Emily wasn’t sure about that. ‘Did you really not mind Alan standing for PM?’ she asked incredulously.
‘Of course not,’ exclaimed Miriam. ‘It would have been hell of course, but Alan wanted it more than anything. I am only sad that he ran out of time … He had so much else he wanted to do …’
Emily was humbled. Miriam was truly a saint. Mind you, she qualified, at least her children were well into their twenties so she could reassure herself their father’s career was not radically altering the course of their childhood like poor Tash and Alfie. She suddenly and overwhelmingly missed them both. They must be having a grim time with Mama Pemilly.
Keen to rescue them, she looked around for Ralph so she could tell him she was leaving. He was gone. Wandering out into the corridor, she glanced into an ante-room.
There he was, with Susie, the two of them, facing each other and framed by the doorway, as if posed there. Susie laughed fondly and raised her hand to straighten his tie, giving him a little pat when she finished. Emily cleared her throat to call him, but changed her mind. Instead, she turned on her heel and headed for the fire exit in the other direction. Pushing through the door, she was thinking mainly of how she would be able to remove her shoes and have a cup of tea. Rounding the corner, she gasped to be confronted by the phalanx of journalists who were previously haunting the entrance of the Abbey.
‘Mrs Pemilly!’ shouted several of them, clutching microphones and notepads.
‘Emily!’ yelled the photographers, ‘Look over here.’
‘How do you feel about your husband standing for PM?’
‘Do you think the country will accept him?’ asked another.
‘Dead man’s shoes, isn’t it?’ needled one bullying voice.
‘I really can’t – no – no comment,’ stumbled Emily, before remembering that the image consultants told her never, never, to say “no comment” because it sounded as if there was something to hide.
‘What is your husband doing now?’ said one. ‘Why is he not with you?’
‘Bloody good question,’ muttered Emily, a little too loudly, before a hand grabbed her elbow firmly.
‘Come on you,’ said Matt. ‘Back in your box before you single-handedly change the course of the democratic process in a way your husband would not approve of.’
He hustled her down the street, putting his own broad back between her and the camera lenses. The door of the car opened as they approached and he more or less shoved her into the back seat, making to slam the door.
‘Wait,’ she said, putting out her arm, ‘Aren’t you coming with me?’
‘Work to do,’ he explained. ‘Take care, Emily,’ he added, as he closed the door and gestured for the driver to go.
She craned her head to look behind and saw him staring after her with an unreadable expression on his face.
Barely an hour later Matt was relaxing, or seeming to, whilst sitting opposite Susie in the bar of a discreet West End hotel. No venue near Westminster or the Docklands was suitable, with either parliamentary or media contacts likely to spot and report the liaison.
He had begun to think the meeting might never take place. After her text to him, Susie had cancelled twice before finally agreeing, in a rush, to meet after the funeral. Even then he had half expected her not to show up.
Her make-up was freshly applied, he noticed, and she was clearly self-conscious, sitting with legs elegantly crossed to show them off to best effect. He also noted how her coffee cup rattled as she replaced it in the saucer, and perspiration stained the underarms of her impeccably tailored dark grey dress which was both suitably formal for the funeral and sufficiently close-fitting to show off Susie’s slim figure.
‘So,’ he said, after the obligatory few minutes of chit chat, ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
At this, Susie threw him a nervous glance and wrapped her arms around herself as if she was suddenly cold.
‘You’re a respected journalist.’
He nodded, not demurring.
‘I mean, I wouldn’t disclose this to just anyone …’ she continued in a rush. ‘It’s just that – well – I probably shouldn’t say anything …’
‘And yet,’ Matt said acerbically, ‘you clearly intend to.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Susie, chastened.
‘It’s about Ralph?’ he queried.
Susie nodded.
‘And the fact that you are having an affair with him?’
She gasped.
‘Well, you are, aren’t you?’
There was a pause. And then she nodded, hanging her head.
‘And you want it to get out?’
She stared at her hands, which were now folded in her lap. A flush had risen from her neck, staining her face. She made no sign she had heard.
‘Why?’ continued Matt.
‘Sorry?’
‘Well,’ he said, stifling impatience. ‘You haven’t brought me here purely to drink some of the worst coffee I’ve ever had so I’m assuming you want me – a journalist – to acknowledge, nay, announce to the world, the blindingly obvious fact that you and Ralph Pemilly are having an affair. Naturally enough I’m keen to know what you expect to gain from it?’
‘It’s in the public interest,’ she muttered, still looking at her hands.
‘Well, the “public” are certainly going to be mightily “interested”,’ acknowledged. Matt, ‘but I’m not sure that’s quite what you mean.’
‘Ralph and I …’ Susie continued. ‘It’s important …’ she waved her hand, helplessly. ‘People need to know that we …’ she fell silent.
‘Do you want to de-rail his election chances?’ asked Matt.
‘No!’ Susie shook her head, vigorously.
‘You don’t?’
‘Absolutely not. Ralph will make a fantastic Prime Minister, it’s what I’ve always wanted for him … he’ll need me, of course …’ Susie’s eyes stared at the middle distance, a film strip clearly playing in front of her eyes, Ralph at the podium, acknowledging the electorate’s decision, Susie standing to his right, perhaps he would turn and meet her eye, put his arm around her shoulders and bring her forward …
Matt regarded her with pity and the beginnings of understanding. ‘Did you tell him you were coming to see me?’
‘God, no,’ she admitted. ‘He’d be furious.’
‘Would he?’
‘Absolutely. He keeps telling me – we need to wait, bide our time … but I’m tired of it. Now, more than ever, he needs me to be – well – with him. Properly, I mean.’
‘And the small matter that he’s married?’
‘Well,’ said Susie with a dismissive laugh, ‘obviously that wasn’t his best decision was it? I mean Mrs P’s lovely and all that but, really …’ she caught Matt’s suddenly fierce expression and petered out.
There was a small silence.
‘I’m just saying …’ Susie continued, sulkily, avoiding Matt’s gaze. ‘She doesn’t “get it”. She doesn’t “get” how things work, how things need to look. How they need to be. Honestly!’ she exclaimed throwing her hands in the air, ‘as I always say, it’s like herding cats getting people to behave. That’s politics. Ralph always says I’m a natural. He says I’m his “secret weapon”.’ She tailed off, giving Matt a beseeching look, willing him to understand. ‘I just don’t see why I should be a “secret weapon” forever …’
Matt regarded her dispassionately. She was Ralph’s creature alright – a party political animal through and through. And she was quite an operator, he had seen that for himself at the funeral. With her savvy she was gold dust to Ralph and his career ambitions. She also had the capacity to damage him disastrously and her misguided determination to bring their true relationship out into the open now would horrify him, as Susie herself admitted. Mind you, Matt reminded himself, he didn’t owe Ralph anything. Far from it. And there was nothing he wanted more than to challenge Emily’s disastrous marriage choice.
But surely Susie realised the media fren
zy that would result would damage her more than she could possibly imagine, sitting there with such misguided zeal to reveal the truth at any cost.
Matt sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m making no promises as to when, or if, or where I’ll use it. But you’d better tell me whatever it is you want to tell me.’
Later, in his flat, he reviewed his notes. Far from being pleased to see how hollow Ralph and Emily’s marriage had become, he found himself clenching his teeth in fury at how misguided her loyalty to her husband actually was. He may be a good politician, he may even be a good father, but he wasn’t the husband Emily thought he was. And that made Matt angry.
As for how – or if – to use it? Well, he reasoned, the article he was commissioned to write wouldn’t be coming out until after the election and – by then – hopefully any pressure on Emily would be less intense. Seeing how fragile she was, how distressed when he challenged her the other evening … he was worried she wouldn’t cope with it going public now. That said, he had a number of contacts who would be more than happy to use the material straight away and would also be more than happy to pay the source. Morally, he should at least tell his editor, Mike. On the other hand, Susie was such a loose cannon he strongly suspected the story would leak out soon enough, with or without his help, in which case, allowing himself to be scooped by his rivals would earn him a right royal bollocking, or even a sacking …
He ran his fingers through his hair and massaged his aching temples with no effect on his headache whatsoever.
Checking his watch, he sighed, picked up the phone and dialled.
Chapter Nine
Unusually, it was not Susie but Ralph who phoned to summon Emily to the offices in Westminster. Stopping only to make sure Nessa could collect the children after school and keep them with her for as long as it took, Emily hopped on the train. Usually train travel gave her time to daydream, but today she was tense, her heart pounding and her palms clammy with a nameless fear.
Also oddly, Susie wasn’t in her usual place in the outer office. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought as she pushed open the door to the meeting room.
‘Ah, Emily,’ Ralph said. He managed to give her a peck on the cheek without looking at her face.
‘Gerald you know, I think.’ He gestured at pinstripe man, who she hadn’t seen since his meeting with her and Nessa three weeks before. It felt like years ago.
‘Hello, Emily,’ Gerald smiled thinly and gestured for her to take a seat.
‘Coffee darling?’ offered Ralph. Now this was really weird. When he mentioned coffee it was invariably a request, not an offer. In addition, Susie was usually around, simpering and fiddling with cups and coffee papers.
‘Where’s Susie?’ she asked.
Ralph ran a finger around the inside of his collar as if it was suddenly too tight. ‘She’s taking a bit of a break at the moment,’ he said, obliquely.
‘Funny time to take a holiday with the election two weeks off,’ she observed.
There was an uncomfortable pause.
‘Emily,’ said Gerald so suddenly he made her jump. He was leaning forward in his chair and looking remarkably animated.
‘Gerald,’ she replied, matching his tone.
‘The truth is,’ he continued, ‘we have had to call you in today because we have a bit of a …’ he paused, ‘well … a bit of a media relations situation.’
He glanced at Ralph and then back at her. ‘The journalist tracking you all – Matt Morley – he’s got hold of a story we don’t want out there. We’ve persuaded him to hold off on running with it, but we need you to back us up.’
Her mind raced. Surely he hadn’t told them about their past relationship. Why would he want to do that? She failed to see how his editor would be interested in the previous love life of the would-be PM’s wife. And anyway, she reasoned, telling everyone about how it ended would make him, Matt, look like a complete worm and she couldn’t imagine why he would do that.
She became aware that both the men were watching her oddly, the scurrying thoughts in her head clearly visible on her face.
‘Sorry, what was the question?’
‘I – er – we were just saying,’ stuttered Gerald, glancing at Ralph again, ‘that he has made an undertaking to keep the story under his hat.’
‘Right, good,’ she said. ‘That’s okay then,’ she added, making as if to stand up.
Ralph looked astonished and relieved. ‘Well done darling, I knew you’d understand. These things just happen, they don’t mean anything. You know that.’
‘Well, I hardly think it’s for you to say.’
‘You’re right,’ he replied. ‘I mean, I don’t dispute that Susie may have felt differently …’
Emily froze.
‘I mean, men in my position, we are bound to attract female attention and – well – one is only human so, me and Susie, well …’
Whack.
She looked at her hand, astonished, and then at Ralph’s stupefied face. A white mark on his cheek was rapidly turning red and her palm tingled. She had never slapped anyone before and was amazed it really did make that whip-cracking noise you hear in films. She had always assumed it was dubbed.
There was a stunned silence.
‘S-s-sorry,’ said Gerald at last. ‘You didn’t know that Susie and Ralph were having an affair …?’
‘No. Did you?’
Gerald’s face told her everything.
‘Oh, so everyone knew but me then.’ Although actually, her heart whispered to her head, she had known hadn’t she? And she hadn’t really cared very much either until now. ‘So, I take it that’s the story you are referring to?’
‘It’s buried,’ said Gerald reassuringly. ‘We have his word.’
‘The word of a journalist though,’ sneered Ralph, gingerly feeling his jaw.
‘I’d rather have the word of a journalist than the word of a politician any day,’ snapped Emily. ‘I trust Matt and so can you … but if your grubby little secret won’t be hitting the papers anyhow, I am at a loss to know why we are having this conversation.’
Gerald and Ralph looked at each other, neither keen to speak. In the end it was Gerald who spoke up, ‘It was a condition of his keeping the affair secret that we – Ralph – came clean with you.’
Emily looked at Ralph incredulously. ‘So you’re telling me about your sordid little affair with Susie, not because you are sorry, but because Matt told you to?’
‘Oh come on darling. That’s not the reason. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings – it was nothing serious, just one of those things. Matt, on the other hand, seemed pretty keen to hurt your feelings now I think about it. I can’t imagine why. Did you piss him off when you knew him before?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘Anyhow, I would have liked to have spared you the pain—’
‘Would’ve been better if you hadn’t started shagging your secretary then,’ she retorted, disliking his criticism of Matt very much indeed. ‘And anyway, what’s happened to her? She’s not really on holiday I take it?’
‘Well, it’s sort of gardening leave,’ explained Gerald. ‘Susie is a much valued member of the team. After a period of reflection for all parties she will be offered an alternative role which suits her talents.’
‘Interesting,’ said Emily. ‘Something which suits her talents would seem to be a role which has nothing to do with politics and more to do with soliciting. I know, perhaps she should be a solicitor. Maybe that’s what you call it these days. What would I know?’
‘That’s enough,’ snapped Ralph. ‘Susie isn’t at fault and I won’t let you criticise her.’
Emily gave him a sharp look.
‘What I mean,’ he continued, in a more conciliatory manner, ‘is that Susie has been a tremendous support to me. She has been extraordinarily loyal and I won’t have her demonised.’
‘You’re right,’ agreed Emily scathingly. ‘We shouldn’t blame her, she hasn’t broken her marriage vows after all,’ she pretended to thi
nk, ‘Oh wait, you have though! I know – let’s demonise you instead.’
Gerald looked uncomfortable. ‘I should go,’ he muttered. ‘You both obviously have a lot to discuss.’
They didn’t talk about it though. Instead, Emily used the second half of her train ticket to return home, and Ralph drove.
She was relieved to have the time alone, staring, frozen, out of the window until it got too dark to see out. Then, all she could see was her own reflection in the glass; a wan, pale face with (surely) exaggerated dark circles under the eyes. Curiously, prodding her psyche experimentally, she discovered her mood was ambivalent. Fury at his betrayal was certainly there – especially when she compared it with her own unquestioning and dutiful loyalty. On the other hand she had to admit to a germ of – what was it? Excitement? Anticipation? Let’s face it, an affair in a marriage was either a catastrophe for the other party or, looking on the bright side, an opportunity for the other to bail out without guilt. What had Matt intended when he insisted that she be told? Was it a desire to hurt? Somehow she thought not. More like a chance to prove his theory that her husband was a rat bag. Perhaps even a way to persuade her that he, Matt, was the better man. Perhaps …
Returning home, she saw that Ralph was already there. His briefcase and phone were on the kitchen table and she could hear the shower thundering upstairs. His avoidance tactics had always involved long showers. She had joked once in the past he had a Lady Macbeth complex, needing to symbolically wash away his sins. He hadn’t laughed, she remembered.
Plonking the kettle onto the hob and sinking wearily into a chair, she put her head in her hands. The uneasy excitement of the train journey had faded, replaced by a numb acceptance having neither the will nor the energy to move on. She dearly wished she could go to bed, go to sleep and wake up with everything back to the way it had been before, when she and Ralph had just muddled along, neither of them particularly happy perhaps but without the triggers destined to blow the studiously ignored faults in their marriage wide apart.
The mobile phone on the table started to buzz, turning a slow circle on the slippery table top. She eyed it dully. She could still hear the shower running upstairs. The display had a single word on it – ‘Susie’. Emily picked it up and stared at it, her finger hovering over the answer button.
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