by E J Greenway
Table of Contents
Party Games
Dedication
Biographies
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
About the Author
Party Games
E J Greenway
Dedication
In memory of my late grandfather, Walter Greenway, who tirelessly read and, I hope, enjoyed my many stories over the years.
Any similarity between real-life events and the fictional events in this novel are pure coincidence. Mostly.
Biographies
Taken from the London Evening Chronicle guide to ‘who’s who’ in the House of Commons, following the 2012 General Election and Conservative Party leadership election:
RICHMOND, Rt Hon. Rodney George
Born 5 Nov 1973; son of George and Mary Richmond (both deceased)
MP (C) Winchester since 2007; Leader of the Conservative Party and Leader of the Opposition since 2012
Education: Bristol University (BA Hons, Politics)
Career: BBC Radio Bristol,1995-1997; BBC Radio 4,1997-1999; ITN,1999-2003; Daily Bulletin, 2003-2007 (Political Editor from 2005); Foreign Affairs Select Committee, 2009-2010; PPS to the Prime Minister, 2010-2012
Recreations: Reading, films, jogging
SCOTT, Colin Christopher
Born: 15 Jan 1967; son of Crispin (deceased) and Elizabeth Scott; married 1988, Alice Smith (deceased)
MP (C) Romsey since 2002; Deputy Leader of the Conservative Party since 2012
Education: Balliol College, Oxford (1st cl. Hons. PPE; MSc. Economics)
Career: Founder, Forward Thinking (think tank) 1988-1990; Conservative Research Department, 1990-1995; Head of No 10 Policy Unit, 1995-1999; County Councillor (Romsey), 1999-2002; Treasury Select Committee 2004-2009; Financial Secretary to the Treasury, 2009-2012
Publications: Forward Thinking for a New Generation, 1989; Economics of the Conservative Right, 2003
Recreations: Cooking, classical music
CHEESER, Jeremy Francis
Born 12 Feb 1970; son of Marcus and Shirley Cheeser; married 1994, Linda Watson; one son
MP (C) Wensleydale and North Dales since 2010 (by-election); Chairman of the Conservative Party since 2012
Education: Balliol College, Oxford (1st cl. Hons. PPE)
Career: Dods, 1992-1994; Conservative Research Department, 1994-1998; BBC Breakfast News, 1998-2001; Producer, Sky News, 2001-2005; consultant 2005-2010
Recreations: Spending time with family, tennis, cricket, running
Clubs: Wensleydale Tennis Club
RIVERS, Rt Hon. Tristan Zachary
Born 20 June 1966; son of Bernard and Carol Rivers; married 2000, Nicole O’Donaghue; one son
MP (C) Shrewsbury since 2007; Shadow Parliamentary Secretary to HM Treasury (Opposition Chief Whip) since 2012
Education: Durham University (BSc Hons. Economics)
Career: Assistant to Independent Financial Advisor, 1987-1989; Business Consultant, Deloitte, 1990-1992; Business Analyst, Citigroup 1992-1994; Financial Officer Citigroup 1994-1997, Senior Project Manager, HSBC, 1997-2000; Chief Financial Officer Citigroup 2000-2006; Public Accounts Select Committee 2009-12
Recreations: Working out, music
CULVERHOUSE, Anthea Rachel
Born 22 Sept 1976; daughter of Geoffrey (deceased) and Rachel Culverhouse
MP (C) Poole since 2007; Shadow Secretary of State for Devolved and Constitutional Affairs since 2012
Education: Warwick University (1st cl. Hons. History)
Career: Research Assistant, London Assembly, 1997-1999; Parliamentary Officer, NFU 1999-2001; Senior Adviser to Conservative Group, Poole Borough Council, 2001-2005; Poole Borough Councillor 2005-2006; Foreign Affairs Select Committee 2010-12
Recreations: Travel, music, reading
One
Before he knew what was happening, a deafening sound rang out and an indescribable agony surged through his exhausted body. There may have been two, maybe three shots, he didn’t know, wasn’t sure...he couldn’t see around him, who else was hurt, but he felt himself fall to the floor, hitting his head hard on the corner of his desk. There were voices; faint, incoherent, male and female all competing in short, sharp sentences, their words a jumble of sounds amongst panic. He tried to move, to react to the noise around him, but he had no idea how to even open his eyes. As the voices grew ever more distant, the agony in every inch of his body, spreading down from a fierce ache in his head, made him want to scream out to force them to understand. To understand...but understand what? He couldn’t think coherently. His limbs – could he feel them?
He felt sudden remorse for the imperfections in his life, how he had treated those close to him, how they had treated him. Would he be missed? Would he be mourned? Would she have regrets?
Darkness began to descend over his jumble of thoughts and it occurred to him he must be slipping into a coma. Perhaps he was dying – this was what it felt like, no bright light guiding you towards eternal life but instead trapping you within a fading mind as death swamped your senses and finally took you from the world. Pain gripped him but he was unable to respond. Death could only be a relief. After a moment all the feeling he had within him began to drift away and he no longer felt scared.
Then he felt nothing.
Monday, two weeks, three days earlier
“Yes, I’m keeping an eye on him, although I must say, he’s rather been behaving himself lately. Nothing too...untoward, shall we say.” The Leader of Her Majesty’s Loyal Opposition, the Right Honourable Rodney Richmond MP, cast a glance at the clock. Must wind up the call.
A small tap on his office door gave him the excuse he sought. Rodney’s Press Secretary, Clare Shaw, pursed her lips as she entered.
“Rodney, they’re ready.” She whispered, as if keeping her voice quiet would disturb him less.
Rodney ended the call with his predecessor, and mentor, with the usual exchange of pleasantries. He had told the old man what he needed to know, anything else was superfluous. Throwing on his suit jacket, he followed Clare through to the adjoining suite. Another day, another interview. He had become accustomed to such variety in his day, but, occasionally, he wished he were miles away. Long interviews made him feel uncomfortable, especially if they delved too much into his private life. All that ‘touchy-feely’ stuff wasn’t really his style, but he had been told by those around him that he carried off such style ‘beautifully’.
“Right.” Clare said, waving a clipboard in one hand, BlackBerry firmly in the other. “D’you think we’ve run through this enough times? I mean, I’ve told Wood that he can’t pull his usual stunt of changing his questioning, and there will be a break after ten minutes. He might try to stretch out Cornish devolution.”
Rodney straightened his tie and ran his hand over the back of his dark brown locks. “Right, it’ll be fine Clare, don’t worry.” He knew the interviewer, Graham Wood, well; they had worked together in his early days at ITN before Rodney moved to the Daily Bulletin. He sometimes wondered if he may have had risen to Wood’s job as political editor of ITN had he stayed in his original profession.
“Have you seen Deborah or is she still doing battle with Number 10?” Rodney asked Clare, glancing around hopefully. He sucked in his stomach, running his thumbs
around the waistline of his trousers. He considered momentarily that perhaps he should take up jogging again, but he noticed that, even in such austere financial times, one of his staff had bought a large box of pink doughnuts covered in chocolate sprinkles. That was just the sort of sugar rush he would need to get him through the afternoon in the House of Commons.
“I’m here.” A breathless voice rang out, stopping Rodney before he could walk over to the bored-looking film crew. Wood was shouting determinedly down a mobile phone.
“What’ve you got for me?” Rodney asked quietly as his Chief of Staff, Deborah, took him aside. Clare pulled her folder tightly into her chest, a look of annoyance across her young face.
“Looks like we may get a statement in the House after all, we’ll probably know by the time you break.” Deborah muttered, glancing over her shoulder to where Clare was looking irritable. “Oh, and reshuffles are...”
“Off limits. I know, Debs.” Rodney sighed. Sometimes she made him feel like he was a child being chastised by his mother. “Keep tight-lipped, but smile none-the-less. They’re all doing a brilliant job.”
“Including Rivers.” Deborah added. She bent her head to gauge the readiness of the crew. Wood had ended his call and was busily tapping into his iPad; Richmond’s press officers would already be checking his tweets.
Rodney’s expression soured. “Quite.”
The reporter was suddenly looming by his shoulder. Forcing a grin, Rodney turned and stretched out his hand, taking the journalist’s in a firm show of greeting. “Ah, Graham! It’s been a while.”
“It certainly has.” Wood replied with a smile. He signalled to Rodney to sit, and before he could even make himself comfortable he was wired up and smothered in face powder. “Right, well we’ve a lot to get through. I’ll be gentle, I promise.” Wood’s second smile suddenly felt to Rodney to be far more insincere, but that was the nature of the journalistic beast. It wasn’t personal. Well, not yet anyway.
“Mr. Richmond, first may I thank you for agreeing to such a frank and detailed interview. It has been two weeks since your second party conference as Tory Leader and over a year since you comfortably saw off your then rival and now deputy Colin Scott, yet it would appear that the British electorate still don’t know much about you, the man who hopes to be walking into Number 10 in a few years time. You have been described as ‘intensely private’, but some may say we should know as much as possible about who we have elected. Would you agree with that?”
Rodney bit his bottom lip. Clare had told him on more than one occasion to break that awful habit, and if he had looked up over Wood’s shoulder he might have seen her at the back of the room shaking her head.
“Well, firstly, I like my privacy just as much as anybody does. I have a life outside politics, my own private interests, and I don’t think my family should be the subject of public scrutiny.”
Wood nodded, yet appeared unconvinced. “But do you agree that personality matters in politics just as much as policy? Or maybe even more? You were hardly in the public eye before you beat Colin Scott for the leadership, even though he had a relatively high profile.”
“I certainly believe personality is important in politics, as this plays a huge part in policy. One’s own experiences and judgements determine what one sees as important, what needs changing for the better and where government should mind its own business. Who we are as people - our convictions and morals - form the very basis of policy development and underpin our whole democracy. ”
“Tell me about your childhood, your life even before journalism. You were a bit of a child prodigy were you not? Didn’t you want to be a farmer at one point?”
Rodney chuckled, scratching his brow. “Well yes, I did want to be a farmer. I don’t think my mother was too pleased when I announced I was off to study agriculture, especially when I had done so well at school. But I never was one for doing what other people tell me to do. I think my decision had been based more on rebellion than anything, but instead of going into teaching like my parents I switched to read politics and journalism at Bristol, where I found my niche.”
“Ok, moving on to talking about today’s Rodney Richmond. You have been described by a recent editorial in the London Chronicle as ‘possessing charm, potential ‘voter appeal’ and sharp political instinct’. Do you think that was what won you the leadership election?”
Rodney felt himself blushing through his thick layer of face powder. “Well, I can’t really speak for my colleagues and the party at large who voted for me, but I like to think that I am able to detect public mood and what concerns voters in this country and act on this with development of responsible, practical policies.”
“And would you say that you haven’t much of a tough shell, that you can’t take criticism from your colleagues, or would you describe yourself of a bit of a bruiser?”
Rodney cringed inside. A bruiser? Wood wanted him to be either a poodle or a pit-bull terrier, but he considered himself neither. “Well, like all politicians, I’m only human, I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t affected when people criticise me in public. With regards to my colleagues, I have always said that my door is open for those with anything they wish to discuss with me. I like to think I have ‘open leadership’, there is much talent within the Parliamentary Party and sadly I can’t squeeze all of it into the Shadow Cabinet, so constant feedback is vitally important to me.”
“Talking of your Shadow Cabinet,” Wood began, his forthright, professional tone the antithesis of the mischievous glint in his eye. “Any hints on when we could expect your long-awaited reshuffle?”
Rodney chuckled. Wood knew the rules. “Come on, Graham, you can’t expect me to say anything about that.”
Wood pushed. “So you’re still deciding?”
Rodney simply smiled. It was the tell-tale signal that of course he had decided, but the journalist would have to wait along with everyone else. It was a waste of a question, but Wood had been duty-bound to ask, of course.
“Who would you say is your political hero?”
Now this was something Rodney could answer. He changed his secretive smile to his assuring one. “My political hero would have to be Edmund Burke. He spoke of continuity and stability, but also of pragmatism. Burke once wrote ‘circumstances give, in reality, to every political principle its distinguishing colour and discriminating effect’. I like to think of myself as a pragmatic politician, ready to adapt to circumstances rather than expecting them to adapt to my principles.”
Wood shifted in his chair, putting pen to paper. Another tick. “Moving on to Cornish devolution, Mr Richmond, considering your personal interest in it, do you see it as an issue which reflects over the whole country…”
Clare coughed loudly directly behind Wood. Filming suddenly cut out and the journalist twisted round, his expression furrowed in annoyance. It was still two minutes off the ten minute break.
“I’m sorry.” Clare said, stepping towards the leader. Rodney indicated to the technicians to remove his microphone. “You can have him back later today, four o’clock’s not too late is it?”
Wood frowned, but his tone was amicable. “No, that’s fine, we’ve still got a lot to get through but I’m sure we can rattle through it. Statement from the PM, is it?”
“Yes, it is Graham.” Rodney cut in as he rose to his feet. Deborah was over by the door, glancing pointedly at her watch. “We’ve been asking for it long enough, you can always report it as a bit of a victory for us if you like.”
Wood grinned knowingly as Rodney patted him firmly on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later then Graham, once I’ve slaughtered the PM in the Chamber.” The Party Leader snatched up the remaining doughnut, and with his entourage, marched with significant purpose from the room.
*****
Sat in his modern Parliamentary office in Portcullis House, shrouded in semi-darkness, Colin Scott, the Honourable Member for Romsey and Deputy Leader of the Conservative Party, poured himself a tripl
e shot. He hated Mondays. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, he didn’t hate Mondays, as it meant he could finally get away from the drudgery of a weekend down in the constituency. Tonight, however, he had to stay late to vote, and was in a terrible mood. Not that the impotent Chief Whip, Tristan Rivers, would have noticed if the whole of the Parliamentary Party had gone to the Red Lion pub instead of the ‘no’ lobby.
Colin had been invited, through guilty politeness, for a drink by two of his Shadow Cabinet colleagues but he had declined after pretending to give it thought. They could watch the interview with the appallingly sycophantic Graham Wood from the bar if they liked, surrounded by colleagues praising their glorious leader’s skills on camera, but Colin wanted to savour it alone. That way, if he felt the urge to punch the wall, it wouldn’t find its way into that gutter rag The Morning Engager.
Colin’s gaze drifted down to the business card playing between his fingers. One phone call and it would all begin to fall nicely into place.
He had to admit, Richmond came across quite well. Handsome, with a natural confidence, Richmond oozed charm. He was busy doing his ‘human’ bit and he certainly looked the part – but then again, Colin thought in annoyance, he always did. Edmund Burke. Very smooth. The leader had learnt his lines well. Still, everyone knew Wood to be the easiest interview around. Wood was gently massaging Richmond’s ego again, asking him about girlfriends. Who bloody cares?
Colin sank back into his green easy chair and focussed his gaze on his whisky bottle. He gripped its neck until his knuckles turned white – if he screwed the lid back on and stuffed it back in his drawer then he wouldn’t have to slip into drunken unconsciousness.
The questioning turned to the Deputy’s least favourite subject – Cornish devolution and the forthcoming Bill in the Commons. For some inexplicable reason Richmond had attached himself to the issue like a limpet to a rock, as if it would save his leadership from drifting out to sea with the political tide. Colin saw it as unimportant, to the electorate at least. It was a selfish political manoeuvre. A man like Colin Scott was all in favour of manoeuvring of the most self-obsessed kind, but he didn’t think it wise to put the party’s fortunes on the line. He had been telling Richmond that for months, but he felt his opinion, and his ‘job’, mattered little.