thirties, lean with razor-cropped hair.
'Mrs Urquhart. I'm Inspector Robert Insall, Special Branch,' he-announced in a thick London accent. 'I've been in charge of your husband's protection detail during the leadership election and now they've been mug enough to make me responsible for security here in Downing Street.' He had a grin and natural charm to which Elizabeth Urquhart warmed, and a build she couldn't help but admire.
'I'm sure we shall be in safe hands, Inspector.'
'We'll do our best. But things are going to be a bit different for you, now you're her e,' he continued. 'There are a few things I need to explain, if you've got a moment.'
'Come and cover up some of this hideous furniture, Inspector, and tell me all about it. . .'
* * *
Landless waved as the crowd applauded. The onlookers had no idea who sat behind the darkened glass of the Silver Spur, but it was an historic day and they wanted a share in it. The heavy metal gates guarding the entrance to Downing Street drew back in respect and the duty policemen offered a smart salute. Landless felt good, even better when he saw the pavement opposite his destination crowded with cameras and reporters.
'Is he going to offer you a job, Ben?' a chorus of voices sang out as he prised himself from the back se at of the car.
'Already got a job,' he growled, showing off his well-known proprietorial glare and enjoying every minute of it. He buttoned up the jacket flapping at his sides.
'A peerage, perhaps? Seat in the House of Lords?'
'Baron Ben of Bethnal Green?' His fleshy face sagged in disapproval. 'Sounds more like a music hall act than an honour.'
There was much laughter, and Landless turned to walk through the glossy black door into the entrance hall but he was beaten to the step by a courier bearing a huge assortment of flowers. Inside, the hallway was covered with a profusion of bouquets and baskets, all still unwrapped, with more arriving by the minute. London's florists, at least temporarily, could forget the recession. Landless was directed along the deep red carpet leading straight from the front door to the Cabinet Room on the other side of the narrow building, and he caught himself hurrying. He slowed his step, relishing the sensation. He couldn't remember when he had last felt so excited. He was shown directly into the Cabinet Room by a solicitous and spotty civil servant who closed the door quietly behind him.
'Ben, welcome. Come in.' Urquhart waved a hand in greeting but didn't rise. The hand indicated a chair on the other side of the table.
'Great day, Francis. Great day for us all.' Landless nodded towards Stamper, who was leaning against a radiator, hovering like a Praetorian Guard, and Landless found himself resenting the other man's presence. All his previous dealings with Urquhart had been one-on-one; after all, they hadn't invited an audience as they'd laid their plans to exhaust and overwhelm the elected head of government. On those earlier occasions Urquhart had always been the supplicant, Landless the power, yet as he looked across the table he couldn't help but notice that things had changed, their roles reversed. Suddenly ill at ease, he stretched out a hand to offer Urquhart congratulation, but it was a clumsy gesture. Urquhart had to put down his pen, draw back his large chair, rise and stretch, only to discover that the table was too wide and all they could do was to brush fingers.
'Well done, Francis,' Landless muttered sheepishly, and sat down. 'It means a lot to me, your inviting me here on your first morning as Prime Minister. Particularly the way you did. I thought I'd have to sneak in round the back by the dustbins, but I have to tell you I felt great as I passed all those cameras and TV lights. I appreciate the public sign of confidence, Francis.'
Urquhart spread his hands wide, a gesture meant to replace the words he couldn't quite find, while Stamper jumped in.
'Prime Minister,' he began, with emphasis. It was meant as a
'Mrs Urquhart. I'm Inspector Robert Insall, Special Branch,' he-announced in a thick London accent. 'I've been in charge of your husband's protection detail during the leadership election and now they've been mug enough to make me responsible for security here in Downing Street.' He had a grin and natural charm to which Elizabeth Urquhart warmed, and a build she couldn't help but admire.
'I'm sure we shall be in safe hands, Inspector.'
'We'll do our best. But things are going to be a bit different for you, now you're her e,' he continued. 'There are a few things I need to explain, if you've got a moment.'
'Come and cover up some of this hideous furniture, Inspector, and tell me all about it. . .'
* * *
Landless waved as the crowd applauded. The onlookers had no idea who sat behind the darkened glass of the Silver Spur, but it was an historic day and they wanted a share in it. The heavy metal gates guarding the entrance to Downing Street drew back in respect and the duty policemen offered a smart salute. Landless felt good, even better when he saw the pavement opposite his destination crowded with cameras and reporters.
'Is he going to offer you a job, Ben?' a chorus of voices sang out as he prised himself from the back se at of the car.
'Already got a job,' he growled, showing off his well-known proprietorial glare and enjoying every minute of it. He buttoned up the jacket flapping at his sides.
'A peerage, perhaps? Seat in the House of Lords?'
'Baron Ben of Bethnal Green?' His fleshy face sagged in disapproval. 'Sounds more like a music hall act than an honour.'
There was much laughter, and Landless turned to walk through the glossy black door into the entrance hall but he was beaten to the step by a courier bearing a huge assortment of flowers. Inside, the hallway was covered with a profusion of bouquets and baskets, all still unwrapped, with more arriving by the minute. London's florists, at least temporarily, could forget the recession. Landless was directed along the deep red carpet leading straight from the front door to the Cabinet Room on the other side of the narrow building, and he caught himself hurrying. He slowed his step, relishing the sensation. He couldn't remember when he had last felt so excited. He was shown directly into the Cabinet Room by a solicitous and spotty civil servant who closed the door quietly behind him.
'Ben, welcome. Come in.' Urquhart waved a hand in greeting but didn't rise. The hand indicated a chair on the other side of the table.
'Great day, Francis. Great day for us all.' Landless nodded towards Stamper, who was leaning against a radiator, hovering like a Praetorian Guard, and Landless found himself resenting the other man's presence. All his previous dealings with Urquhart had been one-on-one; after all, they hadn't invited an audience as they'd laid their plans to exhaust and overwhelm the elected head of government. On those earlier occasions Urquhart had always been the supplicant, Landless the power, yet as he looked across the table he couldn't help but notice that things had changed, their roles reversed. Suddenly ill at ease, he stretched out a hand to offer Urquhart congratulation, but it was a clumsy gesture. Urquhart had to put down his pen, draw back his large chair, rise and stretch, only to discover that the table was too wide and all they could do was to brush fingers.
'Well done, Francis,' Landless muttered sheepishly, and sat down. 'It means a lot to me, your inviting me here on your first morning as Prime Minister. Particularly the way you did. I thought I'd have to sneak in round the back by the dustbins, but I have to tell you I felt great as I passed all those cameras and TV lights. I appreciate the public sign of confidence, Francis.'
Urquhart spread his hands wide, a gesture meant to replace the words he couldn't quite find, while Stamper jumped in.
'Prime Minister,' he began, with emphasis. It was meant as a
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