Sidetracked

by David Harley

  Matt had never heard such blatant cynicism. He understood better now why Rob was often accused of playing both sides against the middle – because he was completely devoid of any principles of his own.

  ‘Are you saying you went behind my back and acted illegally in my name?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that myself. It’s more about using the system to maximise your vote, so you can carry out all those wonderful promises you made.’

  Matt felt cornered, powerless. Whether or not this was the reality of the way things worked, he hadn’t entered politics to win by rigging the vote. Even if he understood the point that they had to be realistic.

  Rob hadn’t quite finished.

  ‘And I haven’t told you yet how we can squeeze a few extra votes out of the count. We’ve neutralised a couple of tellers.’

  ‘I don’t want to know. Just get on with it. I’m late for the train.’

  Matt picked up his briefcase and headed for the exit.

  Rob shouted after Matt, ‘I’ll be the first to congratulate you on the night. Even if you don’t thank me.’

  Matt didn’t look back, pretending he hadn’t heard. As he walked to his waiting car, he told himself the clear priority was to focus on the future and the transition of power. He couldn’t let himself be distracted by shadowy shenanigans carried out by others, about which he had never been consulted and knew nothing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  SOCA’s rise in the polls had been noticed abroad. From the numbers of calls and requests for appointments, Matt could see that the general excitement about the fast-changing national mood had even taken hold among London’s usually staid diplomatic corps. The message went back to national capitals that England might be at last coming in from the cold. To the sound of crashing gears and screeching brakes, one after the other, governments who had shamelessly worshipped at Crouch’s feet during his heyday made clear their support for Matt and his movement. His diary was in danger of clogging up with all the requests for meetings from ambassadors scrambling to join the winning side.

  Matt observed these developments with mild amusement and detachment. This new layer of adulation was like the icing on a cake that he had neither the time nor the inclination to eat. The posturing and warm words passed him by. He kept the diplomats waiting.

  He hadn’t realised it at the time, but understood later, that Sam had taken a different view on the usefulness of diplomacy.

  The new departure that events were soon to take started quite innocently, one morning when they were together in the car, going into London.

  ‘How should we deal with Europe?’ she had asked. ‘You’re always saying we live in an interconnected world. Shouldn’t you go over to Paris and Berlin, and even Brussels, to build alliances, show you’re a natural-born statesman – which is true by the way.’

  ‘They’re not very keen on the English after what we did to them,’ Matt replied.

  ‘That was in the bad old days, when the nationalists were in charge. Make sure they understand that things have changed. A SOCA Government will do things differently, make a fresh start, repair relations.’

  ‘You might have a point. I’ll think about it.’

  Which meant, as Sam knew only too well, that as far as Matt was concerned, the idea wouldn’t go any further. He had enough on his plate domestically without taking valuable time off from the election to court foreign dignitaries. Matt had noticed Sam’s irritation at his disinterest and the glint in her eye. So when the call came through one week later, after getting over his initial surprise, he had a fair idea of where the initiative had originated.

  By pure coincidence, or so he thought, Bernadette and Sam just happened to be in his office, going through the diary for the following week.

  When he felt his phone vibrate, he passed it to Bernadette.

  ‘Can you deal with that please,’ he said, absent-mindedly.

  He noticed Sam and Bernadette exchange glances.

  For some reason, as she took the phone, Bernadette sat up very straight in her chair. Only after she had crossed her legs, pulled down her skirt and tossed back her hair did she speak into the phone. Matt heard her talking loudly and rapidly in French.

  ‘Oui, il est ici. C’est un grand honneur. Je vous le passe …’

  Bernadette nonchalantly passed the phone back to Matt, deadpan, with just the faintest hint of Gallic smugness.

  ‘The President of the French Republic would like to have a word.’

  Matt was aware of President Jules Masson’s reputation as a rogue and a charmer. Modesty however was not one of his strongest suits. True to his image of a man who always seemed in a hurry and fizzing with energy, he came straight to the point.

  ‘Congratulations Mr Barker – your campaign has been stupendous. The crowds at your rallies, your speeches - so emotional, straight from the heart – that dramatic statement on TV in the middle of the night – you were brilliant. So un-English, if I may say so. Your style is straight out of my playbook. You will win, I can feel it, and I’m never wrong about these things.’

  Flattery usually made Matt suspicious, but he had to admit a certain warm satisfaction at hearing the flow of compliments from the President of France, even if the superlatives were a little overdone.

  ‘Thank you, Mr President, you’re too kind –’

  ‘Call me Jules. Matt, I want you and I to become friends after you’ve won the election -’

  ‘The election’s not over yet, Mr President. The current Prime Minister, Mr Crouch, is a strong opponent. He could still win.’

  ‘Nonsense! He’s a racist, a nationalist poseur, and an enemy of France. You must defeat him. What can we do to help assure your victory? We can provide money, arms, and files on your opponents’ crimes and infidelities. What would be most useful?’

  Although the conversation had been going on for less than a minute, Matt felt that he was already losing control.

  ‘Mr President, Jules if you prefer… I don’t think that would be appropriate –’

  ‘Say no more, Matt, we understand each other. You don’t want to be personally involved or ‘fingered’ – isn’t that your English expression? Don’t worry, this is a completely secure line. Just tell Bernadette – she’s my cousin, by the way – who you want to delegate as your intermediary, and our intelligence people can do the rest. “Discretion is the better part of valour”, as Hamlet said –’

  ‘Falstaff.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘The quotation is from Falstaff, not Hamlet.’

  ‘Are you questioning my knowledge of Shakespeare and English culture?’

  Interesting, thought Matt, Monsieur le President has a sensitive side. Or perhaps it was just French pride.

  ‘Of course not, Jules, I wouldn’t dream of it. Your English is impeccable. Much better than mine.’

  In the stony silence that followed, Matt remembered too late that the French didn’t do irony.

  ‘There’s something you need to understand, Barker.’

  ‘Yes, Mr President,’ said Matt, a little too eagerly, although pleased at the reintroduction of a degree of formality.

  ‘We all know the London and the City are finished. You Anglo-Saxons have been living on borrowed time – the party’s over. Paris will return to her historical vocation as Europe’s cultural and financial centre. That is the modest price of my support for your campaign and likely victory. I will help you in other ways too. Is that clear?’

  Far from it, thought Matt, but he’d better keep up appearances.

  ‘I understand what you’re saying, even if I don’t -, ’

  ‘- One more thing. You should go to Brussels. We have to pretend that’s where all the decisions are taken nowadays. I’ve arranged everything for your visit - the President of the Commission has a proposal that might interest you. Our two countries have a great future together. I look forward to seeing you in Paris after the election. Come and have lunch – you may have heard t
hat we have an excellent cellar at the Elysee. I understand that you like the occasional drink? Please bring your lovely companion, she looks delightful. Au revoir, cher ami.’

  The call was over. Matt looked across at Bernadette and Sam, eyes rolling.

  ‘I thought that went very well,’ he forced himself to say. ‘What a remarkable man. Now let’s have a look at the diary. I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm to raise my international profile and squeeze in a trip to Brussels. We need to tell the Eurocrats a few home truths.’

  On their arrival in Brussels three days later at the Gare du Midi, two official cars took Matt and Bernadette to the Commission’s sprawling headquarters in the Berlaymont building. They were accompanied directly up to the 12th floor in a noiseless lift and ushered into the President’s office, which was the size of a small football pitch. Jean-Michel Schmidt greeted Matt with an unexpectedly exuberant bear hug. His welcome was so warm that Matt forgave him the unmistakeable smell on his breath. After all, Matt was not best qualified to throw stones …

  The four of them – Matt and Bernadette, Schmidt and Pierre Fanti, the President’s tall and bald-headed chef de cabinet - sank into plush leather armchairs. Matt declined the tempting offer of a glass of Chateau Petrus 2005. At four-thirty in the afternoon this was surely a joke or, more likely, an eccentric gesture of self-parody on Schmidt’s part.

  ‘A wonderful year, but sadly the wrong time of day,’ said Matt, trying a little Euro-schmoozing, much to the amusement of his host.

  Matt accepted coffee and two spicy speculoos biscuits instead.

  ‘Thank you for coming to see us at such short notice,’ said Schmidt. ‘May I express my admiration for your remarkable achievements so far. You’ve given us all hope. We’re on your side - the whole of Europe supports your movement for change and looks forward to your victory in the election. The EU and SOCA share the same values – fairness and prosperity for all in an open, inclusive society. A win for SOCA is a win for Europe. We look forward to welcoming England back to the continent.’

  Schmidt sounded as if he was reading out a pre-prepared script. Such sugary effusiveness was perhaps the usual way of starting a conversation in Brussels, but it wasn’t Matt’s style.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned,’ he replied, ‘England never left Europe. At heart the English people have always wanted to have good, constructive relations with our neighbours. We got into this mess because the people were lied to and betrayed by a small clique of nationalists, whose only concern was to further their own interests. Their refusal to recognise the disastrous consequences of leaving the EU, which were inevitable from the start, was the biggest con-trick ever played by a government on its people in England’s history.’

  Schmidt was beaming all over his face.

  ‘At last an English politician who understands the real world,’ he said. ‘We’ve been waiting a long time to hear those words.’

  ‘We’re only now seeing the full extent of the damage,’ Matt went on. ‘Once they realised the true facts of the situation, the vast majority of English people – or British as they were then known – had no desire for their country to leave the European Union. If we’re elected next week, on my first day in power I’ll propose the renewal of our membership, so that England can reclaim its natural place in Europe.’

  Schmidt grinned at him, his look of self-satisfaction tinged with mischief.

  ‘We’ll be delighted to welcome you back. You can count on the Commission to assist you every step of the way.’

  President Schmidt noisily crunched another speculoos.

  ‘Of course, as I’m sure you realise, there will be a price. Since you left, the cost of subscription to the club has gone up. But you mustn’t worry – I can offer you a special discount.’

  The room fell quiet. This didn’t sound too promising. Matt hadn’t come to Brussels to be patronised.

  ‘I thought it better that we should be straight with each other,’ Schmidt went on. ‘It seems to me we have a mutual interest. The European Union is attacked on all sides, and I myself am not in the best of health. I’m not sure which of us will expire first.’

  Schmidt stared fixedly at Matt, as if trying to gauge his reaction. Matt wondered whether this linking of geostrategic considerations with the state of his health was another of Schmidt’s elaborate jokes, or perhaps some kind of test? Matt decided to say nothing, and wait for Schmidt’s next move.

  ‘To be honest, I’ve never been particularly keen on you Brits. I never trusted you, and given what’s happened, history has probably proved me right.’

  This was a bit rich.

  ‘I haven’t come here to be – ’

  ‘ – don’t get flustered. Listen carefully to what I have to say.’

  The man had a nerve. Reluctantly, Matt let Schmidt continue.

  ‘This is hard for me. You’re probably too young to understand. As one gets closer to the end, there are moments of unusual clarity and lucidity. They tend not to last very long, but it’s important to grasp their meaning.’

  Matt found it hard to follow Schmidt’s train of thought. How much longer would he go on rambling?

  ‘I’ve recently come to realise – and as a devoted European this is one of the great ironies of my life – that a rejuvenated England represents Europe’s best hope for the future. England’s return, under your leadership, will bring new stability to our continent. It will show that the nationalists are on the run. In time, I even see you as a possible future successor. We will give you all the help you need.’

  Matt was not going to let himself be smothered in warm words.

  ‘I’m grateful for your support. I’m not looking for a job, and England isn’t asking for charity – we can look after ourselves.’

  Schmidt oozed out an extra drop of condescension.

  ‘You may be on course to win the election. But do you think your opponents are just going to stand aside and let you take over without a murmur of protest? I’ve got to know James Crouch well over the years. He’s not a man to give up without a fight. He still has powerful friends. That’s where I believe we can help you. Without Europe you cannot survive.’

  ‘What kind of help do you mean?’

  ‘Financial support to rebuild your cities. Generous grants to your young people under the EU’s Erasmus Plus programme. Plus a fast-track procedure for England to rejoin the Union. We can even send in the European Defence Force if you wish, to help keep the peace. Give me a call the morning after your election, and we can discuss your requirements.’

  Matt looked at Schmidt in horror. If ever word got out that Matt was negotiating the use of EU troops on English streets, he would be political toast. It was time for Matt to reassert himself and play the old man at his own game.

  ‘We’ll decide the terms of our return, not you,’ said Matt. ‘Europe needs fundamental change and reform.’

  Schmidt gave a little Gallic shrug, as if he had heard it all a thousand times before. Words alone meant nothing, he seemed to be saying. Ignoring the gesture, Matt delivered his coup de grace.

  ‘I mean what I say. I shall tell the press that, as a condition for our return, I’ll call for your resignation.’

  Instead of looking mortified, Schmidt’s eyes twinkled, even reassured.

  ‘Perfidious Albion again – some things never change. I’m impressed by your political skills, Mr Barker, but I have to disappoint you. Many have tried to threaten me over the years. It’s never worked – as you see, I’m still here. If it wasn’t for my health, sometimes I think I’ll stay in this job for the rest of my life. Don’t get too full of yourself – it didn’t work for your country in the past, and it won’t work now. Europe is bigger than all of us. Pierre will see you out.’

  Schmidt held out his hand, which was slightly shaking.

  ‘I stand by every word I said. Good luck on Thursday.’

  By the time they reached St Pancras, the news was out. A large scrum of jostling journalists and camera crews
waited at Arrivals. As soon as they spotted Matt, they began shouting out their questions.

  ‘Are you taking us back to Europe? … Did Schmidt agree to resign? …How much did you agree to pay? …’

  Bernadette had had a word with Emily Marshall on the phone from the train, giving her some exclusive background about the meeting with Schmidt and promising her preferential treatment. She discreetly steered Matt in her direction, making it look spontaneous. The security detail cleared a narrow space as Matt spoke into the BBC microphone.

  ‘England’s destiny is to play a leading part in Europe. The failure of the outgoing government to engage with Europe was a betrayal of the national interest. I told President Schmidt that the EU has to change and finally become accountable, and he has to consider his position. If the terms are right, I’ll propose that England should rejoin the European Union. Our return is long overdue – and it’s what the people want.’

  ‘Have you had any reaction from other European leaders?’ asked Emily Marshall.

  ‘President Masson of France fully supports my position. As does, naturally, the Irish Taoiseach. I’ll be speaking to the German Chancellor later this evening.’

  ‘Do they consider you a government-in-waiting?’

  ‘They won’t have to wait much longer, Emily. Thank you everybody and good night.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Four days before polling day, James Crouch walked behind his security detail along the long underground passage that led from Downing Street to the War Room – a nuclear bunker deep under Admiralty Arch. He was having an animated conversation with Giles Penfold. The meeting was due to start in five minutes, and they still hadn’t decided on the best strategy for achieving Crouch’s objective. Penfold wasn’t being much help.