Breaking the Code (63 page)

An amusing cock-up. One of my SIs
587
this morning. I take a pride in rattling through them. When I joined the office it was explained to me that you’ll get reliable people to serve on your SIs if they know they’re going to be brief and you send them a note to thank them for coming. My record to date is thirty seconds. Beresford played ball and simply got up and said, ‘I recommend the measure to the committee’ and sat down. We voted and that was that. Well, this morning we rattled through it – whatever it was – some nonsense to do with rating – voted – the committee members duly thanked me for a three-minute session and we all toddled on our way. Now I learn from one of the clerks that the Instrument was riddled with misprints. We are going to have to reconvene the committee next week and go through the whole rigmarole again. So much for parliamentary scrutiny.

Housing Bill, Lords’ amendments. At the 2.30 p.m. meeting I promised to deliver the votes at 5.30 p.m., 6.15 p.m. and 8.15 p.m. In the event, the first was six minutes late, but the other two were spot on. Curry and Clappison were magnificent. James [Clappison] kept protesting, ‘I must put this on the record.’ I kept hissing, ‘No you don’t – no one cares’, then barked out loud, ‘Beg to move!’ For three hours I was bobbing up and down like a yoyo. We
rattled
through it. I told Michèle that we’d be in the Strangers’ Dining Room by 8.30 p.m. – and we were! It was Jo, Beckie, Seb, and a good time was had by all. (I am still mildly in my cups as you can tell. The news I should be reporting at greater length is that David Heathcoat-Amory’s resignation is now out in the open. He’s going
because ‘our European policy isn’t working’. Of course, he may also be going because he knows there’s no place for him in the Cabinet, so he can afford to take this principled stand. Is that unfair? Probably not. David Davis is staying put – and keeping mum. I sense he’s to be placated with a PC in the not too distant future.
588
The mini-reshuffle is now a muddle and scheduled for tomorrow. The joy of the Whips’ Office is that I know I will not be featuring. I am very content where I am.)

‘Minister’s resignation over Europe reopens Tory wounds’. Redwood, Tebbit, Lamont are hopping up and down hailing Heathcoat-Amory as the hero of the hour. Joe Public is saying, ‘Who? What?’ The rest of the reshuffle will also pass the great world by. Willetts becomes Paymaster-General (excellent), but at the Cabinet Office (under Roger Freeman) not at the Treasury. Oppenheim goes to fill the gap at the Treasury with a splendid title they’ve dusted down from somewhere: Exchequer Secretary. Steve Norris and Tim Eggar
589
are stepping down at their own request with a view to making boodles of dosh. John Bowis (good man) goes from Health to Transport and
three
members of the office move on: 1) Liam Fox goes to the Foreign Office to ease their workload. (David Davis whinges that’s he’s got too much to do – and won’t do it. Jeremy [Hanley] obliges and is exhausted. Enter Liam to help share the burden.) 2) Simon Burns replaces Bowis at Health (did the Chief feel he’d heard enough about the Essex Fire Service?) 3) The Deputy becomes Minister for Industry at the DTI. (This is a just reward. His seat is none too safe and out of the office he can raise his profile. Also, if it all goes wrong, there are going to be more jobs going for a former Industry Minister than a former Deputy Chief Whip.)

The office will miss Greg. I think he has been outstanding. I’ve just sent him a long note saying that I don’t think I’ve ever come across a person better suited to their job or one who did it so well. And I meant it. His handling of the team has been perfect: he made it fun and he covered our backs, so when he whistled we
jumped
. His successor as Deputy is Andrew Mackay. This will disappoint Derek [Conway], but it was inevitable. By rights, by seniority it should have been Tim Wood, but that was never going to be. Perhaps a consoling K is in the pipeline? Given that he’s bound to lose his seat it ought to be.
590

I slid into the meeting at 2.31 p.m. to find Andrew firmly ensconced at the Deputy’s desk – Greg’s mountains of debris already cleared away. As I flopped into my chair, all of
sixty seconds late, he curled his lip and said, ‘I shouldn’t need to remind the office, the meeting begins at 2.30 sharp.’ Faintly silly. (I like him – I like him a lot – but he
is
faintly ridiculous – the impeccably tailored suits, the perma-tan, the self-consciously smooth gliding through the corridors of power…)

For what it’s worth (not much – not anything actually) I’m now head of the Lower Office, and we have three new whips: Peter Ainsworth,
591
Anthony Coombs, Jacqui Lait. Jacqui is the first female Conservative whip in the history of the office. This is quite a departure, unthinkable, I imagine, until
very
recently. The office is run entirely like a gentleman’s club (that’s part of its charm) and, nominally, potential whips come up for election. The Chief certainly goes through the motions of leading a discussion, out of which names emerge, but the names that emerge are the ones that he had in mind and the PM has blessed. He tells us, in terms, we can blackball any candidate, and he says it with conviction, but he slips into the chat that the PM rather feels it’s time for a woman whip – and he rather agrees – and Jacqui seems ‘a decent sort of chap’ (ho ho) – and immediately we all murmur our assent. Thus a little bit of history is made.

It is quite funny. We have had to agree: this is our worst holiday
ever
. I wasn’t going to keep the diary this week, but I want to record the essential horror of it.

North Wales is
death
. Beaumaris was bad enough. We arrived on the night the circus left town. Our little attic room at Ye Olde Bull overlooked the main street and into the small hours, as we tossed and turned, the caravans, the lorries, the transporters rumbled, trundled, thundered pass. Michèle said, ‘I can’t stay here another night.’ We did the castle, we did the Museum of Childhood Memories (!!!), we buggered off. Snowdon was
invisible
. It wasn’t half-hidden in a romantic mist, it was unseeable in a grey-green fog. And last night, as we drove into Abersoch, through the swishing windscreen wipers and wash of hailstones I saw the huge sign by the bridge: WELCOME TO THE WELSH RIVIERA! We put the car in the hotel car park, opened the door and stepped out – the puddle was so deep my feet
disappeared
. After dinner (which was fine – circa 1956 fine, but fine all the same) we retreated to our garret. The bed is one of those that has given way in the middle: we spent the night rolling into one another and then clambering back towards the sides. At two in the morning I went to the loo and, returning, pulled the bathroom door shut after me. As I pulled it (this is true, I promise) the door came off its hinges and fell onto the bed. We lay there through the night gazing at the
lavatory bowl that was intermittently illuminated by the flashing neon side in the street outside.

We are abandoning ship. No doubt Llandudno is lovely – and we’d get the pick of the shelters – but we’re going home. We are driving to Chester, then to Birmingham (for the pre-Raphaelites – something
civilised
), then to
Barnes
. O joy, o rapture! Michèle said at about four in the morning, ‘Perhaps we should have tried Benidorm.’
592
Yes, it’s been that bad.

I’m on the 8.30 a.m. flight from Manchester. I began the new novel yesterday morning.
593
I flew up last night for the Aldford evening. I’m up again on Monday for the Rotary lunch, a surgery and Bingo night at the Deaf Centre. It’s all happening!

I did a ring round the card
594
and the troops are quite mellow. The polls are improving and the general line is what I was getting from my people in Aldford: ‘it doesn’t feel too bad on the patch’. Several who didn’t like Blair’s demon eyes think we’re mad to be using them again.
595
Den Dover: ‘Why can’t we be more positive?’ (Answer, according to Finkelstein: Because positive campaigning doesn’t work.)

Neil [Hamilton] is bubbly. His libel action begins on the eve of the party conference. He knows this has not made him popular with the powers that be, but he had to ‘seize the moment’.
The Guardian
(crafty buggers) are planning to subpoena the PM, the DPM, the Cabinet secretary and Richard Ryder. Publicly, the PM is treating the possibility of having to appear in court with a light touch. Privately, he is not amused. This is a distraction he could do without.

‘John Major was struggling to prevent open warfare within his government last night after a Foreign Office minister publicly attacked Kenneth Clarke over his stance on a single European currency.’ Bonsor
596
has backed down, apologised, eaten humble pie
– but on it goes, relentlessly. What hope is there?
Some
. Today we learn that Gordon Brown may be proposing a 50p top rate tax for high earners – and Blair has to slap down Jeremy Corbyn for inviting Gerry Adams to Westminster. It also seems that Tony Blair has also been asking my old friend Geoff Atkinson
597
for some funny one-liners for his conference speeches – quips on the defections, Maurice Saatchi’s peerage, Portillo, fat cats and the beef crisis preferred. Geoff has declined, somewhat indignantly – but while they may have handled it ineptly, the principle is right. If you want jokes in your speech, get in a professional.

I’m at the Ramada, Manchester. Saeths
598
is coming over for supper. I’ve done the Waterstone’s lunch. Also on the bill: Humphrey Carpenter, Peter Stringfellow. Humphrey’s book is becoming a bestseller.
599
Of course, Runcie was naive to gabble away to him as he did, and on tape, but I sensed (though he denied it) that Humphrey does feel a
bit
sheepish – as I would if ever I published my diary. I might do it, but I’d feel those pangs of guilt. What I would
not
do is emulate the amazing Stringfellow. ‘Hello, ladies. You’ve read about me, haven’t you? It was in the paper. It said I’d slept with 400 women. (Pause) That was
last
year! (Nervous tittering from audience.) Mind you, I’ve had some good times in Manchester. Have I slept with any of you ladies? (He shades his eyes, scans the room.) Come on, ladies, own up.’ At the back of the room a middle-aged matron raises a tentative arm. Throaty laugh from the platform.

I kid you not.

Neil’s case has collapsed. I don’t understand the ins and outs of it, but the essence is that last night Neil and Ian Greer decided they had no choice but to abandon their action. They have agreed to pay some of
The Guardian
’s costs, they’ve their own costs of £300,000 plus, and today’s
Guardian
headline reads: ‘A liar and a cheat: official’.

The paper claims that Neil collected tens of thousands of pounds from Fayed, the money in £50 notes stuffed into envelopes. It’s got three of Fayed’s staff ready to swear to it, claiming that Neil turned up at Fayed’s offices demanding his envelopes. Neil continues to deny it all. He now wants it investigated by the Standards and Privileges Committee. He says he and Greer have abandoned the case simply because the costs have proved
prohibitive, but reading between the lines it seems he and Greer have fallen out.
The Guardian
forced the disclosure of a minute taken by Robin Butler
600
of Heseltine’s conversation with Neil. Heseltine asked Neil, in terms, if he’d had a financial arrangement with Greer. Neil denied it. Now it turns out he had – and this minute is being described as ‘exposing a conflict of interest’ between Neil and Greer. (Minutes of ministerial telephone calls are not unusual. The outer office can listen in on any call and be taking a note, unbeknownst to the caller.)

I’ve been ringing Neil’s flat. It’s permanently engaged. I don’t know what to say. I believe him, but millions won’t. Not now. I began the day at the Department of Health.
601
Prayers. Not many friends for Neil to be found there. I then went (incredibly) to Harrods because they’d prearranged a signing session in the book department. I didn’t linger. Clearly when Fayed stalks the store the staff are terrified. When Saethryd did a holiday job in the cosmetics department she said the girls used to hide under the counters and round the back to avoid catching the owner’s eye … Michèle, bless her, has cut up her Harrods account card to show solidarity. (It’s the right gesture, but we have to be honest. I don’t think we’ve used the account in years.)

I’m on the train to Bournemouth. I’m staying at the Highcliff. Damn the expense, it could be my last conference ever. I’ve just done the John Dunn Show, Radio 2. John is so nice, so good (he is the best interviewer in the business) – but he’s not happy. It’s become a miserable place, the BBC. Perhaps we should have privatised it? At least at the commercial stations they’ve got some
bounce
.

The serious news is ‘the Willetts memorandum’. It’s now in the public domain because it was subpoenaed by
The Guardian
. It’s just a whip’s note recording a conversation David had with Geoffrey Johnson-Smith when Geoffrey was chairman of the Committee on Members’ Interests and the Committee was investigating Neil’s undeclared sojourn at the Paris Ritz. The memo said Geoffrey ‘wants our advice’ and then explored the possibilities: either encourage the Committee to investigate the matter quickly or, ‘exploiting the good Tory majority’, get them to defer the investigation, citing Neil’s pending libel action, saying it was going to be sub judice. Geoffrey recalls the conversation, but naturally denies that he sought advice or that he could or would for a moment have been
influenced by it. (Geoffrey is indeed Mr Probity, loyal and decent. He still looks quite amazing, a handsome fifty. In fact he’s seventy-two, getting deafer, not necessarily the safe pair of hands he once might have been.) Of course, it’s all a lot of nonsense. David was simply doing his job. Part and parcel of a whip’s job is to seek ways of ensuring that the government is seen in the best light. Of course, the Hamilton enquiry was an embarrassment and we wanted it to go away, but there was no sinister or corrupt intent. But never mind the reality: it’s going to be played up as the government in general and David in particular, attempting to subvert the independence and integrity of the Committee.