‘I shall not identify them,’ Goodfellowe responded. ‘Since I cannot as yet prove this matter in court, I will not mimic the practices of the press by naming people without hard evidence.’
In the gallery, Corsa released his grip on the wooden balustrade and threw himself back into his seat like a bowstring from which the tension had been released. Around the House, some Members began to scoff and mutter that it all amounted to nothing more than limp accusation and privileged posturing. ‘He dreamed it up over his breakfast,’ Breedon was claiming for all to hear. To start upon the act of love is always a step into the unknown, to withdraw at the peak of expectation is a leap towards certain oblivion. It was time for Goodfellowe to seize the moment once more. Time to take the gamble.
‘Madam Speaker, the House will be aware that these matters have been of great concern to me for some time. That is why I urged in Committee that Members record every financial contact with the press – not that I believed any of them would bow to pressure, but simply because I knew there was a possibility that such pressure might be exerted. I wanted to gather as much evidence as possible.’
‘You haven’t got any,’ Breedon was barking.
‘It was always going to be difficult to prove these allegations, since we are dealing not just with money, but also with the motivations for giving it. But the House will understand that I felt I had to try.’
Goodfellowe was looking directly at Lillicrap, who seemed about to melt. He could gather enough circumstantial evidence to ruin the Whip in Parliament, but not to prove criminal misdoing on his part, even less on the part of Corsa. Yet ruining Lillicrap might be the only measure of justice he could guarantee. On the other hand …
‘It is not my word alone that I ask the House to accept. Firm evidence was always going to be difficult to obtain, which is why at every step of the way I have consulted with and taken guidance from my Honourable Friend, the Committee Whip.’
As one sentient creature, the House turned to Lillicrap.
‘It was his view, Madam Speaker, that the allegations were so serious, and might have involved other Members in allegations of corruption, that absolutely no one else should be informed. He decided that the business of the Committee should continue as normal while I tried to obtain documentary evidence. In that effort, sadly, we have failed. But my Honourable Friend has been aware of the bribery and blackmail which has been aimed at me. He will be able to confirm everything I have said today.’
The figure of Lillicrap now commanded the collective attention. His head had been buried in his hands in a manner most took to be studied concentration. Now the head came up, his features set grim but with a flush of hope filling his cheeks. He was alive. The trapdoor was still in place. There was a way out, a chance of reprieve. He straightened himself in his seat. As though his life depended on it, and very slowly, he nodded in agreement.
The House expelled its breath in a moment of most extraordinary passion.
‘It is possible, Madam Speaker, that we shall never be able to bring these matters to court. But in the light of what I have revealed, I must ask the House not to approve this Bill today. It should wait until the next parliamentary session for calmer and, dare I say it, less corruptible consideration. The inconveniences of delaying a year are far outweighed by the penalties of proceeding. The public, and I hope the House, will demand a pause for thought. I ask, through you Madam Speaker, that this Bill be buried.’
Exhausted, feeling spent, he resumed his seat. He could feel the sweat trickling down the small of his back. Had he been a smoker he would have reached for a cigarette.
Cautiously the House came back to life, moving its limbs slowly, stretching, saddened that it was over, knowing this had been an experience that was unlikely to be repeated for a very long time. Even Madam Speaker spoke with a sigh.
‘That was the most extraordinary Point of Order I think I shall ever witness. In light of what has been said, may I ask the Minister what his intentions are?’
The Government Front Bench looked bemused. Both Minister and Prime Minister were looking pale, drawn, like witnesses of some awful assault, but now they set to conferring, with Lillicrap’s head nodding in a sustained fashion. They were all agreed. Moments later the Prime Minister was pushing his reluctant colleague forward towards the Dispatch Box.
‘In light of the very serious allegations made by my Honourable Friend, the Member for Marshwood,’ the Minister began, ‘I believe we will need to consider afresh how best to proceed, indeed whether we should proceed, with the Bill at this time.’
There were formalities to pursue, other Cabinet colleagues to consult, but the exercise was academic. The Prime Minister was already shaking his head in surrender.
‘With your permission, Madam Speaker, I beg to move that the House do now adjourn.’
They had no choice. They could not continue. The debate was over. The Bill was dead.
And so was Corsa. The bankers were already hammering at his door, the Fraud Squad would not be far behind. Goodfellowe glanced up into the gallery. Diane Burston had gone, and with her the support of the consortium. Corsa sat on his own, abandoned. He was looking directly at Goodfellowe. Their eyes met and fixed. Not even Corsa was able to muster a smile, but with what Goodfellowe later considered to be surprising grace, the pressman began silently to applaud.
A few minutes later as he left the Chamber, Goodfellowe noticed for the first time that his shoes were no longer painful. How things change, he reflected. The House was still in turmoil and he thrust aside the outstretched arms and the questions, too exhausted to respond, but as he passed behind the Speaker’s Chair he was grabbed by Lillicrap who hustled him into the toilet at the back of the voting lobby. The Whip stood with his back to the door, his arms spread, barring entrance to anyone else.
‘What do we do now?’ Lillicrap all but pleaded.
‘Get our stories straight. You know most of the details anyway. We’ll meet tomorrow. Breakfast. At the Ritz. Your treat.’
‘But Corsa will kill me!’
‘Only by killing himself, and I doubt if he’ll bother. I’ll bet there are far too many alligators circling in his swamp for him to be concerned with small fry.’
‘You saved me,’ Lillicrap whispered gratefully.
‘But the Chief Whip won’t. He’ll skin you alive because he thinks you’ve been holding out on him. Keeping secrets. You’ll be out of a job. It’s still better than you deserve.’
Lillicrap was all but sobbing. ‘I’ll be back. After the election. Don’t you worry.’ With that he rushed to the basin to bathe his face and burning eyes.
Goodfellowe walked away, driven by saddening memories of friendships past mixed with a nausea of cold contempt. His strides were confident now, full of renewed purpose as he passed along the panelled corridors, feeling once again as though he belonged, that he was part of it all. Then he pulled himself up sharply. No, that wouldn’t do, slipping back into the old ways. Getting sucked dry by ambition and disappointment. He had become something of an outsider, a pain in the collective butt, and he rather enjoyed it. Perhaps it was better that way.
Sam and Mickey were waiting for him in his office. They had watched the proceedings on the closed-circuit monitor.
‘As a reception committee this is somewhat … small. But very welcome.’ He held his arms out wide and Mickey reached up to embrace him. Sam kept her distance, smiling reproachfully, deliberately coy.
‘Daddy, weren’t you telling a few lies in there about poor Mr Lillicrap? What sort of example is that to a young girl?’
‘A father never lies. Let us say I was merely redistributing the truth. A little unevenly, perhaps. But very fairly.’
‘You took a hell of a risk,’ Mickey interjected. ‘What if he had denied it?’
‘Offer a drowning man your hand and he’ll accept, even if it costs him a kick in the teeth as you drag him out. It was either that or Lionel knew I would push him under. It concentrated his loyalties
wonderfully. Anyway, I had no choice. Without him I could prove nothing against Corsa directly, my word against his.’
‘There’ll be one almighty stink.’
‘An inquiry, no doubt, but it’s like a game of blind man’s buff. No one will be sure who they’ll bump into. So interest will fade in the run-up to an election, they’ll accept my word but say that firm evidence is lacking. They will issue a ringing call for sobriety and motherhood and insist on due care in accepting money from the media, then forget it while they all go poaching for editorial support and wondering why Freddy Corsa has disappeared from the scene.’
‘A measure of justice, at least,’ Sam suggested.
‘Perhaps. But I can’t help thinking of Jya-Yu. I feel I’ve let her down so badly, dragging her onto the front pages. I’ve never been able to get her on the phone, to apologize. And her uncle was furious. He would barely talk to me.’
Mickey began to laugh, clapping her hands. ‘Wrong again, Goodfellowe. She returned your call this morning. She escaped from it all in Hong Kong but now she’s back and she’s fine. So is her uncle. He’s not angry. He couldn’t speak because he was rushed off his feet. Since the Herald article was printed he’s been fighting off the crowds. Apparently they all think you’re on tiger bone.’
‘I shall recommend it for the entire Cabinet.’
‘But what about you, Daddy? Do you think they’ll be grateful? Make you a Minister again?’
He shook his head. ‘Gratitude isn’t one of the great foundations of politics. Anyway, I don’t want that any more. I may be a mere backbencher, but I think I’ve shown there’s some fun to be had. I don’t want to be Prime Minister. And the press would never allow it.’
‘But why, Daddy?’
‘Because my name is far too long for headline writers. Eleven letters. Goes on forever. I’d have the longest Prime Ministerial name since … since Neville Bloody Chamberlain, and a fine mess he got us into.’
Sam looked puzzled, greatly concerned, until he burst into laughter.
‘You’re impossible!’ she shouted, and at last she was in his arms.
‘Thanks for caring. But truly I want other things. I want a life. I want you, Sam.’
Her hug was enormous. ‘And I want to celebrate,’ she exclaimed. ‘Can we?’
‘Let’s all three of us go out to dinner tonight,’ he suggested.
‘Anywhere special?’
‘Perhaps.’ He paused, as if it were the most difficult decision of his day. ‘Mickey, at the risk of doing too much damage to your manicure, pick up the telephone and give The Kremlin a call. Ask if they will accept a booking. In the name of Goodfellowe.’
About the Author
GOODFELLOWE MP
Michael Dobbs was at Mrs Thatcher’s side as she took her first step into Downing Street as Prime Minister, and was a key aide to John Major when he was voted out. In between times he was bombed in Brighton, banished from Chequers and blamed for failing to secure a Blair-Major television debate. He is now one of the country’s leading political commentators.
Also by the Author
The Edge of Madness
The Lord’s Day
Never Surrender
Churchill’s Hour
Churchill’s Triumph
First Lady
Winston’s War
Whispers of Betrayal
The Buddha of Brewer Street
The Final Cut
The Touch of Innocents
To Play the King
Last Man to Die
Wall Games
House of Cards
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
Harper
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This edition 2008
First published in Great Britain by
HarperCollinsPublishers 1998
Copyright © Michael Dobbs 1998
Michael Dobbs asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
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available from the British Library
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