Heaven's Door (36 page)

Week 13; Tuesday, 16 June…

“So,” said Tony, settling himself in one of the huge armchairs in the living room. “What's all this about and why the urgency?”

Tony Dobson was a youthful thirty-two, average height, slim and with a pleasant, friendly face. Five years ago he had been one of Tom's greatest critics during his formative, angry years as a local reporter. But as his stature as a journalist grew, their mutual respect for each other had passed seamlessly into genuine friendship.

“It's that gang outside,” said Tom looking out through the floor-to-ceiling windows and craning to see the large group of reporters and several cameras arrayed in a semicircle outside the main entrance to Balmaha. “The doorbell rang just after eight this morning and every five minutes or so since then. I worked it out – that's about a hundred rings so far. I thought I'd be safe for a bit longer – didn't realise so many people knew about this place.”

“Ah, news travels fast once the hunt gets under way,” said Tony. “It's like twitching.”

“Well, I'm getting a bit twitchy right now. I know I need to speak to those guys –
you
guys – as soon as possible. I heard what they were saying to you down there – about me milking the press when it suited and running from them now – and they're absolutely right; I do have a duty to talk to them. The problem is, I don't know how to go about it. I'm nothing now – not even
part
of anything. No one to sort out a press statement, media conference or whatever for me. I need your help with this, Tony, or at least your advice. I'm happy to give you an exclusive – whatever you want.”

Tony held up his hands to stop him.

“Hey, I'm here as a friend, Tom, not a reporter – so let's not talk about exclusives. If you want me to set something up, then I can do that, no problem. I'll tell them to come back, say, tomorrow, or Thursday – whenever you say, at whatever time you like and wherever you want to do it – somewhere on the Embankment might be better than round here. More space along there, and no point in giving your address away to the half-dozen people who still don't know it.”

“Is it that easy?”

“Sure, they'll go along with that; actually being invited will make them feel good enough to give you some space.”

He gave Tom a wide smile, returned with considerable relief.

“So,” Tony went on, “I'll go down and get rid of them if you just tell me when and where, while you put the kettle on. A bit much having to actually
ask
for a cup of tea when I'm going to all this trouble.”

Tom shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

“Right then,” he said, “let's say ten o'clock Thursday morning and … how about down on Millbank – Riverside Walk Gardens? Can you do that?”

“No problem.”

“Great,” said Tom. “And you did right to choose tea, by the way;” he added, as Tony left the room to end the siege. “My coffee's come in for some criticism recently.”

*

Week 13; Wednesday, 17 June…

“Hi, Shirley, it's Tom Brown here.”

“Home Secretary! This is a surprise. A nice surprise, I mean. I don't mean a shock or anything …”

Tom gave a little laugh.

“Thank you, Shirley. Still working hard to cover for an errant senior minister?”

Shirley was silent for a moment.

“I shouldn't have said that. I guess at the time I didn't know what to say.”

“That's quite alright, Shirley. I was only teasing, anyway.”

“And I really
am
sorry that the prime minister didn't call you after I said I would get him to. I've been thinking about what might have …you know. I did try. Really I did …”

“That's okay, Shirley. I know you did and I'm grateful. And I'm sure it wouldn't have made any difference. Anyway, how are you? Oh, and by the way, I am no longer the Home Secretary – or anything else, in fact.”

“I know, but, it still sounds right to … Anyway, I'm fine, thank you. But really sad about your resigning.”

“Well, I'm very touched, Shirley,” said Tom, “And I really mean that. I feel like I've made a new friend. And if I'm right, I'd like you to do two things for me.”

“Yes, okay, anything.”

“Well, firstly, could you arrange for me to speak to the prime minister this afternoon, and secondly, do you think you could call me Tom?”

Shirley gave a little laugh.

“I'm not sure which of those will be the most difficult, Home Sec… You see what I mean?”

They both laughed.

“Actually, I think you might be in luck. Hold on, please.” There were a few moments of absolute silence. “Putting you through.”

“Hello, Tom.” The words were not so much spoken as sighed.

“I know you're busy, Prime Minister,” said Tom, “but I just wanted to let you know out of courtesy that I shall be speaking to the press tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. I doubt if what I have to say will be quite so eloquently expressed as your announcement about me on Monday, but I can guarantee it will be more sincere. Oh, and I look forward to receiving your
formal
reply to my letter. I assume that, until I do so, I am still the Home Secretary. See you in the House tomorrow after my press conference.”

He hung up, then poured himself a small Jack Daniels and sat outside at the balcony table with his laptop in the warm afternoon sun to run through the notes he'd made for his meeting with the Press. Half an hour later, he was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

He checked the monitor screen and pressed the door release for the main door at ground level, then stepped onto the landing to greet his former colleague. Jackie Hewlett looked as pleasingly attractive as ever, in a smart close-fitting jacket and skirt, which showed off her slim figure and legs to great effect. They kissed, cheek to cheek, and Tom escorted her onto the balcony, somewhat embarrassed that it was through the very untidy master bedroom, and left her briefly to get another shot glass and the whiskey bottle.

They chatted easily, sipping their drinks, for the best part of an hour before lapsing into a relaxed and comfortable silence. Jackie nursed her glass and looked out over the gleaming vista of the Capital.

“I'll never forget how supportive you were, Tom, that time when Lucy went missing. You were right there at my side all the time.”

“It was only a couple of hours, Jackie. It was the least any friend would have done.”

Jackie turned to him. There were tears in her eyes.

“But it meant such a lot. I just wish there was something …”

“You're doing it right now, Jackie.” He reached across and held her hand. “You're right here with me when I most need a friend.”

She smiled and they lapsed into silence again for a while.

“You know what, Tom; I don't know whether I want to carry on without you …”

Tom squeezed her hand.

“You'll be okay, Jackie, and we'll keep in touch, I hope?”

“Of course we will, but you won't be there all the time any more and I always felt safe with you around. You know, from Andrew and …well … Grace, if I'm honest about it.”

“Grace? Why, what has she done? I wouldn't have thought you'd have much contact.”

“I don't. It's something I can't really put my finger on. I just get the feeling that Andrew has some kind of hold over her, and because of that anything you say in front of her goes straight back to him. I'm probably paranoid.”

“You're one of the least paranoid people I've ever met, Jackie. But I can't really see …” His voice tailed off.

“I'm sure you're right,” said Jackie. “It probably is just me.”

“No, I was just wondering …”

He was interrupted by the bell ringing again.

He went to the door and checked the screen.

“It's Grace, would you believe it?” he called through to Jackie, and then spoke into the intercom.

“Hi, Grace,” he activated the entrance door lock, “come on up.”

She beamed at him mischievously in the entrance to the apartment, holding one arm behind her back.

“A little something, just in case,” she said, revealing and shaking a jar of Columbian roast coffee beans. “Didn't quite trust you to do the right thing.”

He forced a smile, taking the jar from her.

“Jackie's here,” he said

“Oh, how lovely,” said Grace, her features set in a smile, but her eyes freezing over. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

“No,” he said. “Please, go on through.”

She set off for the living room.

“No, through here,” he said, waving her into the bedroom. She turned to him with a quizzical expression, her eyes as wide as she could make them.

“Are you
sure
I haven't come at a bad time?”

“Straight through onto the balcony,” he said, recovering enough to be annoyed. “I'll get you a glass.”

“I'll wait here until you get it.”

“You could come back later, if you prefer,” said Tom.

“Oh no, I'd like to watch, if that's okay?”

He got the glass and they joined Jackie. Neither woman spoke for several moments, eyes locked and expressions glacial. Grace sat down on one of the two available chairs positioning it so that she and Tom were facing Jackie across the table.

“Jackie.”

“Grace.”

“Well, now we all know each other,” said Tom, turning to Grace and holding up the bottle by way of invitation.

Grace nodded and he filled the shot glass, pushing it across to her. They sat in silence for some time staring out over the panoramic view.

“Anyway,” said Jackie, “I'll leave you to it, Tom. I didn't realise you had an
important
meeting.”

“No, don't go,” said Tom, turning to Grace. “I'm not sure why Grace is here, actually.”

“No, Jackie's right,” said Grace. “You do have an important – and
private
–
meeting.”

Jackie drained her glass and got to her feet.

“I'll see you very soon, Tom.”

She walked away through the bedroom without another word to Grace, Tom following behind her. At the door she turned to him and spoke loudly enough to be heard on the balcony. “Shame about the interruption; such a pity we couldn't have taken that further. We must pick up where we left off next time. Take care, Tom. See you very soon.”

They hugged each other this time.

Tom stood for several moments, gathering his thoughts before returning to the balcony. Grace had moved her chair so she was now facing his.

“So,” said Tom, picking up the bottle and refilling Grace's glass. “What's important and private enough for you to make the effort to come round again?”

“Well I said I'd come back.”

“Three days ago. The idea must have slipped your mind once you'd left with what you came for?”

“Oh dear, we
are
feeling sorry for ourselves. Well, actually this has been the first chance I've had. Some of us have still got jobs, you know; which reminds me,” she went on, reaching into her shoulder bag to retrieve an envelope. “His Unholy Mightiness asked me to give you this.” She passed it to him.

He held her eyes as he took it from her, thinking about his interrupted conversation with Jackie. She raised her eyebrows in a gesture of innocence.

“I've no idea what it is.”

“No, I bet you don't,” said Tom. “Quite the little Postman Pat, aren't we?”

“I don't know what you mean,” she said. “Anyway, Postman Pat's a man, isn't he? Do I look like a man to you?”

She turned directly towards him in her chair and crossed her legs theatrically, causing her skirt to ride up high round her thighs. Tom let his gaze dwell for just a moment, and then looked up into her eyes again.

“So you're telling me that you didn't know this is Andrew's letter accepting my resignation?”

“Is it?”

“And that he's rushed it over here with you because I've just told him I'm holding a press conference tomorrow and will be assuming I'm still the Home Secretary until I receive this?”

He waved the envelope at her.

“You told him that!” Grace laughed. “Oh. I wish I'd seen his face when …”

“Don't piss about with me, Grace. You came here on Sunday to ask for my resignation on Andrew's behalf; then nothing for three days – no phone calls or anything – and suddenly you turn up with his acceptance letter just a couple of hours after I've threatened to make things awkward for him if I didn't get it. I know I can be naïve and idealistic at times, but I'm not all-out stupid!”

“No you're not,” she said. “So you can work out whether that's the only reason I'm here.”

She slipped down further in the chair so that her skirt rode up even higher. Tom got quickly to his feet and turned away from her, leaning on the rail of the balcony and looking out over the river.

“I'm not sure what your motives are, Grace. If you want me to shag you, that's fine. I can do it now, I suppose – no worries about ‘how will it look?' and all that. Broken marriage anyway – just about – no working relationship between us, so no conflict of interest or whatever. But you only come when Andrew sends you. He's probably told you to get laid in my apartment so he can publicly denounce me as a … whatever!”

“You're getting paranoid, Tom,” said Grace. “But could we go back to that bit about you shagging me?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No! Not now; not today.” He turned to face her. Grace was sitting upright in the chair again and had pulled down her skirt. “I would like to believe that you want more from me, Grace. I mean, why wouldn't I? So let's try again. Come back
another
time, just for me, nothing else. And let's see what happens.”