House of Cards (13 page)
'Mr Urquhart. You know that I have great admiration for you. I was happy to assist in a modest way with your election appeal and would be happy to do so again. I am also a fervent admirer of the entire Government. I would wish to help you all
’
'May I know how?'
‘I
know election campaigns are expensive, and perhaps I could make a small donation to Party coffers. I imagine that funds must be short at times like these.'
Indeed, indeed,' said Urquhart. 'Could I ask how much you were thinking of giving?'
Jhabwala lifted his case onto the table top, twirled the combination and flipped the two brass catches. The lid sprang open and he slid the black leather case around to Urquhart.
'I would be delighted if the Party could accept £50,000 as a gesture of my support.'
Urquhart resisted the ferocious temptation to pick up one of the bundles of notes and start counting. He noticed that all the wads were of used £20 notes and were tied with rubber bands rather than bank cashiers' wrappers.
'This is
...
most generous, Mr Jhabwala.' He found himself using his guest's name for the first time since they had met earlier in the afternoon. 'But it is a little unusual for me to accept such a large donation on behalf of the Party, particularly in cash.'
‘
You will understand that during the civil war in India my family lost everything. Our house and business were destroyed, and we narrowly escaped with our lives. In 1947 a Muslim mob burned my local bank to the ground - with all its deposits and records.
The
bank's head office apologised, of course, but without any records could only provide my father with their regrets rather than the funds he had deposited with them. It may seem a little old fashioned of me, but I still prefer to trust cash rather than cashiers
’
The businessman's smile shone reassuringly from beneath his dark features. Urquhart did not trust him or his story.
‘I
see.' Urquhart took a deep breath. 'May I be blunt, Mr Jhabwala, and ask if there is anything you wish from us in exchange for your support? It is sometimes the case with first-time donors that they believe there is something the Party can do for them, when in reality our powers are very limited
...'
Jhabwala beamed and shook his head to halt Urquhart's question. There is nothing I wish to do other than to be a firm supporter of the Prime Minister and yourself, Mr Urquhart. You will understand as a local MP that my business interests often bring me into friendly contact with local authorities for planning permission or tendering for contracts and so forth. I cannot guarantee that you will never find my name in the local press or that I will not ask at some point to seek your guidance through the maze of local decision makers, but I assure you I am looking for no favours. I want nothing in exchange, other than to request that I and my wife have the honour of meeting with the Prime Minister at some suitable time, particularly if he should ever come to the constituency. It would mean a great deal to my wife, as you will appreciate.'
And the photographs of Jhabwala closeted with the Prime Minister would go down remarkably well in the local and ethnic press, as Urquhart well knew. He didn't care for the hint about local planning or contract decisions, but he was an experienced hand at dealing with such requests when they arose. Urquhart began to relax and to return the Indian's smile.
‘I
am sure that could be arranged. Perhaps you and your wife would like to attend a reception at Downing Street?'
The Indian was nodding. It would be an honour, of course, to be able to have just a few private words with him, simply to express my great personal enthusiasm.'
"That might be possible, too, but you will understand that the Prime Minister himself could not accept the money. It would not be-how should I
put it? - delicate for
h
im
to be involved with such matters.'
'Of course, of course, Mr Ur
quhart. Which is why I would be
delighted if you would accept the money on his behalf.'
I'm afraid I can only give you a rudimentary receipt. Perhaps you would prefer to deliver the money directly to the party treasurers.'
Jhabwala threw up his hands in horror. 'Sir, I do not require a receipt from you. You have my fullest trust. It was you as my local Member of Parliament I wished to see, not a party official. I have even taken the liberty of engraving your initials on the hide case, Mr Urquhart, a small gesture which I hope you will accept for all your dutiful work in Surrey.'
You crafty, ingratiating little sod, thought Urquhart, all the while smiling broadly at Jhabwala and wondering how long it would be before he got the first call about planning permission. Perhaps he should have thrown the Indian out, but an idea was already forming in his mind. He reached across the table and shook Jhabwala's hand warmly.
It has been a great pleasure meeting you at last, Mr Jhabwala.'
The night was hot and humid, even for late July. Mat tie had taken a long, cool shower and thrown the windows wide open, but she could get no relief from the still and heavy air. She lay in the darkness upon her bed, feeling her hair stick clammily to the nape of her neck. She could not sleep while the scenes of parliamentary turmoil she had witnessed earlier in the day kept tumbling through her thoughts. But there was something else, too, something not of the mind but in her body that was disturbing her, making her restless.
She lay back on her lonely, cold bed and felt the dampness trickling between her shoulder blades. She could not forget that it was the first time since Yorkshire she had sweated in bed, for any reason
...
FRIDAY 23
rd
JULY
The following morning a young black woman walked into a scruffy newsagents just off Praed Street in Paddington and enquired after the cost of accommodation address facilities advertised on the card in the shop window. She explained that she was working in the area and needed a local address to which she could direct her mail. It was a brilliant summer's day in London, but behind the thick shutters and dirty windows the shop was dark and musty. At first the fleshy, balding assistant behind the counter scarcely lifted his eyes from his copy of
Playboy.
This was one of London's notorious red light areas, and young women or seedy men asking to open an accommodation address was one of the less surprising requests he had to deal with. This girl was particularly attractive, though, and he wondered where she did business. His wife was staying with her mother over the weekend, and a little distraction would be better than the long list of household jobs she was threatening to leave behind.
He brushed away the cigarette ash he had spilled over the counter and smiled encouragingly at her. He got no response, however. With scarcely another word, the young woman paid the fee for the minimum three months, carefully put away the receipt which would be needed for identification, and left.
The assistant had time only for one last look at the retreating and beautifully curved backside before he was engaged by the complaints of an old age pensioner who had not yet received her morning newspaper, and he did not see the young woman get into the taxi outside.
'All right, Pen?' asked the man waiting inside.
‘
No problem, Roger
’
his secretary answered. 'But why couldn't he do it himself?'
'Look, I told you that he has some delicate personal problems to sort out and needs some privacy for his mail. Dirty magazines for all I know. So no questions, and not a word to anyone. OK?'
Urquhart had sworn him to secrecy, and he suspected that the Chief Whip would be furious if he discovered that O'Neill had got Penny Guy to carry out his dirty work. But he knew he could trust Penny with such chores. After all, what were secretaries for?
As the taxi drew away, Penny once again remarked to herself how strangely O'Neill was beginning to act nowadays.
The day was growing ever hotter by the time the man in the sports jacket and trilby hat ventured into the North London branch of the Union Bank of Turkey on the Seven Sisters Road. The Cypriot counter clerk often swore that Englishmen only ever had one set of clothes which they wore throughout the winter or summer, irrespective of the temperature. And this one obviously had money since he wanted to open an account. In a slight but perceptible regional accent which the clerk could not quite place, he explained that he lived in Kenya but was visiting the United Kingdom for a few months to develop the holiday business which he ran. He was interested in investing in a hotel which was being built just outside the Turkish resort of Antalya, on the southern Mediterranean coast.
The clerk responded that he did not know Antalya personally, but had heard that it was a beautiful spot, and of course the bank would be delighted to help him in whatever way possible. He offered the prospective customer a simple registration form, requiring details of his name, address, previous banking reference and other details.
Five minutes later, the customer had returned to the clerk's window with the completed form. He apologised f6r being able to provide a banking reference only from Kenya, but this was his first trip to London in nearly twenty years. The clerk assured the older man that the bank was very accustomed to dealing with overseas enquiries, and the banking reference in Kenya would be no problem.
That's what you think, the other thought. He knew it would take at least four weeks for the reference to be checked, and probably another four before it could be clearly established that the reference was false. By that time the account would have been closed with all bank charges paid, so no one would care or question.
The clerk sought no further verification of any of the other items on the form. 'How would you like to open your account, sir?'
‘I
would like to make an initial deposit of £50,000 - in cash
’
The man pulled open a brown corduroy holdall and passed the bundles of notes across the counter. He was glad he did not have to count them. It had been years since he had last worn these glasses, and in the meantime he had changed his contact lens prescription twice. His eyes were not focusing properly and they ached, but Urquhart knew that his simple disguise would be more than enough to avoid recognition by any but his closest colleagues. There was after all some benefit in being the most faceless senior member of Her Majesty's Government, he told himself sarcastically. He delighted at long last in being able to take advantage of his enforced anonymity.
The clerk had finished counting the money, with a colleague double checking the total, and was already filling out a receipt. Banks are like plumbers, Urquhart thought, cash in hand and no questions asked.
'Rather than have the cash just sitting idle in a current account, I would like you to purchase some shares for me. Can you arrange that?' he requested.
It took only another five minutes for Urquhart to fill out two further forms placing an order for 20,000 ordinary shares in the Renox Chemical Company PLC, currently trading at just over 240p per share. He was assured that the order would be completed by 4 p.m. that afternoon, at a cost of £49,288 including stamp duties and brokers' fees, leaving him exactly £712 in his new account Urquhart signed the forms with a flourish and a signature that was illegible.
The clerk smiled as he pushed the receipt across the counter. 'A great pleasure doing business with you, Mr Collingridge
’
MONDAY 26
th
JULY -WEDNESDAY 28
th
JULY
Seventy-two hours later MPs gathered in the House to begin the final week of bickering before the summer recess. There were relatively few Members present, as many of their colleagues had tried to take their leave of London early. There had been little attempt to dissuade them, since there was already enough tetchiness around Westminster without piling on needless aggravation. There was very much an end-of-term mood amongst the parliamentarians and little business was done. However, the Hansard record of parliamentary proceedings for that day would be thick, fleshed out with a remarkable number of Written Answers to MPs' questions which the Government were anxious to deal with while attention was diverted elsewhere and before Ministers and their civil servants left for their own recuperation. Ministers from the Department of Health were particularly careful not to be seen around the corridors of Westminster that day, because one of the many Written Answers they had issued concerned the long-awaited postponement of the hospital expansion programme. They did not expect to get much comfort from MPs of any party on that subject.
It was not surprising, therefore, that few noted another announcement from the Department concerning a list of three drugs which the Government, on the advice of their Chief Medical Officer and the Committee on the Safety of Medicines, were now licensing for general use. One of the drugs was Cybernox, a new medication developed by the Renox Chemical Com
pany PLC which had proved start
lingly effective in controlling the craving for nicotine when fed in small doses to addicted rats and beagles. The same excellent results had been obtained during extensive test programmes with humans, and now the drug had been approved for general use under doctor's prescription.