House of Cards (12 page)

'May I return to the point raised by several of my Honourable Friends about the unnecessary and deeply
damaging
cuts in our Territorial Army establishment? Will the Leader of the House be in no doubt about the depth of feeling amongst his own supporters on this matter? Have he and the Prime Minister yet fully understood the damage that will be done to the Government's support over the coming months? Will he even now allow the House time to debate and reverse this decision, because I must ask him not to leave his colleagues defenceless to the accusations of bad faith which will follow if this goes through?'

The Leader of the House, Simon Lloyd, straightened and readied himself once again to come to the Despatch Box, which he was beginning to feel should have been constructed with sandbags. It had been a torrid twenty minutes of trying to defend the Government's position, and he had grown increasingly tetchy as he found the response he had prepared earlier with the Prime Minister and Defence
Secretary affording increasingly less protection from the grenades being thrown by his own side. He was glad Collingridge and the Defence Secretary were sitting beside
him
on the Front Bench. Why should he suffer on his own?

'My Right Honourable Friend misses the point. The document which found its way into the newspapers was stolen Government property. These are issues which rise high above the details of the document itself. If there is to be a debate, it should be about such flagrant breaches of honesty. Will he not join me in wholeheartedly condemning the theft of important Government documents as being the major issue at stake here? He must realise that by coming back to the details of expenditure he is as good as condoning the activity of common theft and assisting those who are responsible for it
’

Sir Jasper rose to seek permission to pursue the point and, amidst waving of Order Papers throughout the Chamber, the Speaker consented. The old soldier gathered himself up to his full height, back as straight as a ramrod, moustache bristling and face flushed with genuine anger.

‘D
oes my Right Honourable Friend not realise that it is he who is missing the point
’
he thundered, 'that I would rather live alongside a common British thief than a common Russian soldier, which is precisely the fate this policy is threatening us with?'

The uproar which followed took the Speaker a full minute to calm sufficiently for any chance of a response to be heard. During that time, the Leader of the House turned and offered a look of sheer desperation to the Prime Minister and the Defence Secretary, huddled together on the Front Bench. Collingridge muttered briefly in the ear of his colleague, and then gave a curt nod to the Leader of the House.

'Mr Speaker
’
the Leader of the House began, and paused to let the clamour subside and to clear his throat, which was by now parched with tension. 'Mr Speaker, I and my Right Honourable Friends have listened carefully to the mood of the House. I have the permission of the Prime Minister and the Secretary of State for Defence to say that, in light of the representations put from all sides today, the Government will look once again at this important matter to see whether any alternative solution can be found.'

He had run up the white flag, and he didn't know whether to feel sick or relieved.

The cries of victory and relief reached far outside the Chamber as the parliamentary correspondents drank in an emotional scene and recorded it in their notebooks. Amidst the hubbub and confusion on all sides, the lonely figure of Henry Collingridge sat small and shrunken, staring straight ahead.

Some minutes later, a breathless Mattie Storin had pushed her way through the crowd of politicians and correspondents who were jostling in the lobby outside the entrance to the Chamber, as Opposition Members claimed victory for themselves while Government supporters with considerably less conviction tried to claim victory for common sense. Few were in any doubt that they had witnessed a Prime Minister on the rack. Above the mel£e Mattie saw the tall figure of Urquhart edging his way around the outside of the crowd, avoiding the questions of several agitated backbenchers. He disappeared through a convenient door, and Mattie pursued him. By the time she had almost caught up with her quarry, Urquhart was striding two at a time up the stairs which led to the upper galleries surrounding the Chamber.

'Mr Urquhart,' she shouted breathlessly after the fleeing Minister, promising herself once again that she would give up late nights and res
ume jogging. ‘I
need your view.'

I'm not sure I have one today, Miss Storin.' Urquhart did not stop.

'Surely we're not back on the "Chief Whip refuses to endorse Prime Minister" game again?' Urquhart stopped and turned to face the still
pant
ing
Mattie. He smiled in amusement at the young correspondent's cheek. Tea, Mattie, I suppose you have a right to expect something. Well, what do you think?'

If the PM had trouble in controlling his Cabinet before this, his task now is going to be - what, a nightmare? Impossible?'

‘I
t
is not unusual for Prime Ministers to change their minds. But to be forced to change your mind publicly, simply because you are unable to defend your own decision, is
...'

Mattie waited in vain for Urquhart to finish, but realised he would not do so. He would not condemn his Prime Minister, not openly on the stairs, but it was clear there would be no justification either. She prompted the Chief Whip yet again. Isn't the Government getting accident prone - the second major leak in a matter of weeks? Where are these leaks coming from?'

'As Chief Whip I am responsible only for discipline on the Government backbenches. You can scarcely expect me to play headmaster to my own Cabinet colleagues as well.'

‘B
ut if it's coming from Cabinet - who, and why?'

‘I
simply don't know, Mattie. But doubtless the Prime Minister will instruct me to find out who and why.'

'Formally or informally?'

‘I
can't comment on that,' muttered Urquhart, and continued up the stairs pursued by Mattie.

'So we have got to the point where the Prime Minister is about to launch an inquiry into which of his own Cabinet colleagues is leaking sensitive information. Is that what you are saying?'

'Oh, Mattie. It seems I have already said too much. You're a damn sight quicker on the uptake than most of your colleagues. It seems to me that your logic rather than my words has led you to your conclusions, eh? And I trust that you will be keeping my name out of this.'

'Usual lobby terms, Mr Urquhart,' she assured him. 'Just let me get this perfectly clear. You are not denying, indeed you are confirming that the Prime Minister will order an investigation into his Cabinet members' conduct?'

'If you keep my name out of it - yes.'

‘J
esus, this will set them all flapping,' Mattie gasped. She could already see her front page lead taking shape.

'June 10th does seem a long time ago, doesn't it, Mattie?'

Urquhart continued up the stairs which led to the Strangers Gallery, where members of the public perched on rows of cramped, narrow benches to view the proceedings of the House, usually with a considerable degree of discomfort and a still larger degree of astonishment. He caught the eye of a small and impeccably dressed Indian for whom he had previously obtained a seat in the Gallery, and signalled to him. The man struggled past the outstretched knees of other visitors packed into the benches, and emerged with obvious embarrassment past two extremely buxom middle-aged ladies. Before he had any opportunity to speak Urquhart motioned to him for silence and led him towards the small hallway behind the gallery.

'Mr Urquhart, sir, it has been a most exciting and highly educational ninety minutes. I am deeply indebted to you for assisting me to obtain such a comfortable position.'

Urquhart, who knew that even small Indian gentlemen such as Firdaus Jhabwala found the seats acutely uncomfortable, smiled knowingly.
‘I
know you are being very polite in not complaining about the discomfort of the seating. I only wish I could have found you some more comfortable position.'

They chatted politely while Jhabwala secured the re
lease of his black hide attaché
case from the attendant. When he had arrived he had firmly refused to hand it over until he discovered that his entry to the Gallery would be forbidden unless he lodged it with the security desk.

‘I
am so glad that we British can still trust ordinary working chaps with our possessions,' he stated very seriously, patting the case for comfort.

'Quite
’
replied Urquhart, who trusted neither the ordinary working chap nor Jhabwala. Still, he was a constituent who seemed to have various flourishing local businesses, and had provided a £500 donation towards his election campaign expenses and had asked for nothing, in return except, shortly afterwards, a personal interview and private meeting in the House of Commons.

'Not in the constitu
ency,' he had explained to Urqu
hart's secretary on the phone. It's a matter of national rather than local attention.'

Urquhart led the way under the great vaulted oak ceiling of Westminster Hall, at which point Jhabwala asked to stand for a while.
‘
I
would be grateful for a silent moment in this great hall in which Charles I was tried and condemned and Winston Churchill lay in state.'

He noticed the condescending smile appearing at the corner of Urquhart's mouth.

'Mr Urquhart. Please do not think me pretentious. My own family associations with British institutions go back nearly 250 years to the days of the Honourable East India Company and Lord Clive, whom my ancestors advised and to whom they loaned considerable funds. Both before and since my family has occupied prestigious positions in the judicial and administrative branches of Indian Government.'

Jhabwala's eyes lowered, and a strong sense of sadness filled his voice. 'But since Independence, Mr Urquhart, that once great subcontinent has slowly crumbled into a new dark age. Muslim has been set against Hindu, worker against employer, pupil against teacher. You may not agree, but the modem Gandhi dynasty is less inspired and far more corrupt than any my family ever served in colonial days. I am a Parsee, a cultural minority which has found little comfort under the new Raj, and the fortunes of my family have declined. So I moved to Great Britain, where my father and grandfather were educated. I can tell you without a trace of insincerity, Mr Urquhart, that I feel more at home and more attached to this country and its culture than ever I could back in modem India. I wake up grateful every day that I can call myself a British citizen and educate my children in British universities
’

Urquhart saw his opportunity to interrupt this impassioned and obviously heartfelt monologue. 'Where are your children educated?'

‘I
have a son just finishing a law degree at Jesus College, Cambridge, and an elder son who is undertaking an MBA at the Wharton Business School in Philadelphia. It is my earnest hope that my younger son will soon qualify to read medicine at Cambridge
’

They were now walking towards the interview rooms beneath the Great Hall, their shoes clipping across the worn flagstoned floor where Henry VHI had played tennis and which now was splattered with shafts of bright sunlight slanting through the ancient windows. It was a scene centuries old, and the Indian was clearly in great awe.

'And what precisely do you do?' asked Urquhart.

‘I
,
sir, am a trader, not an educated man. I left behind any hope of that during the great turmoil of Indian Independence. I have therefore had to find my way not with my brain but by diligence and hard work. I am happy to say that I have been moderately successful
’

'What sort of trade?'

‘I
have several business interests, Mr Urquhart. Property. Wholesaling. A little local finance. But I am no narrow minded capitalist. I am well aware of my duty to the community. It is about that I wished to speak with you.'

By now they had arrived at the interview room and at Urquhart's invitation Jhabwala seated himself in one of the green leather chairs, fingering with delight the gold embossed portcullis which embellished the upright back of this and all the other chairs in the room.

'Mr Urquhart. I was not born
in this country, and I know that of necessity I must work particularly hard to gain respectability in the community. That is important, not so much for me but for my children. I wish them to have the advantages which my father could not secure for me at a time of civil war. So I try to participate. I assist the local Rotary Club. I help with many local charities. And as you know, I am an ardent supporter of the Prime Minister
’
{

‘I
am afraid that you did not see him to best advantage this afternoon
’

Then I suspect he needs his friends and supporters more than ever
’

There was a short silence. Urquhart struggled to find the meaning and direction behind his guest's remarks, but it eluded him, although meaning and direction he knew there must be. Jhabwala began again, a little more slowly.