JUST BORIS: A Tale of Blond Ambition (34 page)

Later, Boris related that he had dismissed Guppygate as ‘a tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing. But the point was that this chap felt he had me skewered, and for one terrible millisecond it seemed he might be right. [But] his question was so long, so venomous, and so full of recondite detail about a decade-old non-scandal, that by the end of it I guess some people were rather hoping I’d be able to bat the ball back.’
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And this is what Boris did, with a successful retort along the lines of: ‘In so far as you accuse me of keeping this Guppy business a secret, well, that seems a bit thin, since I have actually been questioned about it on a TV game show watched by I don’t know how many millions. I don’t think you could get much more public than that.’
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It was Borissian magic: deflect a serious question, with potentially serious consequences, with a little humour and a good deal of bravado. The questioner was subsequently booed and afterwards became the target of abusive letters and comments for daring to bring up the subject. Most constituents had no idea what he was referring to, seeing his intervention merely as negative and unhelpful. ‘It was very difficult for him after that,’ recalls Pullen. ‘He was almost fussed out of the association. In the end, he gave up his membership. The atmosphere was not very pleasant that night.’

While the supportive Hillier thought Boris had performed impressively, not everyone agreed. The mood became even more febrile when Platt’s then girlfriend, Sarah Morris, an interior designer, became distressed at some loudly disparaging remarks about his appearance from a group of rowdy Boris supporters at the front of the hall. But what happened that evening was merely the culmination of a long and troubling story that has never fully come out.

Of course there is no suggestion that Boris knew, let alone approved of the actions of some of his supporters in the preceding weeks. What is clear is that a handful, viewing Platt as a serious threat, had decided to ‘go all out for him.’ Boris undoubtedly benefited from the false rumours circulating about his chief opponents and the related view – which he allowed to go unchallenged – that he was the only ‘sound’ contender on Europe.

Like so many that year, the Henley selection took place against the almost-McCarthyite national campaign by supporters of Michael
Portillo to drive out anyone from the party who showed even the slightest Europhile tendencies. Boris’s staunch Eurosceptic reputation from his Brussels days as a reporter made him a standard bearer among the Portillistas. Conversely, Platt’s pragmatic ‘One Nation’ style of mild Europhilia undoubtedly made him ‘suspect’ and a target. He has since told friends how, despite failing to win other safe seats such as Major’s former constituency Huntingdon, for similar reasons, ‘Henley was undoubtedly the most extraordinary selection process of all.’

‘There was great in-fighting between the [Eurosceptic] Conservative Way Forward and the [broadly Europhile] Tory Reform Group at the time,’ recalls James Landale, who reported Boris’s selection in Henley for
The Times
. ‘You would see little old ladies in selection meetings quizzing David Platt, someone who should so evidently have been an MP, with hostile questions supplied by the Eurosceptics. The sort of loaded thing they asked was, “Explain what you once said at a meeting in 1985, as it sounds pro-European to me.”’

In a town like Henley, there was another issue. MPs are traditionally required to possess both devoted wives and a brood of appealing children to prove their suitability for politics. With Marina and a four-strong tribe of flaxen-haired offspring in tow, Boris fitted the bill perfectly. Photographs of him triumphantly holding up yet another offspring beside a hospital maternity bed were soon circulating among local Tories, who clucked in approval at this proof of Conservative fecundity. Meanwhile, completely unfounded rumours that Platt was homosexual were also doing the rounds. His girlfriend, Morris, was wrongly said to be mere ‘window dressing’ – a friend who turned up to give him much-needed heterosexual credentials. In the Eurosceptic press he was referred to as the ‘bachelor barrister’ who ‘supported the Euro’ – and consequently became a natural hate figure for one whole wing of the party, including many in Henley. Indeed, so persistent were the reports on his sexuality, that many senior Henley Tories still casually describe Platt – now happily married to Jess Perks, a successful singer – as ‘that gay man’ to this day. And one gay newspaper reporter sent to Henley to cover the story was reliably said to have actually made a pass at him.

Hillier’s memories of the other contenders are typical. ‘The favourite was this young man, [Platt], who was very good. They were a bit concerned [at the beginning] that Boris might be a loose cannon. But the other chap – I think he was gay actually. They were concerned about that; they wanted a family person. Somebody did mention it, that that was the trouble. When [Platt] had his final interview there was a young woman who turned up with him, but I think that that was just a friend he’d brought along to make it look like something. That did go against him.’

Peter Sutherland also appears to have been in receipt of false information. ‘I don’t remember who the other [candidates] were but one of the men was rather inclined to prefer men to women,’ he recalls. ‘If I tell you I went through the whole of school, university and army without being aware of anyone being homosexual, perhaps I’m rather impervious to things that other people see. Some people are far more observant.’ (Ironically, within a few years homosexuality would no longer be seen as politically disadvantageous in the Tory party.)

Of course, no one owns up to spreading these false reports – and there is no suggestion either Hillier or Sutherland was the author of any of them. Or those about Jill Andrew: she was wrongly branded a heavy drinker, who had been wildly promiscuous at university (two mortal allegations for any woman candidate). An anonymous letter was even sent to the local paper, the
Henley Standard
, accusing her of being a friend of Cherie Blair and ‘being so indiscreet the party could never feel that its secrets would be safe again.’ It went on to allege an even greater crime, that ‘on Europe she says different things to different people,’ taking money from the Eurosceptics while branding herself, ‘a Major loyalist in the Heseltine tradition.’ Even her commitment to the party was questioned, with the suggestion she might be concealing her real past from the selectors; suggested questions about her record as a Conservative councillor in Bromley were also circulated anonymously to those in the constituency as well as the other candidates by ‘a friend’.

Without a shred of evidence, Boris’s opponents found their names smeared in innuendo and suggestion in stark contrast to the growing
adulation of the evidently heterosexual and legendarily Eurosceptic Balliol Blond.

It is clear that Boris understood the importance of playing up his marital status. ‘My single greatest advantage over David Platt was that I had a wife beaming up at me from the front row, with every appearance of interest, and wearing a suitably colourful flowery coat,’ he admitted shortly afterwards.
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And he must surely have been only too aware of the allegations of dirty tricks during the selection process. He has even dropped a hint that he too might have been the victim of smears from the Europhile camp, although there is little evidence that that was so. ‘Well, I don’t know if there was any serious effort by allies of Michael Heseltine to interfere with the selection, but I doubt it. As for Hezza, he was far too dignified – and too fly – to get involved.’
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Despite the rumour mill, the result was still not a foregone conclusion. It went to a second vote, with Andrew in third place being eliminated and the drawn-out proceedings soon saw a gradual exodus from the increasingly over-heated hall. ‘But the ladies from Henley didn’t leave,’ recalls Pullen. ‘They waited until the bitter end to make sure they got their man.’ Boris won – apparently to his surprise – by just a handful of votes. It was an emotional moment and not just for team Boris: tears were shed.

‘But for Boris, David would have won. He would have been fantastic,’ says Pullen. ‘I was absolutely devastated for him.’ But Hillier explains Boris’s appeal on the night: ‘The others gave nice presentations and Boris clearly worried some people. When I looked round, I could see that not all the faces were happy when he won, but Boris made you laugh and that’s what a lot of people wanted. Many of us realised then he was destined for great things, that he was going to be bigger than Henley, that nothing would hold him back.’

So began Boris’s ascent as politico-comedian. It was perhaps the first time that laughter won someone a safe seat, but not the first time that he had profited from humour. Of course, in reality there was far less to divide Boris and David Platt in their views on Europe than might have been apparent but Brussels was still the ultra-toxic and divisive issue in Conservative politics and Boris rather than Platt
benefited from the fall-out. It was another stunning display of breathtaking Johnsonian good fortune largely designed by others.

Pullen’s husband Richard, another senior local Tory, sums up a common view: ‘He didn’t deserve it. A good 50 per cent of the activists in the constituency would probably have wanted someone else.’ One can only speculate how much effect the rumours had in drumming up support for Boris. There is no doubt they were helpful in getting him selected – and that they also left a bitter taste.

Anthony Howard, a great friend of the Europhile Heseltine who helped him write his memoirs, was clear that ‘Boris was jolly lucky to win that seat as it was very much against the will of Heseltine. He had a pro-European candidate lined up, David Platt. Heseltine went through the courtesies and asked Boris to lunch, and they got on alright but it wasn’t what he wanted, having a Eurosceptic installed in his own old seat.’

Despite the euphoria, there was one final bizarre twist in what had been a turbulent evening. Feeling sympathy for Andrew, and even more for the golden boy Platt, the Pullens invited the pair back to their home, where they had put champagne on ice to celebrate the expected Platt victory. They presumed that Boris would have been swept off to a victory party by his army of supporters and so did not invite him. But oddly, with the cheers to his triumph still ringing in his ears, Boris did not embark on raucous celebration. They later found out that he had been left largely alone, with just Marina for company. It was already clear that he had not won all the hearts and minds of Henley.

The Pullens were fully supportive of Boris as their MP although there were a number of detractors who continued to feel let down. Once again, he would attract a hoard of devoted supporters for whom he could do no wrong. He was charming, funny, energetic and complimentary – but in truth, no unifying force. Importantly, the critics included those outside the constituency who had once been his most ardent fans. Max Hastings, now editor of the
Evening Standard
, had tried to dissuade Boris from going for a seat. Now he had landed a safe one, Hastings ran a leader that displayed a dramatic shift in his view of his one-time protégé. Hastings had been researching into
Boris’s character with some of his former teachers. Tucked away at the bottom of the page, few may have noticed the Hastings’ verdict. In any case, it’s likely that Hastings only had one reader in mind when he placed it in the paper:

Boris was straight on the phone to the
Standard
, and in Hastings’ absence vented his fury on a shocked ‘uncle’ Don Berry. ‘Boris had always been the lovable buffoon – that was how he had always got out of a whole lot of trouble; that was his public image,’ recalls Berry. ‘But now I was seeing the steely side of Boris. He was extremely serious and extremely angry. He kept demanding to know who had written it. I wouldn’t tell him. It was in any case a direct reflection of Max’s views that Boris couldn’t help playing to the crowd. I tried to calm him down by saying it was meant as a bit of fun. He obviously felt it was going to harm his political rise; someone was out to get him. Afterwards, I asked myself, is this really the same lovable Boris?’

In a far more placatory mood, Boris also rang up Pullen to say he knew she was not ‘happy’ at the outcome. Shortly afterwards, the pair met in London, where they agreed to work together. ‘Boris made his peace with me, and I did everything I could to make it work from then on,’ she explains. ‘As the constituency got used to him, things settled down. You had some people who just loved Boris and we probably
made more money at dinners and other events because of him. When he gave up, there were a lot of people who were genuinely sad but you still had Tories in the constituency who wouldn’t ever vote for him.’

At the same time, Boris set about soothing ruffled feathers, pouring praise on Jill Andrew. ‘To his credit, Boris wrote in his book that I was far better than him, but that I was a chick and Tory associations don’t “groove to chicks,”’ she says, although the compliment was marred by the fact he got her name wrong. What is disturbing, though, is that in large part because of the dirty tricks in Henley, both Andrew and Platt subsequently gave up their quest for seats, depriving the Parliamentary party of two considerable talents.