Party Games (50 page)

“You’re my media advisor here, Matthew, so now would be a good time to advise.”  Colin muttered tersely.

Matthew drew breath.  “You’re at a crossroads here and the reality is you have to make a decision right now based on the little information we have.  You can either resign, plunge the party into chaos as it searches for an interim leader for however long is needed, which let’s face it will probably by Cheeser, or you can put that resignation away and step up to the plate, show you can lead in a time of crisis, prove all those critics wrong.  Be statesman-like.  This lot are going to barrage you with questions any minute, demand you make some sort of statement, and we don’t have time to dither.  Decide and bloody fast.”

“It’s a no-brainer.”  Fryer said, but Colin turned from him to Kathryn.

“What should I do?”  He asked her quietly.  “What do
you
want me to do?”

Fryer snorted, rolling his eyes.  Colin ignored him.

Kathryn put her lips close to his ear.  “You should lead, the party needs you now.  I know you better than anyone, and this is your chance.  I’ll stand by you.”

“You were literally a second away from resignation, and now here you are, in charge.”  Matthew said.   “You need your mind to be focussed quickly so you can display absolute authority.  Suddenly, however temporarily, you’re going to have an army of staff at your disposal all tugging you in different ways while CCHQ will be in chaos.  This has never happened before and people won’t know what to do.   I am going to be frank with you here, Colin – don’t fuck it up.”

But, Colin thought, this wasn’t how it was all meant to be.  Somehow he felt cheated, angry he had been denied the chance to let rip at Rodney then smear his face in the dirt.  Now the bloody man would receive everyone’s sympathy, simply because he had got himself shot.

“They’ve just confirmed Fergus McDermott as the gunman.”  Fryer returned from a brief conversation with a correspondent.  “And he’s dead, seems to have shot himself or been shot by police, they don’t know.  Richmond’s been taken to St Thomas’ – he’s still alive but unconscious, sounds serious.  Eye witness reports are starting to come in, Simpson says.  Someone else was injured, don’t know who yet.”

“My God.” Colin gasped.  There would be a police investigation; perhaps Rodney Richmond had more skeletons in his cupboard than just Rosie Lambert.  McDermott may be dead, but whatever his motive, Colin vowed to uncover it.  “You’ll be my PPS, won’t you, Matthew?  From now?”

“Of course.”  Matthew replied.  Fryer growled.

            “Mr Scott, will you be making a statement?” 

            The rain had begun to fall, large drops emptying from a blanket of impenetrable, bland cloud.  The traffic along Abingdon Street had come to a stand-still, one long jam trailing around Parliament Square.  The anticipation of the media now began to privately excite Colin and he longed to indulge himself with a smile.  The initial shock had gone and somewhere inside his gut his resolve was building and he felt empowered. He handed his resignation statement to Matthew, ordering him to shred it, as one by one the supporters he had gathered urged him to seize his opportunity.

The microphones were back under his nose amongst a muddle of urgent questions from reporters hungry for reaction.  His body language would be just as important as his oration; the authoritative raising of the eyebrow, the concerned yet controlled frown - a leader’s face determined to hold the party together in a time of crisis, the rock to which the most historically successful political party in Europe would cling.  It had turned against him once, but now it needed him. 
How suddenly fortunes change
.  If Rodney Richmond had thought he was good at the media game, Colin Scott would prove he could be even better.

*****

9.15am

His second cup of coffee that morning sat untouched on his desk, the dark liquid cooling, leaving a thick stain around the white rim.  It didn’t matter.  The coffee was nothing and the news was everything.  The day’s newspapers, strewn across his office table, were out of date and unimportant.  Anthea’s victory would be quickly forgotten and Harvey wouldn’t scrape so much as a mention except as a late-night afterthought on
Radio 4
. 

Colin Scott was on television, the interim leader, making a statement to camera, his pale complexion flushed and his usually high voice steady and precise.  He was trying to sound dignified in the chaos, but Tristan interpreted this as coldness, the same calculated manner he had used when telling him he was out to ruin him.  He had watched Colin on the news moments earlier, poised and ready with that air of self-importance, kissing some young woman, a
girl
, when the report suddenly cut away to wobbly images of an ambulance arriving outside Portcullis House.   Colin had been about to denounce Richmond, now here he was, telling the press pack that he would hold a press conference as soon as there was definite news on Richmond’s health, and his heart went out to the man, and his family, and he would be in his thoughts and prayers...

“...but I can confirm that I will be Acting Leader of the Opposition, and of the Conservative Party, for as long as I am needed.”

Big of him
, Tristan thought.  He would call it a selfless act, when Tristan knew that Colin’s own callous ambition would be his only priority.

            “Shit.”  Tristan said to himself.  “Shit!”  He cupped his face in his hands and thought of Anthea.  They had arrived together, minutes before the shooting, and he knew she would now be holed up in her office down the corridor.  His own staff hadn’t been able to get into the building, so he was alone.  Aware he should go to her, he wearily rose to his feet, not knowing what he should say or do.  Minutes ago everyone was expecting a grand exit from the Shadow Cabinet, but now the political landscape had changed, possibly irrevocably, by an event even the shrewdest pundit couldn’t have predicted.  The party would enter uncharted waters and Tristan could only see turbulence ahead. 

*****

Jeremy didn’t sound like him at all, his voice a quiver of barely suppressed panic on the phone, but gradually Anthea began to hear more of the truth.  She couldn’t quite take in what he was saying, it was as if her body was ahead of her brain. 

“Clare was hit over the head, she was knocked out but it’s just concussion, thank God.  Apparently Rodney saved her.  But Rodney – he had to be revived at the scene, and although they got him breathing again he’s in a bad way, a complete mess, but he’s in the best hands.”  Jeremy was camped over in the Whips Office, his office in Norman Shaw currently a no-go. Anthea sensed he was trying to hold it together, yet there was nothing comforting to be said. “Linda’s there - they’re trying to stabilise him before surgery, but I don’t know exactly where on his body he was shot, and it sounds like he has a serious head injury. . Anthea, he might…the next few hours are critical.  But we’re playing it down and simply waiting like the rest of the world for more concrete news, whatever that might be.  Once he’s out of surgery, there will be some sort of press conference.”

In a complete mess…next few hours are critical
.  It was as if the very air she breathed had been ripped from her as she stared, numbly, at
News 24. 
Jeremy was trying to remain the calm Party Chairman in a crisis, wittering on about statements and correct procedure when Anthea knew all he would want to do was break down in personal grief. 

BREAKING NEWS: Bulletin Political Editor Fergus McDermott dies at scene
.  Later it would be revealed that, convinced Richmond was dead, McDermott had turned the gun on himself before armed police could swoop in, his last bullet burying itself inside his skull.

“It’s all my fault.”  Anthea said weakly.  “McDermott – it’s all my fault.”

“No, it certainly is not.”  Jeremy’s voice hardened. “None of us knew that the guy was that unstable, you did what you did for good reason.  Don’t blame yourself, Rodney wouldn’t want that.”

“We’re going to spend a lot of time wondering what Rodney would want, aren’t we, Jeremy?”  Anthea felt the well of emotion rising up into her chest and behind her eyes as Jeremy explained that he had spoken to Deborah, but she was so distraught she could barely communicate, except to give the police a statement. Robert Williams had been far more staid in his response, agreeing they had to do whatever they could to keep Colin Scott at bay until Rodney was well.  Even Robert, ever the realist, was unable to comprehend anything else.  

“Are you watching Colin?”  Anthea’s throat was dry.  She felt sick at the sight of him and even watching him in two dimensions she could see the delight behind his steely expression.

“Yes, he’ll be loving every minute of it.  If only he could have bloody resigned...”  Jeremy said, confirming her thoughts.  “My office is arranging for me to speak to him within the hour, but things might have changed by then.  I’m going to the hospital shortly, I can get out from this end of the estate.” 

She nodded, as if he could see, her voice now a croak. “But Jeremy, I should come down, I should…”

“Please Anthea, not yet, it’ll be pandemonium over there.  I’ll call you again soon I promise.  Obviously Colin will need to hold a press conference at CCHQ, although Rodney’s alive, so…”  Jeremy tailed off, an awkward moment in an uncomfortable conversation.

“There will be an emergency Shadow Cabinet meeting later, won’t there?”  Anthea felt herself joining in with him, going through the motions, discussing practicalities as if Rodney had simply taken an unscheduled holiday.

Jeremy then uttered the words they had hoped never to hear – what happens next would be up to Colin, within the rules.  That was if such rules existed for Opposition.  Nobody seemed to know.  A minute later, the call was over.  Anthea was left alone.  Peter was elsewhere on the estate, unable to get to her, and all she could do was watch the news like the rest of the country, feeling helpless, feeling hopeless.  She closed her eyes and remembered the taste of his lips, the look in his eyes as he begged her to love him, the ache in her heart as she walked away, her anger at him for not consulting her about resigning...

“Anthea?”

Anthea looked towards the door to see Tristan staring at her, obviously worried.

“Oh God, Tris!”  The sight of her lover overwhelmed her and she stood for the first time since hearing the news.  Tristan held her and she clung to him, the reassurance of him a temporary comfort.  She hadn’t expected the next shock, the first grainy image of Rodney being wheeled on a trolley towards the ambulance, intrusively taken from a distance on a mobile, his head covered in blood and a paramedic pumping oxygen into his lungs.

“Right, that’s it, I can’t just sit here, I just can’t!”  Anthea suddenly moved away from Tristan and grabbed her bag and coat. 

Tristan glanced at the image on the television then back at Anthea in alarm.  “I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to wait here, we’ve been told...”

“You can wait here if you like, but I’ve got to get to the hospital!”  She dashed out of the office, her face burning, and went towards the lift.  An armed police officer guarded the stairwell and stopped her with a forthright wave of the hand.

“I’m sorry, madam, but you can’t...”

“Here, I’m a Member, now I’ve got to get past!”  Anthea flashed her Parliamentary pass and tried to press the button, but the officer stepped into her path.

“I’m under strict instructions from my superiors and the Sergeant at Arms not to let anyone...”

“You don’t understand!  I’ve got to get to the hospital!”

“I
do
understand, Miss Culverhouse, but it is for your own safety and that of others that you must remain...”

“BUT I HAVE TO GET TO THE HOSPITAL!”

“Anthea, please!”  Tristan gently held her shoulders and spun her round.  Her hands flew up to her face as Tristan gathered her in his arms before she could fall. 

“I have to get to the hospital!”  She wailed into his chest, her tears flowing freely.  Tristan didn’t speak, as no words could suffice. 

*****

11.30am

Acting Leader of the Opposition Colin Scott makes a statement to the media, Conservative Central HQ.

Firstly, I would like to thank you all for coming here at such short notice.  As you have already heard from statements from both medical staff and police, I promise that my statement will be brief. 

You will of course all know the tragic circumstances in which I have asked you here.  Leader of the Opposition Rodney Richmond was shot by Fergus McDermott, Political Editor of the Daily Bulletin, and remains in a serious condition at St Thomas’ Hospital.  He has undergone surgery to remove the two bullets, one from his shoulder and another from his abdomen and is now in a coma as a result of a serious head injury also sustained at the scene.  As you know, doctors at St Thomas’ Hospital will brief you again in the morning. 

One other person, Clare Shaw, Rodney’s Press Secretary, was also hurt in the incident, but I am assured she is recovering well.

The gunman, Mr Fergus McDermott, died at the scene, and as the Metropolitan Police Commissioner said in his statement, it is believed he acted without accomplices, although motive is as yet unknown.

[Pause]

The way in which the emergency services responded to this morning’s incident was exemplary.  I pay tribute to the two paramedics who worked diligently at the scene of the incident.   I also pay tribute to the Sergeant at Arms and the way in which the area was secured in the immediate aftermath of the shooting.  It was this quick reaction which ensured the safety of everyone on the Parliamentary estate.

It goes without saying that I, as well as the rest of the Conservative Party, very much wish Rodney a speedy recovery from his injuries.  He is in all our thoughts and prayers.  Until it the current situation changes I can confirm once again that I have taken on the role of Acting Leader for however long is required of me.  I will brief you all again in the morning and I will also hold a special meeting of the Shadow Cabinet later today, as well as separate meetings with backbench colleagues and senior staff at Conservative Central Headquarters.