idiot! I stood for this programme. A majority elected me because of it. It doesn’t matter what I think. I have my mandate – a freer City, more weapons, good private schools.’
‘You’re not in it for yourself then.’
‘Of course not. I serve!’ And the two men laughed into their drinks.
In fact Stephen’s own cynicism concealed a fascination with the unfolding story of Charles’s career. Stephen did not know any other MPs. This one was already quite famous in a modest way, and brought back an insider’s tales of drunkenness, even violence, in the House of Commons bar, of the minor absurdities of parliamentary ritual, of vicious Cabinet gossip. And when at last, after three years’ toil in television studios and dining rooms, Darke became a junior minister, Stephen was truly elated. To have an old friend in high office transformed government into an almost human process and made Stephen feel rather worldly. Now a limousine – albeit a rather small and dented one – called at Eaton Square each morning to take the Minister to work, and a certain weary authoritativeness had crept into his manner. Stephen sometimes wondered whether his friend had finally succumbed to the opinions he had effortlessly assumed.
It was Thelma who answered the door to Stephen.
‘We’re in the kitchen,’ she said and led him across the hall. Then she changed her mind and turned.
He gestured at the bare walls where smudged, grey rectangles hung in place of paintings.
‘Yes, the removal people started work this afternoon.’ She had steered him into the drawing room and spoke quickly and softly. ‘Charles is in a fragile state. Don’t ask him any questions, and don’t make him feel guilty about leaving you with that committee.’
Since Darke’s rise in politics, Stephen had seen a great deal more of Thelma. He had kept her company in the evenings and tried to learn a little about theoretical physics. She liked to pretend that he was closer to her than her husband was, that they had a special, conspiratorial understanding. It was not treachery so much as flattery. It was embarrassing and irresistible. He nodded now, as alwayshappy to please her. Charles was her difficult child, and she had enlisted Stephen’s help many times; on one occasion, to help curb the Minister’s drinking on the eve of a parliamentary debate, on another, to distract him at the dinner table from needling a young physicist friend of hers who was a socialist.
‘Tell me what’s happened,’ Stephen asked, but she was moving back in the echoing hall and putting on a mock-stern voice.
‘Have you just got out of bed? You look awfully pale.’ She nodded briskly as he protested, implying that she would get the truth out of him later. They set off again across the hallway, down some steps and through a green baize door, an item Charles had installed not long after he was offered his job in government.
The ex-Minister was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a glass of milk. He stood and came towards Stephen, wiping away a milk moustache with the back of his hand. His voice was light, oddly melodious. ‘Stephen … Stephen, many changes. I hope you’ll be tolerant …’
It had been a long time since Stephen had seen his friend without a dark suit, striped shirt and silk tie. Now he was in loose corduroy trousers and a white T-shirt. He looked suppler, younger; without the padding of a tailored jacket, his shoulders appeared to be delicately constructed. Thelma was pouring Stephen a glass of wine, Charles was guiding him towards a wooden chair. They all sat with their elbows on the table. There was quiet excitement, news in the air that was difficult to break. Thelma said, ‘We’ve decided that we can’t tell you it all at once. In fact, we think we’d rather show you than tell you. So be patient, you’ll know it all sooner or later. You’re the only one we’ll be taking into our confidence, so …’
Stephen nodded.
Charles said, ‘Did
‘You’re not in it for yourself then.’
‘Of course not. I serve!’ And the two men laughed into their drinks.
In fact Stephen’s own cynicism concealed a fascination with the unfolding story of Charles’s career. Stephen did not know any other MPs. This one was already quite famous in a modest way, and brought back an insider’s tales of drunkenness, even violence, in the House of Commons bar, of the minor absurdities of parliamentary ritual, of vicious Cabinet gossip. And when at last, after three years’ toil in television studios and dining rooms, Darke became a junior minister, Stephen was truly elated. To have an old friend in high office transformed government into an almost human process and made Stephen feel rather worldly. Now a limousine – albeit a rather small and dented one – called at Eaton Square each morning to take the Minister to work, and a certain weary authoritativeness had crept into his manner. Stephen sometimes wondered whether his friend had finally succumbed to the opinions he had effortlessly assumed.
It was Thelma who answered the door to Stephen.
‘We’re in the kitchen,’ she said and led him across the hall. Then she changed her mind and turned.
He gestured at the bare walls where smudged, grey rectangles hung in place of paintings.
‘Yes, the removal people started work this afternoon.’ She had steered him into the drawing room and spoke quickly and softly. ‘Charles is in a fragile state. Don’t ask him any questions, and don’t make him feel guilty about leaving you with that committee.’
Since Darke’s rise in politics, Stephen had seen a great deal more of Thelma. He had kept her company in the evenings and tried to learn a little about theoretical physics. She liked to pretend that he was closer to her than her husband was, that they had a special, conspiratorial understanding. It was not treachery so much as flattery. It was embarrassing and irresistible. He nodded now, as alwayshappy to please her. Charles was her difficult child, and she had enlisted Stephen’s help many times; on one occasion, to help curb the Minister’s drinking on the eve of a parliamentary debate, on another, to distract him at the dinner table from needling a young physicist friend of hers who was a socialist.
‘Tell me what’s happened,’ Stephen asked, but she was moving back in the echoing hall and putting on a mock-stern voice.
‘Have you just got out of bed? You look awfully pale.’ She nodded briskly as he protested, implying that she would get the truth out of him later. They set off again across the hallway, down some steps and through a green baize door, an item Charles had installed not long after he was offered his job in government.
The ex-Minister was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a glass of milk. He stood and came towards Stephen, wiping away a milk moustache with the back of his hand. His voice was light, oddly melodious. ‘Stephen … Stephen, many changes. I hope you’ll be tolerant …’
It had been a long time since Stephen had seen his friend without a dark suit, striped shirt and silk tie. Now he was in loose corduroy trousers and a white T-shirt. He looked suppler, younger; without the padding of a tailored jacket, his shoulders appeared to be delicately constructed. Thelma was pouring Stephen a glass of wine, Charles was guiding him towards a wooden chair. They all sat with their elbows on the table. There was quiet excitement, news in the air that was difficult to break. Thelma said, ‘We’ve decided that we can’t tell you it all at once. In fact, we think we’d rather show you than tell you. So be patient, you’ll know it all sooner or later. You’re the only one we’ll be taking into our confidence, so …’
Stephen nodded.
Charles said, ‘Did
Similar Books
