reshuffle might come into it ’ Urquhart responded coyly.
It's rumoured that you are expecting a major new post.'
'Can't comment on rumours, Charles, and anyway you know that's one for the PM to decide. I'm here at this stage solely to give him some moral support.'
‘Y ou ’ ll be going to advise the PM along with Lord Williams, will you then?'
'Lord Williams, has he arrived yet?' Urquhart tried to hide any suggestion of surprise.
'About 2.30. We were wondering whether someone else was going to turn up.'
Urquhart hoped that they hadn't noticed the steel which he felt entering his eyes as he realised that the Prime Minister and Party Chairman had been working on the reshuffle without him for an hour and a half. Then I must go. Can't keep them waiting,' he smiled. He turned smartly and strode back across the road and over the threshold. He was annoyed, and it smothered the sense of excitement which he still felt whenever he passed that way.
The Prime Minister's youthful political secretary was waiting at the end of the corridor which led away from the front door towards the Cabinet Room at the rear of the building. As Urquhart approached, he sensed that the young man was uneasy.
The PM is expecting you, Chief Whip ’ he said quite unnecessarily. 'He's in the study upstairs. I’ll let him know you have arrived,' and bounded off up the stairs.
It was a full twelve minutes before he reappeared, leaving Urquhart to stare for the hundredth time at the portraits of previous Prime Ministers which adorned the famous staircase. He could never get over the feeling of how inconsequential so many of the recent holders of the office had been. Uninspiring and unfitted for the task. Times had changed, and for the worse. The likes of Lloyd George and Churchill had been magnificent natural leaders, but one had been promiscuous and the other arrogant and often drunk, and neither would have been tolerated by the modern media in the search for sensationalism. The media's prying and lack of charity had cast a blanket of mediocrity over most holders of the office since the war, stifling individualism and those with real inspiration. Collingridge, chosen largely for his television manner, typified how superficial much of modem politics had become, he thought. He yearned for the grand old days when politicians made their own rules rather than cowering before the rules laid down by the media.
The return of the political secretary interrupted his thoughts. 'Sorry to keep you waiting, Chief Whip. He's ready for you now.'
As Urquhart entered the room traditionally used by modern Prime Ministers as their study he could see that, in spite of efforts to tidy up the desk, there had been much shuffling of paper and scribbling of notes in the previous hour and a half. An empty bottle of claret stared out of the waste paper bin, and plates covered with crumbs and a withered leaf of lettuce lurked on the windowsill. The Party Chairman sat to the right of the P rime Minister's desk, his notes spilled over the green leather top. Beside them stood a large pile of MPs' biographies supplied by party headquarters.
Urquhart brought up a chair and sat in front of the other two, who were silhouetted against the sun as it shone in through the windows overlooking Horse Guards Parade. He squinted into the light, balancing his own folder of notes uneasily on his knee.
Without ceremony, Collingridge got straight down to business. 'Francis, you were kind enough to let me have some thoughts on the reshuffle. I am very grateful; you know how useful such suggestions are in stimulating my own thoughts, and you have obviously put a lot of work into them. Now before we get down to the specific details, I thought it would be sensible just to chat about the broad objectives first. You've suggested - well, what shall I call it? - a rather radical reshuffle with six new members being brought into the Cabinet and some extensive swapping of portfolios amongst the rest.
It's rumoured that you are expecting a major new post.'
'Can't comment on rumours, Charles, and anyway you know that's one for the PM to decide. I'm here at this stage solely to give him some moral support.'
‘Y ou ’ ll be going to advise the PM along with Lord Williams, will you then?'
'Lord Williams, has he arrived yet?' Urquhart tried to hide any suggestion of surprise.
'About 2.30. We were wondering whether someone else was going to turn up.'
Urquhart hoped that they hadn't noticed the steel which he felt entering his eyes as he realised that the Prime Minister and Party Chairman had been working on the reshuffle without him for an hour and a half. Then I must go. Can't keep them waiting,' he smiled. He turned smartly and strode back across the road and over the threshold. He was annoyed, and it smothered the sense of excitement which he still felt whenever he passed that way.
The Prime Minister's youthful political secretary was waiting at the end of the corridor which led away from the front door towards the Cabinet Room at the rear of the building. As Urquhart approached, he sensed that the young man was uneasy.
The PM is expecting you, Chief Whip ’ he said quite unnecessarily. 'He's in the study upstairs. I’ll let him know you have arrived,' and bounded off up the stairs.
It was a full twelve minutes before he reappeared, leaving Urquhart to stare for the hundredth time at the portraits of previous Prime Ministers which adorned the famous staircase. He could never get over the feeling of how inconsequential so many of the recent holders of the office had been. Uninspiring and unfitted for the task. Times had changed, and for the worse. The likes of Lloyd George and Churchill had been magnificent natural leaders, but one had been promiscuous and the other arrogant and often drunk, and neither would have been tolerated by the modern media in the search for sensationalism. The media's prying and lack of charity had cast a blanket of mediocrity over most holders of the office since the war, stifling individualism and those with real inspiration. Collingridge, chosen largely for his television manner, typified how superficial much of modem politics had become, he thought. He yearned for the grand old days when politicians made their own rules rather than cowering before the rules laid down by the media.
The return of the political secretary interrupted his thoughts. 'Sorry to keep you waiting, Chief Whip. He's ready for you now.'
As Urquhart entered the room traditionally used by modern Prime Ministers as their study he could see that, in spite of efforts to tidy up the desk, there had been much shuffling of paper and scribbling of notes in the previous hour and a half. An empty bottle of claret stared out of the waste paper bin, and plates covered with crumbs and a withered leaf of lettuce lurked on the windowsill. The Party Chairman sat to the right of the P rime Minister's desk, his notes spilled over the green leather top. Beside them stood a large pile of MPs' biographies supplied by party headquarters.
Urquhart brought up a chair and sat in front of the other two, who were silhouetted against the sun as it shone in through the windows overlooking Horse Guards Parade. He squinted into the light, balancing his own folder of notes uneasily on his knee.
Without ceremony, Collingridge got straight down to business. 'Francis, you were kind enough to let me have some thoughts on the reshuffle. I am very grateful; you know how useful such suggestions are in stimulating my own thoughts, and you have obviously put a lot of work into them. Now before we get down to the specific details, I thought it would be sensible just to chat about the broad objectives first. You've suggested - well, what shall I call it? - a rather radical reshuffle with six new members being brought into the Cabinet and some extensive swapping of portfolios amongst the rest.
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