Party Games (48 page)

“Fergus McDermott’s on his way up.”  Valerie said, placing a pile of letters on the table and looking at her boss with concern through thick spectacles.  “Rodney?  Shall I organise coffee?”

            “Sorry, thanks, Valerie.”  Rodney looked up from his resignation statement as Clare hurried in, juggling her mobile and a large stack of papers.  “No, no coffee, I don’t want Fergus getting too cosy, this can’t take long.”

            “Indeed.”  Valerie mused as she swept out of the office.  “I know you’ve got a busy day but
please
sign those letters, the constituents must be kept happy!”

            Rodney grumbled.  Signing correspondence wasn’t exactly at the front of his mind.  Clare was thrusting more newspapers at him, articles mentioning ‘Colin Scott’ and ‘leadership’ circled in angry red pen.  He waited until she left to greet McDermott before he spoke again, in quiet voice, to Deborah. 

            “Look, I’ve got a confession.” 

            “So have I.”  Deborah said suddenly.  “Robert and I, well, we’re seeing each other.  I just thought I should be the one to tell you, it’s been in today’s
Engager
diary column.”

            “I guessed.”  Rodney found himself smiling.  “I’m pleased for you, really I am. Just be careful, pleasure and business, it doesn’t always...work.”

            “What’s your confession?”  Deborah eyed the door. Rodney knew she was itching to investigate the leak and he simply couldn’t let her.

            “I, err...I know who the leak is.”

            Deborah watched him silently, her expression incredulous.

            “In a way, it was me.  Last night – Jenny came over, unexpectedly, to apologise, but...well, I won’t say it. She must’ve heard us talking, sneaked into my bag.  Look, we’ve got to bury this thing, the two of us; I just hope she didn’t hear much else.”

            “There are only so many times we can blame an intern.”

            “I know.  I messed up, in more way than one, so nobody else will get the blame. Please, don’t tell Robert.  I need complete discretion – something I was definitely lacking last night.”

            Deborah’s stare softened, hiding her true feelings well. She nodded. “Ok, I’ll deal with it.  It’s what you pay me for.”

Minutes later, the Political Editor of the
Daily Bulletin
was ushered into the office, Valerie waving him past in a fashion suggesting she had done this many times before. 

            “Half an hour.”  She mouthed at Rodney.  Valerie eyed the journalist with slight suspicion as he hugged his satchel under his arm, but with a supportive flicker of a smile towards Rodney she shut the door behind her and Deborah with an air of finality.

Fergus McDermott took in his surroundings thoroughly.  He needed to make sure they wouldn’t be disturbed.  The Party Leader looked impeccable, as was now the norm, his dark locks faultless and his jaw line smooth.  He seemed a little tired, perhaps, but that was hardly unexpected.  McDermott mused that his old boss’ appearance hadn’t always been so perfect.  He remembered how the guy used to turn up for work at the
Bulletin
offices in jeans and pumps, wanting everyone to feel ‘at ease’.  He told him once that the culture needed to change at the paper and he was the one to do it, as if he had some God-given right to spread his morality around.  He charmed Dickenson, the old fool treating him like a son, a situation which was to be repeated once Richmond had entered politics and quickly became the ‘heir’ to Jeffers.  Fergus had no idea what Rodney Richmond’s secret was, but people were finally beginning to see through it.  He admired Scott, who had Richmond down as an insubstantial smooth talker from day one.  Fergus figured he may have reached Deputy Editor by now if only he hadn’t been quite so naive.

 He hovered by the door, Richmond shaking his hand and lying to his face, exclaiming how good it was to see him. 

“Did you like my interview with Colin Scott?”  McDermott responded brusquely.  “He’s quite the leader-in-waiting, although I suppose it can be difficult for him, playing second fiddle to someone else.”

“I haven’t got long, I’m afraid, will half an hour do it?” Richmond seemed unfazed as he guided him over to the easy chairs.  “Colin’s interview was...informative, Fergus, I’ll give you that.”

“Yes, I’ve always had a knack for getting good, clean information - as you will well remember, Rodney.” 

Richmond produced a guarded smile as McDermott seated himself directly in front of him, his eyes darting about uneasily.  The door was firmly shut, their voices cut off from the outer office.  McDermott perched on the edge of the chair.  Clare was irritating him as she stood at the back of the office against a window, staring at him suspiciously.  She looked anxious.

            “Aren’t you going to record this too?  And no photographer yet?”  She called over.  “It’s just that we’ve got a busy morning, Fergus, and you’ll appreciate that Rodney has got to get on...”

           
Oh shut up, you whiney cow. 
“Well, yes, you’ve got to resign, I do realise that, like it’s the most significant thing in the world.  But this is a wee bit more important.”  McDermott began to reach into his satchel, placed carefully at his side, grateful that his parliamentary media pass meant that nobody questioned its contents.  He saw Richmond’s gaze flick towards Clare, both obviously concerned about his strange and erratic comments, but there was no turning back.  Now was the time. 
Got to get on with it
.

            “My first question is this: when the hell did you become such a smug bastard who thinks he can ruin people’s lives for his own benefit?” 

            Richmond looked astounded, sitting upright in his chair.  “I’m sorry, is this meant to be a serious interview or what, Fergus?”

“Oh, hang on, I know the answer to my own question, don’t I,
Mr Richmond
?”  McDermott scoffed. “You became a smug fucking bastard when you stopped my story!  Remember that, Rodney?  Remember how you just told me to get rid of it all, after all my hard work, after I had milked those contacts for months?”

            Clare took a step forward.  “Ok, Fergus, this isn’t on, Rodney’s giving you a bloody good exclusive here...”

            “I’m not asking
you
, lassie!”

            “It’s ok, Clare, I’ll handle this.”  Richmond’s calm tone annoyed the hell out of the journalist, but to his satisfaction he saw recognition in the politician’s brown eyes. 
He remembers it well.
  Richmond lowered his voice.  “Look, this isn’t the time or the place to rake up something that happened years ago...”

“It may have been years ago to you, Mr High-and-Fucking-Mighty, with his big parliamentary career and his big ideas about what’s right and wrong, but to me it was bloody yesterday!”

            Flustered, Richmond rose to his feet, while Clare stood behind him, baffled.

            “I’m cutting this short, Fergus.  I thought you were a serious journalist who wanted an exclusive on my resignation, not to hurl some ridiculous accusations!”

            McDermott felt his heart racing and he tried desperately to calm his hands as they reached into his satchel.  He hadn’t taken his medication, not since Dickenson told him he could have this one last interview before he was to take indefinite gardening leave citing ‘mental health issues’.  If there was no second chances for him, why should there be for Richmond?

            “Sit the fuck down.”  McDermott hissed bitterly as he flashed the gun from the bag.  He kept it on his lap, lowered yet pointed at his target.

            Richmond’s expression froze as he carefully sat. Clare opened her mouth to scream but McDermott cut her off.

“Keep quiet or I’ll pull this fucking trigger!  Don’t think it’s not bloody loaded, ‘cos it is!  Got my granddaddy to thank for it!  Now, throw your mobile over here, woman.  Now!” 

            Clare’s hand flew up to her mouth and she backed up against the wall, tossing her phone onto a nearby table. McDermott rose slowly from his seat, the gun now raised and aimed, his eyes fixed on Richmond as he scooped up the phone.

“This is madness, Fergus, you’ve got to stop it! Now!”  Richmond found his voice, but kept it low.  “I’m not going to talk to you like this, or be intimidated!”         “You’ll do as you’re fucking told, mate, as I think
I
have the upper hand here for a change, don’t you?” McDermott cursed himself as fear crept into his tone.  He was on a mission, he had to see it through, no turning back...Richmond was talking, trying to reason with him, trying to calm him, that bitch Press Secretary eyeing the door, like she had any chance of making a run for it.

 “Stop that fucking politician-speak, get up and go and sit over there, on the floor!”  He waved the gun over towards Richmond’s desk.  The leader rose from his seat, cautiously, and did as instructed, not tearing his eyes away from his captor except to throw Clare a look which urged her to remain calm.  Clare slid down the wall, her breathing shallow and her eyes wide. McDermott grimaced. 
Richmond’s strong-willed, he’ll try to protect her, should he need to.

“You can’t hold us like this forever, you know.  Half an hour isn’t long.”  Richmond said quietly. 

“Well,” McDermott raised the gun so it was level with his forehead and looked him straight in the eye.  “I’d best get on and shoot ye quickly then, hadn’t I?”

*****

8.35am

As she arrived at Portcullis House, Colin couldn’t help the smile which spread across his face.  She wore a basic grey skirt suit which hugged her still slender figure, her long tresses draped across her shoulders and her face hurriedly made up, accentuating her large eyes, wide with confusion and nerves.

            “Hey, you look beautiful.” Colin murmured as he welcomed her through the revolving door.  Kathryn eyed him suspiciously, not returning the smile, her eyes darting about the atrium.

“You told me to wear something sensible, and this is all I had.”  She said, glancing down at herself self-consciously.  “Why did you want me to come here, like this?  You sounded so...different on the phone, somehow.”

            Colin wanted to reach out, hug her, but kept a slight distance, aware of watchful eyes, the atrium buzzing with leadership fever, huddles of MPs gossiping at the sight of this middle-aged man with a young woman he appeared to be very much familiar with.

“Look, Kathryn, I’m so, so sorry.”  Colin tentatively took her hand as her stare searched his face for answers.  “I got the scan and it’s...it’s wonderful.  Please, you must forgive me for how I’ve been.  I’ve been such a stupid arse, I really have.  I promise, I’ll make it all up to you, but I love you, and I want to be with you.  You’ll know that I’m going to resign, in the next twenty-five minutes, finally get all this shit out there that’s been bugging me for so bloody long.  This is coming out all clumsily, I know, but although this is sudden and I don’t have a ring yet...Kathryn – will you marry me?”

*****

 8.45am

“Oh my God, oh my God...”  

“Just shut up!  Don’t make me hurt you!”

“Do as he says, Clare! Just stay there, and it will be ok!”  Rodney was frantic, waving his hands, but it was clear that Clare wasn’t listening.  She shook her head vigorously, edging across the floor towards the door, her voice a whimper.  Rodney’s eyes darted from her back to the journalist.  McDermott, suddenly panicking, removed the gun from Rodney’s forehead and darted over to the distraught Press Secretary.  It all happened far too quickly for Rodney to react and overwhelm him; in moments he had turned the gun over in his hand and thumped Clare hard over the head with its handle, knocking her unconscious onto the deep green carpet.  To Rodney’s horror, blood seeped through her matted hair, her face turned to him, pale and still, her eyes firmly closed.  He couldn’t see her breathing, but before he could attempt to shift towards her McDermott was back, glaring at him with intense hatred, his revolver barrel pointing towards his chest.  The journalist was shaking, yet his outstretched arm remained more defiant than before. 

“I didn’t want to do that, but she gave me no choice!”  He hissed through quivering lips.  Beads of sweat sprung across his forehead, his breathing shallow.  “She should’ve taken your advice and kept quiet!  Don’t you hate it when people don’t take your advice, Rodney?”

“She needs medical attention!  Are you completely insane?”  Rodney’s voice was low.  He knew he had to keep calm; the last thing he wanted was for his office outside to burst in and be fired on by a spray of bullets from this madman. 
But how to raise the alarm without putting people at risk? 
He had no idea.  All he could do was what a politician was best at – talk and convince, even if he wasn’t convincing himself, even if it meant lying.  “Clare has nothing to do with your issues with
me. 
If she doesn’t see a doctor soon she could...”

“I need you to shut up too, and to look at me!  Look me in the eyes as I kill you!”

Rodney met McDermott’s stare only to see raw hate.  For the first time it occurred to him that he may not actually get out alive. 
He really does mean to kill me
.

 “
I’m not sorry about what I did – what I
had
to do.  I could’ve handed you over to Dickenson, shown him everything, but I didn’t.  You were a friend and I still believe you’re a good journalist...”

“Lies, it’s all bloody lies with you!  I suppose I should be grateful to you?  Nobody would have known how the evidence was come by, the story could’ve made me, and you bloody had to ruin it!  You were his favourite, and you wanted it kept that way, but I can’t just watch while you become Prime Minister and I end up demoted, or sacked, my reputation in tatters!  You did to me what you’ve done to Colin Scott – taken what was rightfully ours!  You do everything on the backs of others, you don’t deserve to be sitting there, passing judgement on everyone else!  On
me
!”