Party Games (37 page)

            “So I can tell Colin that she’s going to support him?”

            “Look, I’ve done my bit.  It’s up to her what she does next.  We shouldn’t even be talking over the phone about this.”

            “You’re right.  We’ll be in touch.  Maybe one day Colin might even give you a peerage if you’re lucky as a thank you.”

Smarmy bastard.
  McDermott then turned off his mobile for the first time in around five years, closed the blinds on his office windows so the
Bulletin
staff couldn’t stare in at him, and wondered if he should go before being pushed.  Heads would roll for this and he would rather commit suicide on his own terms than be put up against Dickenson’s office wall and shot.  He looked down at his hand and saw it was clenched tightly, his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm.  That old feeling was churning inside him again, a rage he had suppressed years ago but which flickered to life every time he saw Richmond’s annoying fucking face, doing nicely for himself on the back of other people’s hard graft.

            He had now been working for a good few hours and the next day’s edition was nearing completion.  Of course Anthea Culverhouse wasn’t about to support Scott, but neither was her affair with Tristan Rivers mentioned on a single page of the coming paper.  ‘CORNISH VOTE: LABOUR MELTDOWN’ or something similar would be the headline.  Colin Scott would be a very unhappy bunny tomorrow – not only was he to fail to get the support he wanted, the Government was still set to face a slim defeat over Cornish devolution.  After a hefty gamble Richmond would be set to end a gruelling week with an impressive victory by blowing a massive hole in the middle of the Government’s regionalisation strategy.  He would, for that week at least, be the Comeback Kid. 

            The knot in McDermott’s stomach prevented him from consuming his staple diet of coffee and Digestives and he felt hot and sick.  He would never forget the way Anthea Culverhouse had suddenly bounced back from his interrogation of her.  Just as he thought she was about to hang up, enraged by his goading, her voice turned determined.  McDermott had not only played a major part in trying to ruin her precious Tory leader, he now threatened her own career. She had been scorned, pushed too far.  The journalist was privately impressed.

“I would be very happy to receive a free copy of your paper tomorrow morning, Mr McDermott, because I’ll be reading about how the Government is screwed over Cornwall and that poll – and my quote - will feature very heavily.” Anthea had spoken with a renewed confidence. “With regards to any of the allegations against Tristan Rivers and me, and Tristan Rivers and his...wife, you’re not going to print a word of them.”   

McDermott took cold comfort in the quiver in her voice.  She had known little about Rivers’ past, that much was obvious, but the woman had balls.

 “I admire your strength in the face of adversity, Miss Culverhouse, but as far as I can see you can’t stop me.  Public interest and all that.” 

“Oh, I don’t think so.”  Anthea scoffed.  “I also don’t think your boss has the first clue that you’ve called me, on Colin Scott’s instructions, I presume.”

“The implications of you switching your support to Scott would be huge.  Believe me, he knows.”  McDermott had said.  That wasn’t, however, strictly true.  The old bastard had only approved blackmail of Rivers, and Rivers alone. Culverhouse, he had said, was strictly off-limits.  The editor’s other interest had been in Barty Phillips, but Fryer had unexpectedly warned him off without any obvious reason.  Culverhouse would be a dead cert, Fryer - and Scott - were sure.  It was an act of desperation on Scott’s part and McDermott craved his boss’ approval.  It was initiative, not disobedience.  On reflection, Barty Phillips would have been a much softer, and safer, target.

“Well that is strange, for him to approve direct contact – direct blackmail – of me of all people.”  Anthea had retorted sharply.  “I know too much about you, about the past, much more than you think I do, Mr McDermott.  He may be many things but Geoffrey Dickenson is shrewd enough to only go so far for Colin Scott.  Somebody’s underestimating me.  Many people do.”

“Sorry, I don’t understand.”  The journalist had despised the fact he was suddenly on the offensive and he wondered where this conversation was now heading.  More than anything, he didn’t want Culverhouse to sense his panic.  She sounded empowered; Tristan may have rolled over and taken it from Scott, but she appeared to be willing to do no such thing. 

“Anything he may have told you – well, you wouldn’t want to get your best friend into trouble, would you?”  McDermott said slyly.

“I don’t believe that you could implicate Rodney in anything, you know it was all you.”  Anthea scoffed. “I know he stopped a scoop – something you had discovered in a very dubious way – from making the paper.  Isn’t that right?” 

There had been a silence on the other end of the line.

“You can twist it any way you like, but your hands are now tied.  You shouldn’t have called me, Mr McDermott. I will not be forced into supporting anyone in any leadership contest.”  Anthea’s voice became threatening and serious.  “I think I should let you go and speak to Mr Dickenson, let him know that his scoop is off because of your own stupidity.  A man like him won’t risk the reputation of his paper just to print some story about Tristan Rivers and me, Colin Scott’s not worth all that much to him, I’m sure.  Oh, but just for the record, we are quietly confident about tomorrow’s vote.”   The line went dead.

McDermott had thrown his phone against his office chair in rage.  It had all gone too far. Any of their rival papers, especially Rosie Lambert, would love the political scandal of the year, involving Sir Geoffrey Dickenson, a past cover-up, his unholy alliance with Colin Scott and an attempt to blackmail in order to destroy the Conservative Party leadership.  The rest of the Tory press hated the
Bulletin
, with an editor they despised.  It would be all sewn up pro-Richmond and the bad guys would be those shrewd enough to see through him.

            After the call to Fryer, he paced the office, sweat drenching through his shirt.  There was a biting wind outside but he was burning up, his eyes wide and unblinking as he tried to process the enormity of the situation.  Dickenson would protect his newspaper’s reputation.  He wouldn’t, however, protect his Political Editor.

            It was then he made up his mind.  Suddenly, he felt calm.  A strange calm, before the wrath consumed him and everything was done.  He wasn’t going to be telling Dickenson a thing.  It had finally come to this.  The hatred he had harboured all these years; the blind rage at knowing Richmond was the better journalist, that Richmond had been Dickenson’s favourite, burned his very soul and shrouded him in that familiar deep depression he had battled for so long.  Here Richmond was again, inadvertently preventing his scoop from making it on to the front page.  If the journalist was going down, then he would drag his former colleague down with him so he could never, ever get back up again.

It was at home, locked away.  He kept it safe, looking at it occasionally to clean it, curious thoughts awash in his mind, wondering whether it could make a person feel strong...

            A fierce knocking on the office door jolted the journalist from his thoughts.  It was only then it occurred to him that he hadn’t slept properly in days.

“You and I need to have a bloody long talk.”  Dickenson growled, his creased face flushed with anger.  “You’re not the only one who can tap a fucking phone, Fergus.”

McDermott’s eyes drifted towards his Nokia.  He muttered an expletive. “Was all this with Colin Scott simply to catch me out?  Was it, Geoff?”  McDermott asked coolly.  There was no point in shouting.

             “My office.  Let’s go.”

“Let me get one more interview, this time with Richmond.  You
know
I can do a good interview, the one with Scott was genius, it put the shits up Richmond big style.  I can tear him to shreds, get him to slip up, admit Scott’s got him rattled.”  McDermott said hurriedly, his accent thickening with anticipation.  He then met Sir Geoffrey’s stare as he rose from his Political Editor’s chair, very possibly for the last time.

“Like I say, Fergus, get the fuck in my office. 
Now
.”

*****

“You are all my closest friends, I appreciate you taking the time to come here, especially as it is so late.  At least I provided alcohol.”  The Opposition Leader strained a smile, but it was weak and tired.  “The Simpson interview went well, I thought, now it’s just the waiting game.”

Barty Phillips moved his tall frame in his chair, the usual uneasy look on his face, but he spoke supportive words and berated the Deputy Leader for his audacity and selfishness.  Jeremy Cheeser did what any good Party Chairman would do and reassured his leader that he was holding the party together and that the latest association chairmen poll showed overwhelming support for his leadership.  Shadow Chancellor Heidi Talbot simply shrugged and said that only an insane few were prepared to put a cross by Colin Scott’s name in any ballot.  But the only person who Rodney would be desperate to hear speak remained unusually silent, her blonde hair hiding the eye he was anxious to catch. 

“Anthea, wait.  Please.”  An hour later and the meeting was over.  It was late and Anthea was heavily distracted but Rodney’s voice was begging. “A final birthday drink?” 

Anthea paused by the door, her back to her leader, and briefly closed her eyes.  It had been a long and stressful day but she knew she couldn’t simply go home, go to bed then sleep like a baby until morning.  She had much work ahead that night and any personal thoughts would play on her mind after the light went out and not before.  She was determined.  She agreed to stay, just the two of them, but she saw in his dark eyes a hidden melancholy.

Glancing away Rodney topped up her wine.  “What a birthday.”  He laughed softly, handing her the glass. Overreaching, her fingers lightly brushed against his, and for a moment they lingered.

Anthea was first to pull away, nodding at his comment.  “Not the best, I’m sure.  I doubt you have anything to worry about, though.  Not now.”

Rodney studied her for a moment, his hand closed around the wine bottle.  

“You didn’t say that in the meeting.  In fact, you didn’t say much at all.  Was my interview that good?  You think it might have scared Colin off?”

“Well, it was a direct enough challenge, Rodney.”  Anthea shrugged.  She had agonised over whether to tell him but she was concerned it could pressurise further their already fragile friendship.  She wasn’t sure he would see, or would
want
to see, that she had no option over McDermott, and may even say she was choosing to protect Tristan over him.  It was best left as ‘need to know’ that she had managed to save herself, and Rodney’s leadership, from further humiliation, for now at least.

The wine suddenly felt heavy on her throat, a thick layer around her tonsils.  She watched her leader pace the office until he finally sat down and loosened his tie. His handsome face was lined with worry.

“It’s hard, though, to know what Colin will do next.  Things are never simple.”  Anthea allowed her gaze to drift around the impersonal décor of the leader’s office.  She wasn’t used to the place being so quiet, it had been a long time since her and Rodney were alone together at night.  Even Deborah, known for her long hours and obsession with her job, had finally had enough and gone home, although if the rumours were true, it may not necessarily have been alone. 

“He’s going to be his own destruction if somebody doesn’t tell him to stop before you have to sack him.  He’s doing you no good.”  She continued.

Rodney frowned.  “Well I know that, but it’s not as easy as just ordering him to go, is it?  It’s the classic keeping your friends close and all that.  At least while he’s deputy I would like to think he’s not as out of control as he might be.”

You can’t get much more out of control than blackmail
.  Anthea lowered her eyes, unable to resist a knowing twitch of the mouth.

“He’s been briefing against me again today, after our meeting.  God, Anthea, it was terrible.  You should have seen his face, it was as if the small bit of humanity left in him had been sucked out and I knew I couldn’t reason with him.  He challenged me to sack him, or
promote
him in another reshuffle, would you believe!  No, if I sack him he becomes a martyr to all those loonies out there who want to replace me.”  The Leader cast a glance at his work pile for that evening.  Rodney had vowed at the beginning of his leadership to be very ‘hands on’, but in practice it was extremely time-consuming.

“D’you know what else he said?”  He began to idly spin a pen on the table.  Anthea began to recall privately how this had once felt, to be in each other’s company with a glass of something red and that familiar ripple of tension.  “He told a bunch of press gallery journos that he and I could never agree on public policy and that our current spending predictions didn’t tally with his own figures, and he should know because he’s got better qualifications than Heidi!”

Anthea sniffed out a laugh. “He just spouts crap.  It’s not as if he put forward some radical agenda during the leadership campaign, so who knows where this stuff has come from.  Matthew Gaines will be encouraging all this spin, he only listens to him, apparently.”

“I think it’s a case of I say black so he says white.”  Rodney’s jaw tensed in annoyance.

“If the Government loses tomorrow’s vote then you’re in a strong position to get rid of him quickly.”  Anthea said.  “We can claim this wonderful victory and so in reasserting your authority you can act against those trying to weaken you.”

“And if we don’t win, I can ask for his resignation because he has derailed us over an issue which we should have won.”

“Exactly.”  Anthea arched an eyebrow slyly.  The sanctimonious bastard would deserve everything Rodney could throw at him.  “Just tell me something, though, Rodney.  Have you been considering a vote of confidence?”