that was certain.

Gott felt offended there'd been no effort to buy him off. Petherbridge had offered him Barnsbury's job and threatened him with Vigo's revelations about the Kirkham affair. He'd even threatened to expose Gott's private affairs. But there'd been no offer of hard cash, often the quickest way to a man's heart. Perhaps Petherbridge didn't dare to be so blatant. Perhaps he thought Gott would refuse and speak out. But if he wasn't on the payroll, he wondered who else was? How strong were the forces against him? He already had the sick feeling of a man who has made a mistake – causing busy people to come 150 miles for nothing. He started to worry. If he lost the campaign against the vote, he'd lose his influence, his position as the party treasurer, half his life. And he would be dragging a lot of others down with him. The rebels would be demoted, discredited and deselected as soon as Petherbridge could manage it. Was his judgement – was his luck – equal to the task?

He disguised his doubts later when he answered Joshua's phone call. ‘Sugden's, private room, six thirty,' he said crisply.

Sugden's, Fox Square, London SW1. January 25th, 2016. 7.00 p.m.

William, supervising the new waitress carrying food upstairs to the Green Room, said over his shoulder to Jack Prentiss, who was, unusually, taking an active hand in the running of his restaurant, ‘They want six bottles of Bollinger.'

Jack went to the wine waiter and gave the order. He and William then walked into the restaurant and scanned the busy room.

‘All well, William?' Jack asked.

‘We've got another ten dozen oysters on their way in a cab,' William reported.

Jack nodded, unsurprised. He knew the nation's legislators' unappeasable appetite for oysters at times of national crisis.

‘I meant you, actually, William. You're looking tired,' he said.

‘Terrific,' William answered. ‘My mother-in-law's been in the psychiatric ward at St Mary's for ten days. Life is sweet.'

‘Well, keep up the good work,' said Jack vaguely. ‘Sorry to hear about your mother-in-law.' He turned to greet two guests who had just come in. William's buzzer went and he moved into the hall to find out from one of the two Miss Bonners – small Miss Bonner this time – what the message was from upstairs. He told a waiter to take up six bottles of Evian to the Green Room and added, ‘Open a window. It must be getting warm in there.'

The 24 hours after the TV Centre bombing had been long and hard for William, though harder for Lucy, who was on duty at the hospital all night. That evening, after Joe had rung the doctor, Marie Sutcliffe had emerged from her comatose condition and instantly started crying out for Lucy, and shouting at William, ‘You've killed her. You shouldn't be living here at all. Why couldn't you bring her home? Get Lucy! Bring me Lucy!'

As Joe ineffectually tried to calm and reassure his wife, William looked up the number and started to ring the GP again, which was when Marie, suddenly realizing what he was doing, wrenched the phone from his hand. William snatched it back. ‘You silly woman,' he shouted. ‘There's just been a bombing – people are hurt – some of them are probably dead. Your daughter's trying to help. Don't be so selfish.'

Although William had only said half, or even a quarter of what he was thinking and feeling, Marie was shocked at being spoken to in this way. She burst into tears. Joe looked at William angrily, then put his arm round his wife and led her to the couch. William, grimly, got through to the GP's office again and left a further, urgent message.

‘Don't let them take me away. Don't let them take me away,' Marie implored Joe, through her tears. The phone rang and William's mother asked if he and Lucy were all right.

‘Lucy's gone to the hospital,' he told her.

‘Oh, right,' said Grace Frith.

Behind William, as he spoke, Marie's voice came, ‘I'm all right. I don't need a doctor.' She began to wail. ‘I'm all right. I'm all right. Please don't let them take me away.'