Breaking the Code

by Gyles Brandreth

  Michael then sent me a further note – this one in green ink – suggesting dinner à deux. This means that we can’t eat in the Members’ Dining Room because the tables there are for four or eight and the form is you sit wherever there’s a space. There’s a waiting list for the Churchill Room (West End food at West End prices) so we make our way to the Strangers’ Dining Room where MF is confident we’ll be properly looked after. He’s right. Clearly he’s a regular and generous tipper. (When I arrived here I had difficulty securing a table and endured surly service when I did. Then, one evening, Michèle noticed Soames sign the bill and tuck a tenner underneath it. Yes, of course, that’s how it’s done.) Over our roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and our second bottle of Fleurie, MF confided that he isn’t gay, it isn’t a wig exactly (‘it’s more complicated than that’) and he knows he allowed himself to become a figure of fun in his first couple of years – but no one offered him any guidance. ‘No one tells you anything here. This place thrives on secrecy and mystery. If you’re not in the loop you’re nowhere.’

  LATER

  A desultory meeting of EDCP. The Minister without Portfolio [Brian Mawhinney] is in the chair: the Lord President, the Chancellor of the Duchy, Norman Blackwell from No. 10, Charles Lewington and Sheila Gunn from Central Office, subdued but in attendance. Michael Bates [Paymaster-General] outlines the ‘themes’ for next week – all pretty meaningless, of course, since we’re not commanding the agenda, but it does at least allow the key players to know what’s in the air and spot potential pitfalls and opportunities in advance. The meeting catches fire briefly when Michael mentions the Department of Health’s forthcoming announcement on adoption.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ says Mawhinney with authority. ‘This is important. Now that abortion is going up the political agenda we must certainly make something of that.’

  ‘Adoption, Brian.’

  ‘We may not like the fact that abortion’s now a political issue, but there’s no escaping it.’

  ‘Adoption, Brian, adoption.’

  ‘Adoption, abortion, it’s all the same … er, no, well…’ He has a cold and he’s tired. The Lord President is yawning noisily. The DPM has gone home with ‘flu.

  Over dinner Jeremy [Hanley] was looking profoundly pug-eyed: he is still recovering from his nightmare year as party chairman: none of it’s as much fun as it used to be. But I love him and he still makes me laugh. He reported that on his last visit to the People’s Republic he was presented with a magnificent stallion from Mongolia. Of course, you can’t bring it home, but you accept it graciously and ask them to look after it for you – and they do, sending you the bills for its fodder. Malcolm Rifkind was presented with a beautifully wrapped goodbye gift from the Sultan of Brunei. The moment he boarded the plane to come home, Malcolm ripped open the package to discover what the world’s wealthiest monarch had given him. It turned out to be a short video of the Sultan’s recent birthday party.

  At the 1922 Committee it was clear as crystal that almost everybody wants us to kick the Firearms Bill into the long grass. The PM won’t.

  More trouble ahead.

  THURSDAY 13 FEBRUARY 1997

  Over lunch at the Treasury – Prêt-a-Manger sandwiches and treacle tart – we discuss the price of baked beans. The Chancellor joined the Wirral South by-election campaign yesterday and Central Office fixed him up with a photo opportunity in a local supermarket. Inevitably – certainly, predictably – the press asked him what the items in his shopping basket cost. Equally predictably, Ken didn’t have a clue! We should have seen it coming. (When Mrs T. did this sort of thing she had an equerry in attendance armed will a full list of current prices.) All the papers today are running pictures of a grinning Chancellor with matching quips about half-baked Ken who doesn’t know the price of beans. So how much is a tin of baked beans? We go round the table – Chief Secretary, Financial Secretary, Exchequer Secretary, Economic Secretary, Lord Commissioner to the Treasury … not one of us knows. It’s bound to come up in Treasury Questions this afternoon. Should the PPS go out and buy some beans? Possibly not: that would be too good a story. Eventually we settle on the line to take: ‘The price of beans? A lot less than it would be under Labour!’

  That’s about the only line we can agree on. Tentatively, I suggest that, if we can, we should come up with a theme and a phrase for the day – but get nowhere. Actually, there’s no point trying. It simply isn’t Ken’s style. Inevitably – predictably – when we get to Questions, Labour does have a theme – VAT on food – and they hammer it home relentlessly. They bring it up in every single question. It’s risible, but it works. Ken’s a bit all over the place. He’s done fourteen separate radio and TV interviews in the past twenty-four hours (a couple of them quite brilliantly) and he’s talked himself out. Now he’s going to drive himself all the way to Leeds to take part in the BBC’s Question Time.

  MONDAY 17 FEBRUARY 1997

  Two sittings for tea today. When constituents call and tell you they’re coming it’s very difficult to say ‘no’. They were so good-hearted and sat in the Pugin Room soaking it up and scoffing away. First they had the sandwiches, then the scones – they scooped every bit of cream and every last dollop of jam onto the scones, they weren’t going to miss a bit – and then, mouth still stuffed to overflowing, one of them sighted the tray of cakes passing by. Spraying crumbs and cream everywhere, she gasped, ‘We must have some of those!’

  Winston is back from his mother’s funeral in Washington. He was purring:

  The two Presidents have been extraordinary. Chirac awarded her the highest rank of the Légion d’Honneur – the only civilian ever to receive it posthumously. On a rien de plus! Clinton sent Air Force 2 to bring the body home. We had the Vice-President to meet us and Bill gave the oration. What a woman!

  The Evening Standard seems to concur, describing her as ‘the greatest courtesan of the twentieth century’.

  At around six the Deputy [Andrew Mackay] and I nipped over to Sarah Willetts’ private view somewhere off Sloane Square. The pictures are wonderful, Mediterranean and classy, but Sarah was a touch unreal and David quite twitchy. Why became apparent when the man from Special Branch appeared, flashed his badge and started casing the joint.

  David whispered, ‘The PM’s due at seven – and look who’s here.’ A hack from the Evening Standard (looking like a refugee from The Munsters) was monopolising Sarah – ‘and we told No. 10 there’d be no press. What do we do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, helpfully.

  Andrew took me by the arm and said, ‘If the Prime Minister is coming, I think we’ll just slip away. With a close vote tonight I wouldn’t like him to see two members of the office out socialising. Just in case it goes wrong.’

  TUESDAY 18 FEBRUARY 1997

  It didn’t go wrong. It went rather well. ‘Censure Vote Backfires on Labour’ is the headline. And we won the Test against New Zealand. The PM will wake a happy bunny.

  Dewar deserves the rotten press he gets this morning. He played it badly. Because the issue was Hogg’s handling of BSE, he took the support of the minority parties for granted, which they resented, and then hyped it up as an attempt to bring down the government. The media played along – BBC2 cleared the decks to bring you the entire debate live and in colour, schedules were disrupted to rush you the result as it comes through – so the effect of our victory – a majority of thirteen, with three Labour members missing – has been to exaggerate our triumph, give Labour a bloody nose, and make us look and feel safe for 1 May.

  It’s particularly gratifying to have come through it unscathed because, in truth, on the issues involved there is quite a case to answer! Roger Freeman gets – and deserves – much of the credit for establishing confidence that we had some idea what needed doing and some commitment to doing it. That one Cabinet minister has to be brought in to make up for the inadequacies of another Cabinet minister is simply extraordinary, but actually we got away with it. We’ve also got away with spending £3.3 bill
ion tackling the crisis without resolving it!

  I stood at the bar of the House to listen to Roger’s wind-up and he did a marvellous job: hubbub all around, intemperate catcalls from the opposition benches, but on he rolled imperturbably, while beside me a colleague muttered, ‘This is the night manager at the Ritz stepping forward to sort out the double booking.’

  At breakfast Stephen was buoyant and delightful. ‘Last week was a setback, there’s no use denying it’. We readily agree that the upside is that he’s now universally recognised as one of The Contenders (with cartoons galore to prove it). The downside is the damage to his reputation as a safe pair of hands. Of course, it’s wholly unfair. As Stephen pointed out, if you want a good example of a safe pair of hands you should consider his handling of the paedophiles at Ashworth Hospital – ‘Whitemoor Prison with knobs on’ – but successfully defused last week in under twenty-four hours. There are few prizes for keeping the dogs quiet in the night, but when the barking starts the fall from grace can be swift and merciless. Remember John Moore?640 Danny’s private verdict (whispered on the way to the lift): ‘If we get anything like it again and soon, the press will link last week’s gaffe back to the early days at Heritage and he’s doomed.’

  Overall, Danny was more positive: ‘Our tracking surveys are moving the way we need them to, slowly. And the press have changed since we shifted on Europe. It may not be enough, but at least it makes you feel what you’re doing is worthwhile.’ There’s another nice embarrassment for Labour today: their plan to privatise the Tote, floated on Saturday, running on Sunday, denied on Monday. Seb has spotted a horse called ‘Pause for Thought’ running this afternoon and is constructing an amusing question for PMQs this afternoon. (Is this the way they did it in Disraeli’s day?)

  I told Stephen about my encounter with the No. 10 team in the hinterland of the House of Lords. Stephen shook his head. ‘That’s JM’s trouble. He’s paranoid.’

  I smiled. ‘Perhaps he has good cause. Look at us.’

  WEDNESDAY 19 FEBRUARY 1997

  Ninety-five Conservatives voted against the government on the Firearms Bill last night. It’s bad, but there’s worse to come. In the bath, I have just heard Malcolm Rifkind say to John Humphreys [on BBC Radio 4’s Today programme]: ‘No, we are not neutral. We are actually on balance hostile to a single currency, but we accept that you have to think very carefully about these matters before you rule it out completely.’

  Oh dear, oh dear.

  LATER

  At 12.30 I went to see the Chancellor. He was sitting alone in the middle of his vast table, puffing at his cigar, signing constituency letters. He laughed, but he was angry. ‘I heard Malcolm. I went into the kitchen to listen to it properly. The Foreign Secretary did not take the government line, Gyles, so when I was doorstepped I said it must have been a slip of the tongue. We are not hostile to EMU. Government policy remains unchanged.’

  I asked if perhaps he thought he should agree a full response with No. 10 or the DPM or Central Office.

  No. Absolutely not. We’ve got a line. Let’s stick to it. Malcolm’s the one who needs to explain himself, not me. I know what John Humphreys was up to. I’m on On the Record on Sunday and, now, instead of talking about the economy it’s going to be Europe, Europe all the way. Sometimes I despair of this party. If we think we can win the election by running an anti-Europe campaign we must be mad. Have you seen our new posters? They’re dishonest. ‘Labour’s Euro policies will cost £2,300.’ It’s plainly untrue. It’s a lie. We shouldn’t be running them.

  He got up and gazed out of the window. Through a cloud of smoke, almost in a whisper he said, ‘The truth is, Gyles, that, privately, John has changed his mind. He’s changed sides. It happened last summer. That’s the problem.’

  The Evening Standard has the headline: ‘RIFKIND v. KEN: NOW IT’S WAR’. The party chairman, on the stump in Wirral South, has backed Malcolm and declared he was speaking ‘for the full Cabinet’. ‘Downing Street, floundering, repeatedly refused to say whether Mr Major supported his Foreign Secretary or not.’ When I talk to Alex Allen at No. 10 he sums it up with commendable economy: ‘I think we have an inherent problem here.’

  At five o’clock the Chancellor addresses the 1922 Committee. He speaks on automatic pilot and manages to get through it without mentioning Europe once. Questions are not invited. Afterwards, he is chased down the corridor by lobby correspondents, but his lips remain sealed. We take refuge in his room at the Commons and find his desk piled high with tins of baked beans. (Heinz has sent him a case of forty-eight with a note: ‘We sense that not enough of our product has passed through the Clarke household.’) We sit in front of the TV, sipping whisky and white wine. Ken shakes his head: ‘I’m not going to Ronnie Scott’s tonight. I know what Malcolm’s up to. And he must be stopped.’

  John Gummer, pop-eyed and incandescent, puts his head around the door: ‘Can I have a word? All I want to say is this: they can go more sceptical if they like, but they’ll do it without me.’

  A messenger arrives from the Treasury: ‘The Foreign Secretary is having dinner with a Mrs Allright (sic),641 but he could be free to see you at Carlton House Terrace around 10.00 p.m.’ On the television we see Norman Lamont opining: ‘Oh, yes, the party on the whole is hostile to EMU.’ John Gummer: ‘If anyone asks me if I am hostile I shall tell them I am not. And if the government says it is hostile I shall resign. And I shan’t be alone. And if it brings down the government, so be it. I am going to telephone the PM now. The leadership we have had on this has been appalling – and I’ve never said that before.’

  Over dinner Hezza tells me how once – and only once – a solution to a problem came to him in a dream. It was at the time of Greenham Common, when he was Defence Secretary, and the Greenham women and the flower children were planning to surround the place, just holding hands. To move against them would be a PR nightmare. In his dream Hezza saw the solution: leave the country! The next day he flew to Germany, visited our troops, and flew straight back – with a message to broadcast to the waiting media: ‘I’ve been in Germany today, talking to our service people, young men and women who are risking their lives to defend our freedoms, to defend the freedom of the protestors at Greenham Common. It did the trick.’

  At about 10.20 p.m. the Chief Whip phones Carlton House Terrace. Ken and Malcolm are already there. ‘Shall we go?’ A policeman shows us into a tiny lift and we make our way to the Foreign Secretary’s flat. In the small wood-panelled sitting room, beneath the little print of Saint George, Glenfiddich is being taken and peace is breaking out. Malcolm is nursing a bishop’s mace. Ken is nursing a whisky. Malcolm has apologised for the word ‘hostile’. Ken has apologised for the phrase ‘slip of the tongue’. A compromise statement is agreed and the No. 10 press officer called. He’s at home and we’ve woken his baby. Nevertheless, he’ll get the statement out in the early hours. Mission accomplished. Bomb defused. The Chief and I teeter down the stairs into the night, the Chief reminiscing: ‘The first time I came here, I met RAB on these stairs. He had a withered hand, y’know.’

  FRIDAY 21 FEBRUARY 1997

  The Times headline: ‘Major–Blair clash electrifies MPs’. Not quite, but last night’s debate on the constitution was certainly a Big Occasion, with a full house and a strong showing from the boss. William [Hague] skewered Blair with a couple of fearless interventions. Several around me sensed it as a defining moment. ‘William’s now the one to watch.’

  When it was over half a dozen of us had a drink with the PM. He was pleased with the way it had gone. And rightly. He had a beer. And then a second. And lots of peanuts. As always, long silences fell. For once, I resisted the temptation to try to fill them. As he left (dragged away by the invaluable John Ward – ‘I know what he’ll be like in the morning’) someone murmured, ‘A little touch of Harry in the night.’ So, for at least one of our number, the magic holds.

  MONDAY 24 FEBRUARY 1997

  Derek Lewis has published an account o
f his brief time as head of the Prison Service. He gets Michael Howard completely wrong: ‘He is a dark, closed-up person, who rarely relaxes and seldom shows a warmth in his political capacity.’ In fact, Michael is warm, generous, sunny, sometimes funny. His capacity for work is extraordinary and his efforts at the Home Office have been Herculean – going every inch of the way against the grain of the Queen Anne’s Gate culture. Michael Forsyth told me that he and Howard used to pass papers to one another personally to keep the diluting-influence of the civil servants at bay. Clearly Howard doesn’t come across on TV. Lewis (who comes over as both plausible and pleasant on the box) concedes that Michael was ‘brilliant in the debate’. It was an extraordinary afternoon, one of those rare occasions when what happens in the chamber of the House of Commons actually makes a difference.

  Ted [Heath] has gone to town. He’s been on the box telling us that Labour’s got it right – on the minimum wage, on the Social Chapter, on a Scottish assembly! On the radio John Biffen and George Walden, a couple of smug self-indulgent old farts (who aren’t standing, of course) tell us taxes are going to have to go up whatever the Chancellor says – ‘everyone knows that’. With friends like these…