Party Games (35 page)

Colin caught Jeremy’s eye but kept his expression incredulous.  The irrepressible guilt, the inconvenient remorse and shame of having failed as a husband, his own emotional impotency towards the few women in his life since and now his utter failure towards his unborn child, all consumed him. 
“You’re going to end up a lonely, friendless old man...you’ll finally see what a complete narcissistic bastard you’ve become!”
  Jeremy’s words rang in his ears.  Did Jeremy now know, had Linda told him?  His old university friend was giving nothing away. 

Fryer was talking about the formal declaration speech roughly ten different people appeared to be co-authoring.

“I’ll go and sort that out then.”  Fryer said brusquely as they came to a halt. Colin was becoming so incredibly tired of Fryer’s blithe attitude towards the seriousness of the situation.

“Yes, sort it out.”  He said quietly but impatiently.  “The first draft needs to be with myself and Matthew by late today, and make sure the draft of Tristan’s speech gets to Matthew by this evening too, we don’t want Tristan doing his own, the wording has to fit in with my own language for when he stands aside.”

“Matthew Gaines?  Is he approving all the speeches now, over me?”  Fryer suddenly looked wounded, his nose wrinkling.  “I thought I had the final say…”

“For God’s sake, David, grow up!”  Colin snapped in a sharp whisper.  Fryer visibly prickled.  “Just get it done, will you, and check McDermott’s done what he’s supposed to, I’m not relying on a lazy bloody journalist to keep this on track.  Look, I’m late for this bollocking so I’d better get there before I get sacked on Twitter instead.” 

*****

4.03pm

 “So you’ve definitely got it in your head - what you’re saying to him?”  Deborah eyed her boss as he tugged on his jacket.  Rodney circled his office and drew to a halt by his mirror where he relaxed his brow, his expression becoming one of serious contemplation.

            “Yes, yes,” he replied curtly. “If he ever gets here.  I swear he’s doing this on purpose.”

            Deborah folded her arms and leant back against the wood panelling. “What, being late or wrecking everything you’ve built up over the last fifteen months?” 

            The Opposition Leader raised his eyebrows knowingly but didn’t speak.  Although he trusted his Chief of Staff implicitly, and although he had lived this meeting repeatedly in his mind, he wanted her to leave so he could mentally prepare.  Colin Scott was always full of surprises but the rapid deterioration of their fragile relationship meant that he was even more unpredictable than usual. 

            “I want everyone in after this so I can go over the statement, presuming that this is a total cock-up and I can’t stop him.”  Rodney smoothed his hair.  “By the way, I don’t suppose Anthea has returned any of my calls?”  He added casually, but Deborah was busy peering around the door.

            “He’s here.”  She said, drawing breath and giving Rodney the briefest of weak smiles.  “Are you sure you don’t want me to…?”

            Rodney shook his head appreciatively.  He wanted this meeting to be one-to-one, man-to-man.  It was best nobody else was there, not even his closest advisors.  If he wasn’t able to handle his deputy by himself then he hardly deserved to be leader.

Moments later Rodney’s rival stood stiffly next to his desk, his nostrils flaring like a crazed bull facing its executioner’s rag.  There was no usual offer of coffee, no small-talk preamble over to the comfy chairs.  Instead there was a heavy silence as each man waited for the other to make the first move, to fire the first damning shot which could wound the other but not kill him outright. 

*****

“Come on Anthea, pick up,
please
…shit!”  Tristan gripped his mobile, pressing it into his ear as he paced around his office, his other hand rubbing his forehead furiously.  It was her voicemail before it even rang out once. 
She must be on the phone
, he considered in his panic.  “Anthea, it’s Tristan, please call me as soon as you get this, it’s…it’s urgent.  Please don’t just ignore me because of everything, it’s essential I talk to you.  I just hope I’m not too late.”

            If she now knew the truth, if Fryer was threatening her to be the twentieth name...but then, maybe he was underestimating her.  Anthea was capable of standing on her own two feet and she could certainly think on them, he doubted she would cave quite so readily as he had done.  Still, he felt it a hopeless, desperate situation, and only had himself to blame.  He wanted to cry, and might have shed more than a tear in frustration if he had known just how much of the truth Anthea was about to learn, and not from David Fryer.

*****

“I’m sorry it’s had to come to this.”  The Party Leader said quietly and firmly, lowering his eyes to his organised desk.  Colin noticed that, curiously, Richmond’s mug emblazoned the phrase ‘a tidy desk is a tidy mind’.  “I’m sorry you feel the need to challenge me at a time when I need your support most and I’m sorry we don’t seem to have been able to discuss our differences in a civil manner.  Or at all, as you have never once said anything to me privately.”

        His deputy raised a suspicious eyebrow but his emotionless gaze remained fixed.  He wasn’t sorry in the slightest, even if Richmond was.  He decided he had been silent long enough.

        “This party is everything to me!” He began, his voice already containing more than a hint of spite.  “And I don’t want to see us face another election defeat simply because we’re going in the wrong direction…”

        “Oh, cut the bull, Colin!”  Rodney spun out of his chair and strode over to the heavily netted window, from behind which the low rumble of traffic and a muffled siren could be heard.  “This whole ‘greater good’ nonsense, it’s just a bloody smokescreen!”

“Well, I’m glad to see that both you and Jeremy are on message, anyway!”  Colin snorted.

“You were never prepared to give me a proper chance, you were plotting again from day one! You hate me simply because I stole what you see as rightfully yours!”

        Colin paced the office, the calmness with which he had decided to approach the meeting rapidly burning away.  “Has it taken you all this time just to reach that conclusion?  You would have felt the same, admit it Rodney!”  He hissed, waving a hand.  “In that respect we are the same, I suspect I know you better than you think!”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”  Rodney turned on his heel, glaring at Colin with the full force of the anger raging inside his chest.  “We are
nothing
alike, I would
never
have done to your leadership what you are doing to mine, it is to the benefit of both of us – all of us in the Tory Party – if we were to get along, prove ourselves as a worthy opposition!  But instead you’re letting your own personal ambition get in the way, and don’t pretend for a second it isn’t otherwise!”

“All my adult life,” Colin said in a low, aggressive voice, “I have given everything to this party, at Oxford, at the Policy Unit, then as a new MP struggling to make a difference, then as a Minister!  Then I watch
you
waltz into Parliament, have the old bastard fawn over you like you were the bloody saviour, his anointed successor, when you had done absolutely jack shit to deserve it!”

“The party chose me to lead it, fair and square, Colin!  We both ran good campaigns, we both had our say, but you lost and I won, handsomely I may add, and I’m now leading this party to the best of my ability and trying my damned hardest to do what is right!  I have also tried to include you, get your feedback on policy and what we need to focus our efforts on…”

“
Policy
?”  Colin spat with a vitriolic sneer. “It’s not as if you’ve shown much interest in the vast amount of work I’ve done in that area already!”

Rodney’s jaw slackened but Colin didn’t wait for a response.  “I do not recall being consulted on all that much so far, to be extraordinarily frank with you!  In fact I’m not even playing second, third or even fourth fucking fiddle to a man who thinks Cornish independence is something we should all be getting worked up about!  Since when was I asked about
that
?”

Rodney’s attractive face tensed.  “If that’s how you felt then why didn’t you come to me and talk to me about it?  Why say it in front of Simon Clarke – talk about picking your moment!”

“Because it would have been totally pointless, that’s why!  You don’t listen, Rodney, that’s your problem!  You surround yourself with those people who think you’re the next messiah and the rest of us get pushed out!  All this ‘my door is open’ crap, it’s just not true!  You've got advisors for everything, I mean, advice on bloody hairspray, for God’s sake!  I'm surprised you're allowed to brush your own teeth at night!”  Colin was cursing himself as he spoke, furious once again with his own lack of self-control.  He was unsure whether it was mild pity for his colleague which lingered in Rodney’s eyes but his next words were bitterly unforgiving as he leant on the desk and lowered his voice.

“I am appalled at the way you’ve gone round, briefing against me to loyal colleagues, saying one thing then doing the other – giving the
Bulletin
all this ‘never say never’ bollocks – oh yes, and while we’re on the subject of the
Bulletin
, what’s going on with you and Dickenson?  I always knew he had corrupt tendencies, but if he’s conspiring with you then…”

“Well you should know all about jumping into bed with newspaper editors!”  Colin shrieked, but instant regret clouded his enraged features. 

Rodney momentarily looked stung but rallied himself.  “That’s way out of order, Colin.  Rosie and what’s been in the papers has nothing to do with any of this, no matter how
convenient
the whole damn story has been for you!”

Colin thought Rodney looked hot and stifled but he kept his jacket on as an obvious symbol of his hostility. 

“D’you know what I think?”  Rodney barked.  “I think that you knew all about what was going to happen, that Jenny had talked about life with me, what I’d said about people in private to her!  Then all the Rosie stuff, I think you and Dickenson had it all planned out – when to run these smear stories, the lot!”

“That’s madness, you’re more paranoid than I thought!  And I had no idea about Rosie at first, that Dickenson would publish everything like that…!”  Colin paused, grimacing.
Why did you do it?  Why did it have to be you who slept with the only woman I had cared for since Alice? 
Colin was desperate to ask, needy for reasons, yet he stood defiant, his stare as dark as his mood.

*****

Slamming the front door to her Westminster apartment, Anthea sighed heavily and made her way down the steps as she finished a call with Peter.  She was already late for her first of three meetings that afternoon over the Cornish Bill and she longed for it all to be over.  She felt she lived and breathed the damn issue and that, she concluded, was certainly making Anthea a dull girl.  She hurried along the road as her phone beeped – various voicemails awaited her attention, as did a calendar alert: 
Rodney birthday (41)
.

            “Oh, bugger!” She cursed, but her BlackBerry rang and wearily she answered.  It wasn’t a familiar number, but she didn’t want to miss any journalists calling about the Bill.

“Oh, hello, haven’t caught you at a bad time, have I?”

Anthea didn’t think she recognised the sharp Glaswegian accent.  She cleared her throat.  “I’m sorry, who is this?”

“It’s Fergus McDermott,
Daily Bulletin
.”

“Oh right, I didn’t think you’d be covering the Cornish stuff.”  Anthea replied impatiently. 
Here we go.

The journalist’s voice now dripped with self-satisfied enjoyment.    “I’ve a little story I thought you might like to have a quote in.”

Anthea flushed.  “I’ve already given a quote to your colleagues about the latest Cornish poll, if that’s what you mean; you should talk to each other more in your office.”

“Cornish poll?”  McDermott said, sniffing out a laugh.  “Oh no, nothing to do with that.  Somehow I don’t think that’s going to use up much ink tomorrow, to be honest, what with everything else going on at Westminster.  Anyway, back to the purpose of the call, I didn’t think it would be very fair to go to print without asking the star of Wednesday’s front page - actually front page then 3, 4 and 5 - for a direct quote, not that I need any more evidence to authenticate it.  Got some lovely photos.”

Anthea froze, the file which had been loosely in her clutch falling from between her fingers and scattering around her feet as she stood on the busy London pavement.  She knew what was coming, but at that moment she had no idea just how bad the story would be.

*****

Colin was sure the confrontation could be heard all the way to the press gallery on the other side of the estate.  He certainly hoped so.

“You have nobody to support you, you won’t win, the Parliamentary party won’t hear of it and neither will the membership!”  Rodney’s voice was indignant as he closed in on his rival. “You’re behaving like a spoilt, attention-seeking child, at everyone else’s expense!  It has to stop – and now!”

There was a thick pause.  Colin blinked but refused to look away as a searing ache raged through his brain.  Suddenly his mind was back at the graveyard once more, the young woman cowering in the dirt, the feeling of guilt washing over him again as his repressed conscience abhorred his actions.

“There are donors willing to back my challenge.”  Colin said coldly.  “And the number of backbench colleagues who are privately pledging support is increasing daily.  They feel as I do, that we’re still looking into the political wilderness.”

“If so many of our colleagues feel as you do, then where are they?  I don't see them all coming out for you, it's a wonderfully silent protest but I can't really see it paying off for you, Colin!”  Rodney scoffed, but there was a small, barely identifiable quiver in his voice which Colin instantly detected.  He had been unsure, right until moment, whether he should place the first of his two remaining cards on the table.  Colin decided to call Rodney’s bluff.  It was a gamble, but he had already gone many steps too far and there was no turning back.